THE PICKWICK PAPERS by CHARLES DICKENS

the half-open door (making his face very red in the process), and
entered the room.
'Is the other specials outside, Dubbley?' inquired Mr. Grummer.
Mr. Dubbley, who was a man of few words, nodded assent.
'Order in the diwision under your charge, Dubbley,' said
Mr. Grummer.
Mr. Dubbley did as he was desired; and half a dozen men, each
with a short truncheon and a brass crown, flocked into the room.
Mr. Grummer pocketed his staff, and looked at Mr. Dubbley;
Mr. Dubbley pocketed his staff and looked at the division; the
division pocketed their staves and looked at Messrs. Tupman
and Pickwick.
Mr. Pickwick and his followers rose as one man.
'What is the meaning of this atrocious intrusion upon my
privacy?' said Mr. Pickwick.
'Who dares apprehend me?' said Mr. Tupman.
'What do you want here, scoundrels?' said Mr. Snodgrass.
Mr. Winkle said nothing, but he fixed his eyes on Grummer,
and bestowed a look upon him, which, if he had had any feeling,
must have pierced his brain. As it was, however, it had no visible
effect on him whatever.
When the executive perceived that Mr. Pickwick and his
friends were disposed to resist the authority of the law, they very
significantly turned up their coat sleeves, as if knocking them
down in the first instance, and taking them up afterwards, were a
mere professional act which had only to be thought of to be done,
as a matter of course. This demonstration was not lost upon
Mr. Pickwick. He conferred a few moments with Mr. Tupman
apart, and then signified his readiness to proceed to the mayor's
residence, merely begging the parties then and there assembled,
to take notice, that it was his firm intention to resent this monstrous
invasion of his privileges as an Englishman, the instant he
was at liberty; whereat the parties then and there assembled
laughed very heartily, with the single exception of Mr. Grummer,
who seemed to consider that any slight cast upon the divine
right of magistrates was a species of blasphemy not to be tolerated.
But when Mr. Pickwick had signified his readiness to bow to
the laws of his country, and just when the waiters, and hostlers,
and chambermaids, and post-boys, who had anticipated a
delightful commotion from his threatened obstinacy, began to
turn away, disappointed and disgusted, a difficulty arose which
had not been foreseen. With every sentiment of veneration for the
constituted authorities, Mr. Pickwick resolutely protested against
making his appearance in the public streets, surrounded and
guarded by the officers of justice, like a common criminal.
Mr. Grummer, in the then disturbed state of public feeling (for
it was half-holiday, and the boys had not yet gone home), as
resolutely protested against walking on the opposite side of the
way, and taking Mr. Pickwick's parole that he would go straight
to the magistrate's; and both Mr. Pickwick and Mr. Tupman as
strenuously objected to the expense of a post-coach, which was
the only respectable conveyance that could be obtained. The
dispute ran high, and the dilemma lasted long; and just as the
executive were on the point of overcoming Mr. Pickwick's
objection to walking to the magistrate's, by the trite expedient of
carrying him thither, it was recollected that there stood in the inn
yard, an old sedan-chair, which, having been originally built for
a gouty gentleman with funded property, would hold Mr. Pickwick
and Mr. Tupman, at least as conveniently as a modern postchaise.
The chair was hired, and brought into the hall; Mr. Pickwick
and Mr. Tupman squeezed themselves inside, and pulled
down the blinds; a couple of chairmen were speedily found; and
the procession started in grand order. The specials surrounded
the body of the vehicle; Mr. Grummer and Mr. Dubbley marched
triumphantly in front; Mr. Snodgrass and Mr. Winkle walked
arm-in-arm behind; and the unsoaped of Ipswich brought up
the rear.
The shopkeepers of the town, although they had a very
indistinct notion of the nature of the offence, could not but be
much edified and gratified by this spectacle. Here was the strong
arm of the law, coming down with twenty gold-beater force, upon
two offenders from the metropolis itself; the mighty engine was
directed by their own magistrate, and worked by their own
officers; and both the criminals, by their united efforts, were
securely shut up, in the narrow compass of one sedan-chair.
Many were the expressions of approval and admiration which
greeted Mr. Grummer, as he headed the cavalcade, staff in hand;
loud and long were the shouts raised by the unsoaped; and amidst
these united testimonials of public approbation, the procession
moved slowly and majestically along.
Mr. Weller, habited in his morning jacket, with the black calico
sleeves, was returning in a rather desponding state from an
unsuccessful survey of the mysterious house with the green gate,
when, raising his eyes, he beheld a crowd pouring down the
street, surrounding an object which had very much the appearance
of a sedan-chair. Willing to divert his thoughts from the
failure of his enterprise, he stepped aside to see the crowd pass;
and finding that they were cheering away, very much to their
own satisfaction, forthwith began (by way of raising his spirits)
to cheer too, with all his might and main.
Mr. Grummer passed, and Mr. Dubbley passed, and the sedan
passed, and the bodyguard of specials passed, and Sam was still
responding to the enthusiastic cheers of the mob, and waving his
hat about as if he were in the very last extreme of the wildest joy
(though, of course, he had not the faintest idea of the matter in
hand), when he was suddenly stopped by the unexpected appearance
of Mr. Winkle and Mr. Snodgrass.
'What's the row, gen'l'm'n?'cried Sam. 'Who have they got in
this here watch-box in mournin'?'
Both gentlemen replied together, but their words were lost in
the tumult.
'Who is it?' cried Sam again.
once more was a joint reply returned; and, though the words
were inaudible, Sam saw by the motion of the two pairs of lips
that they had uttered the magic word 'Pickwick.'
This was enough. In another minute Mr. Weller had made his
way through the crowd, stopped the chairmen, and confronted
the portly Grummer.
'Hollo, old gen'l'm'n!' said Sam. 'Who have you got in this
here conweyance?'
'Stand back,' said Mr. Grummer, whose dignity, like the
dignity of a great many other men, had been wondrously
augmented by a little popularity.
'Knock him down, if he don't,' said Mr. Dubbley.
'I'm wery much obliged to you, old gen'l'm'n,' replied Sam,
'for consulting my conwenience, and I'm still more obliged to the
other gen'l'm'n, who looks as if he'd just escaped from a giant's
carrywan, for his wery 'andsome suggestion; but I should prefer
your givin' me a answer to my question, if it's all the same to you.
--How are you, Sir?' This last observation was addressed with a
patronising air to Mr. Pickwick, who was peeping through the
front window.
Mr. Grummer, perfectly speechless with indignation, dragged
the truncheon with the brass crown from its particular pocket,
and flourished it before Sam's eyes.
'Ah,' said Sam, 'it's wery pretty, 'specially the crown, which is
uncommon like the real one.'
'Stand back!' said the outraged Mr. Grummer. By way of
adding force to the command, he thrust the brass emblem of
royalty into Sam's neckcloth with one hand, and seized Sam's
collar with the other--a compliment which Mr. Weller returned
by knocking him down out of hand, having previously with the
utmost consideration, knocked down a chairman for him to lie upon.
Whether Mr. Winkle was seized with a temporary attack of
that species of insanity which originates in a sense of injury, or
animated by this display of Mr. Weller's valour, is uncertain; but
certain it is, that he no sooner saw Mr. Grummer fall than he
made a terrific onslaught on a small boy who stood next him;
whereupon Mr. Snodgrass, in a truly Christian spirit, and in
order that he might take no one unawares, announced in a very
loud tone that he was going to begin, and proceeded to take off
his coat with the utmost deliberation. He was immediately
surrounded and secured; and it is but common justice both to
him and Mr. Winkle to say, that they did not make the slightest
attempt to rescue either themselves or Mr. Weller; who, after a
most vigorous resistance, was overpowered by numbers and
taken prisoner. The procession then reformed; the chairmen
resumed their stations; and the march was re-commenced.
Mr. Pickwick's indignation during the whole of this proceeding
was beyond all bounds. He could just see Sam upsetting the
specials, and flying about in every direction; and that was all he
could see, for the sedan doors wouldn't open, and the blinds
wouldn't pull up. At length, with the assistance of Mr. Tupman,
he managed to push open the roof; and mounting on the seat,
and steadying himself as well as he could, by placing his hand on
that gentleman's shoulder, Mr. Pickwick proceeded to address
the multitude; to dwell upon the unjustifiable manner in which he
had been treated; and to call upon them to take notice that his
servant had been first assaulted. In this order they reached the
magistrate's house; the chairmen trotting, the prisoners following,
Mr. Pickwick oratorising, and the crowd shouting.
CHAPTER XXV
SHOWING, AMONG A VARIETY OF PLEASANT MATTERS,
HOW MAJESTIC AND IMPARTIAL Mr. NUPKINS WAS; AND
HOW Mr. WELLER RETURNED Mr. JOB TROTTER'S
SHUTTLECOCK AS HEAVILY AS IT CAME--WITH ANOTHER
MATTER, WHICH WILL BE FOUND IN ITS PLACE
Violent was Mr. Weller's indignation as he was borne along;
numerous were the allusions to the personal appearance and
demeanour of Mr. Grummer and his companion; and valorous were
the defiances to any six of the gentlemen present, in which he
vented his dissatisfaction. Mr. Snodgrass and Mr. Winkle listened
with gloomy respect to the torrent of eloquence which their leader
poured forth from the sedan-chair, and the rapid course of which
not all Mr. Tupman's earnest entreaties to have the lid of the
vehicle closed, were able to check for an instant. But Mr.
Weller's anger quickly gave way to curiosity when the procession
turned down the identical courtyard in which he had met with the
runaway Job Trotter; and curiosity was exchanged for a feeling
of the most gleeful astonishment, when the all-important Mr. Grummer,
commanding the sedan-bearers to halt, advanced with dignified and
portentous steps to the very green gate from which Job Trotter
had emerged, and gave a mighty pull at the bell-handle which
hung at the side thereof. The ring was answered by a very smart
and pretty-faced servant-girl, who, after holding up her hands
in astonishment at the rebellious appearance of the prisoners,
and the impassioned language of Mr. Pickwick, summoned Mr.
Muzzle. Mr. Muzzle opened one half of the carriage gate, to
admit the sedan, the captured ones, and the specials; and
immediately slammed it in the faces of the mob, who, indignant at
being excluded, and anxious to see what followed, relieved their
feelings by kicking at the gate and ringing the bell, for an hour or
two afterwards. In this amusement they all took part by turns,
except three or four fortunate individuals, who, having discovered
a grating in the gate, which commanded a view of nothing, stared
through it with the indefatigable perseverance with which people
will flatten their noses against the front windows of a chemist's
shop, when a drunken man, who has been run over by a dogcart
in the street, is undergoing a surgical inspection in the
back-parlour.
At the foot of a flight of steps, leading to the house door, which
was guarded on either side by an American aloe in a green tub,
the sedan-chair stopped. Mr. Pickwick and his friends were
conducted into the hall, whence, having been previously
announced by Muzzle, and ordered in by Mr. Nupkins, they were
ushered into the worshipful presence of that public-spirited officer.
The scene was an impressive one, well calculated to strike
terror to the hearts of culprits, and to impress them with an
adequate idea of the stern majesty of the law. In front of a big
book-case, in a big chair, behind a big table, and before a big
volume, sat Mr. Nupkins, looking a full size larger than any one
of them, big as they were. The table was adorned with piles of
papers; and above the farther end of it, appeared the head and
shoulders of Mr. Jinks, who was busily engaged in looking as
busy as possible. The party having all entered, Muzzle carefully
closed the door, and placed himself behind his master's chair to
await his orders. Mr. Nupkins threw himself back with thrilling
solemnity, and scrutinised the faces of his unwilling visitors.
'Now, Grummer, who is that person?' said Mr. Nupkins,
pointing to Mr. Pickwick, who, as the spokesman of his friends,
stood hat in hand, bowing with the utmost politeness and respect.
'This here's Pickvick, your Wash-up,' said Grummer.
'Come, none o' that 'ere, old Strike-a-light,' interposed Mr.
Weller, elbowing himself into the front rank. 'Beg your pardon,
sir, but this here officer o' yourn in the gambooge tops, 'ull never
earn a decent livin' as a master o' the ceremonies any vere. This
here, sir' continued Mr. Weller, thrusting Grummer aside, and
addressing the magistrate with pleasant familiarity, 'this here is
S. Pickvick, Esquire; this here's Mr. Tupman; that 'ere's Mr.
Snodgrass; and farder on, next him on the t'other side, Mr.
Winkle--all wery nice gen'l'm'n, Sir, as you'll be wery happy to
have the acquaintance on; so the sooner you commits these here
officers o' yourn to the tread--mill for a month or two, the sooner
we shall begin to be on a pleasant understanding. Business first,
pleasure arterwards, as King Richard the Third said when he
stabbed the t'other king in the Tower, afore he smothered the babbies.'
At the conclusion of this address, Mr. Weller brushed his hat
with his right elbow, and nodded benignly to Jinks, who had
heard him throughout with unspeakable awe.
'Who is this man, Grummer?' said the magistrate,.
'Wery desp'rate ch'racter, your Wash-up,' replied Grummer.
'He attempted to rescue the prisoners, and assaulted the officers;
so we took him into custody, and brought him here.'
'You did quite right,' replied the magistrate. 'He is evidently a
desperate ruffian.'
'He is my servant, Sir,' said Mr. Pickwick angrily.
'Oh! he is your servant, is he?' said Mr. Nupkins. 'A
conspiracy to defeat the ends of justice, and murder its officers.
Pickwick's servant. Put that down, Mr. Jinks.'
Mr. Jinks did so.
'What's your name, fellow?' thundered Mr. Nupkins.
'Veller,' replied Sam.
'A very good name for the Newgate Calendar,' said Mr. Nupkins.
This was a joke; so Jinks, Grummer, Dubbley, all the specials,
and Muzzle, went into fits of laughter of five minutes' duration.
'Put down his name, Mr. Jinks,' said the magistrate.
'Two L's, old feller,' said Sam.
Here an unfortunate special laughed again, whereupon the
magistrate threatened to commit him instantly. It is a dangerous
thing to laugh at the wrong man, in these cases.
'Where do you live?' said the magistrate.
'Vere ever I can,' replied Sam.
'Put down that, Mr. Jinks,' said the magistrate, who was fast
rising into a rage.
'Score it under,' said Sam.
'He is a vagabond, Mr. Jinks,' said the magistrate. 'He is a
vagabond on his own statement,-- is he not, Mr. Jinks?'
'Certainly, Sir.'
'Then I'll commit him--I'll commit him as such,' said Mr. Nupkins.
'This is a wery impartial country for justice, 'said Sam.'There
ain't a magistrate goin' as don't commit himself twice as he
commits other people.'
At this sally another special laughed, and then tried to look so
supernaturally solemn, that the magistrate detected him immediately.
'Grummer,' said Mr. Nupkins, reddening with passion, 'how
dare you select such an inefficient and disreputable person for a
special constable, as that man? How dare you do it, Sir?'
'I am very sorry, your Wash-up,' stammered Grummer.
'Very sorry!' said the furious magistrate. 'You shall repent of
this neglect of duty, Mr. Grummer; you shall be made an example
of. Take that fellow's staff away. He's drunk. You're drunk, fellow.'
'I am not drunk, your Worship,' said the man.
'You ARE drunk,' returned the magistrate. 'How dare you say
you are not drunk, Sir, when I say you are? Doesn't he smell of
spirits, Grummer?'
'Horrid, your Wash-up,' replied Grummer, who had a vague
impression that there was a smell of rum somewhere.
'I knew he did,' said Mr. Nupkins. 'I saw he was drunk when
he first came into the room, by his excited eye. Did you observe
his excited eye, Mr. Jinks?'
'Certainly, Sir.'
'I haven't touched a drop of spirits this morning,' said the
man, who was as sober a fellow as need be.
'How dare you tell me a falsehood?' said Mr. Nupkins. 'Isn't
he drunk at this moment, Mr. Jinks?'
'Certainly, Sir,' replied Jinks.
'Mr. Jinks,' said the magistrate, 'I shall commit that man for
contempt. Make out his committal, Mr. Jinks.'
And committed the special would have been, only Jinks, who
was the magistrate's adviser (having had a legal education of
three years in a country attorney's office), whispered the magistrate
that he thought it wouldn't do; so the magistrate made a
speech, and said, that in consideration of the special's family, he
would merely reprimand and discharge him. Accordingly, the
special was abused, vehemently, for a quarter of an hour, and
sent about his business; and Grummer, Dubbley, Muzzle, and
all the other specials, murmured their admiration of the magnanimity
of Mr. Nupkins.
'Now, Mr. Jinks,' said the magistrate, 'swear Grummer.'
Grummer was sworn directly; but as Grummer wandered, and
Mr. Nupkins's dinner was nearly ready, Mr. Nupkins cut the
matter short, by putting leading questions to Grummer, which
Grummer answered as nearly in the affirmative as he could. So
the examination went off, all very smooth and comfortable, and
two assaults were proved against Mr. Weller, and a threat against
Mr. Winkle, and a push against Mr. Snodgrass. When all this
was done to the magistrate's satisfaction, the magistrate and
Mr. Jinks consulted in whispers.
The consultation having lasted about ten minutes, Mr. Jinks
retired to his end of the table; and the magistrate, with a
preparatory cough, drew himself up in his chair, and was proceeding
to commence his address, when Mr. Pickwick interposed.
'I beg your pardon, sir, for interrupting you,' said Mr. Pickwick;
'but before you proceed to express, and act upon, any
opinion you may have formed on the statements which have been
made here, I must claim my right to be heard so far as I am
personally concerned.'
'Hold your tongue, Sir,' said the magistrate peremptorily.
'I must submit to you, Sir--' said Mr. Pickwick.
'Hold your tongue, sir,' interposed the magistrate, 'or I shall
order an officer to remove you.'
'You may order your officers to do whatever you please, Sir,'
said Mr. Pickwick; 'and I have no doubt, from the specimen I
have had of the subordination preserved amongst them, that
whatever you order, they will execute, Sir; but I shall take the
liberty, Sir, of claiming my right to be heard, until I am removed
by force.'
'Pickvick and principle!' exclaimed Mr. Weller, in a very
audible voice.
'Sam, be quiet,' said Mr. Pickwick.
'Dumb as a drum vith a hole in it, Sir,' replied Sam.
Mr. Nupkins looked at Mr. Pickwick with a gaze of intense
astonishment, at his displaying such unwonted temerity; and was
apparently about to return a very angry reply, when Mr. Jinks
pulled him by the sleeve, and whispered something in his ear. To
this, the magistrate returned a half-audible answer, and then the
whispering was renewed. Jinks was evidently remonstrating.
At length the magistrate, gulping down, with a very bad grace,
his disinclination to hear anything more, turned to Mr. Pickwick,
and said sharply, 'What do you want to say?'
'First,' said Mr. Pickwick, sending a look through his spectacles,
under which even Nupkins quailed, 'first, I wish to know
what I and my friend have been brought here for?'
'Must I tell him?' whispered the magistrate to Jinks.
'I think you had better, sir,' whispered Jinks to the magistrate.
'An information has been sworn before me,' said the magistrate,
'that it is apprehended you are going to fight a duel, and
that the other man, Tupman, is your aider and abettor in it.
Therefore--eh, Mr. Jinks?'
'Certainly, sir.'
'Therefore, I call upon you both, to--I think that's the course,
Mr. Jinks?'
'Certainly, Sir.'
'To--to--what, Mr. Jinks?' said the magistrate pettishly.
'To find bail, sir.'
'Yes. Therefore, I call upon you both--as I was about to say
when I was interrupted by my clerk--to find bail.'
'Good bail,' whispered Mr. Jinks.
'I shall require good bail,' said the magistrate.
'Town's-people,' whispered Jinks.
'They must be townspeople,' said the magistrate.
'Fifty pounds each,' whispered Jinks, 'and householders, of course.'
'I shall require two sureties of fifty pounds each,' said the
magistrate aloud, with great dignity, 'and they must be householders,
of course.'
'But bless my heart, Sir,' said Mr. Pickwick, who, together with
Mr. Tupman, was all amazement and indignation; 'we are
perfect strangers in this town. I have as little knowledge of any
householders here, as I have intention of fighting a duel with anybody.'
'I dare say,' replied the magistrate, 'I dare say--don't you,
Mr. Jinks?'
'Certainly, Sir.'
'Have you anything more to say?' inquired the magistrate.
Mr. Pickwick had a great deal more to say, which he would no
doubt have said, very little to his own advantage, or the magistrate's
satisfaction, if he had not, the moment he ceased speaking,
been pulled by the sleeve by Mr. Weller, with whom he was
immediately engaged in so earnest a conversation, that he
suffered the magistrate's inquiry to pass wholly unnoticed. Mr.
Nupkins was not the man to ask a question of the kind twice
over; and so, with another preparatory cough, he proceeded,
amidst the reverential and admiring silence of the constables, to
pronounce his decision.
He should fine Weller two pounds for the first assault, and
three pounds for the second. He should fine Winkle two pounds,
and Snodgrass one pound, besides requiring them to enter into
their own recognisances to keep the peace towards all his
Majesty's subjects, and especially towards his liege servant,
Daniel Grummer. Pickwick and Tupman he had already held
to bail.
Immediately on the magistrate ceasing to speak, Mr. Pickwick,
with a smile mantling on his again good-humoured countenance,
stepped forward, and said--
'I beg the magistrate's pardon, but may I request a few minutes'
private conversation with him, on a matter of deep importance
to himself?'
'What?' said the magistrate.
Mr. Pickwick repeated his request.
'This is a most extraordinary request,' said the magistrate.
'A private interview?'
'A private interview,' replied Mr. Pickwick firmly; 'only, as a
part of the information which I wish to communicate is derived
from my servant, I should wish him to be present.'
The magistrate looked at Mr. Jinks; Mr. Jinks looked at the
magistrate; the officers looked at each other in amazement.
Mr. Nupkins turned suddenly pale. Could the man Weller, in a
moment of remorse, have divulged some secret conspiracy for his
assassination? It was a dreadful thought. He was a public man;
and he turned paler, as he thought of Julius Caesar and Mr. Perceval.
The magistrate looked at Mr. Pickwick again, and beckoned
Mr. Jinks.
'What do you think of this request, Mr. Jinks?' murmured
Mr. Nupkins.
Mr. Jinks, who didn't exactly know what to think of it, and
was afraid he might offend, smiled feebly, after a dubious
fashion, and, screwing up the corners of his mouth, shook his
head slowly from side to side.
'Mr. Jinks,' said the magistrate gravely, 'you are an ass.'
At this little expression of opinion, Mr. Jinks smiled again--
rather more feebly than before--and edged himself, by degrees,
back into his own corner.
Mr. Nupkins debated the matter within himself for a few
seconds, and then, rising from his chair, and requesting Mr.
Pickwick and Sam to follow him, led the way into a small room
which opened into the justice-parlour. Desiring Mr. Pickwick to
walk to the upper end of the little apartment, and holding his
hand upon the half-closed door, that he might be able to effect
an immediate escape, in case there was the least tendency to a
display of hostilities, Mr. Nupkins expressed his readiness to hear
the communication, whatever it might be.
'I will come to the point at once, sir,' said Mr. Pickwick; 'it
affects yourself and your credit materially. I have every reason to
believe, Sir, that you are harbouring in your house a gross impostor!'
'Two,' interrupted Sam. 'Mulberry agin all natur, for tears
and willainny!'
'Sam,' said Mr. Pickwick, 'if I am to render myself intelligible
to this gentleman, I must beg you to control your feelings.'
'Wery sorry, Sir,' replied Mr. Weller; 'but when I think o' that
'ere Job, I can't help opening the walve a inch or two.'
'In one word, Sir,' said Mr. Pickwick, 'is my servant right in
suspecting that a certain Captain Fitz-Marshall is in the habit of
visiting here? Because,' added Mr. Pickwick, as he saw that
Mr. Nupkins was about to offer a very indignant interruption,
'because if he be, I know that person to be a--'
'Hush, hush,' said Mr. Nupkins, closing the door. 'Know him
to be what, Sir?'
'An unprincipled adventurer--a dishonourable character--a
man who preys upon society, and makes easily-deceived people
his dupes, Sir; his absurd, his foolish, his wretched dupes, Sir,'
said the excited Mr. Pickwick.
'Dear me,' said Mr. Nupkins, turning very red, and altering his
whole manner directly. 'Dear me, Mr.--'
'Pickvick,' said Sam.
'Pickwick,' said the magistrate, 'dear me, Mr. Pickwick--pray
take a seat--you cannot mean this? Captain Fitz-Marshall!'
'Don't call him a cap'en,' said Sam, 'nor Fitz-Marshall
neither; he ain't neither one nor t'other. He's a strolling actor, he
is, and his name's Jingle; and if ever there was a wolf in a
mulberry suit, that 'ere Job Trotter's him.'
'It is very true, Sir,' said Mr. Pickwick, replying to the magistrate's
look of amazement; 'my only business in this town, is to
expose the person of whom we now speak.'
Mr. Pickwick proceeded to pour into the horror-stricken ear of
Mr. Nupkins, an abridged account of all Mr. Jingle's atrocities.
He related how he had first met him; how he had eloped with
Miss Wardle; how he had cheerfully resigned the lady for a
pecuniary consideration; how he had entrapped himself into a
lady's boarding-school at midnight; and how he (Mr. Pickwick)
now felt it his duty to expose his assumption of his present name
and rank.
As the narrative proceeded, all the warm blood in the body of
Mr. Nupkins tingled up into the very tips of his ears. He had
picked up the captain at a neighbouring race-course. Charmed
with his long list of aristocratic acquaintance, his extensive
travel, and his fashionable demeanour, Mrs. Nupkins and Miss
Nupkins had exhibited Captain Fitz-Marshall, and quoted
Captain Fitz-Marshall, and hurled Captain Fitz-Marshall at the
devoted heads of their select circle of acquaintance, until their
bosom friends, Mrs. Porkenham and the Misses Porkenhams,
and Mr. Sidney Porkenham, were ready to burst with jealousy
and despair. And now, to hear, after all, that he was a needy
adventurer, a strolling player, and if not a swindler, something so
very like it, that it was hard to tell the difference! Heavens! what
would the Porkenhams say! What would be the triumph of
Mr. Sidney Porkenham when he found that his addresses had
been slighted for such a rival! How should he, Nupkins, meet the
eye of old Porkenham at the next quarter-sessions! And what a
handle would it be for the opposition magisterial party if the
story got abroad!
'But after all,' said Mr. Nupkins, brightening for a moment,
after a long pause; 'after all, this is a mere statement. Captain
Fitz-Marshall is a man of very engaging manners, and, I dare
say, has many enemies. What proof have you of the truth of
these representations?'
'Confront me with him,' said Mr. Pickwick, 'that is all I ask,
and all I require. Confront him with me and my friends here; you
will want no further proof.'
'Why,' said Mr. Nupkins, 'that might be very easily done, for
he will be here to-night, and then there would be no occasion to
make the matter public, just--just--for the young man's own
sake, you know. I--I--should like to consult Mrs. Nupkins on
the propriety of the step, in the first instance, though. At
all events, Mr. Pickwick, we must despatch this legal business
before we can do anything else. Pray step back into the next
room.'
Into the next room they went.
'Grummer,' said the magistrate, in an awful voice.
'Your Wash-up,' replied Grummer, with the smile of a favourite.
'Come, come, Sir,' said the magistrate sternly, 'don't let me see
any of this levity here. It is very unbecoming, and I can assure
you that you have very little to smile at. Was the account you
gave me just now strictly true? Now be careful, sir!'
'Your Wash-up,' stammered Grummer, 'I-'
'Oh, you are confused, are you?' said the magistrate. 'Mr.
Jinks, you observe this confusion?'
'Certainly, Sir,' replied Jinks.
'Now,' said the magistrate, 'repeat your statement, Grummer,
and again I warn you to be careful. Mr. Jinks, take his words down.'
The unfortunate Grummer proceeded to re-state his complaint,
but, what between Mr. Jinks's taking down his words, and the
magistrate's taking them up, his natural tendency to rambling,
and his extreme confusion, he managed to get involved, in something
under three minutes, in such a mass of entanglement and
contradiction, that Mr. Nupkins at once declared he didn't
believe him. So the fines were remitted, and Mr. Jinks found a
couple of bail in no time. And all these solemn proceedings
having been satisfactorily concluded, Mr. Grummer was
ignominiously ordered out--an awful instance of the instability
of human greatness, and the uncertain tenure of great men's favour.
Mrs. Nupkins was a majestic female in a pink gauze turban
and a light brown wig. Miss Nupkins possessed all her mamma's
haughtiness without the turban, and all her ill-nature without the
wig; and whenever the exercise of these two amiable qualities
involved mother and daughter in some unpleasant dilemma, as
they not infrequently did, they both concurred in laying the
blame on the shoulders of Mr. Nupkins. Accordingly, when
Mr. Nupkins sought Mrs. Nupkins, and detailed the communication
which had been made by Mr. Pickwick, Mrs. Nupkins
suddenly recollected that she had always expected something of
the kind; that she had always said it would be so; that her advice
was never taken; that she really did not know what Mr. Nupkins
supposed she was; and so forth.
'The idea!' said Miss Nupkins, forcing a tear of very scanty
proportions into the corner of each eye; 'the idea of my being
made such a fool of!'
'Ah! you may thank your papa, my dear,' said Mrs. Nupkins;
'how I have implored and begged that man to inquire into the
captain's family connections; how I have urged and entreated
him to take some decisive step! I am quite certain nobody would
believe it--quite.'
'But, my dear,' said Mr. Nupkins.
'Don't talk to me, you aggravating thing, don't!' said Mrs. Nupkins.
'My love,' said Mr. Nupkins, 'you professed yourself very fond
of Captain Fitz-Marshall. You have constantly asked him here, my
dear, and you have lost no opportunity of introducing him elsewhere.'
'Didn't I say so, Henrietta?' cried Mrs. Nupkins, appealing to
her daughter with the air of a much-injured female. 'Didn't I say
that your papa would turn round and lay all this at my door?
Didn't I say so?' Here Mrs. Nupkins sobbed.
'Oh, pa!' remonstrated Miss Nupkins. And here she sobbed too.
'Isn't it too much, when he has brought all this disgrace and
ridicule upon us, to taunt me with being the cause of it?'
exclaimed Mrs. Nupkins.
'How can we ever show ourselves in society!' said Miss Nupkins.
'How can we face the Porkenhams?' cried Mrs. Nupkins.
'Or the Griggs!' cried Miss Nupkins.
'Or the Slummintowkens!' cried Mrs. Nupkins. 'But what does
your papa care! What is it to HIM!' At this dreadful reflection,
Mrs. Nupkins wept mental anguish, and Miss Nupkins followed
on the same side.
Mrs. Nupkins's tears continued to gush forth, with great
velocity, until she had gained a little time to think the matter
over; when she decided, in her own mind, that the best thing to
do would be to ask Mr. Pickwick and his friends to remain until
the captain's arrival, and then to give Mr. Pickwick the opportunity
he sought. If it appeared that he had spoken truly, the
captain could be turned out of the house without noising the
matter abroad, and they could easily account to the Porkenhams
for his disappearance, by saying that he had been appointed,
through the Court influence of his family, to the governorgeneralship
of Sierra Leone, of Saugur Point, or any other of
those salubrious climates which enchant Europeans so much, that
when they once get there, they can hardly ever prevail upon
themselves to come back again.
When Mrs. Nupkins dried up her tears, Miss Nupkins dried up
hers, and Mr. Nupkins was very glad to settle the matter as
Mrs. Nupkins had proposed. So Mr. Pickwick and his friends,
having washed off all marks of their late encounter, were introduced
to the ladies, and soon afterwards to their dinner; and
Mr. Weller, whom the magistrate, with his peculiar sagacity, had
discovered in half an hour to be one of the finest fellows alive,
was consigned to the care and guardianship of Mr. Muzzle,
who was specially enjoined to take him below, and make much
of him.
'How de do, sir?' said Mr. Muzzle, as he conducted Mr. Weller
down the kitchen stairs.
'Why, no considerable change has taken place in the state of
my system, since I see you cocked up behind your governor's
chair in the parlour, a little vile ago,' replied Sam.
'You will excuse my not taking more notice of you then,' said
Mr. Muzzle. 'You see, master hadn't introduced us, then. Lord,
how fond he is of you, Mr. Weller, to be sure!'
'Ah!' said Sam, 'what a pleasant chap he is!'
'Ain't he?'replied Mr. Muzzle.
'So much humour,' said Sam.
'And such a man to speak,' said Mr. Muzzle. 'How his ideas
flow, don't they?'
'Wonderful,' replied Sam; 'they comes a-pouring out, knocking
each other's heads so fast, that they seems to stun one another;
you hardly know what he's arter, do you?'
'That's the great merit of his style of speaking,' rejoined
Mr. Muzzle. 'Take care of the last step, Mr. Weller. Would you
like to wash your hands, sir, before we join the ladies'! Here's a
sink, with the water laid on, Sir, and a clean jack towel behind
the door.'
'Ah! perhaps I may as well have a rinse,' replied Mr. Weller,
applying plenty of yellow soap to the towel, and rubbing away
till his face shone again. 'How many ladies are there?'
'Only two in our kitchen,' said Mr. Muzzle; 'cook and 'ousemaid.
We keep a boy to do the dirty work, and a gal besides, but
they dine in the wash'us.'
'Oh, they dines in the wash'us, do they?' said Mr. Weller.
'Yes,' replied Mr. Muzzle, 'we tried 'em at our table when they
first come, but we couldn't keep 'em. The gal's manners is
dreadful vulgar; and the boy breathes so very hard while he's
eating, that we found it impossible to sit at table with him.'
'Young grampus!' said Mr. Weller.
'Oh, dreadful,' rejoined Mr. Muzzle; 'but that is the worst of
country service, Mr. Weller; the juniors is always so very savage.
This way, sir, if you please, this way.'
Preceding Mr. Weller, with the utmost politeness, Mr. Muzzle
conducted him into the kitchen.
'Mary,' said Mr. Muzzle to the pretty servant-girl, 'this is
Mr. Weller; a gentleman as master has sent down, to be made as
comfortable as possible.'
'And your master's a knowin' hand, and has just sent me to the
right place,' said Mr. Weller, with a glance of admiration at
Mary. 'If I wos master o' this here house, I should alvays find the
materials for comfort vere Mary wos.'
'Lor, Mr. Weller!' said Mary blushing.
'Well, I never!' ejaculated the cook.
'Bless me, cook, I forgot you,' said Mr. Muzzle. 'Mr. Weller,
let me introduce you.'
'How are you, ma'am?' said Mr. Weller.'Wery glad to see you,
indeed, and hope our acquaintance may be a long 'un, as the
gen'l'm'n said to the fi' pun' note.'
When this ceremony of introduction had been gone through,
the cook and Mary retired into the back kitchen to titter, for ten
minutes; then returning, all giggles and blushes, they sat down
to dinner.
Mr. Weller's easy manners and conversational powers had
such irresistible influence with his new friends, that before the
dinner was half over, they were on a footing of perfect intimacy,
and in possession of a full account of the delinquency of Job Trotter.
'I never could a-bear that Job,' said Mary.
'No more you never ought to, my dear,' replied Mr. Weller.
'Why not?' inquired Mary.
''Cos ugliness and svindlin' never ought to be formiliar with
elegance and wirtew,' replied Mr. Weller. 'Ought they, Mr. Muzzle?'
'Not by no means,' replied that gentleman.
Here Mary laughed, and said the cook had made her; and the
cook laughed, and said she hadn't.
'I ha'n't got a glass,' said Mary.
'Drink with me, my dear,' said Mr. Weller. 'Put your lips to
this here tumbler, and then I can kiss you by deputy.'
'For shame, Mr. Weller!' said Mary.
'What's a shame, my dear?'
'Talkin' in that way.'
'Nonsense; it ain't no harm. It's natur; ain't it, cook?'
'Don't ask me, imperence,' replied the cook, in a high state of
delight; and hereupon the cook and Mary laughed again, till
what between the beer, and the cold meat, and the laughter
combined, the latter young lady was brought to the verge of
choking--an alarming crisis from which she was only recovered
by sundry pats on the back, and other necessary attentions, most
delicately administered by Mr. Samuel Weller.
In the midst of all this jollity and conviviality, a loud ring was
heard at the garden gate, to which the young gentleman who
took his meals in the wash-house, immediately responded. Mr.
Weller was in the height of his attentions to the pretty housemaid;
Mr. Muzzle was busy doing the honours of the table; and
the cook had just paused to laugh, in the very act of raising a
huge morsel to her lips; when the kitchen door opened, and in
walked Mr. Job Trotter.
We have said in walked Mr. Job Trotter, but the statement is
not distinguished by our usual scrupulous adherence to fact. The
door opened and Mr. Trotter appeared. He would have walked
in, and was in the very act of doing so, indeed, when catching
sight of Mr. Weller, he involuntarily shrank back a pace or two,
and stood gazing on the unexpected scene before him, perfectly
motionless with amazement and terror.
'Here he is!' said Sam, rising with great glee. 'Why we were
that wery moment a-speaking o' you. How are you? Where have
you been? Come in.'
Laying his hand on the mulberry collar of the unresisting Job,
Mr. Weller dragged him into the kitchen; and, locking the door,
handed the key to Mr. Muzzle, who very coolly buttoned it up
in a side pocket.
'Well, here's a game!' cried Sam. 'Only think o' my master
havin' the pleasure o' meeting yourn upstairs, and me havin' the
joy o' meetin' you down here. How are you gettin' on, and how is
the chandlery bis'ness likely to do? Well, I am so glad to see you.
How happy you look. It's quite a treat to see you; ain't it,
Mr. Muzzle?'
'Quite,' said Mr. Muzzle.
'So cheerful he is!' said Sam.
'In such good spirits!' said Muzzle.
'And so glad to see us--that makes it so much more
comfortable,' said Sam. 'Sit down; sit down.'
Mr. Trotter suffered himself to be forced into a chair by the
fireside. He cast his small eyes, first on Mr. Weller, and then on
Mr. Muzzle, but said nothing.
'Well, now,' said Sam, 'afore these here ladies, I should jest like
to ask you, as a sort of curiosity, whether you don't consider
yourself as nice and well-behaved a young gen'l'm'n, as ever used
a pink check pocket-handkerchief, and the number four collection?'
'And as was ever a-going to be married to a cook,' said that
lady indignantly. 'The willin!'
'And leave off his evil ways, and set up in the chandlery line
arterwards,' said the housemaid.
'Now, I'll tell you what it is, young man,' said Mr. Muzzle
solemnly, enraged at the last two allusions, 'this here lady
(pointing to the cook) keeps company with me; and when you
presume, Sir, to talk of keeping chandlers' shops with her, you
injure me in one of the most delicatest points in which one man
can injure another. Do you understand that, Sir?'
Here Mr. Muzzle, who had a great notion of his eloquence, in
which he imitated his master, paused for a reply.
But Mr. Trotter made no reply. So Mr. Muzzle proceeded in a
solemn manner--
'It's very probable, sir, that you won't be wanted upstairs for
several minutes, Sir, because MY master is at this moment
particularly engaged in settling the hash of YOUR master, Sir; and
therefore you'll have leisure, Sir, for a little private talk with me,
Sir. Do you understand that, Sir?'
Mr. Muzzle again paused for a reply; and again Mr. Trotter
disappointed him.
'Well, then,' said Mr. Muzzle, 'I'm very sorry to have to
explain myself before ladies, but the urgency of the case will be
my excuse. The back kitchen's empty, Sir. If you will step in there,
Sir, Mr. Weller will see fair, and we can have mutual satisfaction
till the bell rings. Follow me, Sir!'
As Mr. Muzzle uttered these words, he took a step or two
towards the door; and, by way of saving time, began to pull off
his coat as he walked along.
Now, the cook no sooner heard the concluding words of this
desperate challenge, and saw Mr. Muzzle about to put it into
execution, than she uttered a loud and piercing shriek; and
rushing on Mr. Job Trotter, who rose from his chair on the
instant, tore and buffeted his large flat face, with an energy
peculiar to excited females, and twining her hands in his long
black hair, tore therefrom about enough to make five or six
dozen of the very largest-sized mourning-rings. Having accomplished
this feat with all the ardour which her devoted love for
Mr. Muzzle inspired, she staggered back; and being a lady of
very excitable and delicate feelings, she instantly fell under the
dresser, and fainted away.
At this moment, the bell rang.
'That's for you, Job Trotter,' said Sam; and before Mr. Trotter
could offer remonstrance or reply--even before he had time to
stanch the wounds inflicted by the insensible lady--Sam seized
one arm and Mr. Muzzle the other, and one pulling before, and
the other pushing behind, they conveyed him upstairs, and into
the parlour.
It was an impressive tableau. Alfred Jingle, Esquire, alias
Captain Fitz-Marshall, was standing near the door with his hat
in his hand, and a smile on his face, wholly unmoved by his very
unpleasant situation. Confronting him, stood Mr. Pickwick, who
had evidently been inculcating some high moral lesson; for his
left hand was beneath his coat tail, and his right extended in air,
as was his wont when delivering himself of an impressive address.
At a little distance, stood Mr. Tupman with indignant countenance,
carefully held back by his two younger friends; at the
farther end of the room were Mr. Nupkins, Mrs. Nupkins, and
Miss Nupkins, gloomily grand and savagely vexed.
'What prevents me,' said Mr. Nupkins, with magisterial
dignity, as Job was brought in--'what prevents me from detaining
these men as rogues and impostors? It is a foolish mercy. What
prevents me?'
'Pride, old fellow, pride,' replied Jingle, quite at his ease.
'Wouldn't do--no go--caught a captain, eh?--ha! ha! very
good--husband for daughter--biter bit--make it public--not for
worlds--look stupid--very!'
'Wretch,' said Mr. Nupkins, 'we scorn your base insinuations.'
'I always hated him,' added Henrietta.
'Oh, of course,' said Jingle. 'Tall young man--old lover--
Sidney Porkenham--rich--fine fellow--not so rich as captain,
though, eh?--turn him away--off with him--anything for
captain--nothing like captain anywhere--all the girls--raving
mad--eh, Job, eh?'
Here Mr. Jingle laughed very heartily; and Job, rubbing his
hands with delight, uttered the first sound he had given vent to
since he entered the house--a low, noiseless chuckle, which
seemed to intimate that he enjoyed his laugh too much, to let any
of it escape in sound.
'Mr. Nupkins,' said the elder lady,'this is not a fit conversation
for the servants to overhear. Let these wretches be removed.'
'Certainly, my dear,' Said Mr, Nupkins. 'Muzzle!'
'Your Worship.'
'Open the front door.'
'Yes, your Worship.'
'Leave the house!' said Mr. Nupkins, waving his hand emphatically.
Jingle smiled, and moved towards the door.
'Stay!' said Mr. Pickwick.
Jingle stopped.
'I might,' said Mr. Pickwick, 'have taken a much greater
revenge for the treatment I have experienced at your hands, and
that of your hypocritical friend there.'
Job Trotter bowed with great politeness, and laid his hand
upon his heart.
'I say,' said Mr. Pickwick, growing gradually angry, 'that I
might have taken a greater revenge, but I content myself with
exposing you, which I consider a duty I owe to society. This is a
leniency, Sir, which I hope you will remember.'
When Mr. Pickwick arrived at this point, Job Trotter, with
facetious gravity, applied his hand to his ear, as if desirous not to
lose a syllable he uttered.
'And I have only to add, sir,' said Mr. Pickwick, now thoroughly
angry, 'that I consider you a rascal, and a--a--ruffian--and--
and worse than any man I ever saw, or heard of, except that
pious and sanctified vagabond in the mulberry livery.'
'Ha! ha!' said Jingle, 'good fellow, Pickwick--fine heart--
stout old boy--but must NOT be passionate--bad thing, very--
bye, bye--see you again some day--keep up your spirits--now,
Job--trot!'
With these words, Mr. Jingle stuck on his hat in his old
fashion, and strode out of the room. Job Trotter paused, looked
round, smiled and then with a bow of mock solemnity to Mr.
Pickwick, and a wink to Mr. Weller, the audacious slyness of which
baffles all description, followed the footsteps of his hopeful master.
'Sam,' said Mr. Pickwick, as Mr. Weller was following.
'Sir.'
'Stay here.'
Mr. Weller seemed uncertain.
'Stay here,' repeated Mr. Pickwick.
'Mayn't I polish that 'ere Job off, in the front garden?' said
Mr. Weller.
'Certainly not,' replied Mr. Pickwick.
'Mayn't I kick him out o' the gate, Sir?' said Mr. Weller.
'Not on any account,' replied his master.
For the first time since his engagement, Mr. Weller looked, for
a moment, discontented and unhappy. But his countenance
immediately cleared up; for the wily Mr. Muzzle, by concealing
himself behind the street door, and rushing violently out, at the
right instant, contrived with great dexterity to overturn both
Mr. Jingle and his attendant, down the flight of steps, into the
American aloe tubs that stood beneath.
'Having discharged my duty, Sir,' said Mr. Pickwick to Mr.
Nupkins, 'I will, with my friends, bid you farewell. While we
thank you for such hospitality as we have received, permit me to
assure you, in our joint names, that we should not have accepted
it, or have consented to extricate ourselves in this way, from our
previous dilemma, had we not been impelled by a strong sense of
duty. We return to London to-morrow. Your secret is safe with us.'
Having thus entered his protest against their treatment of the
morning, Mr. Pickwick bowed low to the ladies, and notwithstanding
the solicitations of the family, left the room with his friends.
'Get your hat, Sam,' said Mr. Pickwick.
'It's below stairs, Sir,' said Sam, and he ran down after it.
Now, there was nobody in the kitchen, but the pretty housemaid;
and as Sam's hat was mislaid, he had to look for it, and
the pretty housemaid lighted him. They had to look all over
the place for the hat. The pretty housemaid, in her anxiety to
find it, went down on her knees, and turned over all the things
that were heaped together in a little corner by the door. It was
an awkward corner. You couldn't get at it without shutting the
door first.
'Here it is,' said the pretty housemaid. 'This is it, ain't it?'
'Let me look,' said Sam.
The pretty housemaid had stood the candle on the floor; and,
as it gave a very dim light, Sam was obliged to go down on HIS
knees before he could see whether it really was his own hat or not.
it was a remarkably small corner, and so--it was nobody's fault
but the man's who built the house--Sam and the pretty housemaid
were necessarily very close together.
'Yes, this is it,' said Sam. 'Good-bye!'
'Good-bye!' said the pretty housemaid.
'Good-bye!' said Sam; and as he said it, he dropped the hat
that had cost so much trouble in looking for.
'How awkward you are,' said the pretty housemaid. 'You'll
lose it again, if you don't take care.'
So just to prevent his losing it again, she put it on for him.
Whether it was that the pretty housemaid's face looked
prettier still, when it was raised towards Sam's, or whether it was
the accidental consequence of their being so near to each other, is
matter of uncertainty to this day; but Sam kissed her.
'You don't mean to say you did that on purpose,' said the
pretty housemaid, blushing.
'No, I didn't then,' said Sam; 'but I will now.'
So he kissed her again.
'Sam!' said Mr. Pickwick, calling over the banisters.
'Coming, Sir,' replied Sam, running upstairs.
'How long you have been!' said Mr. Pickwick.
'There was something behind the door, Sir, which perwented
our getting it open, for ever so long, Sir,' replied Sam.
And this was the first passage of Mr. Weller's first love.
CHAPTER XXVI
WHICH CONTAINS A BRIEF ACCOUNT OF THE PROGRESS
OF THE ACTION OF BARDELL AGAINST PICKWICK
Having accomplished the main end and object of his journey, by the
exposure of Jingle, Mr. Pickwick resolved on immediately returning
to London, with the view of becoming acquainted with the proceedings
which had been taken against him, in the meantime, by Messrs.
Dodson and Fogg. Acting upon this resolution with all the energy
and decision of his character, he mounted to the back seat of the
first coach which left Ipswich on the morning after the memorable
occurrences detailed at length in the two preceding chapters; and
accompanied by his three friends, and Mr. Samuel Weller, arrived in
the metropolis, in perfect health and safety, the same evening.
Here the friends, for a short time, separated. Messrs. Tupman,
Winkle, and Snodgrass repaired to their several homes to make
such preparations as might be requisite for their forthcoming
visit to Dingley Dell; and Mr. Pickwick and Sam took up their
present abode in very good, old-fashioned, and comfortable
quarters, to wit, the George and Vulture Tavern and Hotel,
George Yard, Lombard Street.
Mr. Pickwick had dined, finished his second pint of particular
port, pulled his silk handkerchief over his head, put his feet on
the fender, and thrown himself back in an easy-chair, when the
entrance of Mr. Weller with his carpet-bag, aroused him from
his tranquil meditation.
'Sam,' said Mr. Pickwick.
'Sir,' said Mr. Weller.
'I have just been thinking, Sam,' said Mr. Pickwick, 'that
having left a good many things at Mrs. Bardell's, in Goswell
Street, I ought to arrange for taking them away, before I leave
town again.'
'Wery good, sir,' replied Mr. Weller.
'I could send them to Mr. Tupman's, for the present, Sam,'
continued Mr. Pickwick, 'but before we take them away, it is
necessary that they should be looked up, and put together. I
wish you would step up to Goswell Street, Sam, and arrange
about it.'
'At once, Sir?' inquired Mr. Weller.
'At once,' replied Mr. Pickwick. 'And stay, Sam,' added Mr.
Pickwick, pulling out his purse, 'there is some rent to pay. The
quarter is not due till Christmas, but you may pay it, and have
done with it. A month's notice terminates my tenancy. Here it is,
written out. Give it, and tell Mrs. Bardell she may put a bill up,
as soon as she likes.'
'Wery good, sir,' replied Mr. Weller; 'anythin' more, sir?'
'Nothing more, Sam.'
Mr. Weller stepped slowly to the door, as if he expected something
more; slowly opened it, slowly stepped out, and had slowly
closed it within a couple of inches, when Mr. Pickwick called out--
'Sam.'
'Yes, sir,' said Mr. Weller, stepping quickly back, and closing
the door behind him.
'I have no objection, Sam, to your endeavouring to ascertain
how Mrs. Bardell herself seems disposed towards me, and
whether it is really probable that this vile and groundless action
is to be carried to extremity. I say I do not object to you doing
this, if you wish it, Sam,' said Mr. Pickwick.
Sam gave a short nod of intelligence, and left the room. Mr.
Pickwick drew the silk handkerchief once more over his head,
And composed himself for a nap. Mr. Weller promptly walked
forth, to execute his commission.
It was nearly nine o'clock when he reached Goswell Street. A
couple of candles were burning in the little front parlour, and a
couple of caps were reflected on the window-blind. Mrs. Bardell
had got company.
Mr. Weller knocked at the door, and after a pretty long
interval--occupied by the party without, in whistling a tune, and
by the party within, in persuading a refractory flat candle to
allow itself to be lighted--a pair of small boots pattered over the
floor-cloth, and Master Bardell presented himself.
'Well, young townskip,' said Sam, 'how's mother?'
'She's pretty well,' replied Master Bardell, 'so am I.'
'Well, that's a mercy,' said Sam; 'tell her I want to speak to
her, will you, my hinfant fernomenon?'
Master Bardell, thus adjured, placed the refractory flat candle on
the bottom stair, and vanished into the front parlour with his message.
The two caps, reflected on the window-blind, were the respective
head-dresses of a couple of Mrs. Bardell's most particular
acquaintance, who had just stepped in, to have a quiet cup of tea,
and a little warm supper of a couple of sets of pettitoes and some
toasted cheese. The cheese was simmering and browning away,
most delightfully, in a little Dutch oven before the fire; the
pettitoes were getting on deliciously in a little tin saucepan on the
hob; and Mrs. Bardell and her two friends were getting on very
well, also, in a little quiet conversation about and concerning all
their particular friends and acquaintance; when Master Bardell
came back from answering the door, and delivered the message
intrusted to him by Mr. Samuel Weller.
'Mr. Pickwick's servant!' said Mrs. Bardell, turning pale.
'Bless my soul!' said Mrs. Cluppins.
'Well, I raly would not ha' believed it, unless I had ha' happened
to ha' been here!' said Mrs. Sanders.
Mrs. Cluppins was a little, brisk, busy-looking woman; Mrs.
Sanders was a big, fat, heavy-faced personage; and the two were
the company.
Mrs. Bardell felt it proper to be agitated; and as none of the
three exactly knew whether under existing circumstances, any
communication, otherwise than through Dodson & Fogg, ought
to be held with Mr. Pickwick's servant, they were all rather taken
by surprise. In this state of indecision, obviously the first thing
to be done, was to thump the boy for finding Mr. Weller at the
door. So his mother thumped him, and he cried melodiously.
'Hold your noise--do--you naughty creetur!' said Mrs. Bardell.
'Yes; don't worrit your poor mother,' said Mrs. Sanders.
'She's quite enough to worrit her, as it is, without you, Tommy,'
said Mrs. Cluppins, with sympathising resignation.
'Ah! worse luck, poor lamb!' said Mrs. Sanders.
At all which moral reflections, Master Bardell howled the louder.
'Now, what shall I do?' said Mrs. Bardell to Mrs. Cluppins.
'I think you ought to see him,' replied Mrs. Cluppins. 'But on
no account without a witness.'
'I think two witnesses would be more lawful,' said Mrs.
Sanders, who, like the other friend, was bursting with curiosity.
'Perhaps he'd better come in here,' said Mrs. Bardell.
'To be sure,' replied Mrs. Cluppins, eagerly catching at the
idea; 'walk in, young man; and shut the street door first, please.'
Mr. Weller immediately took the hint; and presenting himself
in the parlour, explained his business to Mrs. Bardell thus--
'Wery sorry to 'casion any personal inconwenience, ma'am, as
the housebreaker said to the old lady when he put her on the fire;
but as me and my governor 's only jest come to town, and is jest
going away agin, it can't be helped, you see.'
'Of course, the young man can't help the faults of his master,' said
Mrs. Cluppins, much struck by Mr. Weller's appearance and conversation.
'Certainly not,' chimed in Mrs. Sanders, who, from certain
wistful glances at the little tin saucepan, seemed to be engaged in
a mental calculation of the probable extent of the pettitoes, in the
event of Sam's being asked to stop to supper.
'So all I've come about, is jest this here,' said Sam, disregarding
the interruption; 'first, to give my governor's notice--there it is.
Secondly, to pay the rent--here it is. Thirdly, to say as all his
things is to be put together, and give to anybody as we sends for
'em. Fourthly, that you may let the place as soon as you like--
and that's all.'
'Whatever has happened,' said Mrs. Bardell, 'I always have
said, and always will say, that in every respect but one, Mr.
Pickwick has always behaved himself like a perfect gentleman.
His money always as good as the bank--always.'
As Mrs. Bardell said this, she applied her handkerchief to her
eyes, and went out of the room to get the receipt.
Sam well knew that he had only to remain quiet, and the
women were sure to talk; so he looked alternately at the tin
saucepan, the toasted cheese, the wall, and the ceiling, in
profound silence.
'Poor dear!' said Mrs. Cluppins.
'Ah, poor thing!' replied Mrs. Sanders.
Sam said nothing. He saw they were coming to the subject.
'I raly cannot contain myself,' said Mrs. Cluppins, 'when I
think of such perjury. I don't wish to say anything to make you
uncomfortable, young man, but your master's an old brute, and
I wish I had him here to tell him so.'
'I wish you had,' said Sam.
'To see how dreadful she takes on, going moping about, and
taking no pleasure in nothing, except when her friends comes in,
out of charity, to sit with her, and make her comfortable,'
resumed Mrs. Cluppins, glancing at the tin saucepan and the
Dutch oven, 'it's shocking!'
'Barbareous,' said Mrs. Sanders.
'And your master, young man! A gentleman with money, as
could never feel the expense of a wife, no more than nothing,'
continued Mrs. Cluppins, with great volubility; 'why there ain't
the faintest shade of an excuse for his behaviour! Why don't he
marry her?'
'Ah,' said Sam, 'to be sure; that's the question.'
'Question, indeed,' retorted Mrs. Cluppins, 'she'd question
him, if she'd my spirit. Hows'ever, there is law for us women,
mis'rable creeturs as they'd make us, if they could; and that your
master will find out, young man, to his cost, afore he's six
months older.'
At this consolatory reflection, Mrs. Cluppins bridled up, and
smiled at Mrs. Sanders, who smiled back again.
'The action's going on, and no mistake,' thought Sam, as
Mrs. Bardell re-entered with the receipt.
'Here's the receipt, Mr. Weller,' said Mrs. Bardell, 'and here's the
change, and I hope you'll take a little drop of something to keep
the cold out, if it's only for old acquaintance' sake, Mr. Weller.'
Sam saw the advantage he should gain, and at once acquiesced;
whereupon Mrs. Bardell produced, from a small closet, a black
bottle and a wine-glass; and so great was her abstraction, in her
deep mental affliction, that, after filling Mr. Weller's glass, she
brought out three more wine-glasses, and filled them too.
'Lauk, Mrs. Bardell,' said Mrs. Cluppins, 'see what you've been
and done!'
'Well, that is a good one!' ejaculated Mrs. Sanders.
'Ah, my poor head!' said Mrs. Bardell, with a faint smile.
Sam understood all this, of course, so he said at once, that he
never could drink before supper, unless a lady drank with him.
A great deal of laughter ensued, and Mrs. Sanders volunteered to
humour him, so she took a slight sip out of her glass. Then Sam
said it must go all round, so they all took a slight sip. Then little
Mrs. Cluppins proposed as a toast, 'Success to Bardell agin
Pickwick'; and then the ladies emptied their glasses in honour of
the sentiment, and got very talkative directly.
'I suppose you've heard what's going forward, Mr. Weller?'
said Mrs. Bardell.
'I've heerd somethin' on it,' replied Sam.
'It's a terrible thing to be dragged before the public, in that
way, Mr. Weller,' said Mrs. Bardell; 'but I see now, that it's the
only thing I ought to do, and my lawyers, Mr. Dodson and Fogg,
tell me that, with the evidence as we shall call, we must succeed.
I don't know what I should do, Mr. Weller, if I didn't.'
The mere idea of Mrs. Bardell's failing in her action, affected
Mrs. Sanders so deeply, that she was under the necessity of
refilling and re-emptying her glass immediately; feeling, as she
said afterwards, that if she hadn't had the presence of mind to do
so, she must have dropped.
'Ven is it expected to come on?' inquired Sam.
'Either in February or March,' replied Mrs. Bardell.
'What a number of witnesses there'll be, won't there,?' said
Mrs. Cluppins.
'Ah! won't there!' replied Mrs. Sanders.
'And won't Mr. Dodson and Fogg be wild if the plaintiff shouldn't
get it?' added Mrs. Cluppins, 'when they do it all on speculation!'
'Ah! won't they!' said Mrs. Sanders.
'But the plaintiff must get it,' resumed Mrs. Cluppins.
'I hope so,' said Mrs. Bardell.
'Oh, there can't be any doubt about it,' rejoined Mrs. Sanders.
'Vell,' said Sam, rising and setting down his glass, 'all I can say
is, that I vish you MAY get it.'
'Thank'ee, Mr. Weller,' said Mrs. Bardell fervently.
'And of them Dodson and Foggs, as does these sort o' things
on spec,' continued Mr. Weller, 'as vell as for the other kind and
gen'rous people o' the same purfession, as sets people by the ears,
free gratis for nothin', and sets their clerks to work to find out
little disputes among their neighbours and acquaintances as
vants settlin' by means of lawsuits--all I can say o' them is, that
I vish they had the reward I'd give 'em.'
'Ah, I wish they had the reward that every kind and generous
heart would be inclined to bestow upon them!' said the gratified
Mrs. Bardell.
'Amen to that,' replied Sam, 'and a fat and happy liven' they'd
get out of it! Wish you good-night, ladies.'
To the great relief of Mrs. Sanders, Sam was allowed to depart
without any reference, on the part of the hostess, to the pettitoes
and toasted cheese; to which the ladies, with such juvenile
assistance as Master Bardell could afford, soon afterwards
rendered the amplest justice--indeed they wholly vanished before
their strenuous exertions.
Mr. Weller wended his way back to the George and Vulture,
and faithfully recounted to his master, such indications of the
sharp practice of Dodson & Fogg, as he had contrived to pick up
in his visit to Mrs. Bardell's. An interview with Mr. Perker, next
day, more than confirmed Mr. Weller's statement; and Mr.
Pickwick was fain to prepare for his Christmas visit to Dingley
Dell, with the pleasant anticipation that some two or three
months afterwards, an action brought against him for damages
sustained by reason of a breach of promise of marriage, would
be publicly tried in the Court of Common Pleas; the plaintiff
having all the advantages derivable, not only from the force of
circumstances, but from the sharp practice of Dodson & Fogg
to boot.
CHAPTER XXVII
SAMUEL WELLER MAKES A PILGRIMAGE TO DORKING,
AND BEHOLDS HIS MOTHER-IN-LAW
There still remaining an interval of two days before the time agreed
upon for the departure of the Pickwickians to Dingley Dell, Mr.
Weller sat himself down in a back room at the George and Vulture,
after eating an early dinner, to muse on the best way of disposing of
his time. It was a remarkably fine day; and he had not turned the
matter over in his mind ten minutes, when he was suddenly stricken
filial and affectionate; and it occurred to him so strongly that he
ought to go down and see his father, and pay his duty to his
mother-in-law, that he was lost in astonishment at his own remissness
in never thinking of this moral obligation before. Anxious to atone
for his past neglect without another hour's delay, he straightway
walked upstairs to Mr. Pickwick, and requested leave of absence for
this laudable purpose.
'Certainly, Sam, certainly,' said Mr. Pickwick, his eyes
glistening with delight at this manifestation of filial feeling on the
part of his attendant; 'certainly, Sam.'
Mr. Weller made a grateful bow.
'I am very glad to see that you have so high a sense of your
duties as a son, Sam,' said Mr. Pickwick.
'I always had, sir,' replied Mr. Weller.
'That's a very gratifying reflection, Sam,' said Mr. Pickwick
approvingly.
'Wery, Sir,' replied Mr. Weller; 'if ever I wanted anythin' o'
my father, I always asked for it in a wery 'spectful and obligin'
manner. If he didn't give it me, I took it, for fear I should be led
to do anythin' wrong, through not havin' it. I saved him a world
o' trouble this vay, Sir.'
'That's not precisely what I meant, Sam,' said Mr. Pickwick,
shaking his head, with a slight smile.
'All good feelin', sir--the wery best intentions, as the gen'l'm'n
said ven he run away from his wife 'cos she seemed unhappy
with him,' replied Mr. Weller.
'You may go, Sam,' said Mr. Pickwick.
'Thank'ee, Sir,' replied Mr. Weller; and having made his best
bow, and put on his best clothes, Sam planted himself on the top
of the Arundel coach, and journeyed on to Dorking.
The Marquis of Granby, in Mrs. Weller's time, was quite a
model of a roadside public-house of the better class--just large
enough to be convenient, and small enough to be snug. On the
opposite side of the road was a large sign-board on a high post,
representing the head and shoulders of a gentleman with an
apoplectic countenance, in a red coat with deep blue facings, and
a touch of the same blue over his three-cornered hat, for a sky.
Over that again were a pair of flags; beneath the last button of
his coat were a couple of cannon; and the whole formed an
expressive and undoubted likeness of the Marquis of Granby of
glorious memory.
The bar window displayed a choice collection of geranium
plants, and a well-dusted row of spirit phials. The open shutters
bore a variety of golden inscriptions, eulogistic of good beds and
neat wines; and the choice group of countrymen and hostlers
lounging about the stable door and horse-trough, afforded
presumptive proof of the excellent quality of the ale and spirits
which were sold within. Sam Weller paused, when he dismounted
from the coach, to note all these little indications of a thriving
business, with the eye of an experienced traveller; and having
done so, stepped in at once, highly satisfied with everything he
had observed.
'Now, then!' said a shrill female voice the instant Sam thrust
his head in at the door, 'what do you want, young man?'
Sam looked round in the direction whence the voice proceeded.
It came from a rather stout lady of comfortable appearance, who
was seated beside the fireplace in the bar, blowing the fire to
make the kettle boil for tea. She was not alone; for on the other
side of the fireplace, sitting bolt upright in a high-backed chair,
was a man in threadbare black clothes, with a back almost as
long and stiff as that of the chair itself, who caught Sam's most
particular and especial attention at once.
He was a prim-faced, red-nosed man, with a long, thin
countenance, and a semi-rattlesnake sort of eye--rather sharp,
but decidedly bad. He wore very short trousers, and black cotton
stockings, which, like the rest of his apparel, were particularly
rusty. His looks were starched, but his white neckerchief was not,
and its long limp ends straggled over his closely-buttoned waistcoat
in a very uncouth and unpicturesque fashion. A pair of old,
worn, beaver gloves, a broad-brimmed hat, and a faded green
umbrella, with plenty of whalebone sticking through the bottom,
as if to counterbalance the want of a handle at the top, lay on a
chair beside him; and, being disposed in a very tidy and careful
manner, seemed to imply that the red-nosed man, whoever he
was, had no intention of going away in a hurry.
To do the red-nosed man justice, he would have been very far
from wise if he had entertained any such intention; for, to judge
from all appearances, he must have been possessed of a most
desirable circle of acquaintance, if he could have reasonably
expected to be more comfortable anywhere else. The fire was
blazing brightly under the influence of the bellows, and the kettle
was singing gaily under the influence of both. A small tray of
tea-things was arranged on the table; a plate of hot buttered
toast was gently simmering before the fire; and the red-nosed
man himself was busily engaged in converting a large slice of
bread into the same agreeable edible, through the instrumentality
of a long brass toasting-fork. Beside him stood a glass of reeking
hot pine-apple rum-and-water, with a slice of lemon in it; and
every time the red-nosed man stopped to bring the round of toast
to his eye, with the view of ascertaining how it got on, he imbibed
a drop or two of the hot pine-apple rum-and-water, and smiled
upon the rather stout lady, as she blew the fire.
Sam was so lost in the contemplation of this comfortable
scene, that he suffered the first inquiry of the rather stout lady to
pass unheeded. It was not until it had been twice repeated, each
time in a shriller tone, that he became conscious of the
impropriety of his behaviour.
'Governor in?' inquired Sam, in reply to the question.
'No, he isn't,' replied Mrs. Weller; for the rather stout lady
was no other than the quondam relict and sole executrix of the
dead-and-gone Mr. Clarke; 'no, he isn't, and I don't expect him, either.'
'I suppose he's drivin' up to-day?' said Sam.
'He may be, or he may not,' replied Mrs. Weller, buttering
the round of toast which the red-nosed man had just finished. 'I
don't know, and, what's more, I don't care.--Ask a blessin',
Mr. Stiggins.'
The red-nosed man did as he was desired, and instantly
commenced on the toast with fierce voracity.
The appearance of the red-nosed man had induced Sam, at
first sight, to more than half suspect that he was the deputyshepherd
of whom his estimable parent had spoken. The moment
he saw him eat, all doubt on the subject was removed, and he
perceived at once that if he purposed to take up his temporary
quarters where he was, he must make his footing good without
delay. He therefore commenced proceedings by putting his arm
over the half-door of the bar, coolly unbolting it, and leisurely
walking in.
'Mother-in-law,' said Sam, 'how are you?'
'Why, I do believe he is a Weller!' said Mrs. W., raising her
eyes to Sam's face, with no very gratified expression of countenance.
'I rayther think he is,' said the imperturbable Sam; 'and I hope
this here reverend gen'l'm'n 'll excuse me saying that I wish I was
THE Weller as owns you, mother-in-law.'
This was a double-barrelled compliment. It implied that Mrs.
Weller was a most agreeable female, and also that Mr. Stiggins
had a clerical appearance. It made a visible impression at once;
and Sam followed up his advantage by kissing his mother-in-law.
'Get along with you!' said Mrs. Weller, pushing him away.
'For shame, young man!' said the gentleman with the red nose.
'No offence, sir, no offence,' replied Sam; 'you're wery right,
though; it ain't the right sort o' thing, ven mothers-in-law is
young and good-looking, is it, Sir?'
'It's all vanity,' said Mr. Stiggins.
'Ah, so it is,' said Mrs. Weller, setting her cap to rights.
Sam thought it was, too, but he held his peace.
The deputy-shepherd seemed by no means best pleased with
Sam's arrival; and when the first effervescence of the compliment
had subsided, even Mrs. Weller looked as if she could have
spared him without the smallest inconvenience. However, there
he was; and as he couldn't be decently turned out, they all three
sat down to tea.
'And how's father?' said Sam.
At this inquiry, Mrs. Weller raised her hands, and turned up
her eyes, as if the subject were too painful to be alluded to.
Mr. Stiggins groaned.
'What's the matter with that 'ere gen'l'm'n?' inquired Sam.
'He's shocked at the way your father goes on in,' replied Mrs. Weller.
'Oh, he is, is he?' said Sam.
'And with too good reason,' added Mrs. Weller gravely.
Mr. Stiggins took up a fresh piece of toast, and groaned heavily.
'He is a dreadful reprobate,' said Mrs. Weller.
'A man of wrath!' exclaimed Mr. Stiggins. He took a large
semi-circular bite out of the toast, and groaned again.
Sam felt very strongly disposed to give the reverend Mr.
Stiggins something to groan for, but he repressed his inclination,
and merely asked, 'What's the old 'un up to now?'
'Up to, indeed!' said Mrs. Weller, 'Oh, he has a hard heart.
Night after night does this excellent man--don't frown,
Mr. Stiggins; I WILL say you ARE an excellent man--come and sit
here, for hours together, and it has not the least effect upon him.'
'Well, that is odd,' said Sam; 'it 'ud have a wery considerable
effect upon me, if I wos in his place; I know that.'
'The fact is, my young friend,' said Mr. Stiggins solemnly, 'he
has an obderrate bosom. Oh, my young friend, who else could
have resisted the pleading of sixteen of our fairest sisters, and
withstood their exhortations to subscribe to our noble society for
providing the infant negroes in the West Indies with flannel
waistcoats and moral pocket-handkerchiefs?'
'What's a moral pocket-ankercher?' said Sam; 'I never see one
o' them articles o' furniter.'
'Those which combine amusement With instruction, my young
friend,' replied Mr. Stiggins, 'blending select tales with wood-cuts.'
'Oh, I know,' said Sam; 'them as hangs up in the linen-drapers'
shops, with beggars' petitions and all that 'ere upon 'em?'
Mr. Stiggins began a third round of toast, and nodded assent.
'And he wouldn't be persuaded by the ladies, wouldn't he?'
said Sam.
'Sat and smoked his pipe, and said the infant negroes were--
what did he say the infant negroes were?' said Mrs. Weller.
'Little humbugs,' replied Mr. Stiggins, deeply affected.
'Said the infant negroes were little humbugs,' repeated Mrs.
Weller. And they both groaned at the atrocious conduct of the
elder Mr. Weller.
A great many more iniquities of a similar nature might have
been disclosed, only the toast being all eaten, the tea having got
very weak, and Sam holding out no indications of meaning to
go, Mr. Stiggins suddenly recollected that he had a most pressing
appointment with the shepherd, and took himself off accordingly.
The tea-things had been scarcely put away, and the hearth
swept up, when the London coach deposited Mr. Weller, senior,
at the door; his legs deposited him in the bar; and his eyes
showed him his son.
'What, Sammy!' exclaimed the father.
'What, old Nobs!' ejaculated the son. And they shook hands heartily.
'Wery glad to see you, Sammy,' said the elder Mr. Weller,
'though how you've managed to get over your mother-in-law, is
a mystery to me. I only vish you'd write me out the receipt,
that's all.'
'Hush!' said Sam, 'she's at home, old feller.'
'She ain't vithin hearin',' replied Mr. Weller; 'she always goes
and blows up, downstairs, for a couple of hours arter tea; so we'll
just give ourselves a damp, Sammy.'
Saying this, Mr. Weller mixed two glasses of spirits-and-water,
and produced a couple of pipes. The father and son sitting down
opposite each other; Sam on one side of the fire, in the
high-backed chair, and Mr. Weller, senior, on the other, in
an easy ditto, they proceeded to enjoy themselves with all due gravity.
'Anybody been here, Sammy?' asked Mr. Weller, senior,
dryly, after a long silence.
Sam nodded an expressive assent.
'Red-nosed chap?' inquired Mr. Weller.
Sam nodded again.
'Amiable man that 'ere, Sammy,' said Mr. Weller, smoking violently.
'Seems so,' observed Sam.
'Good hand at accounts,' said Mr. Weller.
'Is he?' said Sam.
'Borrows eighteenpence on Monday, and comes on Tuesday
for a shillin' to make it up half-a-crown; calls again on Vensday
for another half-crown to make it five shillin's; and goes on,
doubling, till he gets it up to a five pund note in no time, like
them sums in the 'rithmetic book 'bout the nails in the horse's
shoes, Sammy.'
Sam intimated by a nod that he recollected the problem
alluded to by his parent.
'So you vouldn't subscribe to the flannel veskits?' said Sam,
after another interval of smoking.
'Cert'nly not,' replied Mr. Weller; 'what's the good o' flannel
veskits to the young niggers abroad? But I'll tell you what it is,
Sammy,' said Mr. Weller, lowering his voice, and bending across
the fireplace; 'I'd come down wery handsome towards strait
veskits for some people at home.'
As Mr. Weller said this, he slowly recovered his former position,
and winked at his first-born, in a profound manner.
'it cert'nly seems a queer start to send out pocket-'ankerchers
to people as don't know the use on 'em,' observed Sam.
'They're alvays a-doin' some gammon of that sort, Sammy,'
replied his father. 'T'other Sunday I wos walkin' up the road,
wen who should I see, a-standin' at a chapel door, with a blue
soup-plate in her hand, but your mother-in-law! I werily believe
there was change for a couple o' suv'rins in it, then, Sammy, all
in ha'pence; and as the people come out, they rattled the pennies
in it, till you'd ha' thought that no mortal plate as ever was
baked, could ha' stood the wear and tear. What d'ye think it was
all for?'
'For another tea-drinkin', perhaps,' said Sam.
'Not a bit on it,' replied the father; 'for the shepherd's waterrate,
Sammy.'
'The shepherd's water-rate!' said Sam.
'Ay,' replied Mr. Weller, 'there was three quarters owin', and
the shepherd hadn't paid a farden, not he--perhaps it might be
on account that the water warn't o' much use to him, for it's wery
little o' that tap he drinks, Sammy, wery; he knows a trick worth
a good half-dozen of that, he does. Hows'ever, it warn't paid, and
so they cuts the water off. Down goes the shepherd to chapel,
gives out as he's a persecuted saint, and says he hopes the heart
of the turncock as cut the water off, 'll be softened, and turned
in the right vay, but he rayther thinks he's booked for somethin'
uncomfortable. Upon this, the women calls a meetin', sings a
hymn, wotes your mother-in-law into the chair, wolunteers a
collection next Sunday, and hands it all over to the shepherd.
And if he ain't got enough out on 'em, Sammy, to make him free
of the water company for life,' said Mr. Weller, in conclusion,
'I'm one Dutchman, and you're another, and that's all about it.'
Mr. Weller smoked for some minutes in silence, and then resumed--
'The worst o' these here shepherds is, my boy, that they
reg'larly turns the heads of all the young ladies, about here.
Lord bless their little hearts, they thinks it's all right, and don't
know no better; but they're the wictims o' gammon, Samivel,
they're the wictims o' gammon.'
'I s'pose they are,' said Sam.
'Nothin' else,' said Mr. Weller, shaking his head gravely; 'and
wot aggrawates me, Samivel, is to see 'em a-wastin' all their time
and labour in making clothes for copper-coloured people as don't
want 'em, and taking no notice of flesh-coloured Christians as
do. If I'd my vay, Samivel, I'd just stick some o' these here lazy
shepherds behind a heavy wheelbarrow, and run 'em up and
down a fourteen-inch-wide plank all day. That 'ud shake the
nonsense out of 'em, if anythin' vould.'
Mr. Weller, having delivered this gentle recipe with strong
emphasis, eked out by a variety of nods and contortions of the
eye, emptied his glass at a draught, and knocked the ashes out of
his pipe, with native dignity.
He was engaged in this operation, when a shrill voice was
heard in the passage.
'Here's your dear relation, Sammy,' said Mr. Weller; and
Mrs. W. hurried into the room.
'Oh, you've come back, have you!' said Mrs. Weller.
'Yes, my dear,' replied Mr. Weller, filling a fresh pipe.
'Has Mr. Stiggins been back?' said Mrs. Weller.
'No, my dear, he hasn't,' replied Mr. Weller, lighting the pipe
by the ingenious process of holding to the bowl thereof, between
the tongs, a red-hot coal from the adjacent fire; and what's more,
my dear, I shall manage to surwive it, if he don't come back
at all.'
'Ugh, you wretch!' said Mrs. Weller.
'Thank'ee, my love,' said Mr. Weller.
'Come, come, father,' said Sam, 'none o' these little lovin's
afore strangers. Here's the reverend gen'l'm'n a-comin' in now.'
At this announcement, Mrs. Weller hastily wiped off the tears
which she had just begun to force on; and Mr. W. drew his chair
sullenly into the chimney-corner.
Mr. Stiggins was easily prevailed on to take another glass of
the hot pine-apple rum-and-water, and a second, and a third, and
then to refresh himself with a slight supper, previous to beginning
again. He sat on the same side as Mr. Weller, senior; and every
time he could contrive to do so, unseen by his wife, that gentleman
indicated to his son the hidden emotions of his bosom, by
shaking his fist over the deputy-shepherd's head; a process
which afforded his son the most unmingled delight and satisfaction,
the more especially as Mr. Stiggins went on, quietly drinking
the hot pine-apple rum-and-water, wholly unconscious of what
was going forward.
The major part of the conversation was confined to Mrs.
Weller and the reverend Mr. Stiggins; and the topics principally
descanted on, were the virtues of the shepherd, the worthiness of
his flock, and the high crimes and misdemeanours of everybody
beside--dissertations which the elder Mr. Weller occasionally
interrupted by half-suppressed references to a gentleman of the
name of Walker, and other running commentaries of the same kind.
At length Mr. Stiggins, with several most indubitable symptoms
of having quite as much pine-apple rum-and-water about him as
he could comfortably accommodate, took his hat, and his leave;
and Sam was, immediately afterwards, shown to bed by his
father. The respectable old gentleman wrung his hand fervently,
and seemed disposed to address some observation to his son; but
on Mrs. Weller advancing towards him, he appeared to relinquish
that intention, and abruptly bade him good-night.
Sam was up betimes next day, and having partaken of a hasty
breakfast, prepared to return to London. He had scarcely set foot
without the house, when his father stood before him.
'Goin', Sammy?' inquired Mr. Weller.
'Off at once,' replied Sam.
'I vish you could muffle that 'ere Stiggins, and take him vith
you,' said Mr. Weller.
'I am ashamed on you!' said Sam reproachfully; 'what do you
let him show his red nose in the Markis o' Granby at all, for?'
Mr. Weller the elder fixed on his son an earnest look, and
replied, ''Cause I'm a married man, Samivel,'cause I'm a married
man. Ven you're a married man, Samivel, you'll understand a
good many things as you don't understand now; but vether it's
worth while goin' through so much, to learn so little, as the
charity-boy said ven he got to the end of the alphabet, is a
matter o' taste. I rayther think it isn't.'
'Well,' said Sam, 'good-bye.'
'Tar, tar, Sammy,' replied his father.
'I've only got to say this here,' said Sam, stopping short, 'that
if I was the properiator o' the Markis o' Granby, and that 'ere
Stiggins came and made toast in my bar, I'd--'
'What?' interposed Mr. Weller, with great anxiety. 'What?'
'Pison his rum-and-water,' said Sam.
'No!' said Mr. Weller, shaking his son eagerly by the hand,
'would you raly, Sammy-would you, though?'
'I would,' said Sam. 'I wouldn't be too hard upon him at first.
I'd drop him in the water-butt, and put the lid on; and if I found
he was insensible to kindness, I'd try the other persvasion.'
The elder Mr. Weller bestowed a look of deep, unspeakable
admiration on his son, and, having once more grasped his hand,
walked slowly away, revolving in his mind the numerous reflections
to which his advice had given rise.
Sam looked after him, until he turned a corner of the road;
and then set forward on his walk to London. He meditated at
first, on the probable consequences of his own advice, and the
likelihood of his father's adopting it. He dismissed the subject
from his mind, however, with the consolatory reflection that time
alone would show; and this is the reflection we would impress
upon the reader.
CHAPTER XXVIII
A GOOD-HUMOURED CHRISTMAS CHAPTER, CONTAINING
AN ACCOUNT OF A WEDDING, AND SOME OTHER SPORTS
BESIDE: WHICH ALTHOUGH IN THEIR WAY, EVEN AS GOOD
CUSTOMS AS MARRIAGE ITSELF, ARE NOT QUITE SO
RELIGIOUSLY KEPT UP, IN THESE DEGENERATE TIMES
As brisk as bees, if not altogether as light as fairies, did the four
Pickwickians assemble on the morning of the twenty-second day of
December, in the year of grace in which these, their faithfully-recorded
adventures, were undertaken and accomplished. Christmas was close at
hand, in all his bluff and hearty honesty; it was the season of
hospitality, merriment, and open-heartedness; the old year was
preparing, like an ancient philosopher, to call his friends around
him, and amidst the sound of feasting and revelry to pass gently and
calmly away. Gay and merry was the time; and right gay and merry
were at least four of the numerous hearts that were gladdened by
its coming.
And numerous indeed are the hearts to which Christmas
brings a brief season of happiness and enjoyment. How many
families, whose members have been dispersed and scattered far
and wide, in the restless struggles of life, are then reunited, and
meet once again in that happy state of companionship and mutual
goodwill, which is a source of such pure and unalloyed delight;
and one so incompatible with the cares and sorrows of the world,
that the religious belief of the most civilised nations, and the rude
traditions of the roughest savages, alike number it among the
first joys of a future condition of existence, provided for the
blessed and happy! How many old recollections, and how many
dormant sympathies, does Christmas time awaken!
We write these words now, many miles distant from the spot
at which, year after year, we met on that day, a merry and joyous
circle. Many of the hearts that throbbed so gaily then, have
ceased to beat; many of the looks that shone so brightly then,
have ceased to glow; the hands we grasped, have grown cold; the
eyes we sought, have hid their lustre in the grave; and yet the old
house, the room, the merry voices and smiling faces, the jest,
the laugh, the most minute and trivial circumstances connected
with those happy meetings, crowd upon our mind at each
recurrence of the season, as if the last assemblage had been but
yesterday! Happy, happy Christmas, that can win us back to the
delusions of our childish days; that can recall to the old man the
pleasures of his youth; that can transport the sailor and the
traveller, thousands of miles away, back to his own fireside and
his quiet home!
But we are so taken up and occupied with the good qualities of
this saint Christmas, that we are keeping Mr. Pickwick and his
friends waiting in the cold on the outside of the Muggleton
coach, which they have just attained, well wrapped up in greatcoats,
shawls, and comforters. The portmanteaus and carpetbags
have been stowed away, and Mr. Weller and the guard are
endeavouring to insinuate into the fore-boot a huge cod-fish
several sizes too large for it--which is snugly packed up, in a long
brown basket, with a layer of straw over the top, and which has
been left to the last, in order that he may repose in safety on the
half-dozen barrels of real native oysters, all the property of
Mr. Pickwick, which have been arranged in regular order at the
bottom of the receptacle. The interest displayed in Mr. Pickwick's
countenance is most intense, as Mr. Weller and the guard try to
squeeze the cod-fish into the boot, first head first, and then tail
first, and then top upward, and then bottom upward, and then
side-ways, and then long-ways, all of which artifices the implacable
cod-fish sturdily resists, until the guard accidentally hits him
in the very middle of the basket, whereupon he suddenly disappears
into the boot, and with him, the head and shoulders of
the guard himself, who, not calculating upon so sudden a
cessation of the passive resistance of the cod-fish, experiences a
very unexpected shock, to the unsmotherable delight of all the
porters and bystanders. Upon this, Mr. Pickwick smiles with
great good-humour, and drawing a shilling from his waistcoat
pocket, begs the guard, as he picks himself out of the boot, to
drink his health in a glass of hot brandy-and-water; at which the
guard smiles too, and Messrs. Snodgrass, Winkle, and Tupman,
all smile in company. The guard and Mr. Weller disappear for
five minutes, most probably to get the hot brandy-and-water, for
they smell very strongly of it, when they return, the coachman
mounts to the box, Mr. Weller jumps up behind, the Pickwickians
pull their coats round their legs and their shawls over their noses,
the helpers pull the horse-cloths off, the coachman shouts out a
cheery 'All right,' and away they go.
They have rumbled through the streets, and jolted over the
stones, and at length reach the wide and open country. The
wheels skim over the hard and frosty ground; and the horses,
bursting into a canter at a smart crack of the whip, step along the
road as if the load behind them--coach, passengers, cod-fish,
oyster-barrels, and all--were but a feather at their heels. They
have descended a gentle slope, and enter upon a level, as compact
and dry as a solid block of marble, two miles long. Another crack
of the whip, and on they speed, at a smart gallop, the horses
tossing their heads and rattling the harness, as if in exhilaration
at the rapidity of the motion; while the coachman, holding whip
and reins in one hand, takes off his hat with the other, and resting
it on his knees, pulls out his handkerchief, and wipes his forehead,
partly because he has a habit of doing it, and partly
because it's as well to show the passengers how cool he is, and
what an easy thing it is to drive four-in-hand, when you have had
as much practice as he has. Having done this very leisurely
(otherwise the effect would be materially impaired), he replaces
his handkerchief, pulls on his hat, adjusts his gloves, squares his
elbows, cracks the whip again, and on they speed, more merrily
than before.
A few small houses, scattered on either side of the road,
betoken the entrance to some town or village. The lively notes
of the guard's key-bugle vibrate in the clear cold air, and wake
up the old gentleman inside, who, carefully letting down the
window-sash half-way, and standing sentry over the air, takes a
short peep out, and then carefully pulling it up again, informs the
other inside that they're going to change directly; on which the
other inside wakes himself up, and determines to postpone his
next nap until after the stoppage. Again the bugle sounds lustily
forth, and rouses the cottager's wife and children, who peep out
at the house door, and watch the coach till it turns the corner,
when they once more crouch round the blazing fire, and throw on
another log of wood against father comes home; while father
himself, a full mile off, has just exchanged a friendly nod with the
coachman, and turned round to take a good long stare at the
vehicle as it whirls away.
And now the bugle plays a lively air as the coach rattles
through the ill-paved streets of a country town; and the coachman,
undoing the buckle which keeps his ribands together,
prepares to throw them off the moment he stops. Mr. Pickwick
emerges from his coat collar, and looks about him with great
curiosity; perceiving which, the coachman informs Mr. Pickwick
of the name of the town, and tells him it was market-day yesterday,
both of which pieces of information Mr. Pickwick retails to
his fellow-passengers; whereupon they emerge from their coat
collars too, and look about them also. Mr. Winkle, who sits at
the extreme edge, with one leg dangling in the air, is nearly
precipitated into the street, as the coach twists round the sharp
corner by the cheesemonger's shop, and turns into the marketplace;
and before Mr. Snodgrass, who sits next to him, has
recovered from his alarm, they pull up at the inn yard where the
fresh horses, with cloths on, are already waiting. The coachman
throws down the reins and gets down himself, and the other
outside passengers drop down also; except those who have no
great confidence in their ability to get up again; and they remain
where they are, and stamp their feet against the coach to warm
them--looking, with longing eyes and red noses, at the bright
fire in the inn bar, and the sprigs of holly with red berries which
ornament the window.
But the guard has delivered at the corn-dealer's shop, the
brown paper packet he took out of the little pouch which hangs
over his shoulder by a leathern strap; and has seen the horses
carefully put to; and has thrown on the pavement the saddle
which was brought from London on the coach roof; and has
assisted in the conference between the coachman and the hostler
about the gray mare that hurt her off fore-leg last Tuesday; and
he and Mr. Weller are all right behind, and the coachman is all
right in front, and the old gentleman inside, who has kept the
window down full two inches all this time, has pulled it up again,
and the cloths are off, and they are all ready for starting, except
the 'two stout gentlemen,' whom the coachman inquires after
with some impatience. Hereupon the coachman, and the guard,
and Sam Weller, and Mr. Winkle, and Mr. Snodgrass, and all
the hostlers, and every one of the idlers, who are more in number
than all the others put together, shout for the missing gentlemen
as loud as they can bawl. A distant response is heard from the
yard, and Mr. Pickwick and Mr. Tupman come running down it,
quite out of breath, for they have been having a glass of ale
a-piece, and Mr. Pickwick's fingers are so cold that he has been
full five minutes before he could find the sixpence to pay for it.
The coachman shouts an admonitory 'Now then, gen'l'm'n,' the
guard re-echoes it; the old gentleman inside thinks it a very
extraordinary thing that people WILL get down when they know
there isn't time for it; Mr. Pickwick struggles up on one side,
Mr. Tupman on the other; Mr. Winkle cries 'All right'; and off
they start. Shawls are pulled up, coat collars are readjusted, the
pavement ceases, the houses disappear; and they are once again
dashing along the open road, with the fresh clear air blowing in
their faces, and gladdening their very hearts within them.
Such was the progress of Mr. Pickwick and his friends by the
Muggleton Telegraph, on their way to Dingley Dell; and at
three o'clock that afternoon they all stood high and dry, safe
and sound, hale and hearty, upon the steps of the Blue Lion,
having taken on the road quite enough of ale and brandy, to
enable them to bid defiance to the frost that was binding up the
earth in its iron fetters, and weaving its beautiful network upon
the trees and hedges. Mr. Pickwick was busily engaged in counting
the barrels of oysters and superintending the disinterment of
the cod-fish, when he felt himself gently pulled by the skirts of the
coat. Looking round, he discovered that the individual who
resorted to this mode of catching his attention was no other than
Mr. Wardle's favourite page, better known to the readers of this
unvarnished history, by the distinguishing appellation of the
fat boy.
'Aha!' said Mr. Pickwick.
'Aha!' said the fat boy.
As he said it, he glanced from the cod-fish to the oysterbarrels,
and chuckled joyously. He was fatter than ever.
'Well, you look rosy enough, my young friend,' said Mr. Pickwick.
'I've been asleep, right in front of the taproom fire,' replied the
fat boy, who had heated himself to the colour of a new chimneypot,
in the course of an hour's nap. 'Master sent me over with
the shay-cart, to carry your luggage up to the house. He'd ha'
sent some saddle-horses, but he thought you'd rather walk,
being a cold day.'
'Yes, yes,' said Mr. Pickwick hastily, for he remembered how
they had travelled over nearly the same ground on a previous
occasion. 'Yes, we would rather walk. Here, Sam!'
'Sir,' said Mr. Weller.
'Help Mr. Wardle's servant to put the packages into the cart,
and then ride on with him. We will walk forward at once.'
Having given this direction, and settled with the coachman,
Mr. Pickwick and his three friends struck into the footpath across
the fields, and walked briskly away, leaving Mr. Weller and the
fat boy confronted together for the first time. Sam looked at
the fat boy with great astonishment, but without saying a word;
and began to stow the luggage rapidly away in the cart, while the
fat boy stood quietly by, and seemed to think it a very interesting
sort of thing to see Mr. Weller working by himself.
'There,' said Sam, throwing in the last carpet-bag, 'there they are!'
'Yes,' said the fat boy, in a very satisfied tone, 'there they are.'
'Vell, young twenty stun,' said Sam, 'you're a nice specimen of
a prize boy, you are!'
'Thank'ee,' said the fat boy.
'You ain't got nothin' on your mind as makes you fret yourself,
have you?' inquired Sam.
'Not as I knows on,' replied the fat boy.
'I should rayther ha' thought, to look at you, that you was
a-labourin' under an unrequited attachment to some young
'ooman,' said Sam.
The fat boy shook his head.
'Vell,' said Sam, 'I am glad to hear it. Do you ever drink anythin'?'
'I likes eating better,' replied the boy.
'Ah,' said Sam, 'I should ha' s'posed that; but what I mean is,
should you like a drop of anythin' as'd warm you? but I s'pose
you never was cold, with all them elastic fixtures, was you?'
'Sometimes,' replied the boy; 'and I likes a drop of something,
when it's good.'
'Oh, you do, do you?' said Sam, 'come this way, then!'
The Blue Lion tap was soon gained, and the fat boy swallowed
a glass of liquor without so much as winking--a feat which
considerably advanced him in Mr. Weller's good opinion. Mr.
Weller having transacted a similar piece of business on his own
account, they got into the cart.
'Can you drive?' said the fat boy.
'I should rayther think so,' replied Sam.
'There, then,' said the fat boy, putting the reins in his hand,
and pointing up a lane, 'it's as straight as you can go; you can't
miss it.'
With these words, the fat boy laid himself affectionately down
by the side of the cod-fish, and, placing an oyster-barrel under
his head for a pillow, fell asleep instantaneously.
'Well,' said Sam, 'of all the cool boys ever I set my eyes on, this
here young gen'l'm'n is the coolest. Come, wake up, young dropsy!'
But as young dropsy evinced no symptoms of returning animation,
Sam Weller sat himself down in front of the cart, and
starting the old horse with a jerk of the rein, jogged steadily on,
towards the Manor Farm.
Meanwhile, Mr. Pickwick and his friends having walked their
blood into active circulation, proceeded cheerfully on. The paths
were hard; the grass was crisp and frosty; the air had a fine, dry,
bracing coldness; and the rapid approach of the gray twilight
(slate-coloured is a better term in frosty weather) made them
look forward with pleasant anticipation to the comforts which
awaited them at their hospitable entertainer's. It was the sort of
afternoon that might induce a couple of elderly gentlemen, in a
lonely field, to take off their greatcoats and play at leap-frog in
pure lightness of heart and gaiety; and we firmly believe that had
Mr. Tupman at that moment proffered 'a back,' Mr. Pickwick
would have accepted his offer with the utmost avidity.
However, Mr. Tupman did not volunteer any such accommodation,
and the friends walked on, conversing merrily. As
they turned into a lane they had to cross, the sound of many
voices burst upon their ears; and before they had even had
time to form a guess to whom they belonged, they walked
into the very centre of the party who were expecting their
arrival--a fact which was first notified to the Pickwickians, by
the loud 'Hurrah,' which burst from old Wardle's lips, when
they appeared in sight.
First, there was Wardle himself, looking, if that were possible,
more jolly than ever; then there were Bella and her faithful
Trundle; and, lastly, there were Emily and some eight or ten
young ladies, who had all come down to the wedding, which was
to take place next day, and who were in as happy and important
a state as young ladies usually are, on such momentous occasions;
and they were, one and all, startling the fields and lanes, far and
wide, with their frolic and laughter.
The ceremony of introduction, under such circumstances, was
very soon performed, or we should rather say that the introduction
was soon over, without any ceremony at all. In two minutes
thereafter, Mr. Pickwick was joking with the young ladies who
wouldn't come over the stile while he looked--or who, having
pretty feet and unexceptionable ankles, preferred standing on the
top rail for five minutes or so, declaring that they were too
frightened to move--with as much ease and absence of reserve or
constraint, as if he had known them for life. It is worthy of
remark, too, that Mr. Snodgrass offered Emily far more assistance
than the absolute terrors of the stile (although it was full three
feet high, and had only a couple of stepping-stones) would
seem to require; while one black-eyed young lady in a very
nice little pair of boots with fur round the top, was observed
to scream very loudly, when Mr. Winkle offered to help her over.
All this was very snug and pleasant. And when the difficulties
of the stile were at last surmounted, and they once more entered
on the open field, old Wardle informed Mr. Pickwick how they
had all been down in a body to inspect the furniture and fittingsup
of the house, which the young couple were to tenant, after the
Christmas holidays; at which communication Bella and Trundle
both coloured up, as red as the fat boy after the taproom fire;
and the young lady with the black eyes and the fur round the
boots, whispered something in Emily's ear, and then glanced
archly at Mr. Snodgrass; to which Emily responded that she was
a foolish girl, but turned very red, notwithstanding; and Mr.
Snodgrass, who was as modest as all great geniuses usually are,
felt the crimson rising to the crown of his head, and devoutly
wished, in the inmost recesses of his own heart, that the young
lady aforesaid, with her black eyes, and her archness, and her
boots with the fur round the top, were all comfortably deposited
in the adjacent county.
But if they were social and happy outside the house, what was
the warmth and cordiality of their reception when they reached
the farm! The very servants grinned with pleasure at sight of
Mr. Pickwick; and Emma bestowed a half-demure, half-impudent,
and all-pretty look of recognition, on Mr. Tupman,
which was enough to make the statue of Bonaparte in the
passage, unfold his arms, and clasp her within them.
The old lady was seated with customary state in the front
parlour, but she was rather cross, and, by consequence, most
particularly deaf. She never went out herself, and like a great
many other old ladies of the same stamp, she was apt to consider
it an act of domestic treason, if anybody else took the liberty of
doing what she couldn't. So, bless her old soul, she sat as upright
as she could, in her great chair, and looked as fierce as might be
--and that was benevolent after all.
'Mother,' said Wardle, 'Mr. Pickwick. You recollect him?'
'Never mind,' replied the old lady, with great dignity. 'Don't
trouble Mr. Pickwick about an old creetur like me. Nobody cares
about me now, and it's very nat'ral they shouldn't.' Here the old
lady tossed her head, and smoothed down her lavender-coloured
silk dress with trembling hands.
'Come, come, ma'am,' said Mr. Pickwick, 'I can't let you cut
an old friend in this way. I have come down expressly to have a
long talk, and another rubber with you; and we'll show these
boys and girls how to dance a minuet, before they're eight-andforty
hours older.'
The old lady was rapidly giving way, but she did not like to do
it all at once; so she only said, 'Ah! I can't hear him!'
'Nonsense, mother,' said Wardle. 'Come, come, don't be
cross, there's a good soul. Recollect Bella; come, you must keep
her spirits up, poor girl.'
The good old lady heard this, for her lip quivered as her son
said it. But age has its little infirmities of temper, and she was
not quite brought round yet. So, she smoothed down the
lavender-coloured dress again, and turning to Mr. Pickwick
said, 'Ah, Mr. Pickwick, young people was very different, when
I was a girl.'
'No doubt of that, ma'am,' said Mr. Pickwick, 'and that's the
reason why I would make much of the few that have any traces
of the old stock'--and saying this, Mr. Pickwick gently pulled
Bella towards him, and bestowing a kiss upon her forehead,
bade her sit down on the little stool at her grandmother's feet.
Whether the expression of her countenance, as it was raised
towards the old lady's face, called up a thought of old times, or
whether the old lady was touched by Mr. Pickwick's affectionate
good-nature, or whatever was the cause, she was fairly melted;
so she threw herself on her granddaughter's neck, and all the
little ill-humour evaporated in a gush of silent tears.
A happy party they were, that night. Sedate and solemn were
the score of rubbers in which Mr. Pickwick and the old lady
played together; uproarious was the mirth of the round table.
Long after the ladies had retired, did the hot elder wine, well
qualified with brandy and spice, go round, and round, and round
again; and sound was the sleep and pleasant were the dreams
that followed. It is a remarkable fact that those of Mr. Snodgrass
bore constant reference to Emily Wardle; and that the principal
figure in Mr. Winkle's visions was a young lady with black eyes,
and arch smile, and a pair of remarkably nice boots with fur
round the tops.
Mr. Pickwick was awakened early in the morning, by a hum of
voices and a pattering of feet, sufficient to rouse even the fat boy
from his heavy slumbers. He sat up in bed and listened. The
female servants and female visitors were running constantly to
and fro; and there were such multitudinous demands for hot
water, such repeated outcries for needles and thread, and so
many half-suppressed entreaties of 'Oh, do come and tie me,
there's a dear!' that Mr. Pickwick in his innocence began to
imagine that something dreadful must have occurred--when he
grew more awake, and remembered the wedding. The occasion
being an important one, he dressed himself with peculiar care,
and descended to the breakfast-room.
There were all the female servants in a bran new uniform of
pink muslin gowns with white bows in their caps, running about
the house in a state of excitement and agitation which it would
be impossible to describe. The old lady was dressed out in a
brocaded gown, which had not seen the light for twenty years,
saving and excepting such truant rays as had stolen through the
chinks in the box in which it had been laid by, during the whole
time. Mr. Trundle was in high feather and spirits, but a little
nervous withal. The hearty old landlord was trying to look very
cheerful and unconcerned, but failing signally in the attempt.
All the girls were in tears and white muslin, except a select two
or three, who were being honoured with a private view of the
bride and bridesmaids, upstairs. All the Pickwickians were in
most blooming array; and there was a terrific roaring on the
grass in front of the house, occasioned by all the men, boys, and
hobbledehoys attached to the farm, each of whom had got a
white bow in his button-hole, and all of whom were cheering
with might and main; being incited thereto, and stimulated
therein by the precept and example of Mr. Samuel Weller, who
had managed to become mighty popular already, and was as
much at home as if he had been born on the land.
A wedding is a licensed subject to joke upon, but there really
is no great joke in the matter after all;--we speak merely of the
ceremony, and beg it to be distinctly understood that we indulge
in no hidden sarcasm upon a married life. Mixed up with the
pleasure and joy of the occasion, are the many regrets at quitting
home, the tears of parting between parent and child, the
consciousness of leaving the dearest and kindest friends of the
happiest portion of human life, to encounter its cares and troubles
with others still untried and little known--natural feelings which
we would not render this chapter mournful by describing, and
which we should be still more unwilling to be supposed to ridicule.
Let us briefly say, then, that the ceremony was performed by
the old clergyman, in the parish church of Dingley Dell, and
that Mr. Pickwick's name is attached to the register, still preserved
in the vestry thereof; that the young lady with the black
eyes signed her name in a very unsteady and tremulous manner;
that Emily's signature, as the other bridesmaid, is nearly
illegible; that it all went off in very admirable style; that the
young ladies generally thought it far less shocking than they had
expected; and that although the owner of the black eyes and the
arch smile informed Mr. Wardle that she was sure she could
never submit to anything so dreadful, we have the very best
reasons for thinking she was mistaken. To all this, we may add,
that Mr. Pickwick was the first who saluted the bride, and that
in so doing he threw over her neck a rich gold watch and chain,
which no mortal eyes but the jeweller's had ever beheld before.
Then, the old church bell rang as gaily as it could, and they all
returned to breakfast.
'Vere does the mince-pies go, young opium-eater?' said Mr.
Weller to the fat boy, as he assisted in laying out such articles
of consumption as had not been duly arranged on the previous night.
The fat boy pointed to the destination of the pies.
'Wery good,' said Sam, 'stick a bit o' Christmas in 'em.
T'other dish opposite. There; now we look compact and comfortable,
as the father said ven he cut his little boy's head off, to
cure him o' squintin'.'
As Mr. Weller made the comparison, he fell back a step or
two, to give full effect to it, and surveyed the preparations with
the utmost satisfaction.
'Wardle,' said Mr. Pickwick, almost as soon as they were all
seated, 'a glass of wine in honour of this happy occasion!'
'I shall be delighted, my boy,' said Wardle. 'Joe--damn that
boy, he's gone to sleep.'
'No, I ain't, sir,' replied the fat boy, starting up from a remote
corner, where, like the patron saint of fat boys--the immortal
Horner--he had been devouring a Christmas pie, though not
with the coolness and deliberation which characterised that
young gentleman's proceedings.
'Fill Mr. Pickwick's glass.'
'Yes, sir.'
The fat boy filled Mr. Pickwick's glass, and then retired
behind his master's chair, from whence he watched the play of
the knives and forks, and the progress of the choice morsels
from the dishes to the mouths of the company, with a kind of
dark and gloomy joy that was most impressive.
'God bless you, old fellow!' said Mr. Pickwick.
'Same to you, my boy,' replied Wardle; and they pledged each
other, heartily.
'Mrs. Wardle,' said Mr. Pickwick, 'we old folks must have a
glass of wine together, in honour of this joyful event.'
The old lady was in a state of great grandeur just then, for she
was sitting at the top of the table in the brocaded gown, with
her newly-married granddaughter on one side, and Mr. Pickwick
on the other, to do the carving. Mr. Pickwick had not spoken in
a very loud tone, but she understood him at once, and drank off
a full glass of wine to his long life and happiness; after which the
worthy old soul launched forth into a minute and particular
account of her own wedding, with a dissertation on the fashion
of wearing high-heeled shoes, and some particulars concerning
the life and adventures of the beautiful Lady Tollimglower,
deceased; at all of which the old lady herself laughed very
heartily indeed, and so did the young ladies too, for they were
wondering among themselves what on earth grandma was
talking about. When they laughed, the old lady laughed ten
times more heartily, and said that these always had been considered
capital stories, which caused them all to laugh again, and put
the old lady into the very best of humours. Then the
cake was cut, and passed through the ring; the young ladies
saved pieces to put under their pillows to dream of their future
husbands on; and a great deal of blushing and merriment was
thereby occasioned.
'Mr. Miller,' said Mr. Pickwick to his old acquaintance, the
hard-headed gentleman, 'a glass of wine?'
'With great satisfaction, Mr. Pickwick,' replied the hardheaded
gentleman solemnly.
'You'll take me in?' said the benevolent old clergyman.
'And me,' interposed his wife.
'And me, and me,' said a couple of poor relations at the
bottom of the table, who had eaten and drunk very heartily, and
laughed at everything.
Mr. Pickwick expressed his heartfelt delight at every additional
suggestion; and his eyes beamed with hilarity and cheerfulness.
'Ladies and gentlemen,' said Mr. Pickwick, suddenly rising.
'Hear, hear! Hear, hear! Hear, hear!' cried Mr. Weller, in the
excitement of his feelings.
'Call in all the servants,' cried old Wardle, interposing to
prevent the public rebuke which Mr. Weller would otherwise
most indubitably have received from his master. 'Give them a
glass of wine each to drink the toast in. Now, Pickwick.'
Amidst the silence of the company, the whispering of the
women-servants, and the awkward embarrassment of the men,
Mr. Pickwick proceeded--
'Ladies and gentlemen--no, I won't say ladies and gentlemen,
I'll call you my friends, my dear friends, if the ladies will allow
me to take so great a liberty--'
Here Mr. Pickwick was interrupted by immense applause from
the ladies, echoed by the gentlemen, during which the owner of
the eyes was distinctly heard to state that she could kiss that dear
Mr. Pickwick. Whereupon Mr. Winkle gallantly inquired if it
couldn't be done by deputy: to which the young lady with the
black eyes replied 'Go away,' and accompanied the request with
a look which said as plainly as a look could do, 'if you can.'
'My dear friends,' resumed Mr. Pickwick, 'I am going to
propose the health of the bride and bridegroom--God bless 'em
(cheers and tears). My young friend, Trundle, I believe to be a
very excellent and manly fellow; and his wife I know to be a very
amiable and lovely girl, well qualified to transfer to another
sphere of action the happiness which for twenty years she has
diffused around her, in her father's house. (Here, the fat boy
burst forth into stentorian blubberings, and was led forth by the
coat collar, by Mr. Weller.) I wish,' added Mr. Pickwick--'I
wish I was young enough to be her sister's husband (cheers),
but, failing that, I am happy to be old enough to be her father;
for, being so, I shall not be suspected of any latent designs when
I say, that I admire, esteem, and love them both (cheers and
sobs). The bride's father, our good friend there, is a noble
person, and I am proud to know him (great uproar). He is a kind,
excellent, independent-spirited, fine-hearted, hospitable, liberal
man (enthusiastic shouts from the poor relations, at all the
adjectives; and especially at the two last). That his daughter
may enjoy all the happiness, even he can desire; and that he may
derive from the contemplation of her felicity all the gratification
of heart and peace of mind which he so well deserves, is, I am
persuaded, our united wish. So, let us drink their healths, and
wish them prolonged life, and every blessing!'
Mr. Pickwick concluded amidst a whirlwind of applause; and
once more were the lungs of the supernumeraries, under Mr.
Weller's command, brought into active and efficient operation.
Mr. Wardle proposed Mr. Pickwick; Mr. Pickwick proposed the
old lady. Mr. Snodgrass proposed Mr. Wardle; Mr. Wardle
proposed Mr. Snodgrass. One of the poor relations proposed
Mr. Tupman, and the other poor relation proposed Mr. Winkle;
all was happiness and festivity, until the mysterious disappearance
of both the poor relations beneath the table, warned the party
that it was time to adjourn.
At dinner they met again, after a five-and-twenty mile walk,
undertaken by the males at Wardle's recommendation, to get rid
of the effects of the wine at breakfast. The poor relations had
kept in bed all day, with the view of attaining the same happy
consummation, but, as they had been unsuccessful, they stopped
there. Mr. Weller kept the domestics in a state of perpetual
hilarity; and the fat boy divided his time into small alternate
allotments of eating and sleeping.
The dinner was as hearty an affair as the breakfast, and was
quite as noisy, without the tears. Then came the dessert and some
more toasts. Then came the tea and coffee; and then, the ball.
The best sitting-room at Manor Farm was a good, long, darkpanelled
room with a high chimney-piece, and a capacious
chimney, up which you could have driven one of the new patent
cabs, wheels and all. At the upper end of the room, seated in a
shady bower of holly and evergreens were the two best fiddlers,
and the only harp, in all Muggleton. In all sorts of recesses, and
on all kinds of brackets, stood massive old silver candlesticks
with four branches each. The carpet was up, the candles burned
bright, the fire blazed and crackled on the hearth, and merry
voices and light-hearted laughter rang through the room. If any
of the old English yeomen had turned into fairies when they
died, it was just the place in which they would have held their revels.
If anything could have added to the interest of this agreeable
scene, it would have been the remarkable fact of Mr. Pickwick's
appearing without his gaiters, for the first time within the
memory of his oldest friends.
'You mean to dance?' said Wardle.
'Of course I do,' replied Mr. Pickwick. 'Don't you see I am
dressed for the purpose?' Mr. Pickwick called attention to his
speckled silk stockings, and smartly tied pumps.
'YOU in silk stockings!' exclaimed Mr. Tupman jocosely.
'And why not, sir--why not?' said Mr. Pickwick, turning
warmly upon him.
'Oh, of course there is no reason why you shouldn't wear
them,' responded Mr. Tupman.
'I imagine not, sir--I imagine not,' said Mr. Pickwick, in a
very peremptory tone.
Mr. Tupman had contemplated a laugh, but he found it was
a serious matter; so he looked grave, and said they were a
pretty pattern.
'I hope they are,' said Mr. Pickwick, fixing his eyes upon his
friend. 'You see nothing extraordinary in the stockings, AS
stockings, I trust, Sir?'
'Certainly not. Oh, certainly not,' replied Mr. Tupman. He
walked away; and Mr. Pickwick's countenance resumed its
customary benign expression.
'We are all ready, I believe,' said Mr. Pickwick, who was
stationed with the old lady at the top of the dance, and had
already made four false starts, in his excessive anxiety to commence.
'Then begin at once,' said Wardle. 'Now!'
Up struck the two fiddles and the one harp, and off went
Mr. Pickwick into hands across, when there was a general
clapping of hands, and a cry of 'Stop, stop!'
'What's the matter?' said Mr. Pickwick, who was only brought
to, by the fiddles and harp desisting, and could have been stopped
by no other earthly power, if the house had been on fire.
'Where's Arabella Allen?' cried a dozen voices.
'And Winkle?'added Mr. Tupman.
'Here we are!' exclaimed that gentleman, emerging with his
pretty companion from the corner; as he did so, it would have
been hard to tell which was the redder in the face, he or the
young lady with the black eyes.
'What an extraordinary thing it is, Winkle,' said Mr. Pickwick,
rather pettishly, 'that you couldn't have taken your place before.'
'Not at all extraordinary,' said Mr. Winkle.
'Well,' said Mr. Pickwick, with a very expressive smile, as his
eyes rested on Arabella, 'well, I don't know that it WAS
extraordinary, either, after all.'
However, there was no time to think more about the matter,
for the fiddles and harp began in real earnest. Away went Mr.
Pickwick--hands across--down the middle to the very end of the
room, and half-way up the chimney, back again to the door--
poussette everywhere--loud stamp on the ground--ready for the
next couple--off again--all the figure over once more--another
stamp to beat out the time--next couple, and the next, and the
next again--never was such going; at last, after they had reached
the bottom of the dance, and full fourteen couple after the old
lady had retired in an exhausted state, and the clergyman's wife
had been substituted in her stead, did that gentleman, when there
was no demand whatever on his exertions, keep perpetually
dancing in his place, to keep time to the music, smiling on his
partner all the while with a blandness of demeanour which
baffles all description.
Long before Mr. Pickwick was weary of dancing, the newlymarried
couple had retired from the scene. There was a glorious
supper downstairs, notwithstanding, and a good long sitting
after it; and when Mr. Pickwick awoke, late the next morning,
he had a confused recollection of having, severally and
confidentially, invited somewhere about five-and-forty people to dine
with him at the George and Vulture, the very first time they came
to London; which Mr. Pickwick rightly considered a pretty
certain indication of his having taken something besides exercise,
on the previous night.
'And so your family has games in the kitchen to-night, my
dear, has they?' inquired Sam of Emma.
'Yes, Mr. Weller,' replied Emma; 'we always have on Christmas
Eve. Master wouldn't neglect to keep it up on any account.'
'Your master's a wery pretty notion of keeping anythin' up,
my dear,' said Mr. Weller; 'I never see such a sensible sort of
man as he is, or such a reg'lar gen'l'm'n.'
'Oh, that he is!' said the fat boy, joining in the conversation;
'don't he breed nice pork!' The fat youth gave a semi-cannibalic
leer at Mr. Weller, as he thought of the roast legs and gravy.
'Oh, you've woke up, at last, have you?' said Sam.
The fat boy nodded.
'I'll tell you what it is, young boa-constructer,' said Mr. Weller
impressively; 'if you don't sleep a little less, and exercise a little
more, wen you comes to be a man you'll lay yourself open to the
same sort of personal inconwenience as was inflicted on the old
gen'l'm'n as wore the pigtail.'
'What did they do to him?' inquired the fat boy, in a faltering voice.
'I'm a-going to tell you,' replied Mr. Weller; 'he was one o' the
largest patterns as was ever turned out--reg'lar fat man, as
hadn't caught a glimpse of his own shoes for five-and-forty year.'
'Lor!' exclaimed Emma.
'No, that he hadn't, my dear,' said Mr. Weller; 'and if you'd
put an exact model of his own legs on the dinin'-table afore him,
he wouldn't ha' known 'em. Well, he always walks to his office
with a wery handsome gold watch-chain hanging out, about a
foot and a quarter, and a gold watch in his fob pocket as was
worth--I'm afraid to say how much, but as much as a watch can
be--a large, heavy, round manufacter, as stout for a watch, as
he was for a man, and with a big face in proportion. "You'd
better not carry that 'ere watch," says the old gen'l'm'n's friends,
"you'll be robbed on it," says they. "Shall I?" says he. "Yes, you
will," says they. "Well," says he, "I should like to see the thief
as could get this here watch out, for I'm blessed if I ever can, it's
such a tight fit," says he, "and wenever I vants to know what's
o'clock, I'm obliged to stare into the bakers' shops," he says.
Well, then he laughs as hearty as if he was a-goin' to pieces, and
out he walks agin with his powdered head and pigtail, and
rolls down the Strand with the chain hangin' out furder than
ever, and the great round watch almost bustin' through his gray
kersey smalls. There warn't a pickpocket in all London as didn't
take a pull at that chain, but the chain 'ud never break, and the
watch 'ud never come out, so they soon got tired of dragging
such a heavy old gen'l'm'n along the pavement, and he'd go
home and laugh till the pigtail wibrated like the penderlum of a
Dutch clock. At last, one day the old gen'l'm'n was a-rollin'
along, and he sees a pickpocket as he know'd by sight, a-coming
up, arm in arm with a little boy with a wery large head. "Here's
a game," says the old gen'l'm'n to himself, "they're a-goin' to
have another try, but it won't do!" So he begins a-chucklin'
wery hearty, wen, all of a sudden, the little boy leaves hold of the
pickpocket's arm, and rushes head foremost straight into the old
gen'l'm'n's stomach, and for a moment doubles him right up
with the pain. "Murder!" says the old gen'l'm'n. "All right, Sir,"
says the pickpocket, a-wisperin' in his ear. And wen he come
straight agin, the watch and chain was gone, and what's worse
than that, the old gen'l'm'n's digestion was all wrong ever afterwards,
to the wery last day of his life; so just you look about you,
young feller, and take care you don't get too fat.'
As Mr. Weller concluded this moral tale, with which the fat
boy appeared much affected, they all three repaired to the large
kitchen, in which the family were by this time assembled,
according to annual custom on Christmas Eve, observed by old
Wardle's forefathers from time immemorial.
From the centre of the ceiling of this kitchen, old Wardle had
just suspended, with his own hands, a huge branch of mistletoe,
and this same branch of mistletoe instantaneously gave rise to a
scene of general and most delightful struggling and confusion; in
the midst of which, Mr. Pickwick, with a gallantry that would
have done honour to a descendant of Lady Tollimglower herself,
took the old lady by the hand, led her beneath the mystic
branch, and saluted her in all courtesy and decorum. The old lady
submitted to this piece of practical politeness with all the dignity
which befitted so important and serious a solemnity, but the
younger ladies, not being so thoroughly imbued with a superstitious
veneration for the custom, or imagining that the value of
a salute is very much enhanced if it cost a little trouble to obtain
it, screamed and struggled, and ran into corners, and threatened
and remonstrated, and did everything but leave the room, until
some of the less adventurous gentlemen were on the point of
desisting, when they all at once found it useless to resist any
longer, and submitted to be kissed with a good grace. Mr. Winkle
kissed the young lady with the black eyes, and Mr. Snodgrass
kissed Emily; and Mr. Weller, not being particular about the
form of being under the mistletoe, kissed Emma and the other
female servants, just as he caught them. As to the poor relations,
they kissed everybody, not even excepting the plainer portions of
the young lady visitors, who, in their excessive confusion, ran
right under the mistletoe, as soon as it was hung up, without
knowing it! Wardle stood with his back to the fire, surveying the
whole scene, with the utmost satisfaction; and the fat boy took
the opportunity of appropriating to his own use, and summarily
devouring, a particularly fine mince-pie, that had been carefully
put by, for somebody else.
Now, the screaming had subsided, and faces were in a glow,
and curls in a tangle, and Mr. Pickwick, after kissing the old lady
as before mentioned, was standing under the mistletoe, looking
with a very pleased countenance on all that was passing around
him, when the young lady with the black eyes, after a little
whispering with the other young ladies, made a sudden dart
forward, and, putting her arm round Mr. Pickwick's neck,
saluted him affectionately on the left cheek; and before Mr.
Pickwick distinctly knew what was the matter, he was surrounded
by the whole body, and kissed by every one of them.
It was a pleasant thing to see Mr. Pickwick in the centre of the
group, now pulled this way, and then that, and first kissed on
the chin, and then on the nose, and then on the spectacles, and to
hear the peals of laughter which were raised on every side; but
it was a still more pleasant thing to see Mr. Pickwick, blinded
shortly afterwards with a silk handkerchief, falling up against the
wall, and scrambling into corners, and going through all the
mysteries of blind-man's buff, with the utmost relish for the
game, until at last he caught one of the poor relations, and then
had to evade the blind-man himself, which he did with a nimbleness
and agility that elicited the admiration and applause of all
beholders. The poor relations caught the people who they
thought would like it, and, when the game flagged, got caught
themselves. When they all tired of blind-man's buff, there was a
great game at snap-dragon, and when fingers enough were
burned with that, and all the raisins were gone, they sat down by
the huge fire of blazing logs to a substantial supper, and a mighty
bowl of wassail, something smaller than an ordinary washhouse
copper, in which the hot apples were hissing and bubbling
with a rich look, and a jolly sound, that were perfectly irresistible.
'This,' said Mr. Pickwick, looking round him, 'this is,
indeed, comfort.'
'Our invariable custom,' replied Mr. Wardle. 'Everybody sits
down with us on Christmas Eve, as you see them now--servants
and all; and here we wait, until the clock strikes twelve, to usher
Christmas in, and beguile the time with forfeits and old stories.
Trundle, my boy, rake up the fire.'
Up flew the bright sparks in myriads as the logs were stirred.
The deep red blaze sent forth a rich glow, that penetrated into
the farthest corner of the room, and cast its cheerful tint on
every face.
'Come,' said Wardle, 'a song--a Christmas song! I'll give you
one, in default of a better.'
'Bravo!' said Mr. Pickwick.
'Fill up,' cried Wardle. 'It will be two hours, good, before you
see the bottom of the bowl through the deep rich colour of the
wassail; fill up all round, and now for the song.'
Thus saying, the merry old gentleman, in a good, round,
sturdy voice, commenced without more ado--
A CHRISTMAS CAROL
'I care not for Spring; on his fickle wing
Let the blossoms and buds be borne;
He woos them amain with his treacherous rain,
And he scatters them ere the morn.
An inconstant elf, he knows not himself,
Nor his own changing mind an hour,
He'll smile in your face, and, with wry grimace,
He'll wither your youngest flower.
'Let the Summer sun to his bright home run,
He shall never be sought by me;
When he's dimmed by a cloud I can laugh aloud
And care not how sulky he be!
For his darling child is the madness wild
That sports in fierce fever's train;
And when love is too strong, it don't last long,
As many have found to their pain.
'A mild harvest night, by the tranquil light
Of the modest and gentle moon,
Has a far sweeter sheen for me, I ween,
Than the broad and unblushing noon.
But every leaf awakens my grief,
As it lieth beneath the tree;
So let Autumn air be never so fair,
It by no means agrees with me.
'But my song I troll out, for CHRISTMAS Stout,
The hearty, the true, and the bold;
A bumper I drain, and with might and main
Give three cheers for this Christmas old!
We'll usher him in with a merry din
That shall gladden his joyous heart,
And we'll keep him up, while there's bite or sup,
And in fellowship good, we'll part.
'In his fine honest pride, he scorns to hide
One jot of his hard-weather scars;
They're no disgrace, for there's much the same trace
On the cheeks of our bravest tars.
Then again I sing till the roof doth ring
And it echoes from wall to wall--
To the stout old wight, fair welcome to-night,
As the King of the Seasons all!'
This song was tumultuously applauded--for friends and
dependents make a capital audience--and the poor relations,
especially, were in perfect ecstasies of rapture. Again was the fire
replenished, and again went the wassail round.
'How it snows!' said one of the men, in a low tone.
'Snows, does it?' said Wardle.
'Rough, cold night, Sir,' replied the man; 'and there's a wind
got up, that drifts it across the fields, in a thick white cloud.'
'What does Jem say?' inquired the old lady. 'There ain't
anything the matter, is there?'
'No, no, mother,' replied Wardle; 'he says there's a snowdrift,
and a wind that's piercing cold. I should know that, by the way
it rumbles in the chimney.'
'Ah!' said the old lady, 'there was just such a wind, and just
such a fall of snow, a good many years back, I recollect--just five
years before your poor father died. It was a Christmas Eve,
too; and I remember that on that very night he told us the story
about the goblins that carried away old Gabriel Grub.'
'The story about what?' said Mr. Pickwick.
'Oh, nothing, nothing,' replied Wardle. 'About an old sexton,
that the good people down here suppose to have been carried
away by goblins.'
'Suppose!' ejaculated the old lady. 'Is there anybody hardy
enough to disbelieve it? Suppose! Haven't you heard ever since
you were a child, that he WAS carried away by the goblins, and
don't you know he was?'
'Very well, mother, he was, if you like,' said Wardle laughing.
'He WAS carried away by goblins, Pickwick; and there's an end
of the matter.'
'No, no,' said Mr. Pickwick, 'not an end of it, I assure you; for
I must hear how, and why, and all about it.'
Wardle smiled, as every head was bent forward to hear, and
filling out the wassail with no stinted hand, nodded a health to
Mr. Pickwick, and began as follows--
But bless our editorial heart, what a long chapter we have been
betrayed into! We had quite forgotten all such petty restrictions
as chapters, we solemnly declare. So here goes, to give the goblin
a fair start in a new one. A clear stage and no favour for the
goblins, ladies and gentlemen, if you please.
CHAPTER XXIX
THE STORY OF THE GOBLINS WHO STOLE A SEXTON
In an old abbey town, down in this part of the country, a long, long
while ago--so long, that the story must be a true one, because our
great-grandfathers implicitly believed it--there officiated as sexton
and grave-digger in the churchyard, one Gabriel Grub. It by no
means follows that because a man is a sexton, and constantly
surrounded by the emblems of mortality, therefore he should be a
morose and melancholy man; your undertakers are the merriest fellows
in the world; and I once had the honour of being on intimate terms
with a mute, who in private life, and off duty, was as comical and
jocose a little fellow as ever chirped out a devil-may-care song,
without a hitch in his memory, or drained off a good stiff glass
without stopping for breath. But notwithstanding these precedents
to the contrary, Gabriel Grub was an ill-conditioned, cross-grained,
surly fellow--a morose and lonely man, who consorted with nobody
but himself, and an old wicker bottle which fitted into his large deep
waistcoat pocket--and who eyed each merry face, as it passed
him by, with such a deep scowl of malice and ill-humour,
as it was difficult to meet without feeling something the worse for.
'A little before twilight, one Christmas Eve, Gabriel shouldered
his spade, lighted his lantern, and betook himself towards the old
churchyard; for he had got a grave to finish by next morning,
and, feeling very low, he thought it might raise his spirits,
perhaps, if he went on with his work at once. As he went his way,
up the ancient street, he saw the cheerful light of the blazing
fires gleam through the old casements, and heard the loud laugh
and the cheerful shouts of those who were assembled around
them; he marked the bustling preparations for next day's cheer,
and smelled the numerous savoury odours consequent thereupon,
as they steamed up from the kitchen windows in clouds. All this
was gall and wormwood to the heart of Gabriel Grub; and
when groups of children bounded out of the houses, tripped
across the road, and were met, before they could knock at the
opposite door, by half a dozen curly-headed little rascals who
crowded round them as they flocked upstairs to spend the
evening in their Christmas games, Gabriel smiled grimly, and
clutched the handle of his spade with a firmer grasp, as he
thought of measles, scarlet fever, thrush, whooping-cough, and
a good many other sources of consolation besides.
'In this happy frame of mind, Gabriel strode along, returning
a short, sullen growl to the good-humoured greetings of such of
his neighbours as now and then passed him, until he turned into
the dark lane which led to the churchyard. Now, Gabriel had
been looking forward to reaching the dark lane, because it was,
generally speaking, a nice, gloomy, mournful place, into which
the townspeople did not much care to go, except in broad
daylight, and when the sun was shining; consequently, he was
not a little indignant to hear a young urchin roaring out
some jolly song about a merry Christmas, in this very sanctuary
which had been called Coffin Lane ever since the days of the old
abbey, and the time of the shaven-headed monks. As Gabriel
walked on, and the voice drew nearer, he found it proceeded
from a small boy, who was hurrying along, to join one of the
little parties in the old street, and who, partly to keep himself
company, and partly to prepare himself for the occasion, was
shouting out the song at the highest pitch of his lungs. So Gabriel
waited until the boy came up, and then dodged him into a corner,
and rapped him over the head with his lantern five or six times,
just to teach him to modulate his voice. And as the boy hurried
away with his hand to his head, singing quite a different sort of
tune, Gabriel Grub chuckled very heartily to himself, and
entered the churchyard, locking the gate behind him.
'He took off his coat, set down his lantern, and getting into the
unfinished grave, worked at it for an hour or so with right goodwill.
But the earth was hardened with the frost, and it was no
very easy matter to break it up, and shovel it out; and although
there was a moon, it was a very young one, and shed little light
upon the grave, which was in the shadow of the church. At any
other time, these obstacles would have made Gabriel Grub very
moody and miserable, but he was so well pleased with having
stopped the small boy's singing, that he took little heed of the
scanty progress he had made, and looked down into the grave,
when he had finished work for the night, with grim satisfaction,
murmuring as he gathered up his things--
Brave lodgings for one, brave lodgings for one,
A few feet of cold earth, when life is done;
A stone at the head, a stone at the feet,
A rich, juicy meal for the worms to eat;
Rank grass overhead, and damp clay around,
Brave lodgings for one, these, in holy ground!
'"Ho! ho!" laughed Gabriel Grub, as he sat himself down on
a flat tombstone which was a favourite resting-place of his, and
drew forth his wicker bottle. "A coffin at Christmas! A Christmas
box! Ho! ho! ho!"
'"Ho! ho! ho!" repeated a voice which sounded close behind him.
'Gabriel paused, in some alarm, in the act of raising the wicker
bottle to his lips, and looked round. The bottom of the oldest
grave about him was not more still and quiet than the churchyard
in the pale moonlight. The cold hoar frost glistened on the
tombstones, and sparkled like rows of gems, among the stone
carvings of the old church. The snow lay hard and crisp upon
the ground; and spread over the thickly-strewn mounds of earth,
so white and smooth a cover that it seemed as if corpses lay
there, hidden only by their winding sheets. Not the faintest rustle
broke the profound tranquillity of the solemn scene. Sound itself
appeared to be frozen up, all was so cold and still.
'"It was the echoes," said Gabriel Grub, raising the bottle to
his lips again.
'"It was NOT," said a deep voice.
'Gabriel started up, and stood rooted to the spot with
astonishment and terror; for his eyes rested on a form that made
his blood run cold.
'Seated on an upright tombstone, close to him, was a strange,
unearthly figure, whom Gabriel felt at once, was no being of this
world. His long, fantastic legs which might have reached the
ground, were cocked up, and crossed after a quaint, fantastic
fashion; his sinewy arms were bare; and his hands rested on his
knees. On his short, round body, he wore a close covering,
ornamented with small slashes; a short cloak dangled at his
back; the collar was cut into curious peaks, which served the
goblin in lieu of ruff or neckerchief; and his shoes curled up at
his toes into long points. On his head, he wore a broad-brimmed
sugar-loaf hat, garnished with a single feather. The hat was
covered with the white frost; and the goblin looked as if he had
sat on the same tombstone very comfortably, for two or three
hundred years. He was sitting perfectly still; his tongue was put
out, as if in derision; and he was grinning at Gabriel Grub with
such a grin as only a goblin could call up.
'"It was NOT the echoes," said the goblin.
'Gabriel Grub was paralysed, and could make no reply.
'"What do you do here on Christmas Eve?" said the goblin sternly.
'"I came to dig a grave, Sir," stammered Gabriel Grub.
'"What man wanders among graves and churchyards on such
a night as this?" cried the goblin.
'"Gabriel Grub! Gabriel Grub!" screamed a wild chorus of
voices that seemed to fill the churchyard. Gabriel looked fearfully
round--nothing was to be seen.
'"What have you got in that bottle?" said the goblin.
'"Hollands, sir," replied the sexton, trembling more than ever;
for he had bought it of the smugglers, and he thought that
perhaps his questioner might be in the excise department of the goblins.
'"Who drinks Hollands alone, and in a churchyard, on such a
night as this?" said the goblin.
'"Gabriel Grub! Gabriel Grub!" exclaimed the wild voices again.
'The goblin leered maliciously at the terrified sexton, and then
raising his voice, exclaimed--
'"And who, then, is our fair and lawful prize?"
'To this inquiry the invisible chorus replied, in a strain that
sounded like the voices of many choristers singing to the mighty
swell of the old church organ--a strain that seemed borne to the
sexton's ears upon a wild wind, and to die away as it passed
onward; but the burden of the reply was still the same, "Gabriel
Grub! Gabriel Grub!"
'The goblin grinned a broader grin than before, as he said,
"Well, Gabriel, what do you say to this?"
'The sexton gasped for breath.
'"What do you think of this, Gabriel?" said the goblin,
kicking up his feet in the air on either side of the tombstone, and
looking at the turned-up points with as much complacency as if
he had been contemplating the most fashionable pair of
Wellingtons in all Bond Street.
'"It's--it's--very curious, Sir," replied the sexton, half dead
with fright; "very curious, and very pretty, but I think I'll go
back and finish my work, Sir, if you please."
'"Work!" said the goblin, "what work?"
'"The grave, Sir; making the grave," stammered the sexton.
'"Oh, the grave, eh?" said the goblin; "who makes graves at
a time when all other men are merry, and takes a pleasure in it?"
'Again the mysterious voices replied, "Gabriel Grub! Gabriel Grub!"
'"I am afraid my friends want you, Gabriel," said the goblin,
thrusting his tongue farther into his cheek than ever--and a most
astonishing tongue it was--"I'm afraid my friends want you,
Gabriel," said the goblin.
'"Under favour, Sir," replied the horror-stricken sexton, "I
don't think they can, Sir; they don't know me, Sir; I don't think
the gentlemen have ever seen me, Sir."
'"Oh, yes, they have," replied the goblin; "we know the man
with the sulky face and grim scowl, that came down the street
to-night, throwing his evil looks at the children, and grasping
his burying-spade the tighter. We know the man who struck the
boy in the envious malice of his heart, because the boy could be
merry, and he could not. We know him, we know him."
'Here, the goblin gave a loud, shrill laugh, which the echoes
returned twentyfold; and throwing his legs up in the air, stood
upon his head, or rather upon the very point of his sugar-loaf
hat, on the narrow edge of the tombstone, whence he threw a
Somerset with extraordinary agility, right to the sexton's feet, at
which he planted himself in the attitude in which tailors generally
sit upon the shop-board.
'"I--I--am afraid I must leave you, Sir," said the sexton,
making an effort to move.
'"Leave us!" said the goblin, "Gabriel Grub going to leave us.
Ho! ho! ho!"
'As the goblin laughed, the sexton observed, for one instant, a
brilliant illumination within the windows of the church, as if the
whole building were lighted up; it disappeared, the organ pealed
forth a lively air, and whole troops of goblins, the very counterpart
of the first one, poured into the churchyard, and began
playing at leap-frog with the tombstones, never stopping for an
instant to take breath, but "overing" the highest among them,
one after the other, with the most marvellous dexterity. The first
goblin was a most astonishing leaper, and none of the others
could come near him; even in the extremity of his terror the
sexton could not help observing, that while his friends were
content to leap over the common-sized gravestones, the first one
took the family vaults, iron railings and all, with as much ease as
if they had been so many street-posts.
'At last the game reached to a most exciting pitch; the organ
played quicker and quicker, and the goblins leaped faster and
faster, coiling themselves up, rolling head over heels upon the
ground, and bounding over the tombstones like footballs. The
sexton's brain whirled round with the rapidity of the motion he
beheld, and his legs reeled beneath him, as the spirits flew before
his eyes; when the goblin king, suddenly darting towards him,
laid his hand upon his collar, and sank with him through the earth.
'When Gabriel Grub had had time to fetch his breath, which
the rapidity of his descent had for the moment taken away, he
found himself in what appeared to be a large cavern, surrounded
on all sides by crowds of goblins, ugly and grim; in the centre of
the room, on an elevated seat, was stationed his friend of the
churchyard; and close behind him stood Gabriel Grub himself,
without power of motion.
'"Cold to-night," said the king of the goblins, "very cold. A
glass of something warm here!"
'At this command, half a dozen officious goblins, with a
perpetual smile upon their faces, whom Gabriel Grub imagined
to be courtiers, on that account, hastily disappeared, and presently
returned with a goblet of liquid fire, which they presented to the king.
'"Ah!" cried the goblin, whose cheeks and throat were transparent,
as he tossed down the flame, "this warms one, indeed!
Bring a bumper of the same, for Mr. Grub."
'It was in vain for the unfortunate sexton to protest that he
was not in the habit of taking anything warm at night; one of
the goblins held him while another poured the blazing liquid
down his throat; the whole assembly screeched with laughter,
as he coughed and choked, and wiped away the tears which
gushed plentifully from his eyes, after swallowing the burning draught.
'"And now," said the king, fantastically poking the taper
corner of his sugar-loaf hat into the sexton's eye, and thereby
occasioning him the most exquisite pain; "and now, show the
man of misery and gloom, a few of the pictures from our own
great storehouse!"
'As the goblin said this, a thick cloud which obscured the
remoter end of the cavern rolled gradually away, and disclosed,
apparently at a great distance, a small and scantily furnished, but
neat and clean apartment. A crowd of little children were
gathered round a bright fire, clinging to their mother's gown, and
gambolling around her chair. The mother occasionally rose, and
drew aside the window-curtain, as if to look for some expected
object; a frugal meal was ready spread upon the table; and an
elbow chair was placed near the fire. A knock was heard at the
door; the mother opened it, and the children crowded round her,
and clapped their hands for joy, as their father entered. He was
wet and weary, and shook the snow from his garments, as the
children crowded round him, and seizing his cloak, hat, stick,
and gloves, with busy zeal, ran with them from the room. Then,
as he sat down to his meal before the fire, the children climbed
about his knee, and the mother sat by his side, and all seemed
happiness and comfort.
'But a change came upon the view, almost imperceptibly. The
scene was altered to a small bedroom, where the fairest and
youngest child lay dying; the roses had fled from his cheek, and
the light from his eye; and even as the sexton looked upon him
with an interest he had never felt or known before, he died. His
young brothers and sisters crowded round his little bed, and
seized his tiny hand, so cold and heavy; but they shrank back
from its touch, and looked with awe on his infant face; for calm
and tranquil as it was, and sleeping in rest and peace as the
beautiful child seemed to be, they saw that he was dead, and they
knew that he was an angel looking down upon, and blessing
them, from a bright and happy Heaven.
'Again the light cloud passed across the picture, and again the
subject changed. The father and mother were old and helpless
now, and the number of those about them was diminished more
than half; but content and cheerfulness sat on every face, and
beamed in every eye, as they crowded round the fireside, and told
and listened to old stories of earlier and bygone days. Slowly
and peacefully, the father sank into the grave, and, soon after,
the sharer of all his cares and troubles followed him to a place of
rest. The few who yet survived them, kneeled by their tomb, and
watered the green turf which covered it with their tears; then rose,
and turned away, sadly and mournfully, but not with bitter
cries, or despairing lamentations, for they knew that they should
one day meet again; and once more they mixed with the busy
world, and their content and cheerfulness were restored. The
cloud settled upon the picture, and concealed it from the sexton's view.
'"What do you think of THAT?" said the goblin, turning his
large face towards Gabriel Grub.
'Gabriel murmured out something about its being very pretty,
and looked somewhat ashamed, as the goblin bent his fiery eyes
upon him.
'" You miserable man!" said the goblin, in a tone of excessive
contempt. "You!" He appeared disposed to add more, but
indignation choked his utterance, so he lifted up one of his very
pliable legs, and, flourishing it above his head a little, to insure
his aim, administered a good sound kick to Gabriel Grub;
immediately after which, all the goblins in waiting crowded
round the wretched sexton, and kicked him without mercy,
according to the established and invariable custom of courtiers
upon earth, who kick whom royalty kicks, and hug whom
royalty hugs.
'"Show him some more!" said the king of the goblins.
'At these words, the cloud was dispelled, and a rich and
beautiful landscape was disclosed to view--there is just such
another, to this day, within half a mile of the old abbey town.
The sun shone from out the clear blue sky, the water sparkled
beneath his rays, and the trees looked greener, and the flowers
more gay, beneath its cheering influence. The water rippled on
with a pleasant sound, the trees rustled in the light wind that
murmured among their leaves, the birds sang upon the boughs,
and the lark carolled on high her welcome to the morning. Yes,
it was morning; the bright, balmy morning of summer; the
minutest leaf, the smallest blade of grass, was instinct with life.
The ant crept forth to her daily toil, the butterfly fluttered and
basked in the warm rays of the sun; myriads of insects spread
their transparent wings, and revelled in their brief but happy
existence. Man walked forth, elated with the scene; and all was
brightness and splendour.
'"YOU a miserable man!" said the king of the goblins, in a
more contemptuous tone than before. And again the king of the
goblins gave his leg a flourish; again it descended on the shoulders
of the sexton; and again the attendant goblins imitated the
example of their chief.
'Many a time the cloud went and came, and many a lesson it
taught to Gabriel Grub, who, although his shoulders smarted
with pain from the frequent applications of the goblins' feet
thereunto, looked on with an interest that nothing could diminish.
He saw that men who worked hard, and earned their scanty
bread with lives of labour, were cheerful and happy; and that to
the most ignorant, the sweet face of Nature was a never-failing
source of cheerfulness and joy. He saw those who had been
delicately nurtured, and tenderly brought up, cheerful under
privations, and superior to suffering, that would have crushed
many of a rougher grain, because they bore within their own
bosoms the materials of happiness, contentment, and peace. He
saw that women, the tenderest and most fragile of all God's
creatures, were the oftenest superior to sorrow, adversity, and
distress; and he saw that it was because they bore, in their own
hearts, an inexhaustible well-spring of affection and devotion.
Above all, he saw that men like himself, who snarled at the mirth
and cheerfulness of others, were the foulest weeds on the fair
surface of the earth; and setting all the good of the world against
the evil, he came to the conclusion that it was a very decent and
respectable sort of world after all. No sooner had he formed it,
than the cloud which had closed over the last picture, seemed to
settle on his senses, and lull him to repose. One by one, the
goblins faded from his sight; and, as the last one disappeared, he
sank to sleep.
'The day had broken when Gabriel Grub awoke, and found
himself lying at full length on the flat gravestone in the churchyard,
with the wicker bottle lying empty by his side, and his coat,
spade, and lantern, all well whitened by the last night's frost,
scattered on the ground. The stone on which he had first seen
the goblin seated, stood bolt upright before him, and the grave
at which he had worked, the night before, was not far off. At
first, he began to doubt the reality of his adventures, but the
acute pain in his shoulders when he attempted to rise, assured
him that the kicking of the goblins was certainly not ideal. He
was staggered again, by observing no traces of footsteps in the
snow on which the goblins had played at leap-frog with the
gravestones, but he speedily accounted for this circumstance
when he remembered that, being spirits, they would leave no
visible impression behind them. So, Gabriel Grub got on his feet
as well as he could, for the pain in his back; and, brushing
the frost off his coat, put it on, and turned his face towards the town.
'But he was an altered man, and he could not bear the thought
of returning to a place where his repentance would be scoffed at,
and his reformation disbelieved. He hesitated for a few moments;
and then turned away to wander where he might, and seek his
bread elsewhere.
'The lantern, the spade, and the wicker bottle were found, that
day, in the churchyard. There were a great many speculations
about the sexton's fate, at first, but it was speedily determined
that he had been carried away by the goblins; and there were not
wanting some very credible witnesses who had distinctly seen
him whisked through the air on the back of a chestnut horse
blind of one eye, with the hind-quarters of a lion, and the tail of a
bear. At length all this was devoutly believed; and the new sexton
used to exhibit to the curious, for a trifling emolument, a goodsized
piece of the church weathercock which had been accidentally
kicked off by the aforesaid horse in his aerial flight, and picked
up by himself in the churchyard, a year or two afterwards.
'Unfortunately, these stories were somewhat disturbed by the
unlooked-for reappearance of Gabriel Grub himself, some ten
years afterwards, a ragged, contented, rheumatic old man. He
told his story to the clergyman, and also to the mayor; and in
course of time it began to be received as a matter of history, in
which form it has continued down to this very day. The
believers in the weathercock tale, having misplaced their confidence
once, were not easily prevailed upon to part with it
again, so they looked as wise as they could, shrugged their
shoulders, touched their foreheads, and murmured something
about Gabriel Grub having drunk all the Hollands, and then
fallen asleep on the flat tombstone; and they affected to explain
what he supposed he had witnessed in the goblin's cavern, by
saying that he had seen the world, and grown wiser. But this
opinion, which was by no means a popular one at any time,
gradually died off; and be the matter how it may, as Gabriel
Grub was afflicted with rheumatism to the end of his days, this
story has at least one moral, if it teach no better one--and that is,
that if a man turn sulky and drink by himself at Christmas time,
he may make up his mind to be not a bit the better for it: let the
spirits be never so good, or let them be even as many degrees
beyond proof, as those which Gabriel Grub saw in the goblin's cavern.'
CHAPTER XXX
HOW THE PICKWICKIANS MADE AND CULTIVATED THE
ACQUAINTANCE OF A COUPLE OF NICE YOUNG MEN
BELONGING TO ONE OF THE LIBERAL PROFESSIONS; HOW
THEY DISPORTED THEMSELVES ON THE ICE; AND HOW
THEIR VISIT CAME TO A CONCLUSION
'Well, Sam,' said Mr. Pickwick, as that favoured servitor entered
his bed-chamber, with his warm water, on the morning of Christmas
Day, 'still frosty?'
'Water in the wash-hand basin's a mask o' ice, Sir,' responded Sam.
'Severe weather, Sam,' observed Mr. Pickwick.
'Fine time for them as is well wropped up, as the Polar bear said
to himself, ven he was practising his skating,' replied Mr. Weller.
'I shall be down in a quarter of an hour, Sam,' said Mr.
Pickwick, untying his nightcap.
'Wery good, sir,' replied Sam. 'There's a couple o' sawbones
downstairs.'
'A couple of what!' exclaimed Mr. Pickwick, sitting up in bed.
'A couple o' sawbones,' said Sam.
'What's a sawbones?' inquired Mr. Pickwick, not quite
certain whether it was a live animal, or something to eat.
'What! Don't you know what a sawbones is, sir?' inquired
Mr. Weller. 'I thought everybody know'd as a sawbones was a surgeon.'
'Oh, a surgeon, eh?' said Mr. Pickwick, with a smile.
'Just that, sir,' replied Sam. 'These here ones as is below,
though, ain't reg'lar thoroughbred sawbones; they're only in
trainin'.'
'In other words they're medical students, I suppose?' said
Mr. Pickwick.
Sam Weller nodded assent.
'I am glad of it,' said Mr. Pickwick, casting his nightcap
energetically on the counterpane. 'They are fine fellows--very
fine fellows; with judgments matured by observation and
reflection; and tastes refined by reading and study. I am very
glad of it.'
'They're a-smokin' cigars by the kitchen fire,' said Sam.
'Ah!' observed Mr. Pickwick, rubbing his hands, 'overflowing
with kindly feelings and animal spirits. Just what I like
to see.'
'And one on 'em,' said Sam, not noticing his master's interruption,
'one on 'em's got his legs on the table, and is a-drinking
brandy neat, vile the t'other one--him in the barnacles--has got
a barrel o' oysters atween his knees, which he's a-openin' like
steam, and as fast as he eats 'em, he takes a aim vith the shells
at young dropsy, who's a sittin' down fast asleep, in the
chimbley corner.'
'Eccentricities of genius, Sam,' said Mr. Pickwick. 'You
may retire.'
Sam did retire accordingly. Mr. Pickwick at the expiration of
the quarter of an hour, went down to breakfast.
'Here he is at last!' said old Mr. Wardle. 'Pickwick, this is
Miss Allen's brother, Mr. Benjamin Allen. Ben we call him, and
so may you, if you like. This gentleman is his very particular
friend, Mr.--'
'Mr. Bob Sawyer,'interposed Mr. Benjamin Allen; whereupon
Mr. Bob Sawyer and Mr. Benjamin Allen laughed in concert.
Mr. Pickwick bowed to Bob Sawyer, and Bob Sawyer bowed
to Mr. Pickwick. Bob and his very particular friend then applied
themselves most assiduously to the eatables before them; and
Mr. Pickwick had an opportunity of glancing at them both.
Mr. Benjamin Allen was a coarse, stout, thick-set young man,
with black hair cut rather short, and a white face cut rather long.
He was embellished with spectacles, and wore a white neckerchief.
Below his single-breasted black surtout, which was
buttoned up to his chin, appeared the usual number of pepperand-
salt coloured legs, terminating in a pair of imperfectly
polished boots. Although his coat was short in the sleeves, it
disclosed no vestige of a linen wristband; and although there was
quite enough of his face to admit of the encroachment of a shirt
collar, it was not graced by the smallest approach to that appendage.
He presented, altogether, rather a mildewy appearance,
and emitted a fragrant odour of full-flavoured Cubas.
Mr. Bob Sawyer, who was habited in a coarse, blue coat,
which, without being either a greatcoat or a surtout, partook of
the nature and qualities of both, had about him that sort of
slovenly smartness, and swaggering gait, which is peculiar to
young gentlemen who smoke in the streets by day, shout and
scream in the same by night, call waiters by their Christian
names, and do various other acts and deeds of an equally
facetious description. He wore a pair of plaid trousers,
and a large, rough, double-breasted waistcoat; out of doors, he
carried a thick stick with a big top. He eschewed gloves, and
looked, upon the whole, something like a dissipated Robinson Crusoe.
Such were the two worthies to whom Mr. Pickwick was
introduced, as he took his seat at the breakfast-table on
Christmas morning.
'Splendid morning, gentlemen,' said Mr. Pickwick.
Mr. Bob Sawyer slightly nodded his assent to the proposition,
and asked Mr. Benjamin Allen for the mustard.
'Have you come far this morning, gentlemen?' inquired
Mr. Pickwick.
'Blue Lion at Muggleton,' briefly responded Mr. Allen.
'You should have joined us last night,' said Mr. Pickwick.
'So we should,' replied Bob Sawyer, 'but the brandy was too
good to leave in a hurry; wasn't it, Ben?'
'Certainly,' said Mr. Benjamin Allen; 'and the cigars were not
bad, or the pork-chops either; were they, Bob?'
'Decidedly not,' said Bob. The particular friends resumed their
attack upon the breakfast, more freely than before, as if the
recollection of last night's supper had imparted a new relish to
the meal.
'Peg away, Bob,' said Mr. Allen, to his companion, encouragingly.
'So I do,' replied Bob Sawyer. And so, to do him justice, he did.
'Nothing like dissecting, to give one an appetite,' said Mr.
Bob Sawyer, looking round the table.
Mr. Pickwick slightly shuddered.
'By the bye, Bob,' said Mr. Allen, 'have you finished that leg yet?'
'Nearly,' replied Sawyer, helping himself to half a fowl as he
spoke. 'It's a very muscular one for a child's.'
'Is it?' inquired Mr. Allen carelessly.
'Very,' said Bob Sawyer, with his mouth full.
'I've put my name down for an arm at our place,' said Mr.
Allen. 'We're clubbing for a subject, and the list is nearly full,
only we can't get hold of any fellow that wants a head. I wish
you'd take it.'
'No,' replied 'Bob Sawyer; 'can't afford expensive luxuries.'
'Nonsense!' said Allen.
'Can't, indeed,' rejoined Bob Sawyer, 'I wouldn't mind a
brain, but I couldn't stand a whole head.'
'Hush, hush, gentlemen, pray,' said Mr. Pickwick, 'I hear the ladies.'
As Mr. Pickwick spoke, the ladies, gallantly escorted by
Messrs. Snodgrass, Winkle, and Tupman, returned from an
early walk.
'Why, Ben!' said Arabella, in a tone which expressed more
surprise than pleasure at the sight of her brother.
'Come to take you home to-morrow,' replied Benjamin.
Mr. Winkle turned pale.
'Don't you see Bob Sawyer, Arabella?' inquired Mr. Benjamin
Allen, somewhat reproachfully. Arabella gracefully held out her
hand, in acknowledgment of Bob Sawyer's presence. A thrill of
hatred struck to Mr. Winkle's heart, as Bob Sawyer inflicted on
the proffered hand a perceptible squeeze.
'Ben, dear!' said Arabella, blushing; 'have--have--you been
introduced to Mr. Winkle?'
'I have not been, but I shall be very happy to be, Arabella,'
replied her brother gravely. Here Mr. Allen bowed grimly to
Mr. Winkle, while Mr. Winkle and Mr. Bob Sawyer glanced
mutual distrust out of the corners of their eyes.
The arrival of the two new visitors, and the consequent check
upon Mr. Winkle and the young lady with the fur round her
boots, would in all probability have proved a very unpleasant
interruption to the hilarity of the party, had not the cheerfulness
of Mr. Pickwick, and the good humour of the host, been exerted
to the very utmost for the common weal. Mr. Winkle gradually
insinuated himself into the good graces of Mr. Benjamin Allen,
and even joined in a friendly conversation with Mr. Bob Sawyer;
who, enlivened with the brandy, and the breakfast, and the
talking, gradually ripened into a state of extreme facetiousness,
and related with much glee an agreeable anecdote, about the
removal of a tumour on some gentleman's head, which he
illustrated by means of an oyster-knife and a half-quartern loaf,
to the great edification of the assembled company. Then the
whole train went to church, where Mr. Benjamin Allen fell fast
asleep; while Mr. Bob Sawyer abstracted his thoughts from
worldly matters, by the ingenious process of carving his name on
the seat of the pew, in corpulent letters of four inches long.
'Now,' said Wardle, after a substantial lunch, with the agreeable
items of strong beer and cherry-brandy, had been done
ample justice to, 'what say you to an hour on the ice? We shall
have plenty of time.'
'Capital!' said Mr. Benjamin Allen.
'Prime!' ejaculated Mr. Bob Sawyer.
'You skate, of course, Winkle?' said Wardle.
'Ye-yes; oh, yes,' replied Mr. Winkle. 'I--I--am RATHER out
of practice.'
'Oh, DO skate, Mr. Winkle,' said Arabella. 'I like to see it so much.'
'Oh, it is SO graceful,' said another young lady.
A third young lady said it was elegant, and a fourth expressed
her opinion that it was 'swan-like.'
'I should be very happy, I'm sure,' said Mr. Winkle, reddening;
'but I have no skates.'
This objection was at once overruled. Trundle had a couple of
pair, and the fat boy announced that there were half a dozen
more downstairs; whereat Mr. Winkle expressed exquisite
delight, and looked exquisitely uncomfortable.
Old Wardle led the way to a pretty large sheet of ice; and the
fat boy and Mr. Weller, having shovelled and swept away the
snow which had fallen on it during the night, Mr. Bob Sawyer
adjusted his skates with a dexterity which to Mr. Winkle was
perfectly marvellous, and described circles with his left leg, and
cut figures of eight, and inscribed upon the ice, without once
stopping for breath, a great many other pleasant and astonishing
devices, to the excessive satisfaction of Mr. Pickwick, Mr. Tupman,
and the ladies; which reached a pitch of positive enthusiasm,
when old Wardle and Benjamin Allen, assisted by the
aforesaid Bob Sawyer, performed some mystic evolutions, which
they called a reel.
All this time, Mr. Winkle, with his face and hands blue with
the cold, had been forcing a gimlet into the sole of his feet, and
putting his skates on, with the points behind, and getting the
straps into a very complicated and entangled state, with the
assistance of Mr. Snodgrass, who knew rather less about skates
than a Hindoo. At length, however, with the assistance of Mr.
Weller, the unfortunate skates were firmly screwed and buckled
on, and Mr. Winkle was raised to his feet.
'Now, then, Sir,' said Sam, in an encouraging tone; 'off vith
you, and show 'em how to do it.'
'Stop, Sam, stop!' said Mr. Winkle, trembling violently, and
clutching hold of Sam's arms with the grasp of a drowning man.
'How slippery it is, Sam!'
'Not an uncommon thing upon ice, Sir,' replied Mr. Weller.
'Hold up, Sir!'
This last observation of Mr. Weller's bore reference to a
demonstration Mr. Winkle made at the instant, of a frantic
desire to throw his feet in the air, and dash the back of his head
on the ice.
'These--these--are very awkward skates; ain't they, Sam?'
inquired Mr. Winkle, staggering.
'I'm afeerd there's a orkard gen'l'm'n in 'em, Sir,' replied Sam.
'Now, Winkle,' cried Mr. Pickwick, quite unconscious that
there was anything the matter. 'Come; the ladies are all anxiety.'
'Yes, yes,' replied Mr. Winkle, with a ghastly smile. 'I'm coming.'
'Just a-goin' to begin,' said Sam, endeavouring to disengage
himself. 'Now, Sir, start off!'
'Stop an instant, Sam,' gasped Mr. Winkle, clinging most
affectionately to Mr. Weller. 'I find I've got a couple of coats at
home that I don't want, Sam. You may have them, Sam.'
'Thank'ee, Sir,' replied Mr. Weller.
'Never mind touching your hat, Sam,' said Mr. Winkle hastily.
'You needn't take your hand away to do that. I meant to have
given you five shillings this morning for a Christmas box, Sam.
I'll give it you this afternoon, Sam.'
'You're wery good, sir,' replied Mr. Weller.
'Just hold me at first, Sam; will you?' said Mr. Winkle.
'There--that's right. I shall soon get in the way of it, Sam. Not
too fast, Sam; not too fast.'
Mr. Winkle, stooping forward, with his body half doubled up,
was being assisted over the ice by Mr. Weller, in a very singular
and un-swan-like manner, when Mr. Pickwick most innocently
shouted from the opposite bank--
'Sam!'
'Sir?'
'Here. I want you.'
'Let go, Sir,' said Sam. 'Don't you hear the governor a-callin'?
Let go, sir.'
With a violent effort, Mr. Weller disengaged himself from the
grasp of the agonised Pickwickian, and, in so doing, administered
a considerable impetus to the unhappy Mr. Winkle. With an
accuracy which no degree of dexterity or practice could have
insured, that unfortunate gentleman bore swiftly down into the
centre of the reel, at the very moment when Mr. Bob Sawyer was
performing a flourish of unparalleled beauty. Mr. Winkle struck wildly
against him, and with a loud crash they both fell heavily down.
Mr. Pickwick ran to the spot. Bob Sawyer had risen to his feet,
but Mr. Winkle was far too wise to do anything of the kind, in skates.
He was seated on the ice, making spasmodic efforts to smile; but
anguish was depicted on every lineament of his countenance.
'Are you hurt?' inquired Mr. Benjamin Allen, with great anxiety.
'Not much,' said Mr. Winkle, rubbing his back very hard.
'I wish you'd let me bleed you,' said Mr. Benjamin, with great eagerness.
'No, thank you,' replied Mr. Winkle hurriedly.
'I really think you had better,' said Allen.
'Thank you,' replied Mr. Winkle; 'I'd rather not.'
'What do YOU think, Mr. Pickwick?' inquired Bob Sawyer.
Mr. Pickwick was excited and indignant. He beckoned to
Mr. Weller, and said in a stern voice, 'Take his skates off.'
'No; but really I had scarcely begun,' remonstrated Mr. Winkle.
'Take his skates off,' repeated Mr. Pickwick firmly.
The command was not to be resisted. Mr. Winkle allowed
Sam to obey it, in silence.
'Lift him up,' said Mr. Pickwick. Sam assisted him to rise.
Mr. Pickwick retired a few paces apart from the bystanders;
and, beckoning his friend to approach, fixed a searching look
upon him, and uttered in a low, but distinct and emphatic tone,
these remarkable words--
'You're a humbug, sir.'
'A what?' said Mr. Winkle, starting.
'A humbug, Sir. I will speak plainer, if you wish it. An
impostor, sir.'
With those words, Mr. Pickwick turned slowly on his heel, and
rejoined his friends.
While Mr. Pickwick was delivering himself of the sentiment
just recorded, Mr. Weller and the fat boy, having by their joint
endeavours cut out a slide, were exercising themselves thereupon,
in a very masterly and brilliant manner. Sam Weller, in particular,
was displaying that beautiful feat of fancy-sliding which is
currently denominated 'knocking at the cobbler's door,' and
which is achieved by skimming over the ice on one foot, and
occasionally giving a postman's knock upon it with the other. It
was a good long slide, and there was something in the motion
which Mr. Pickwick, who was very cold with standing still,
could not help envying.
'It looks a nice warm exercise that, doesn't it?' he inquired of
Wardle, when that gentleman was thoroughly out of breath, by
reason of the indefatigable manner in which he had converted his
legs into a pair of compasses, and drawn complicated problems
on the ice.
'Ah, it does, indeed,' replied Wardle. 'Do you slide?'
'I used to do so, on the gutters, when I was a boy,' replied
Mr. Pickwick.
'Try it now,' said Wardle.
'Oh, do, please, Mr. Pickwick!' cried all the ladies.
'I should be very happy to afford you any amusement,' replied
Mr. Pickwick, 'but I haven't done such a thing these thirty years.'
'Pooh! pooh! Nonsense!' said Wardle, dragging off his skates
with the impetuosity which characterised all his proceedings.
'Here; I'll keep you company; come along!' And away went the
good-tempered old fellow down the slide, with a rapidity which
came very close upon Mr. Weller, and beat the fat boy all to nothing.
Mr. Pickwick paused, considered, pulled off his gloves and put
them in his hat; took two or three short runs, baulked himself as
often, and at last took another run, and went slowly and gravely
down the slide, with his feet about a yard and a quarter apart,
amidst the gratified shouts of all the spectators.
'Keep the pot a-bilin', Sir!' said Sam; and down went Wardle
again, and then Mr. Pickwick, and then Sam, and then Mr.
Winkle, and then Mr. Bob Sawyer, and then the fat boy, and
then Mr. Snodgrass, following closely upon each other's heels,
and running after each other with as much eagerness as if their
future prospects in life depended on their expedition.
It was the most intensely interesting thing, to observe the
manner in which Mr. Pickwick performed his share in the
ceremony; to watch the torture of anxiety with which he viewed
the person behind, gaining upon him at the imminent hazard of
tripping him up; to see him gradually expend the painful force
he had put on at first, and turn slowly round on the slide, with his
face towards the point from which he had started; to contemplate
the playful smile which mantled on his face when he had accomplished
the distance, and the eagerness with which he turned
round when he had done so, and ran after his predecessor, his
black gaiters tripping pleasantly through the snow, and his eyes
beaming cheerfulness and gladness through his spectacles. And
when he was knocked down (which happened upon the average
every third round), it was the most invigorating sight that can
possibly be imagined, to behold him gather up his hat, gloves,
and handkerchief, with a glowing countenance, and resume his
station in the rank, with an ardour and enthusiasm that nothing
Could abate.
The sport was at its height, the sliding was at the quickest, the
laughter was at the loudest, when a sharp smart crack was heard.
There was a quick rush towards the bank, a wild scream from the
ladies, and a shout from Mr. Tupman. A large mass of ice
disappeared; the water bubbled up over it; Mr. Pickwick's hat,
gloves, and handkerchief were floating on the surface; and this
was all of Mr. Pickwick that anybody could see.
Dismay and anguish were depicted on every countenance; the
males turned pale, and the females fainted; Mr. Snodgrass and
Mr. Winkle grasped each other by the hand, and gazed at the
spot where their leader had gone down, with frenzied eagerness;
while Mr. Tupman, by way of rendering the promptest assistance,
and at the same time conveying to any persons who might be
within hearing, the clearest possible notion of the catastrophe,
ran off across the country at his utmost speed, screaming 'Fire!'
with all his might.
It was at this moment, when old Wardle and Sam Weller were
approaching the hole with cautious steps, and Mr. Benjamin
Allen was holding a hurried consultation with Mr. Bob Sawyer
on the advisability of bleeding the company generally, as an
improving little bit of professional practice--it was at this very
moment, that a face, head, and shoulders, emerged from beneath the
water, and disclosed the features and spectacles of Mr. Pickwick.
'Keep yourself up for an instant--for only one instant!'
bawled Mr. Snodgrass.
'Yes, do; let me implore you--for my sake!' roared Mr.
Winkle, deeply affected. The adjuration was rather unnecessary;
the probability being, that if Mr. Pickwick had declined to keep
himself up for anybody else's sake, it would have occurred to him
that he might as well do so, for his own.
'Do you feel the bottom there, old fellow?' said Wardle.
'Yes, certainly,' replied Mr. Pickwick, wringing the water from
his head and face, and gasping for breath. 'I fell upon my back.
I couldn't get on my feet at first.'
The clay upon so much of Mr. Pickwick's coat as was yet
visible, bore testimony to the accuracy of this statement; and as
the fears of the spectators were still further relieved by the fat
boy's suddenly recollecting that the water was nowhere more than
five feet deep, prodigies of valour were performed to get him out.
After a vast quantity of splashing, and cracking, and struggling,
Mr. Pickwick was at length fairly extricated from his unpleasant
position, and once more stood on dry land.
'Oh, he'll catch his death of cold,' said Emily.
'Dear old thing!' said Arabella. 'Let me wrap this shawl round
you, Mr. Pickwick.'
'Ah, that's the best thing you can do,' said Wardle; 'and when
you've got it on, run home as fast as your legs can carry you, and
jump into bed directly.'
A dozen shawls were offered on the instant. Three or four of
the thickest having been selected, Mr. Pickwick was wrapped up,
and started off, under the guidance of Mr. Weller; presenting the
singular phenomenon of an elderly gentleman, dripping wet, and
without a hat, with his arms bound down to his sides, skimming
over the ground, without any clearly-defined purpose, at the rate
of six good English miles an hour.
But Mr. Pickwick cared not for appearances in such an
extreme case, and urged on by Sam Weller, he kept at the very
top of his speed until he reached the door of Manor Farm, where
Mr. Tupman had arrived some five minutes before, and had
frightened the old lady into palpitations of the heart by
impressing her with the unalterable conviction that the kitchen
chimney was on fire--a calamity which always presented itself in
glowing colours to the old lady's mind, when anybody about her
evinced the smallest agitation.
Mr. Pickwick paused not an instant until he was snug in bed.
Sam Weller lighted a blazing fire in the room, and took up his
dinner; a bowl of punch was carried up afterwards, and a grand
carouse held in honour of his safety. Old Wardle would not hear
of his rising, so they made the bed the chair, and Mr. Pickwick
presided. A second and a third bowl were ordered in; and when
Mr. Pickwick awoke next morning, there was not a symptom of
rheumatism about him; which proves, as Mr. Bob Sawyer very
justly observed, that there is nothing like hot punch in such cases;
and that if ever hot punch did fail to act as a preventive, it was
merely because the patient fell into the vulgar error of not taking
enough of it.
The jovial party broke up next morning. Breakings-up are
capital things in our school-days, but in after life they are painful
enough. Death, self-interest, and fortune's changes, are every day
breaking up many a happy group, and scattering them far and
wide; and the boys and girls never come back again. We do not
mean to say that it was exactly the case in this particular instance;
all we wish to inform the reader is, that the different members of
the party dispersed to their several homes; that Mr. Pickwick and
his friends once more took their seats on the top of the Muggleton
coach; and that Arabella Allen repaired to her place of destination,
wherever it might have been--we dare say Mr. Winkle
knew, but we confess we don't--under the care and guardianship
of her brother Benjamin, and his most intimate and particular
friend, Mr. Bob Sawyer.
Before they separated, however, that gentleman and Mr.
Benjamin Allen drew Mr. Pickwick aside with an air of some
mystery; and Mr. Bob Sawyer, thrusting his forefinger between
two of Mr. Pickwick's ribs, and thereby displaying his native
drollery, and his knowledge of the anatomy of the human frame,
at one and the same time, inquired--
'I say, old boy, where do you hang out?'
Mr. Pickwick replied that he was at present suspended at the
George and Vulture.
'I wish you'd come and see me,' said Bob Sawyer.
'Nothing would give me greater pleasure,' replied Mr. Pickwick.
'There's my lodgings,' said Mr. Bob Sawyer, producing a card.
'Lant Street, Borough; it's near Guy's, and handy for me, you
know. Little distance after you've passed St. George's Church--
turns out of the High Street on the right hand side the way.'
'I shall find it,' said Mr. Pickwick.
'Come on Thursday fortnight, and bring the other chaps with
you,' said Mr. Bob Sawyer; 'I'm going to have a few medical
fellows that night.'
Mr. Pickwick expressed the pleasure it would afford him to
meet the medical fellows; and after Mr. Bob Sawyer had
informed him that he meant to be very cosy, and that his friend
Ben was to be one of the party, they shook hands and separated.
We feel that in this place we lay ourself open to the inquiry
whether Mr. Winkle was whispering, during this brief conversation,
to Arabella Allen; and if so, what he said; and furthermore,
whether Mr. Snodgrass was conversing apart with Emily Wardle;
and if so, what HE said. To this, we reply, that whatever they
might have said to the ladies, they said nothing at all to Mr.
Pickwick or Mr. Tupman for eight-and-twenty miles, and that
they sighed very often, refused ale and brandy, and looked
gloomy. If our observant lady readers can deduce any satisfactory
inferences from these facts, we beg them by all means to do so.
CHAPTER XXXI
WHICH IS ALL ABOUT THE LAW, AND SUNDRY GREAT
AUTHORITIES LEARNED THEREIN
Scattered about, in various holes and corners of the Temple,
are certain dark and dirty chambers, in and out of which,
all the morning in vacation, and half the evening too in
term time, there may be seen constantly hurrying with bundles of
papers under their arms, and protruding from their pockets, an
almost uninterrupted succession of lawyers' clerks. There are
several grades of lawyers' clerks. There is the articled clerk, who
has paid a premium, and is an attorney in perspective, who runs a
tailor's bill, receives invitations to parties, knows a family in
Gower Street, and another in Tavistock Square; who goes out
of town every long vacation to see his father, who keeps live
horses innumerable; and who is, in short, the very aristocrat of
clerks. There is the salaried clerk--out of door, or in door, as
the case may be--who devotes the major part of his thirty shillings
a week to his Personal pleasure and adornments, repairs half-price
to the Adelphi Theatre at least three times a week, dissipates
majestically at the cider cellars afterwards, and is a dirty caricature
of the fashion which expired six months ago. There is the middleaged
copying clerk, with a large family, who is always shabby,
and often drunk. And there are the office lads in their first
surtouts, who feel a befitting contempt for boys at day-schools,
club as they go home at night, for saveloys and porter, and think
there's nothing like 'life.' There are varieties of the genus, too
numerous to recapitulate, but however numerous they may be,
they are all to be seen, at certain regulated business hours,
hurrying to and from the places we have just mentioned.
These sequestered nooks are the public offices of the legal
profession, where writs are issued, judgments signed, declarations
filed, and numerous other ingenious machines put in motion for
the torture and torment of His Majesty's liege subjects, and the
comfort and emolument of the practitioners of the law. They are,
for the most part, low-roofed, mouldy rooms, where innumerable
rolls of parchment, which have been perspiring in secret for the
last century, send forth an agreeable odour, which is mingled by
day with the scent of the dry-rot, and by night with the various
exhalations which arise from damp cloaks, festering umbrellas,
and the coarsest tallow candles.
About half-past seven o'clock in the evening, some ten days or
a fortnight after Mr. Pickwick and his friends returned to London,
there hurried into one of these offices, an individual in a brown
coat and brass buttons, whose long hair was scrupulously
twisted round the rim of his napless hat, and whose soiled drab
trousers were so tightly strapped over his Blucher boots, that his
knees threatened every moment to start from their concealment.
He produced from his coat pockets a long and narrow strip of
parchment, on which the presiding functionary impressed an
illegible black stamp. He then drew forth four scraps of paper, of
similar dimensions, each containing a printed copy of the strip
of parchment with blanks for a name; and having filled up the
blanks, put all the five documents in his pocket, and hurried away.
The man in the brown coat, with the cabalistic documents in
his pocket, was no other than our old acquaintance Mr. Jackson,
of the house of Dodson & Fogg, Freeman's Court, Cornhill.
Instead of returning to the office whence he came, however, he
bent his steps direct to Sun Court, and walking straight into the
George and Vulture, demanded to know whether one Mr. Pickwick
was within.
'Call Mr. Pickwick's servant, Tom,' said the barmaid of the
George and Vulture.
'Don't trouble yourself,' said Mr. Jackson. 'I've come on
business. If you'll show me Mr. Pickwick's room I'll step up myself.'
'What name, Sir?' said the waiter.
'Jackson,' replied the clerk.
The waiter stepped upstairs to announce Mr. Jackson; but
Mr. Jackson saved him the trouble by following close at his heels,
and walking into the apartment before he could articulate a syllable.
Mr. Pickwick had, that day, invited his three friends to dinner;
they were all seated round the fire, drinking their wine, when
Mr. Jackson presented himself, as above described.
'How de do, sir?' said Mr. Jackson, nodding to Mr. Pickwick.
That gentleman bowed, and looked somewhat surprised, for
the physiognomy of Mr. Jackson dwelt not in his recollection.
'I have called from Dodson and Fogg's,' said Mr. Jackson, in
an explanatory tone.
Mr. Pickwick roused at the name. 'I refer you to my attorney,
Sir; Mr. Perker, of Gray's Inn,' said he. 'Waiter, show this
gentleman out.'
'Beg your pardon, Mr. Pickwick,' said Jackson, deliberately
depositing his hat on the floor, and drawing from his pocket the
strip of parchment. 'But personal service, by clerk or agent, in
these cases, you know, Mr. Pickwick--nothing like caution, sir,
in all legal forms--eh?'
Here Mr. Jackson cast his eye on the parchment; and, resting
his hands on the table, and looking round with a winning and
persuasive smile, said, 'Now, come; don't let's have no words
about such a little matter as this. Which of you gentlemen's
name's Snodgrass?'
At this inquiry, Mr. Snodgrass gave such a very undisguised
and palpable start, that no further reply was needed.
'Ah! I thought so,' said Mr. Jackson, more affably than before.
'I've a little something to trouble you with, Sir.'
'Me!'exclaimed Mr. Snodgrass.
'It's only a subpoena in Bardell and Pickwick on behalf of the
plaintiff,' replied Jackson, singling out one of the slips of paper,
and producing a shilling from his waistcoat pocket. 'It'll come
on, in the settens after Term: fourteenth of Febooary, we expect;
we've marked it a special jury cause, and it's only ten down the
paper. That's yours, Mr. Snodgrass.' As Jackson said this, he
presented the parchment before the eyes of Mr. Snodgrass, and
slipped the paper and the shilling into his hand.
Mr. Tupman had witnessed this process in silent astonishment,
when Jackson, turning sharply upon him, said--
'I think I ain't mistaken when I say your name's Tupman,
am I?'
Mr. Tupman looked at Mr. Pickwick; but, perceiving no
encouragement in that gentleman's widely-opened eyes to deny
his name, said--
'Yes, my name is Tupman, Sir.'
'And that other gentleman's Mr. Winkle, I think?' said Jackson.
Mr. Winkle faltered out a reply in the affirmative; and both
gentlemen were forthwith invested with a slip of paper, and a
shilling each, by the dexterous Mr. Jackson.
'Now,' said Jackson, 'I'm afraid you'll think me rather
troublesome, but I want somebody else, if it ain't inconvenient.
I have Samuel Weller's name here, Mr. Pickwick.'
'Send my servant here, waiter,' said Mr. Pickwick. The waiter
retired, considerably astonished, and Mr. Pickwick motioned
Jackson to a seat.
There was a painful pause, which was at length broken by the
innocent defendant.
'I suppose, Sir,' said Mr. Pickwick, his indignation rising while he
spoke--'I suppose, Sir, that it is the intention of your employers
to seek to criminate me upon the testimony of my own friends?'
Mr. Jackson struck his forefinger several times against the left
side of his nose, to intimate that he was not there to disclose the
secrets of the prison house, and playfully rejoined--
'Not knowin', can't say.'
'For what other reason, Sir,' pursued Mr. Pickwick, 'are these
subpoenas served upon them, if not for this?'
'Very good plant, Mr. Pickwick,' replied Jackson, slowly
shaking his head. 'But it won't do. No harm in trying, but there's
little to be got out of me.'
Here Mr. Jackson smiled once more upon the company, and,
applying his left thumb to the tip of his nose, worked a visionary
coffee-mill with his right hand, thereby performing a very
graceful piece of pantomime (then much in vogue, but now,
unhappily, almost obsolete) which was familiarly denominated
'taking a grinder.'
'No, no, Mr. Pickwick,' said Jackson, in conclusion; 'Perker's
people must guess what we've served these subpoenas for. If they
can't, they must wait till the action comes on, and then they'll
find out.'
Mr. Pickwick bestowed a look of excessive disgust on his
unwelcome visitor, and would probably have hurled some
tremendous anathema at the heads of Messrs. Dodson & Fogg,
had not Sam's entrance at the instant interrupted him.
'Samuel Weller?' said Mr. Jackson, inquiringly.
'Vun o' the truest things as you've said for many a long year,'
replied Sam, in a most composed manner.
'Here's a subpoena for you, Mr. Weller,' said Jackson.
'What's that in English?' inquired Sam.
'Here's the original,' said Jackson, declining the required
explanation.
'Which?' said Sam.
'This,' replied Jackson, shaking the parchment.
'Oh, that's the 'rig'nal, is it?' said Sam. 'Well, I'm wery glad
I've seen the 'rig'nal, 'cos it's a gratifyin' sort o' thing, and eases
vun's mind so much.'
'And here's the shilling,' said Jackson. 'It's from Dodson and Fogg's.'
'And it's uncommon handsome o' Dodson and Fogg, as knows
so little of me, to come down vith a present,' said Sam. 'I feel it
as a wery high compliment, sir; it's a wery honorable thing to
them, as they knows how to reward merit werever they meets it.
Besides which, it's affectin' to one's feelin's.'
As Mr. Weller said this, he inflicted a little friction on his right
eyelid, with the sleeve of his coat, after the most approved
manner of actors when they are in domestic pathetics.
Mr. Jackson seemed rather puzzled by Sam's proceedings; but,
as he had served the subpoenas, and had nothing more to say, he
made a feint of putting on the one glove which he usually carried
in his hand, for the sake of appearances; and returned to the
office to report progress.
Mr. Pickwick slept little that night; his memory had received
a very disagreeable refresher on the subject of Mrs. Bardell's
action. He breakfasted betimes next morning, and, desiring Sam
to accompany him, set forth towards Gray's Inn Square.
'Sam!' said Mr. Pickwick, looking round, when they got to the
end of Cheapside.
'Sir?' said Sam, stepping up to his master.
'Which way?'
'Up Newgate Street.'
Mr. Pickwick did not turn round immediately, but looked
vacantly in Sam's face for a few seconds, and heaved a deep sigh.
'What's the matter, sir?' inquired Sam.
'This action, Sam,' said Mr. Pickwick, 'is expected to come on,
on the fourteenth of next month.'
'Remarkable coincidence that 'ere, sir,' replied Sam.
'Why remarkable, Sam?' inquired Mr. Pickwick.
'Walentine's day, sir,' responded Sam; 'reg'lar good day for a
breach o' promise trial.'
Mr. Weller's smile awakened no gleam of mirth in his master's
countenance. Mr. Pickwick turned abruptly round, and led the
way in silence.
They had walked some distance, Mr. Pickwick trotting on
before, plunged in profound meditation, and Sam following
behind, with a countenance expressive of the most enviable and
easy defiance of everything and everybody, when the latter, who
was always especially anxious to impart to his master any
exclusive information he possessed, quickened his pace until he
was close at Mr. Pickwick's heels; and, pointing up at a house
they were passing, said--
'Wery nice pork-shop that 'ere, sir.'
'Yes, it seems so,' said Mr. Pickwick.
'Celebrated sassage factory,' said Sam.
'Is it?' said Mr. Pickwick.
'Is it!' reiterated Sam, with some indignation; 'I should rayther
think it was. Why, sir, bless your innocent eyebrows, that's where
the mysterious disappearance of a 'spectable tradesman took
place four years ago.'
'You don't mean to say he was burked, Sam?' said Mr.
Pickwick, looking hastily round.
'No, I don't indeed, sir,' replied Mr. Weller, 'I wish I did; far
worse than that. He was the master o' that 'ere shop, sir, and the
inwentor o' the patent-never-leavin'-off sassage steam-ingin, as
'ud swaller up a pavin' stone if you put it too near, and grind it
into sassages as easy as if it was a tender young babby. Wery
proud o' that machine he was, as it was nat'ral he should be, and
he'd stand down in the celler a-lookin' at it wen it was in full
play, till he got quite melancholy with joy. A wery happy man
he'd ha' been, Sir, in the procession o' that 'ere ingin and two
more lovely hinfants besides, if it hadn't been for his wife, who
was a most owdacious wixin. She was always a-follerin' him
about, and dinnin' in his ears, till at last he couldn't stand it no
longer. "I'll tell you what it is, my dear," he says one day; "if you
persewere in this here sort of amusement," he says, "I'm
blessed if I don't go away to 'Merriker; and that's all about it."
"You're a idle willin," says she, "and I wish the 'Merrikins joy of
their bargain." Arter which she keeps on abusin' of him for half
an hour, and then runs into the little parlour behind the shop,
sets to a-screamin', says he'll be the death on her, and falls in a
fit, which lasts for three good hours--one o' them fits wich is all
screamin' and kickin'. Well, next mornin', the husband was
missin'. He hadn't taken nothin' from the till--hadn't even put
on his greatcoat--so it was quite clear he warn't gone to 'Merriker.
Didn't come back next day; didn't come back next week; missis
had bills printed, sayin' that, if he'd come back, he should be
forgiven everythin' (which was very liberal, seein' that he hadn't
done nothin' at all); the canals was dragged, and for two months
arterwards, wenever a body turned up, it was carried, as a reg'lar
thing, straight off to the sassage shop. Hows'ever, none on 'em
answered; so they gave out that he'd run away, and she kep' on
the bis'ness. One Saturday night, a little, thin, old gen'l'm'n
comes into the shop in a great passion and says, "Are you the
missis o' this here shop?" "Yes, I am," says she. "Well, ma'am,"
says he, "then I've just looked in to say that me and my family
ain't a-goin' to be choked for nothin'; and more than that,
ma'am," he says, "you'll allow me to observe that as you don't
use the primest parts of the meat in the manafacter o' sassages,
I'd think you'd find beef come nearly as cheap as buttons." "As
buttons, Sir!" says she. "Buttons, ma'am," says the little, old
gentleman, unfolding a bit of paper, and showin' twenty or
thirty halves o' buttons. "Nice seasonin' for sassages, is trousers'
buttons, ma'am." "They're my husband's buttons!" says the
widder beginnin' to faint, "What!" screams the little old
gen'l'm'n, turnin' wery pale. "I see it all," says the widder; "in a
fit of temporary insanity he rashly converted hisself into
sassages!" And so he had, Sir,' said Mr. Weller, looking steadily
into Mr. Pickwick's horror-stricken countenance, 'or else he'd
been draw'd into the ingin; but however that might ha' been, the
little, old gen'l'm'n, who had been remarkably partial to sassages
all his life, rushed out o' the shop in a wild state, and was never
heerd on arterwards!'
The relation of this affecting incident of private life brought
master and man to Mr. Perker's chambers. Lowten, holding the
door half open, was in conversation with a rustily-clad, miserablelooking
man, in boots without toes and gloves without fingers.
There were traces of privation and suffering--almost of despair
--in his lank and care-worn countenance; he felt his poverty, for
he shrank to the dark side of the staircase as Mr. Pickwick approached.
'It's very unfortunate,' said the stranger, with a sigh.
'Very,' said Lowten, scribbling his name on the doorpost with
his pen, and rubbing it out again with the feather. 'Will you
leave a message for him?'
'When do you think he'll be back?' inquired the stranger.
'Quite uncertain,' replied Lowten, winking at Mr. Pickwick, as
the stranger cast his eyes towards the ground.
'You don't think it would be of any use my waiting for him?'
said the stranger, looking wistfully into the office.
'Oh, no, I'm sure it wouldn't,' replied the clerk, moving a little
more into the centre of the doorway. 'He's certain not to be back
this week, and it's a chance whether he will be next; for when
Perker once gets out of town, he's never in a hurry to come back again.'
'Out of town!' said Mr. Pickwick; 'dear me, how unfortunate!'
'Don't go away, Mr. Pickwick,' said Lowten, 'I've got a letter
for you.' The stranger, seeming to hesitate, once more looked
towards the ground, and the clerk winked slyly at Mr. PickwiCK,
as if to intimate that some exquisite piece of humour was going
forward, though what it was Mr. Pickwick could not for the life
of him divine.
'Step in, Mr. Pickwick,' said Lowten. 'Well, will you leave a
message, Mr. Watty, or will you call again?'
'Ask him to be so kind as to leave out word what has been done
in my business,' said the man; 'for God's sake don't neglect it,
Mr. Lowten.'
'No, no; I won't forget it,' replied the clerk. 'Walk in, Mr.
Pickwick. Good-morning, Mr. Watty; it's a fine day for walking,
isn't it?' Seeing that the stranger still lingered, he beckoned Sam
Weller to follow his master in, and shut the door in his face.
'There never was such a pestering bankrupt as that since the
world began, I do believe!' said Lowten, throwing down his pen
with the air of an injured man. 'His affairs haven't been in
Chancery quite four years yet, and I'm d--d if he don't come
worrying here twice a week. Step this way, Mr. Pickwick. Perker
IS in, and he'll see you, I know. Devilish cold,' he added pettishly,
'standing at that door, wasting one's time with such seedy
vagabonds!' Having very vehemently stirred a particularly large
fire with a particularly small poker, the clerk led the way to his
principal's private room, and announced Mr. Pickwick.
'Ah, my dear Sir,' said little Mr. Perker, bustling up from his
chair. 'Well, my dear sir, and what's the news about your matter,
eh? Anything more about our friends in Freeman's Court?
They've not been sleeping, I know that. Ah, they're very smart
fellows; very smart, indeed.'
As the little man concluded, he took an emphatic pinch of
snuff, as a tribute to the smartness of Messrs. Dodson and Fogg.
'They are great scoundrels,' said Mr. Pickwick.
'Aye, aye,' said the little man; 'that's a matter of opinion, you
know, and we won't dispute about terms; because of course you
can't be expected to view these subjects with a professional eye.
Well, we've done everything that's necessary. I have retained
Serjeant Snubbin.'
'Is he a good man?' inquired Mr. Pickwick.
'Good man!' replied Perker; 'bless your heart and soul, my
dear Sir, Serjeant Snubbin is at the very top of his profession.
Gets treble the business of any man in court--engaged in every
case. You needn't mention it abroad; but we say--we of the
profession--that Serjeant Snubbin leads the court by the nose.'
The little man took another pinch of snuff as he made this
communication, and nodded mysteriously to Mr. Pickwick.
'They have subpoenaed my three friends,' said Mr. Pickwick.
'Ah! of course they would,' replied Perker. 'Important
witnesses; saw you in a delicate situation.'
'But she fainted of her own accord,' said Mr. Pickwick. 'She
threw herself into my arms.'
'Very likely, my dear Sir,' replied Perker; 'very likely and very
natural. Nothing more so, my dear Sir, nothing. But who's to
prove it?'
'They have subpoenaed my servant, too,' said Mr. Pickwick,
quitting the other point; for there Mr. Perker's question had
somewhat staggered him.
'Sam?' said Perker.
Mr. Pickwick replied in the affirmative.
'Of course, my dear Sir; of course. I knew they would. I could
have told you that, a month ago. You know, my dear Sir, if you
WILL take the management of your affairs into your own hands
after entrusting them to your solicitor, you must also take the
consequences.' Here Mr. Perker drew himself up with conscious
dignity, and brushed some stray grains of snuff from his shirt frill.
'And what do they want him to prove?' asked Mr. Pickwick,
after two or three minutes' silence.
'That you sent him up to the plaintiff 's to make some offer of
a compromise, I suppose,' replied Perker. 'It don't matter much,
though; I don't think many counsel could get a great deal out
of HIM.'
'I don't think they could,' said Mr. Pickwick, smiling, despite
his vexation, at the idea of Sam's appearance as a witness. 'What
course do we pursue?'
'We have only one to adopt, my dear Sir,' replied Perker;
'cross-examine the witnesses; trust to Snubbin's eloquence;
throw dust in the eyes of the judge; throw ourselves on the jury.'
'And suppose the verdict is against me?' said Mr. Pickwick.
Mr. Perker smiled, took a very long pinch of snuff, stirred the
fire, shrugged his shoulders, and remained expressively silent.
'You mean that in that case I must pay the damages?' said
Mr. Pickwick, who had watched this telegraphic answer with
considerable sternness.
Perker gave the fire another very unnecessary poke, and said,
'I am afraid so.'
'Then I beg to announce to you my unalterable determination
to pay no damages whatever,' said Mr. Pickwick, most
emphatically. 'None, Perker. Not a pound, not a penny of my
money, shall find its way into the pockets of Dodson and Fogg.
That is my deliberate and irrevocable determination.' Mr. Pickwick
gave a heavy blow on the table before him, in confirmation
of the irrevocability of his intention.
'Very well, my dear Sir, very well,' said Perker. 'You know best,
of course.'
'Of course,' replied Mr. Pickwick hastily. 'Where does Serjeant
Snubbin live?'
'In Lincoln's Inn Old Square,' replied Perker.
'I should like to see him,' said Mr. Pickwick.
'See Serjeant Snubbin, my dear Sir!' rejoined Perker, in utter
amazement. 'Pooh, pooh, my dear Sir, impossible. See Serjeant
Snubbin! Bless you, my dear Sir, such a thing was never heard of,
without a consultation fee being previously paid, and a consultation
fixed. It couldn't be done, my dear Sir; it couldn't be done.'
Mr. Pickwick, however, had made up his mind not only that
it could be done, but that it should be done; and the consequence
was, that within ten minutes after he had received the assurance
that the thing was impossible, he was conducted by his solicitor
into the outer office of the great Serjeant Snubbin himself.
It was an uncarpeted room of tolerable dimensions, with a
large writing-table drawn up near the fire, the baize top of which
had long since lost all claim to its original hue of green, and had
gradually grown gray with dust and age, except where all traces
of its natural colour were obliterated by ink-stains. Upon the
table were numerous little bundles of papers tied with red tape;
and behind it, sat an elderly clerk, whose sleek appearance and
heavy gold watch-chain presented imposing indications of the
extensive and lucrative practice of Mr. Serjeant Snubbin.
'Is the Serjeant in his room, Mr. Mallard?' inquired Perker,
offering his box with all imaginable courtesy.
'Yes, he is,' was the reply, 'but he's very busy. Look here; not
an opinion given yet, on any one of these cases; and an expedition
fee paid with all of 'em.' The clerk smiled as he said this, and
inhaled the pinch of snuff with a zest which seemed to be compounded
of a fondness for snuff and a relish for fees.
'Something like practice that,' said Perker.
'Yes,' said the barrister's clerk, producing his own box, and
offering it with the greatest cordiality; 'and the best of it is, that
as nobody alive except myself can read the serjeant's writing,
they are obliged to wait for the opinions, when he has given
them, till I have copied 'em, ha-ha-ha!'
'Which makes good for we know who, besides the serjeant,
and draws a little more out of the clients, eh?' said Perker; 'ha,
ha, ha!' At this the serjeant's clerk laughed again--not a noisy
boisterous laugh, but a silent, internal chuckle, which Mr. Pickwick
disliked to hear. When a man bleeds inwardly, it is a dangerous
thing for himself; but when he laughs inwardly, it bodes no
good to other people.
'You haven't made me out that little list of the fees that I'm in
your debt, have you?' said Perker.
'No, I have not,' replied the clerk.
'I wish you would,' said Perker. 'Let me have them, and I'll
send you a cheque. But I suppose you're too busy pocketing the
ready money, to think of the debtors, eh? ha, ha, ha!' This sally
seemed to tickle the clerk amazingly, and he once more enjoyed
a little quiet laugh to himself.
'But, Mr. Mallard, my dear friend,' said Perker, suddenly
recovering his gravity, and drawing the great man's great man
into a Corner, by the lappel of his coat; 'you must persuade the
Serjeant to see me, and my client here.'
'Come, come,' said the clerk, 'that's not bad either. See the
Serjeant! come, that's too absurd.' Notwithstanding the absurdity
of the proposal, however, the clerk allowed himself to be
gently drawn beyond the hearing of Mr. Pickwick; and after a
short conversation conducted in whispers, walked softly down a
little dark passage, and disappeared into the legal luminary's
sanctum, whence he shortly returned on tiptoe, and informed
Mr. Perker and Mr. Pickwick that the Serjeant had been prevailed
upon, in violation of all established rules and customs, to admit
them at once.
Mr. Serjeant Snubbins was a lantern-faced, sallow-complexioned
man, of about five-and-forty, or--as the novels say--
he might be fifty. He had that dull-looking, boiled eye which is
often to be seen in the heads of people who have applied themselves
during many years to a weary and laborious course of
study; and which would have been sufficient, without the additional
eyeglass which dangled from a broad black riband round
his neck, to warn a stranger that he was very near-sighted. His
hair was thin and weak, which was partly attributable to his
having never devoted much time to its arrangement, and partly to
his having worn for five-and-twenty years the forensic wig which
hung on a block beside him. The marks of hairpowder on his
coat-collar, and the ill-washed and worse tied white neckerchief
round his throat, showed that he had not found leisure since he
left the court to make any alteration in his dress; while the
slovenly style of the remainder of his costume warranted the
inference that his personal appearance would not have been very
much improved if he had. Books of practice, heaps of papers,
and opened letters, were scattered over the table, without any
attempt at order or arrangement; the furniture of the room was
old and rickety; the doors of the book-case were rotting in their
hinges; the dust flew out from the carpet in little clouds at every
step; the blinds were yellow with age and dirt; the state of
everything in the room showed, with a clearness not to be
mistaken, that Mr. Serjeant Snubbin was far too much occupied
with his professional pursuits to take any great heed or regard of
his personal comforts.
The Serjeant was writing when his clients entered; he bowed
abstractedly when Mr. Pickwick was introduced by his solicitor;
and then, motioning them to a seat, put his pen carefully in the
inkstand, nursed his left leg, and waited to be spoken to.
'Mr. Pickwick is the defendant in Bardell and Pickwick,
Serjeant Snubbin,' said Perker.
'I am retained in that, am I?' said the Serjeant.
'You are, Sir,' replied Perker.
The Serjeant nodded his head, and waited for something else.
'Mr. Pickwick was anxious to call upon you, Serjeant
Snubbin,' said Perker, 'to state to you, before you entered upon
the case, that he denies there being any ground or pretence
whatever for the action against him; and that unless he came into
court with clean hands, and without the most conscientious
conviction that he was right in resisting the plaintiff's demand,
he would not be there at all. I believe I state your views correctly;
do I not, my dear Sir?' said the little man, turning to Mr. Pickwick.
'Quite so,' replied that gentleman.
Mr. Serjeant Snubbin unfolded his glasses, raised them to his
eyes; and, after looking at Mr. Pickwick for a few seconds with
great curiosity, turned to Mr. Perker, and said, smiling slightly
as he spoke--
'Has Mr. Pickwick a strong case?'
The attorney shrugged his shoulders.
'Do you propose calling witnesses?'
'No.'
The smile on the Serjeant's countenance became more defined;
he rocked his leg with increased violence; and, throwing himself
back in his easy-chair, coughed dubiously.
These tokens of the Serjeant's presentiments on the subject,
slight as they were, were not lost on Mr. Pickwick. He settled the
spectacles, through which he had attentively regarded such
demonstrations of the barrister's feelings as he had permitted
himself to exhibit, more firmly on his nose; and said with great
energy, and in utter disregard of all Mr. Perker's admonitory
winkings and frownings--
'My wishing to wait upon you, for such a purpose as this, Sir,
appears, I have no doubt, to a gentleman who sees so much of
these matters as you must necessarily do, a very extraordinary
circumstance.'
The Serjeant tried to look gravely at the fire, but the smile
came back again.
'Gentlemen of your profession, Sir,' continued Mr. Pickwick,
'see the worst side of human nature. All its disputes, all its ill-will
and bad blood, rise up before you. You know from your
experience of juries (I mean no disparagement to you, or them) how
much depends upon effect; and you are apt to attribute to others,
a desire to use, for purposes of deception and Self-interest, the
very instruments which you, in pure honesty and honour of
purpose, and with a laudable desire to do your utmost for your
client, know the temper and worth of so well, from constantly
employing them yourselves. I really believe that to this circumstance
may be attributed the vulgar but very general notion of
your being, as a body, suspicious, distrustful, and over-cautious.
Conscious as I am, sir, of the disadvantage of making such a
declaration to you, under such circumstances, I have come here,
because I wish you distinctly to understand, as my friend
Mr. Perker has said, that I am innocent of the falsehood laid to
my charge; and although I am very well aware of the inestimable
value of your assistance, Sir, I must beg to add, that unless you
sincerely believe this, I would rather be deprived of the aid of
your talents than have the advantage of them.'
Long before the close of this address, which we are bound to
say was of a very prosy character for Mr. Pickwick, the Serjeant
had relapsed into a state of abstraction. After some minutes,
however, during which he had reassumed his pen, he appeared to
be again aware of the presence of his clients; raising his head
from the paper, he said, rather snappishly--
'Who is with me in this case?'
'Mr. Phunky, Serjeant Snubbin,' replied the attorney.
'Phunky--Phunky,' said the Serjeant, 'I never heard the name
before. He must be a very young man.'
'Yes, he is a very young man,' replied the attorney. 'He was
only called the other day. Let me see--he has not been at the Bar
eight years yet.'
'Ah, I thought not,' said the Serjeant, in that sort of pitying
tone in which ordinary folks would speak of a very helpless little
child. 'Mr. Mallard, send round to Mr.--Mr.--' 'Phunky's--
Holborn Court, Gray's Inn,' interposed Perker. (Holborn Court,
by the bye, is South Square now.) 'Mr. Phunky, and say I should
be glad if he'd step here, a moment.'
Mr. Mallard departed to execute his commission; and Serjeant
Snubbin relapsed into abstraction until Mr. Phunky himself was
introduced.
Although an infant barrister, he was a full-grown man. He had
a very nervous manner, and a painful hesitation in his speech; it
did not appear to be a natural defect, but seemed rather the
result of timidity, arising from the consciousness of being 'kept
down' by want of means, or interest, or connection, or impudence,
as the case might be. He was overawed by the Serjeant, and
profoundly courteous to the attorney.
'I have not had the pleasure of seeing you before, Mr. Phunky,'
said Serjeant Snubbin, with haughty condescension.
Mr. Phunky bowed. He HAD had the pleasure of seeing the
Serjeant, and of envying him too, with all a poor man's envy, for
eight years and a quarter.
'You are with me in this case, I understand?' said the Serjeant.
If Mr. Phunky had been a rich man, he would have instantly
sent for his clerk to remind him; if he had been a wise one, he
would have applied his forefinger to his forehead, and
endeavoured to recollect, whether, in the multiplicity of his
engagements, he had undertaken this one or not; but as he was neither
rich nor wise (in this sense, at all events) he turned red, and bowed.
'Have you read the papers, Mr. Phunky?' inquired the Serjeant.
Here again, Mr. Phunky should have professed to have
forgotten all about the merits of the case; but as he had read such
papers as had been laid before him in the course of the action, and
had thought of nothing else, waking or sleeping, throughout the
two months during which he had been retained as Mr. Serjeant
Snubbin's junior, he turned a deeper red and bowed again.
'This is Mr. Pickwick,' said the Serjeant, waving his pen in the
direction in which that gentleman was standing.
Mr. Phunky bowed to Mr. Pickwick, with a reverence which a
first client must ever awaken; and again inclined his head towards
his leader.
'Perhaps you will take Mr. Pickwick away,' said the Serjeant,
'and--and--and--hear anything Mr. Pickwick may wish to
communicate. We shall have a consultation, of course.' With
that hint that he had been interrupted quite long enough, Mr.
Serjeant Snubbin, who had been gradually growing more and
more abstracted, applied his glass to his eyes for an instant,
bowed slightly round, and was once more deeply immersed in the
case before him, which arose out of an interminable lawsuit,
originating in the act of an individual, deceased a century or so
ago, who had stopped up a pathway leading from some place
which nobody ever came from, to some other place which
nobody ever went to.
Mr. Phunky would not hear of passing through any door until
Mr. Pickwick and his solicitor had passed through before him, so
it was some time before they got into the Square; and when they
did reach it, they walked up and down, and held a long conference,
the result of which was, that it was a very difficult matter
to say how the verdict would go; that nobody could presume to
calculate on the issue of an action; that it was very lucky they had
prevented the other party from getting Serjeant Snubbin; and
other topics of doubt and consolation, common in such a position
of affairs.
Mr. Weller was then roused by his master from a sweet sleep of
an hour's duration; and, bidding adieu to Lowten, they returned
to the city.
CHAPTER XXXII
DESCRIBES, FAR MORE FULLY THAN THE COURT NEWSMAN
EVER DID, A BACHELOR'S PARTY, GIVEN BY Mr.
BOB SAWYER AT HIS LODGINGS IN THE BOROUGH
There is a repose about Lant Street, in the Borough, which
sheds a gentle melancholy upon the soul. There are always a
good many houses to let in the street: it is a by-street too,
and its dulness is soothing. A house in Lant Street would
not come within the denomination of a first-rate residence,
in the strict acceptation of the term; but it is a most desirable
spot nevertheless. If a man wished to abstract himself from the
world--to remove himself from within the reach of temptation--
to place himself beyond the possibility of any inducement to look
out of the window--we should recommend him by all means go
to Lant Street.
In this happy retreat are colonised a few clear-starchers, a
sprinkling of journeymen bookbinders, one or two prison agents
for the Insolvent Court, several small housekeepers who are
employed in the Docks, a handful of mantua-makers, and a
seasoning of jobbing tailors. The majority of the inhabitants
either direct their energies to the letting of furnished apartments,
or devote themselves to the healthful and invigorating pursuit of
mangling. The chief features in the still life of the street are
green shutters, lodging-bills, brass door-plates, and bell-handles;
the principal specimens of animated nature, the pot-boy, the
muffin youth, and the baked-potato man. The population is
migratory, usually disappearing on the verge of quarter-day, and
generally by night. His Majesty's revenues are seldom collected
in this happy valley; the rents are dubious; and the water
communication is very frequently cut off.
Mr. Bob Sawyer embellished one side of the fire, in his firstfloor
front, early on the evening for which he had invited Mr.
Pickwick, and Mr. Ben Allen the other. The preparations for the
reception of visitors appeared to be completed. The umbrellas in
the passage had been heaped into the little corner outside the
back-parlour door; the bonnet and shawl of the landlady's
servant had been removed from the bannisters; there were not
more than two pairs of pattens on the street-door mat; and a
kitchen candle, with a very long snuff, burned cheerfully on the
ledge of the staircase window. Mr. Bob Sawyer had himself
purchased the spirits at a wine vaults in High Street, and had
returned home preceding the bearer thereof, to preclude the
possibility of their delivery at the wrong house. The punch was
ready-made in a red pan in the bedroom; a little table, covered
with a green baize cloth, had been borrowed from the parlour,
to play at cards on; and the glasses of the establishment, together
with those which had been borrowed for the occasion from the
public-house, were all drawn up in a tray, which was deposited
on the landing outside the door.
Notwithstanding the highly satisfactory nature of all these
arrangements, there was a cloud on the countenance of Mr. Bob
Sawyer, as he sat by the fireside. There was a sympathising
expression, too, in the features of Mr. Ben Allen, as he gazed
intently on the coals, and a tone of melancholy in his voice, as he
said, after a long silence--
'Well, it is unlucky she should have taken it in her head to turn
sour, just on this occasion. She might at least have waited
till to-morrow.'
'That's her malevolence--that's her malevolence,' returned
Mr. Bob Sawyer vehemently. 'She says that if I can afford to give
a party I ought to be able to pay her confounded "little bill."'
'How long has it been running?' inquired Mr. Ben Allen. A
bill, by the bye, is the most extraordinary locomotive engine that
the genius of man ever produced. It would keep on running
during the longest lifetime, without ever once stopping of its
own accord.
'Only a quarter, and a month or so,' replied Mr. Bob Sawyer.
Ben Allen coughed hopelessly, and directed a searching look
between the two top bars of the stove.
'It'll be a deuced unpleasant thing if she takes it into her head
to let out, when those fellows are here, won't it?' said Mr. Ben
Allen at length.
'Horrible,' replied Bob Sawyer, 'horrible.'
A low tap was heard at the room door. Mr. Bob Sawyer
looked expressively at his friend, and bade the tapper come in;
whereupon a dirty, slipshod girl in black cotton stockings, who
might have passed for the neglected daughter of a superannuated
dustman in very reduced circumstances, thrust in her head, and said--
'Please, Mister Sawyer, Missis Raddle wants to speak to you.'
Before Mr. Bob Sawyer could return any answer, the girl
suddenly disappeared with a jerk, as if somebody had given her
a violent pull behind; this mysterious exit was no sooner
accomplished, than there was another tap at the door--a smart,
pointed tap, which seemed to say, 'Here I am, and in I'm coming.'
Mr, Bob Sawyer glanced at his friend with a look of abject
apprehension, and once more cried, 'Come in.'
The permission was not at all necessary, for, before Mr. Bob
Sawyer had uttered the words, a little, fierce woman bounced
into the room, all in a tremble with passion, and pale with rage.
'Now, Mr. Sawyer,' said the little, fierce woman, trying to
appear very calm, 'if you'll have the kindness to settle that little
bill of mine I'll thank you, because I've got my rent to pay this
afternoon, and my landlord's a-waiting below now.' Here the
little woman rubbed her hands, and looked steadily over Mr. Bob
Sawyer's head, at the wall behind him.
'I am very sorry to put you to any inconvenience, Mrs. Raddle,'
said Bob Sawyer deferentially, 'but--'
'Oh, it isn't any inconvenience,' replied the little woman, with
a shrill titter. 'I didn't want it particular before to-day; leastways,
as it has to go to my landlord directly, it was as well for you to
keep it as me. You promised me this afternoon, Mr. Sawyer, and
every gentleman as has ever lived here, has kept his word, Sir,
as of course anybody as calls himself a gentleman does.'
Mrs. Raddle tossed her head, bit her lips, rubbed her hands
harder, and looked at the wall more steadily than ever. It was
plain to see, as Mr. Bob Sawyer remarked in a style of Eastern
allegory on a subsequent occasion, that she was 'getting the
steam up.'
'I am very sorry, Mrs. Raddle,' said Bob Sawyer, with all
imaginable humility, 'but the fact is, that I have been disappointed
in the City to-day.'--Extraordinary place that City. An astonishing
number of men always ARE getting disappointed there.
'Well, Mr. Sawyer,' said Mrs. Raddle, planting herself firmly
on a purple cauliflower in the Kidderminster carpet, 'and what's
that to me, Sir?'
'I--I--have no doubt, Mrs. Raddle,' said Bob Sawyer, blinking
this last question, 'that before the middle of next week we shall
be able to set ourselves quite square, and go on, on a better
system, afterwards.'
This was all Mrs. Raddle wanted. She had bustled up to
the apartment of the unlucky Bob Sawyer, so bent upon going
into a passion, that, in all probability, payment would have
rather disappointed her than otherwise. She was in excellent
order for a little relaxation of the kind, having just exchanged
a few introductory compliments with Mr. R. in the front kitchen.
'Do you suppose, Mr. Sawyer,' said Mrs. Raddle, elevating her
voice for the information of the neighbours--'do you suppose
that I'm a-going day after day to let a fellar occupy my lodgings
as never thinks of paying his rent, nor even the very money laid
out for the fresh butter and lump sugar that's bought for his
breakfast, and the very milk that's took in, at the street door?
Do you suppose a hard-working and industrious woman as has
lived in this street for twenty year (ten year over the way, and
nine year and three-quarters in this very house) has nothing else
to do but to work herself to death after a parcel of lazy idle
fellars, that are always smoking and drinking, and lounging,
when they ought to be glad to turn their hands to anything that
would help 'em to pay their bills? Do you--'
'My good soul,' interposed Mr. Benjamin Allen soothingly.
'Have the goodness to keep your observashuns to yourself, Sir,
I beg,' said Mrs. Raddle, suddenly arresting the rapid torrent of
her speech, and addressing the third party with impressive slowness
and solemnity. 'I am not aweer, Sir, that you have any right
to address your conversation to me. I don't think I let these
apartments to you, Sir.'
'No, you certainly did not,' said Mr. Benjamin Allen.
'Very good, Sir,' responded Mrs. Raddle, with lofty politeness.
'Then p'raps, Sir, you'll confine yourself to breaking the arms and
legs of the poor people in the hospitals, and keep yourself TO
yourself, Sir, or there may be some persons here as will make
you, Sir.'
'But you are such an unreasonable woman,' remonstrated
Mr. Benjamin Allen.
'I beg your parding, young man,' said Mrs. Raddle, in a cold
perspiration of anger. 'But will you have the goodness just to call
me that again, sir?'
'I didn't make use of the word in any invidious sense, ma'am,'
replied Mr. Benjamin Allen, growing somewhat uneasy on his
own account.
'I beg your parding, young man,' demanded Mrs. Raddle, in a
louder and more imperative tone. 'But who do you call a woman?
Did you make that remark to me, sir?'
'Why, bless my heart!' said Mr. Benjamin Allen.
'Did you apply that name to me, I ask of you, sir?' interrupted
Mrs. Raddle, with intense fierceness, throwing the door wide open.
'Why, of course I did,' replied Mr. Benjamin Allen.
'Yes, of course you did,' said Mrs. Raddle, backing gradually
to the door, and raising her voice to its loudest pitch, for the
special behoof of Mr. Raddle in the kitchen. 'Yes, of course you
did! And everybody knows that they may safely insult me in my
own 'ouse while my husband sits sleeping downstairs, and taking
no more notice than if I was a dog in the streets. He ought to be
ashamed of himself (here Mrs. Raddle sobbed) to allow his wife
to be treated in this way by a parcel of young cutters and carvers
of live people's bodies, that disgraces the lodgings (another sob),
and leaving her exposed to all manner of abuse; a base, fainthearted,
timorous wretch, that's afraid to come upstairs, and
face the ruffinly creatures--that's afraid--that's afraid to come!'
Mrs. Raddle paused to listen whether the repetition of the taunt
had roused her better half; and finding that it had not been
successful, proceeded to descend the stairs with sobs innumerable;
when there came a loud double knock at the street door;
whereupon she burst into an hysterical fit of weeping, accompanied
with dismal moans, which was prolonged until the knock
had been repeated six times, when, in an uncontrollable burst of
mental agony, she threw down all the umbrellas, and disappeared
into the back parlour, closing the door after her with an awful crash.
'Does Mr. Sawyer live here?' said Mr. Pickwick, when the door
was opened.
'Yes,' said the girl, 'first floor. It's the door straight afore you,
when you gets to the top of the stairs.' Having given this instruction,
the handmaid, who had been brought up among the
aboriginal inhabitants of Southwark, disappeared, with the
candle in her hand, down the kitchen stairs, perfectly satisfied
that she had done everything that could possibly be required of
her under the circumstances.
Mr. Snodgrass, who entered last, secured the street door, after
several ineffectual efforts, by putting up the chain; and the
friends stumbled upstairs, where they were received by Mr. Bob
Sawyer, who had been afraid to go down, lest he should be
waylaid by Mrs. Raddle.
'How are you?' said the discomfited student. 'Glad to see you
--take care of the glasses.' This caution was addressed to Mr.
Pickwick, who had put his hat in the tray.
'Dear me,' said Mr. Pickwick, 'I beg your pardon.'
'Don't mention it, don't mention it,' said Bob Sawyer. 'I'm
rather confined for room here, but you must put up with all that,
when you come to see a young bachelor. Walk in. You've seen
this gentleman before, I think?' Mr. Pickwick shook hands with
Mr. Benjamin Allen, and his friends followed his example. They
had scarcely taken their seats when there was another double knock.
'I hope that's Jack Hopkins!' said Mr. Bob Sawyer. 'Hush.
Yes, it is. Come up, Jack; come up.'
A heavy footstep was heard upon the stairs, and Jack Hopkins
presented himself. He wore a black velvet waistcoat, with
thunder-and-lightning buttons; and a blue striped shirt, with a
white false collar.
'You're late, Jack?' said Mr. Benjamin Allen.
'Been detained at Bartholomew's,' replied Hopkins.
'Anything new?'
'No, nothing particular. Rather a good accident brought into
the casualty ward.'
'What was that, sir?' inquired Mr. Pickwick.
'Only a man fallen out of a four pair of stairs' window; but it's
a very fair case indeed.'
'Do you mean that the patient is in a fair way to recover?'
inquired Mr. Pickwick.
'No,' replied Mr. Hopkins carelessly. 'No, I should rather say
he wouldn't. There must be a splendid operation, though,
to-morrow--magnificent sight if Slasher does it.'
'You consider Mr. Slasher a good operator?' said Mr. Pickwick.
'Best alive,' replied Hopkins. 'Took a boy's leg out of the
socket last week--boy ate five apples and a gingerbread cake--
exactly two minutes after it was all over, boy said he wouldn't lie
there to be made game of, and he'd tell his mother if they didn't begin.'
'Dear me!' said Mr. Pickwick, astonished.
'Pooh! That's nothing, that ain't,' said Jack Hopkins. 'Is it, Bob?'
'Nothing at all,' replied Mr. Bob Sawyer.
'By the bye, Bob,' said Hopkins, with a scarcely perceptible
glance at Mr. Pickwick's attentive face, 'we had a curious
accident last night. A child was brought in, who had swallowed a
necklace.'
'Swallowed what, Sir?' interrupted Mr. Pickwick.
'A necklace,' replied Jack Hopkins. 'Not all at once, you know,
that would be too much--you couldn't swallow that, if the child
did--eh, Mr. Pickwick? ha, ha!' Mr. Hopkins appeared highly
gratified with his own pleasantry, and continued--'No, the way
was this. Child's parents were poor people who lived in a court.
Child's eldest sister bought a necklace--common necklace, made
of large black wooden beads. Child being fond of toys, cribbed
the necklace, hid it, played with it, cut the string, and swallowed
a bead. Child thought it capital fun, went back next day, and
swallowed another bead.'
'Bless my heart,' said Mr. Pickwick, 'what a dreadful thing! I
beg your pardon, Sir. Go on.'
'Next day, child swallowed two beads; the day after that, he
treated himself to three, and so on, till in a week's time he had
got through the necklace--five-and-twenty beads in all. The
sister, who was an industrious girl, and seldom treated herself to
a bit of finery, cried her eyes out, at the loss of the necklace;
looked high and low for it; but, I needn't say, didn't find it. A
few days afterwards, the family were at dinner--baked shoulder
of mutton, and potatoes under it--the child, who wasn't hungry,
was playing about the room, when suddenly there was heard a
devil of a noise, like a small hailstorm. "Don't do that, my boy,"
said the father. "I ain't a-doin' nothing," said the child. "Well,
don't do it again," said the father. There was a short silence, and
then the noise began again, worse than ever. "If you don't mind
what I say, my boy," said the father, "you'll find yourself in bed,
in something less than a pig's whisper." He gave the child a
shake to make him obedient, and such a rattling ensued as
nobody ever heard before. "Why, damme, it's IN the child!" said
the father, "he's got the croup in the wrong place!" "No, I
haven't, father," said the child, beginning to cry, "it's the necklace;
I swallowed it, father."--The father caught the child up,
and ran with him to the hospital; the beads in the boy's stomach
rattling all the way with the jolting; and the people looking up in
the air, and down in the cellars, to see where the unusual sound
came from. He's in the hospital now,' said Jack Hopkins, 'and he
makes such a devil of a noise when he walks about, that they're
obliged to muffle him in a watchman's coat, for fear he should
wake the patients.'
'That's the most extraordinary case I ever heard of,' said
Mr. Pickwick, with an emphatic blow on the table.
'Oh, that's nothing,' said Jack Hopkins. 'Is it, Bob?'
'Certainly not,' replied Bob Sawyer.
'Very singular things occur in our profession, I can assure you,
Sir,' said Hopkins.
'So I should be disposed to imagine,' replied Mr. Pickwick.
Another knock at the door announced a large-headed young
man in a black wig, who brought with him a scorbutic youth in a
long stock. The next comer was a gentleman in a shirt emblazoned
with pink anchors, who was closely followed by a pale youth with
a plated watchguard. The arrival of a prim personage in clean
linen and cloth boots rendered the party complete. The little
table with the green baize cover was wheeled out; the first
instalment of punch was brought in, in a white jug; and the
succeeding three hours were devoted to VINGT-ET-UN at sixpence a
dozen, which was only once interrupted by a slight dispute
between the scorbutic youth and the gentleman with the pink
anchors; in the course of which, the scorbutic youth intimated a
burning desire to pull the nose of the gentleman with the emblems
of hope; in reply to which, that individual expressed his decided
unwillingness to accept of any 'sauce' on gratuitous terms, either
from the irascible young gentleman with the scorbutic countenance,
or any other person who was ornamented with a head.
When the last 'natural' had been declared, and the profit and
loss account of fish and sixpences adjusted, to the satisfaction of
all parties, Mr. Bob Sawyer rang for supper, and the visitors
squeezed themselves into corners while it was getting ready.
it was not so easily got ready as some people may imagine.
First of all, it was necessary to awaken the girl, who had fallen
asleep with her face on the kitchen table; this took a little time,
and, even when she did answer the bell, another quarter of an
hour was consumed in fruitless endeavours to impart to her a
faint and distant glimmering of reason. The man to whom the
order for the oysters had been sent, had not been told to open
them; it is a very difficult thing to open an oyster with a limp
knife and a two-pronged fork; and very little was done in this
way. Very little of the beef was done either; and the ham (which
was also from the German-sausage shop round the corner) was
in a similar predicament. However, there was plenty of porter in
a tin can; and the cheese went a great way, for it was very strong.
So upon the whole, perhaps, the supper was quite as good as such
matters usually are.
After supper, another jug of punch was put upon the table,
together with a paper of cigars, and a couple of bottles of spirits.
Then there was an awful pause; and this awful pause was
occasioned by a very common occurrence in this sort of place,
but a very embarrassing one notwithstanding.
The fact is, the girl was washing the glasses. The establishment
boasted four: we do not record the circumstance as at all
derogatory to Mrs. Raddle, for there never was a lodging-house
yet, that was not short of glasses. The landlady's glasses were
little, thin, blown-glass tumblers, and those which had been
borrowed from the public-house were great, dropsical, bloated
articles, each supported on a huge gouty leg. This would have
been in itself sufficient to have possessed the company with the
real state of affairs; but the young woman of all work had
prevented the possibility of any misconception arising in the
mind of any gentleman upon the subject, by forcibly dragging
every man's glass away, long before he had finished his beer, and
audibly stating, despite the winks and interruptions of Mr. Bob
Sawyer, that it was to be conveyed downstairs, and washed forthwith.
It is a very ill wind that blows nobody any good. The prim
man in the cloth boots, who had been unsuccessfully attempting
to make a joke during the whole time the round game lasted,
saw his opportunity, and availed himself of it. The instant the
glasses disappeared, he commenced a long story about a great
public character, whose name he had forgotten, making a particularly
happy reply to another eminent and illustrious individual
whom he had never been able to identify. He enlarged at some
length and with great minuteness upon divers collateral circumstances,
distantly connected with the anecdote in hand, but for
the life of him he couldn't recollect at that precise moment what
the anecdote was, although he had been in the habit of telling the
story with great applause for the last ten years.
'Dear me,' said the prim man in the cloth boots, 'it is a very
extraordinary circumstance.'
'I am sorry you have forgotten it,' said Mr. Bob Sawyer,
glancing eagerly at the door, as he thought he heard the noise of
glasses jingling; 'very sorry.'
'So am I,' responded the prim man, 'because I know it would
have afforded so much amusement. Never mind; I dare say I
shall manage to recollect it, in the course of half an hour or so.'
The prim man arrived at this point just as the glasses came
back, when Mr. Bob Sawyer, who had been absorbed in attention
during the whole time, said he should very much like to hear the
end of it, for, so far as it went, it was, without exception, the very
best story he had ever heard.
The sight of the tumblers restored Bob Sawyer to a degree of
equanimity which he had not possessed since his interview with his
landlady. His face brightened up, and he began to feel quite convivial.
'Now, Betsy,' said Mr. Bob Sawyer, with great suavity, and
dispersing, at the same time, the tumultuous little mob of glasses
the girl had collected in the centre of the table--'now, Betsy, the
warm water; be brisk, there's a good girl.'
'You can't have no warm water,' replied Betsy.
'No warm water!' exclaimed Mr. Bob Sawyer.
'No,' said the girl, with a shake of the head which expressed a
more decided negative than the most copious language could
have conveyed. 'Missis Raddle said you warn't to have none.'
The surprise depicted on the countenances of his guests
imparted new courage to the host.
'Bring up the warm water instantly--instantly!' said Mr. Bob
Sawyer, with desperate sternness.
'No. I can't,' replied the girl; 'Missis Raddle raked out the
kitchen fire afore she went to bed, and locked up the kittle.'
'Oh, never mind; never mind. Pray don't disturb yourself
about such a trifle,' said Mr. Pickwick, observing the conflict of
Bob Sawyer's passions, as depicted in his countenance, 'cold
water will do very well.'
'Oh, admirably,' said Mr. Benjamin Allen.
'My landlady is subject to some slight attacks of mental
derangement,' remarked Bob Sawyer, with a ghastly smile; 'I fear
I must give her warning.'
'No, don't,' said Ben Allen.
'I fear I must,' said Bob, with heroic firmness. 'I'll pay her
what I owe her, and give her warning to-morrow morning.' Poor
fellow! how devoutly he wished he could!
Mr. Bob Sawyer's heart-sickening attempts to rally under this
last blow, communicated a dispiriting influence to the company,
the greater part of whom, with the view of raising their spirits,
attached themselves with extra cordiality to the cold brandy-andwater,
the first perceptible effects of which were displayed in a
renewal of hostilities between the scorbutic youth and the
gentleman in the shirt. The belligerents vented their feelings of
mutual contempt, for some time, in a variety of frownings and
snortings, until at last the scorbutic youth felt it necessary to
come to a more explicit understanding on the matter; when the
following clear understanding took place.
'Sawyer,' said the scorbutic youth, in a loud voice.
'Well, Noddy,' replied Mr. Bob Sawyer.
'I should be very sorry, Sawyer,' said Mr. Noddy, 'to create
any unpleasantness at any friend's table, and much less at yours,
Sawyer--very; but I must take this opportunity of informing
Mr. Gunter that he is no gentleman.'
'And I should be very sorry, Sawyer, to create any disturbance
in the street in which you reside,' said Mr. Gunter, 'but I'm
afraid I shall be under the necessity of alarming the neighbours by
throwing the person who has just spoken, out o' window.'
'What do you mean by that, sir?' inquired Mr. Noddy.
'What I say, Sir,' replied Mr. Gunter.
'I should like to see you do it, Sir,' said Mr. Noddy.
'You shall FEEL me do it in half a minute, Sir,' replied Mr. Gunter.
'I request that you'll favour me with your card, Sir,' said
Mr. Noddy.
'I'll do nothing of the kind, Sir,' replied Mr. Gunter.
'Why not, Sir?' inquired Mr. Noddy.
'Because you'll stick it up over your chimney-piece, and delude
your visitors into the false belief that a gentleman has been to
see you, Sir,' replied Mr. Gunter.
'Sir, a friend of mine shall wait on you in the morning,' said
Mr. Noddy.
'Sir, I'm very much obliged to you for the caution, and I'll
leave particular directions with the servant to lock up the spoons,'
replied Mr. Gunter.
At this point the remainder of the guests interposed, and
remonstrated with both parties on the impropriety of their
conduct; on which Mr. Noddy begged to state that his father was
quite as respectable as Mr. Gunter's father; to which Mr. Gunter
replied that his father was to the full as respectable as Mr. Noddy's
father, and that his father's son was as good a man as Mr. Noddy,
any day in the week. As this announcement seemed the prelude
to a recommencement of the dispute, there was another interference
on the part of the company; and a vast quantity of
talking and clamouring ensued, in the course of which Mr. Noddy
gradually allowed his feelings to overpower him, and professed
that he had ever entertained a devoted personal attachment
towards Mr. Gunter. To this Mr. Gunter replied that, upon the
whole, he rather preferred Mr. Noddy to his own brother; on
hearing which admission, Mr. Noddy magnanimously rose from
his seat, and proffered his hand to Mr. Gunter. Mr. Gunter
grasped it with affecting fervour; and everybody said that the
whole dispute had been conducted in a manner which was highly
honourable to both parties concerned.
'Now,' said Jack Hopkins, 'just to set us going again, Bob, I
don't mind singing a song.' And Hopkins, incited thereto by
tumultuous applause, plunged himself at once into 'The King,
God bless him,' which he sang as loud as he could, to a novel air,
compounded of the 'Bay of Biscay,' and 'A Frog he would.'
The chorus was the essence of the song; and, as each gentleman
sang it to the tune he knew best, the effect was very striking indeed.
It was at the end of the chorus to the first verse, that Mr.
Pickwick held up his hand in a listening attitude, and said, as
soon as silence was restored--
'Hush! I beg your pardon. I thought I heard somebody calling
from upstairs.'
A profound silence immediately ensued; and Mr. Bob Sawyer
was observed to turn pale.
'I think I hear it now,' said Mr. Pickwick. 'Have the goodness
to open the door.'
The door was no sooner opened than all doubt on the subject
was removed.
'Mr. Sawyer! Mr. Sawyer!' screamed a voice from the two-pair landing.
'It's my landlady,' said Bob Sawyer, looking round him with
great dismay. 'Yes, Mrs. Raddle.'
'What do you mean by this, Mr. Sawyer?' replied the voice,
with great shrillness and rapidity of utterance. 'Ain't it enough
to be swindled out of one's rent, and money lent out of pocket
besides, and abused and insulted by your friends that dares to
call themselves men, without having the house turned out of the
window, and noise enough made to bring the fire-engines here,
at two o'clock in the morning?--Turn them wretches away.'
'You ought to be ashamed of yourselves,' said the voice of
Mr. Raddle, which appeared to proceed from beneath some
distant bed-clothes.
'Ashamed of themselves!' said Mrs. Raddle. 'Why don't you
go down and knock 'em every one downstairs? You would if
you was a man.'
'I should if I was a dozen men, my dear,' replied Mr. Raddle
pacifically, 'but they have the advantage of me in numbers, my dear.'
'Ugh, you coward!' replied Mrs. Raddle, with supreme contempt.
'DO you mean to turn them wretches out, or not, Mr. Sawyer?'
'They're going, Mrs. Raddle, they're going,' said the miserable
Bob. 'I am afraid you'd better go,' said Mr. Bob Sawyer to his
friends. 'I thought you were making too much noise.'
'It's a very unfortunate thing,' said the prim man. 'Just as we
were getting so comfortable too!' The prim man was just
beginning to have a dawning recollection of the story he had forgotten.
'It's hardly to be borne,' said the prim man, looking round.
'Hardly to be borne, is it?'
'Not to be endured,' replied Jack Hopkins; 'let's have the
other verse, Bob. Come, here goes!'
'No, no, Jack, don't,' interposed Bob Sawyer; 'it's a capital
song, but I am afraid we had better not have the other verse.
They are very violent people, the people of the house.'
'Shall I step upstairs, and pitch into the landlord?' inquired
Hopkins, 'or keep on ringing the bell, or go and groan on the
staircase? You may command me, Bob.'
'I am very much indebted to you for your friendship and goodnature,
Hopkins,' said the wretched Mr. Bob Sawyer, 'but I
think the best plan to avoid any further dispute is for us to
break up at once.'
'Now, Mr. Sawyer,' screamed the shrill voice of Mrs. Raddle,
'are them brutes going?'
'They're only looking for their hats, Mrs. Raddle,' said Bob;
'they are going directly.'
'Going!' said Mrs. Raddle, thrusting her nightcap over the
banisters just as Mr. Pickwick, followed by Mr. Tupman,
emerged from the sitting-room. 'Going! what did they ever
come for?'
'My dear ma'am,' remonstrated Mr. Pickwick, looking up.
'Get along with you, old wretch!' replied Mrs. Raddle, hastily
withdrawing the nightcap. 'Old enough to be his grandfather,
you willin! You're worse than any of 'em.'
Mr. Pickwick found it in vain to protest his innocence, so
hurried downstairs into the street, whither he was closely
followed by Mr. Tupman, Mr. Winkle, and Mr. Snodgrass.
Mr. Ben Allen, who was dismally depressed with spirits and
agitation, accompanied them as far as London Bridge, and in the
course of the walk confided to Mr. Winkle, as an especially
eligible person to intrust the secret to, that he was resolved to
cut the throat of any gentleman, except Mr. Bob Sawyer, who
should aspire to the affections of his sister Arabella. Having
expressed his determination to perform this painful duty of a
brother with proper firmness, he burst into tears, knocked his hat
over his eyes, and, making the best of his way back, knocked
double knocks at the door of the Borough Market office,
and took short naps on the steps alternately, until daybreak,
under the firm impression that he lived there, and had forgotten
the key.
The visitors having all departed, in compliance with the rather
pressing request of Mrs. Raddle, the luckless Mr. Bob Sawyer
was left alone, to meditate on the probable events of to-morrow,
and the pleasures of the evening.
CHAPTER XXXIII
Mr. WELLER THE ELDER DELIVERS SOME CRITICAL SENTIMENTS
RESPECTING LITERARY COMPOSITION; AND,
ASSISTED BY HIS SON SAMUEL, PAYS A SMALL INSTALMENT
OF RETALIATION TO THE ACCOUNT OF THE REVEREND
GENTLEMAN WITH THE RED NOSE
The morning of the thirteenth of February, which the readers of
this authentic narrative know, as well as we do, to have been the day
immediately preceding that which was appointed for the trial of
Mrs. Bardell's action, was a busy time for Mr. Samuel Weller, who
was perpetually engaged in travelling from the George and Vulture to
Mr. Perker's chambers and back again, from and between the hours
of nine o'clock in the morning and two in the afternoon, both
inclusive. Not that there was anything whatever to be done, for the
consultation had taken place, and the course of proceeding to be
adopted, had been finally determined on; but Mr. Pickwick being in
a most extreme state of excitement, persevered in constantly
sending small notes to his attorney, merely containing the inquiry,
'Dear Perker. Is all going on well?' to which Mr. Perker
invariably forwarded the reply, 'Dear Pickwick. As well as
possible'; the fact being, as we have already hinted, that there
was nothing whatever to go on, either well or ill, until the
sitting of the court on the following morning.
But people who go voluntarily to law, or are taken forcibly
there, for the first time, may be allowed to labour under some
temporary irritation and anxiety; and Sam, with a due allowance
for the frailties of human nature, obeyed all his master's behests
with that imperturbable good-humour and unruffable composure
which formed one of his most striking and amiable characteristics.
Sam had solaced himself with a most agreeable little dinner,
and was waiting at the bar for the glass of warm mixture in which
Mr. Pickwick had requested him to drown the fatigues of his
morning's walks, when a young boy of about three feet high, or
thereabouts, in a hairy cap and fustian overalls, whose garb
bespoke a laudable ambition to attain in time the elevation of
an hostler, entered the passage of the George and Vulture, and
looked first up the stairs, and then along the passage, and then
into the bar, as if in search of somebody to whom he bore a
commission; whereupon the barmaid, conceiving it not
improbable that the said commission might be directed to the tea or
table spoons of the establishment, accosted the boy with--
'Now, young man, what do you want?'
'Is there anybody here, named Sam?' inquired the youth, in a
loud voice of treble quality.
'What's the t'other name?' said Sam Weller, looking round.
'How should I know?' briskly replied the young gentleman
below the hairy cap.
'You're a sharp boy, you are,' said Mr. Weller; 'only I
wouldn't show that wery fine edge too much, if I was you, in case
anybody took it off. What do you mean by comin' to a hot-el,
and asking arter Sam, vith as much politeness as a vild Indian?'
''Cos an old gen'l'm'n told me to,' replied the boy.
'What old gen'l'm'n?' inquired Sam, with deep disdain.
'Him as drives a Ipswich coach, and uses our parlour,' rejoined
the boy. 'He told me yesterday mornin' to come to the George
and Wultur this arternoon, and ask for Sam.'
'It's my father, my dear,' said Mr. Weller, turning with an
explanatory air to the young lady in the bar; 'blessed if I think
he hardly knows wot my other name is. Well, young brockiley
sprout, wot then?'
'Why then,' said the boy, 'you was to come to him at six
o'clock to our 'ouse, 'cos he wants to see you--Blue Boar,
Leaden'all Markit. Shall I say you're comin'?'
'You may wenture on that 'ere statement, Sir,' replied Sam.
And thus empowered, the young gentleman walked away,
awakening all the echoes in George Yard as he did so, with
several chaste and extremely correct imitations of a drover's
whistle, delivered in a tone of peculiar richness and volume.
Mr. Weller having obtained leave of absence from Mr. Pickwick,
who, in his then state of excitement and worry, was by no
means displeased at being left alone, set forth, long before the
appointed hour, and having plenty of time at his disposal,
sauntered down as far as the Mansion House, where he paused
and contemplated, with a face of great calmness and philosophy,
the numerous cads and drivers of short stages who assemble near
that famous place of resort, to the great terror and confusion of
the old-lady population of these realms. Having loitered here, for
half an hour or so, Mr. Weller turned, and began wending his
way towards Leadenhall Market, through a variety of by-streets
and courts. As he was sauntering away his spare time, and
stopped to look at almost every object that met his gaze, it is by
no means surprising that Mr. Weller should have paused before
a small stationer's and print-seller's window; but without further
explanation it does appear surprising that his eyes should have
no sooner rested on certain pictures which were exposed for sale
therein, than he gave a sudden start, smote his right leg with
great vehemence, and exclaimed, with energy, 'if it hadn't been
for this, I should ha' forgot all about it, till it was too late!'
The particular picture on which Sam Weller's eyes were fixed,
as he said this, was a highly-coloured representation of a couple
of human hearts skewered together with an arrow, cooking
before a cheerful fire, while a male and female cannibal in
modern attire, the gentleman being clad in a blue coat and white
trousers, and the lady in a deep red pelisse with a parasol of the
same, were approaching the meal with hungry eyes, up a serpentine
gravel path leading thereunto. A decidedly indelicate young
gentleman, in a pair of wings and nothing else, was depicted as
superintending the cooking; a representation of the spire of the
church in Langham Place, London, appeared in the distance;
and the whole formed a 'valentine,' of which, as a written
inscription in the window testified, there was a large assortment
within, which the shopkeeper pledged himself to dispose of, to his
countrymen generally, at the reduced rate of one-and-sixpence each.
'I should ha' forgot it; I should certainly ha' forgot it!' said
Sam; so saying, he at once stepped into the stationer's shop, and
requested to be served with a sheet of the best gilt-edged letterpaper,
and a hard-nibbed pen which could be warranted not to
splutter. These articles having been promptly supplied, he
walked on direct towards Leadenhall Market at a good round
pace, very different from his recent lingering one. Looking round
him, he there beheld a signboard on which the painter's art had
delineated something remotely resembling a cerulean elephant
with an aquiline nose in lieu of trunk. Rightly conjecturing that
this was the Blue Boar himself, he stepped into the house, and
inquired concerning his parent.
'He won't be here this three-quarters of an hour or more,' said
the young lady who superintended the domestic arrangements of
the Blue Boar.
'Wery good, my dear,' replied Sam. 'Let me have ninepenn'oth
o' brandy-and-water luke, and the inkstand, will you, miss?'
The brandy-and-water luke, and the inkstand, having been
carried into the little parlour, and the young lady having carefully
flattened down the coals to prevent their blazing, and carried
away the poker to preclude the possibility of the fire being stirred,
without the full privity and concurrence of the Blue Boar being
first had and obtained, Sam Weller sat himself down in a box
near the stove, and pulled out the sheet of gilt-edged letter-paper,
and the hard-nibbed pen. Then looking carefully at the pen to
see that there were no hairs in it, and dusting down the table, so
that there might be no crumbs of bread under the paper, Sam
tucked up the cuffs of his coat, squared his elbows, and composed
himself to write.
To ladies and gentlemen who are not in the habit of devoting
themselves practically to the science of penmanship, writing a
letter is no very easy task; it being always considered necessary
in such cases for the writer to recline his head on his left arm, so
as to place his eyes as nearly as possible on a level with the paper,
and, while glancing sideways at the letters he is constructing, to
form with his tongue imaginary characters to correspond. These
motions, although unquestionably of the greatest assistance to
original composition, retard in some degree the progress of the
writer; and Sam had unconsciously been a full hour and a half
writing words in small text, smearing out wrong letters with his
little finger, and putting in new ones which required going over
very often to render them visible through the old blots, when he
was roused by the opening of the door and the entrance of his parent.
'Vell, Sammy,' said the father.
'Vell, my Prooshan Blue,' responded the son, laying down his
pen. 'What's the last bulletin about mother-in-law?'
'Mrs. Veller passed a very good night, but is uncommon
perwerse, and unpleasant this mornin'. Signed upon oath, Tony
Veller, Esquire. That's the last vun as was issued, Sammy,'
replied Mr. Weller, untying his shawl.
'No better yet?' inquired Sam.
'All the symptoms aggerawated,' replied Mr. Weller, shaking
his head. 'But wot's that, you're a-doin' of? Pursuit of knowledge
under difficulties, Sammy?'
'I've done now,' said Sam, with slight embarrassment; 'I've
been a-writin'.'
'So I see,' replied Mr. Weller. 'Not to any young 'ooman, I
hope, Sammy?'
'Why, it's no use a-sayin' it ain't,' replied Sam; 'it's a walentine.'
'A what!' exclaimed Mr. Weller, apparently horror-stricken
by the word.
'A walentine,' replied Sam.
'Samivel, Samivel,' said Mr. Weller, in reproachful accents, 'I
didn't think you'd ha' done it. Arter the warnin' you've had o'
your father's wicious propensities; arter all I've said to you upon
this here wery subject; arter actiwally seein' and bein' in the
company o' your own mother-in-law, vich I should ha' thought
wos a moral lesson as no man could never ha' forgotten to his
dyin' day! I didn't think you'd ha' done it, Sammy, I didn't
think you'd ha' done it!' These reflections were too much for the
good old man. He raised Sam's tumbler to his lips and drank off
its contents.
'Wot's the matter now?' said Sam.
'Nev'r mind, Sammy,' replied Mr. Weller, 'it'll be a wery
agonisin' trial to me at my time of life, but I'm pretty tough, that's
vun consolation, as the wery old turkey remarked wen the
farmer said he wos afeerd he should be obliged to kill him for the
London market.'
'Wot'll be a trial?' inquired Sam.
'To see you married, Sammy--to see you a dilluded wictim,
and thinkin' in your innocence that it's all wery capital,' replied
Mr. Weller. 'It's a dreadful trial to a father's feelin's, that 'ere,
Sammy--'
'Nonsense,' said Sam. 'I ain't a-goin' to get married, don't you
fret yourself about that; I know you're a judge of these things.
Order in your pipe and I'll read you the letter. There!'
We cannot distinctly say whether it was the prospect of the
pipe, or the consolatory reflection that a fatal disposition to get
married ran in the family, and couldn't be helped, which calmed
Mr. Weller's feelings, and caused his grief to subside. We should
be rather disposed to say that the result was attained by combining
the two sources of consolation, for he repeated the second
in a low tone, very frequently; ringing the bell meanwhile, to
order in the first. He then divested himself of his upper coat; and
lighting the pipe and placing himself in front of the fire with his
back towards it, so that he could feel its full heat, and recline
against the mantel-piece at the same time, turned towards Sam,
and, with a countenance greatly mollified by the softening
influence of tobacco, requested him to 'fire away.'
Sam dipped his pen into the ink to be ready for any corrections,
and began with a very theatrical air--
'"Lovely--"'
'Stop,' said Mr. Weller, ringing the bell. 'A double glass o' the
inwariable, my dear.'
'Very well, Sir,' replied the girl; who with great quickness
appeared, vanished, returned, and disappeared.
'They seem to know your ways here,' observed Sam.
'Yes,' replied his father, 'I've been here before, in my time.
Go on, Sammy.'
'"Lovely creetur,"' repeated Sam.
''Tain't in poetry, is it?' interposed his father.
'No, no,' replied Sam.
'Wery glad to hear it,' said Mr. Weller. 'Poetry's unnat'ral; no
man ever talked poetry 'cept a beadle on boxin'-day, or Warren's
blackin', or Rowland's oil, or some of them low fellows; never
you let yourself down to talk poetry, my boy. Begin agin, Sammy.'
Mr. Weller resumed his pipe with critical solemnity, and Sam
once more commenced, and read as follows:
'"Lovely creetur I feel myself a damned--"'
'That ain't proper,' said Mr. Weller, taking his pipe from his mouth.
'No; it ain't "damned,"' observed Sam, holding the letter up
to the light, 'it's "shamed," there's a blot there--"I feel myself
ashamed."'
'Wery good,' said Mr. Weller. 'Go on.'
'"Feel myself ashamed, and completely cir--' I forget what
this here word is,' said Sam, scratching his head with the pen,
in vain attempts to remember.
'Why don't you look at it, then?' inquired Mr. Weller.
'So I am a-lookin' at it,' replied Sam, 'but there's another blot.
Here's a "c," and a "i," and a "d."'
'Circumwented, p'raps,' suggested Mr. Weller.
'No, it ain't that,' said Sam, '"circumscribed"; that's it.'
'That ain't as good a word as "circumwented," Sammy,' said
Mr. Weller gravely.
'Think not?' said Sam.
'Nothin' like it,' replied his father.
'But don't you think it means more?' inquired Sam.
'Vell p'raps it's a more tenderer word,' said Mr. Weller, after
a few moments' reflection. 'Go on, Sammy.'
'"Feel myself ashamed and completely circumscribed in adressin'
of you, for you are a nice gal and nothin' but it."'
'That's a wery pretty sentiment,' said the elder Mr. Weller,
removing his pipe to make way for the remark.
'Yes, I think it is rayther good,' observed Sam, highly flattered.
'Wot I like in that 'ere style of writin',' said the elder Mr.
Weller, 'is, that there ain't no callin' names in it--no Wenuses,
nor nothin' o' that kind. Wot's the good o' callin' a young
'ooman a Wenus or a angel, Sammy?'
'Ah! what, indeed?' replied Sam.
'You might jist as well call her a griffin, or a unicorn, or a
king's arms at once, which is wery well known to be a collection
o' fabulous animals,' added Mr. Weller.
'Just as well,' replied Sam.
'Drive on, Sammy,' said Mr. Weller.
Sam complied with the request, and proceeded as follows; his
father continuing to smoke, with a mixed expression of wisdom
and complacency, which was particularly edifying.
'"Afore I see you, I thought all women was alike."'
'So they are,' observed the elder Mr. Weller parenthetically.
'"But now,"' continued Sam, '"now I find what a reg'lar softheaded,
inkred'lous turnip I must ha' been; for there ain't
nobody like you, though I like you better than nothin' at all." I
thought it best to make that rayther strong,' said Sam, looking up.
Mr. Weller nodded approvingly, and Sam resumed.
'"So I take the privilidge of the day, Mary, my dear--as the
gen'l'm'n in difficulties did, ven he valked out of a Sunday--to
tell you that the first and only time I see you, your likeness was
took on my hart in much quicker time and brighter colours than
ever a likeness was took by the profeel macheen (wich p'raps you
may have heerd on Mary my dear) altho it DOES finish a portrait
and put the frame and glass on complete, with a hook at the
end to hang it up by, and all in two minutes and a quarter."'
'I am afeerd that werges on the poetical, Sammy,' said Mr.
Weller dubiously.
'No, it don't,' replied Sam, reading on very quickly, to avoid
contesting the point--
'"Except of me Mary my dear as your walentine and think
over what I've said.--My dear Mary I will now conclude." That's
all,' said Sam.
'That's rather a Sudden pull-up, ain't it, Sammy?' inquired
Mr. Weller.
'Not a bit on it,' said Sam; 'she'll vish there wos more, and
that's the great art o' letter-writin'.'
'Well,' said Mr. Weller, 'there's somethin' in that; and I wish
your mother-in-law 'ud only conduct her conwersation on the
same gen-teel principle. Ain't you a-goin' to sign it?'
'That's the difficulty,' said Sam; 'I don't know what to sign it.'
'Sign it--"Veller",' said the oldest surviving proprietor of that name.
'Won't do,' said Sam. 'Never sign a walentine with your own name.'
'Sign it "Pickwick," then,' said Mr. Weller; 'it's a wery good
name, and a easy one to spell.'
'The wery thing,' said Sam. 'I COULD end with a werse; what do
you think?'
'I don't like it, Sam,' rejoined Mr. Weller. 'I never know'd a
respectable coachman as wrote poetry, 'cept one, as made an
affectin' copy o' werses the night afore he was hung for a highway
robbery; and he wos only a Cambervell man, so even that's no rule.'
But Sam was not to be dissuaded from the poetical idea that
had occurred to him, so he signed the letter--
'Your love-sick
Pickwick.'
And having folded it, in a very intricate manner, squeezed a
downhill direction in one corner: 'To Mary, Housemaid, at
Mr. Nupkins's, Mayor's, Ipswich, Suffolk'; and put it into his
pocket, wafered, and ready for the general post. This important
business having been transacted, Mr. Weller the elder proceeded
to open that, on which he had summoned his son.
'The first matter relates to your governor, Sammy,' said Mr.
Weller. 'He's a-goin' to be tried to-morrow, ain't he?'
'The trial's a-comin' on,' replied Sam.
'Vell,' said Mr. Weller, 'Now I s'pose he'll want to call some
witnesses to speak to his character, or p'rhaps to prove a alleybi.
I've been a-turnin' the bis'ness over in my mind, and he may
make his-self easy, Sammy. I've got some friends as'll do either
for him, but my adwice 'ud be this here--never mind the
character, and stick to the alleybi. Nothing like a alleybi, Sammy,
nothing.' Mr. Weller looked very profound as he delivered this
legal opinion; and burying his nose in his tumbler, winked over
the top thereof, at his astonished son.
'Why, what do you mean?' said Sam; 'you don't think he's
a-goin' to be tried at the Old Bailey, do you?'
'That ain't no part of the present consideration, Sammy,'
replied Mr. Weller. 'Verever he's a-goin' to be tried, my boy, a
alleybi's the thing to get him off. Ve got Tom Vildspark off that
'ere manslaughter, with a alleybi, ven all the big vigs to a man
said as nothing couldn't save him. And my 'pinion is, Sammy,
that if your governor don't prove a alleybi, he'll be what the
Italians call reg'larly flummoxed, and that's all about it.'
As the elder Mr. Weller entertained a firm and unalterable
conviction that the Old Bailey was the supreme court of judicature
in this country, and that its rules and forms of proceeding
regulated and controlled the practice of all other courts of justice
whatsoever, he totally disregarded the assurances and arguments
of his son, tending to show that the alibi was inadmissible; and
vehemently protested that Mr. Pickwick was being 'wictimised.'
Finding that it was of no use to discuss the matter further, Sam
changed the subject, and inquired what the second topic was, on
which his revered parent wished to consult him.
'That's a pint o' domestic policy, Sammy,' said Mr. Weller.
'This here Stiggins--'
'Red-nosed man?' inquired Sam.
'The wery same,' replied Mr. Weller. 'This here red-nosed
man, Sammy, wisits your mother-in-law vith a kindness and
constancy I never see equalled. He's sitch a friend o' the family,
Sammy, that wen he's avay from us, he can't be comfortable
unless he has somethin' to remember us by.'
'And I'd give him somethin' as 'ud turpentine and beeswax his
memory for the next ten years or so, if I wos you,' interposed Sam.
'Stop a minute,' said Mr. Weller; 'I wos a-going to say, he
always brings now, a flat bottle as holds about a pint and a half,
and fills it vith the pine-apple rum afore he goes avay.'
'And empties it afore he comes back, I s'pose?' said Sam.
'Clean!' replied Mr. Weller; 'never leaves nothin' in it but the
cork and the smell; trust him for that, Sammy. Now, these here
fellows, my boy, are a-goin' to-night to get up the monthly
meetin' o' the Brick Lane Branch o' the United Grand Junction
Ebenezer Temperance Association. Your mother-in-law wos
a-goin', Sammy, but she's got the rheumatics, and can't; and I,
Sammy--I've got the two tickets as wos sent her.' Mr. Weller
communicated this secret with great glee, and winked so
indefatigably after doing so, that Sam began to think he must have
got the TIC DOLOUREUX in his right eyelid.
'Well?' said that young gentleman.
'Well,' continued his progenitor, looking round him very
cautiously, 'you and I'll go, punctiwal to the time. The deputyshepherd
won't, Sammy; the deputy-shepherd won't.' Here Mr.
Weller was seized with a paroxysm of chuckles, which gradually
terminated in as near an approach to a choke as an elderly
gentleman can, with safety, sustain.
'Well, I never see sitch an old ghost in all my born days,'
exclaimed Sam, rubbing the old gentleman's back, hard enough
to set him on fire with the friction. 'What are you a-laughin' at,
corpilence?'
'Hush! Sammy,' said Mr. Weller, looking round him with
increased caution, and speaking in a whisper. 'Two friends o'
mine, as works the Oxford Road, and is up to all kinds o' games,
has got the deputy-shepherd safe in tow, Sammy; and ven he
does come to the Ebenezer Junction (vich he's sure to do: for
they'll see him to the door, and shove him in, if necessary), he'll
be as far gone in rum-and-water, as ever he wos at the Markis o'
Granby, Dorkin', and that's not sayin' a little neither.' And with
this, Mr. Weller once more laughed immoderately, and once
more relapsed into a state of partial suffocation, in consequence.
Nothing could have been more in accordance with Sam
Weller's feelings than the projected exposure of the real propensities
and qualities of the red-nosed man; and it being very
near the appointed hour of meeting, the father and son took
their way at once to Brick Lane, Sam not forgetting to drop his
letter into a general post-office as they walked along.
The monthly meetings of the Brick Lane Branch of the United
Grand Junction Ebenezer Temperance Association were held in
a large room, pleasantly and airily situated at the top of a safe
and commodious ladder. The president was the straight-walking
Mr. Anthony Humm, a converted fireman, now a schoolmaster,
and occasionally an itinerant preacher; and the secretary was
Mr. Jonas Mudge, chandler's shopkeeper, an enthusiastic and
disinterested vessel, who sold tea to the members. Previous to the
commencement of business, the ladies sat upon forms, and drank
tea, till such time as they considered it expedient to leave off; and
a large wooden money-box was conspicuously placed upon the
green baize cloth of the business-table, behind which
the secretary stood, and acknowledged, with a gracious smile,
every addition to the rich vein of copper which lay concealed within.
On this particular occasion the women drank tea to a most
alarming extent; greatly to the horror of Mr. Weller, senior, who,
utterly regardless of all Sam's admonitory nudgings, stared about
him in every direction with the most undisguised astonishment.
'Sammy,' whispered Mr. Weller, 'if some o' these here people
don't want tappin' to-morrow mornin', I ain't your father, and
that's wot it is. Why, this here old lady next me is a-drowndin'
herself in tea.'
'Be quiet, can't you?' murmured Sam.
'Sam,' whispered Mr. Weller, a moment afterwards, in a tone
of deep agitation, 'mark my vords, my boy. If that 'ere secretary
fellow keeps on for only five minutes more, he'll blow hisself up
with toast and water.'
'Well, let him, if he likes,' replied Sam; 'it ain't no bis'ness
o' yourn.'
'If this here lasts much longer, Sammy,' said Mr. Weller, in
the same low voice, 'I shall feel it my duty, as a human bein', to
rise and address the cheer. There's a young 'ooman on the next
form but two, as has drunk nine breakfast cups and a half; and
she's a-swellin' wisibly before my wery eyes.'
There is little doubt that Mr. Weller would have carried his
benevolent intention into immediate execution, if a great noise,
occasioned by putting up the cups and saucers, had not very
fortunately announced that the tea-drinking was over. The
crockery having been removed, the table with the green baize
cover was carried out into the centre of the room, and the
business of the evening was commenced by a little emphatic man,
with a bald head and drab shorts, who suddenly rushed up the
ladder, at the imminent peril of snapping the two little legs
incased in the drab shorts, and said--
'Ladies and gentlemen, I move our excellent brother, Mr.
Anthony Humm, into the chair.'
The ladies waved a choice selection of pocket-handkerchiefs at
this proposition; and the impetuous little man literally moved
Mr. Humm into the chair, by taking him by the shoulders and
thrusting him into a mahogany-frame which had once represented
that article of furniture. The waving of handkerchiefs was
renewed; and Mr. Humm, who was a sleek, white-faced man, in a
perpetual perspiration, bowed meekly, to the great admiration of
the females, and formally took his seat. Silence was then proclaimed
by the little man in the drab shorts, and Mr. Humm rose
and said--That, with the permission of his Brick Lane Branch
brothers and sisters, then and there present, the secretary would
read the report of the Brick Lane Branch committee; a proposition
which was again received with a demonstration of pocket-handkerchiefs.
The secretary having sneezed in a very impressive manner, and
the cough which always seizes an assembly, when anything
particular is going to be done, having been duly performed, the
following document was read:
'REPORT OF THE COMMITTEE OF THE BRICK LANE BRANCH OF THE
UNITED GRAND JUNCTION EBENEZER TEMPERANCE ASSOCIATION
'Your committee have pursued their grateful labours during the
past month, and have the unspeakable pleasure of reporting the
following additional cases of converts to Temperance.
'H. Walker, tailor, wife, and two children. When in better
circumstances, owns to having been in the constant habit of
drinking ale and beer; says he is not certain whether he did not
twice a week, for twenty years, taste "dog's nose," which your
committee find upon inquiry, to be compounded of warm porter,
moist sugar, gin, and nutmeg (a groan, and 'So it is!' from an
elderly female). Is now out of work and penniless; thinks it must
be the porter (cheers) or the loss of the use of his right hand; is
not certain which, but thinks it very likely that, if he had drunk
nothing but water all his life, his fellow-workman would never
have stuck a rusty needle in him, and thereby occasioned his
accident (tremendous cheering). Has nothing but cold water to
drink, and never feels thirsty (great applause).
'Betsy Martin, widow, one child, and one eye. Goes out
charing and washing, by the day; never had more than one eye,
but knows her mother drank bottled stout, and shouldn't wonder
if that caused it (immense cheering). Thinks it not impossible
that if she had always abstained from spirits she might have had
two eyes by this time (tremendous applause). Used, at every
place she went to, to have eighteen-pence a day, a pint of porter,
and a glass of spirits; but since she became a member of the
Brick Lane Branch, has always demanded three-and-sixpence
(the announcement of this most interesting fact was received
with deafening enthusiasm).
'Henry Beller was for many years toast-master at various
corporation dinners, during which time he drank a great deal of
foreign wine; may sometimes have carried a bottle or two home
with him; is not quite certain of that, but is sure if he did, that he
drank the contents. Feels very low and melancholy, is very
feverish, and has a constant thirst upon him; thinks it must be
the wine he used to drink (cheers). Is out of employ now; and
never touches a drop of foreign wine by any chance (tremendous
plaudits).
'Thomas Burton is purveyor of cat's meat to the Lord Mayor
and Sheriffs, and several members of the Common Council (the
announcement of this gentleman's name was received with
breathless interest). Has a wooden leg; finds a wooden leg
expensive, going over the stones; used to wear second-hand
wooden legs, and drink a glass of hot gin-and-water regularly
every night--sometimes two (deep sighs). Found the second-hand
wooden legs split and rot very quickly; is firmly persuaded that
their constitution was undermined by the gin-and-water (prolonged
cheering). Buys new wooden legs now, and drinks
nothing but water and weak tea. The new legs last twice as long
as the others used to do, and he attributes this solely to his
temperate habits (triumphant cheers).'
Anthony Humm now moved that the assembly do regale itself
with a song. With a view to their rational and moral enjoyment,
Brother Mordlin had adapted the beautiful words of 'Who hasn't
heard of a Jolly Young Waterman?' to the tune of the Old
Hundredth, which he would request them to join him in singing
(great applause). He might take that opportunity of expressing his
firm persuasion that the late Mr. Dibdin, seeing the errors of his
former life, had written that song to show the advantages of
abstinence. It was a temperance song (whirlwinds of cheers). The
neatness of the young man's attire, the dexterity of his feathering,
the enviable state of mind which enabled him in the beautiful
words of the poet, to
'Row along, thinking of nothing at all,'
all combined to prove that he must have been a water-drinker
(cheers). Oh, what a state of virtuous jollity! (rapturous cheering).
And what was the young man's reward? Let all young men present
mark this:
'The maidens all flocked to his boat so readily.'
(Loud cheers, in which the ladies joined.) What a bright example!
The sisterhood, the maidens, flocking round the young waterman,
and urging him along the stream of duty and of temperance.
But, was it the maidens of humble life only, who soothed, consoled,
and supported him? No!
'He was always first oars with the fine city ladies.'
(Immense cheering.) The soft sex to a man--he begged pardon,
to a female--rallied round the young waterman, and turned with
disgust from the drinker of spirits (cheers). The Brick Lane
Branch brothers were watermen (cheers and laughter). That room
was their boat; that audience were the maidens; and he (Mr.
Anthony Humm), however unworthily, was 'first oars'
(unbounded applause).
'Wot does he mean by the soft sex, Sammy?' inquired Mr.
Weller, in a whisper.
'The womin,' said Sam, in the same tone.
'He ain't far out there, Sammy,' replied Mr. Weller; 'they
MUST be a soft sex--a wery soft sex, indeed--if they let themselves
be gammoned by such fellers as him.'
Any further observations from the indignant old gentleman
were cut short by the announcement of the song, which Mr.
Anthony Humm gave out two lines at a time, for the information
of such of his hearers as were unacquainted with the legend.
While it was being sung, the little man with the drab shorts
disappeared; he returned immediately on its conclusion, and
whispered Mr. Anthony Humm, with a face of the deepest importance.
'My friends,' said Mr. Humm, holding up his hand in a
deprecatory manner, to bespeak the silence of such of the stout
old ladies as were yet a line or two behind; 'my friends, a delegate
from the Dorking Branch of our society, Brother Stiggins,
attends below.'
Out came the pocket-handkerchiefs again, in greater force
than ever; for Mr. Stiggins was excessively popular among the
female constituency of Brick Lane.
'He may approach, I think,' said Mr. Humm, looking round
him, with a fat smile. 'Brother Tadger, let him come forth and
greet us.'
The little man in the drab shorts who answered to the name of
Brother Tadger, bustled down the ladder with great speed, and
was immediately afterwards heard tumbling up with the Reverend
Mr. Stiggins.
'He's a-comin', Sammy,' whispered Mr. Weller, purple in the
countenance with suppressed laughter.
'Don't say nothin' to me,' replied Sam, 'for I can't bear it. He's
close to the door. I hear him a-knockin' his head again the lath
and plaster now.'
As Sam Weller spoke, the little door flew open, and Brother
Tadger appeared, closely followed by the Reverend Mr. Stiggins,
who no sooner entered, than there was a great clapping of hands,
and stamping of feet, and flourishing of handkerchiefs; to all of
which manifestations of delight, Brother Stiggins returned no
other acknowledgment than staring with a wild eye, and a fixed
smile, at the extreme top of the wick of the candle on the table,
swaying his body to and fro, meanwhile, in a very unsteady and
uncertain manner.
'Are you unwell, Brother Stiggins?' whispered Mr. Anthony Humm.
'I am all right, Sir,' replied Mr. Stiggins, in a tone in which
ferocity was blended with an extreme thickness of utterance; 'I
am all right, Sir.'
'Oh, very well,' rejoined Mr. Anthony Humm, retreating a few paces.
'I believe no man here has ventured to say that I am not all
right, Sir?' said Mr. Stiggins.
'Oh, certainly not,' said Mr. Humm.
'I should advise him not to, Sir; I should advise him not,' said
Mr. Stiggins.
By this time the audience were perfectly silent, and waited
with some anxiety for the resumption of business.
'Will you address the meeting, brother?' said Mr. Humm, with
a smile of invitation.
'No, sir,' rejoined Mr. Stiggins; 'No, sir. I will not, sir.'
The meeting looked at each other with raised eyelids; and a
murmur of astonishment ran through the room.
'It's my opinion, sir,' said Mr. Stiggins, unbuttoning his coat,
and speaking very loudly--'it's my opinion, sir, that this meeting
is drunk, sir. Brother Tadger, sir!' said Mr. Stiggins, suddenly
increasing in ferocity, and turning sharp round on the little man
in the drab shorts, 'YOU are drunk, sir!' With this, Mr. Stiggins,
entertaining a praiseworthy desire to promote the sobriety of the
meeting, and to exclude therefrom all improper characters, hit
Brother Tadger on the summit of the nose with such unerring
aim, that the drab shorts disappeared like a flash of lightning.
Brother Tadger had been knocked, head first, down the ladder.
Upon this, the women set up a loud and dismal screaming;
and rushing in small parties before their favourite brothers, flung
their arms around them to preserve them from danger. An
instance of affection, which had nearly proved fatal to Humm,
who, being extremely popular, was all but suffocated, by the
crowd of female devotees that hung about his neck, and heaped
caresses upon him. The greater part of the lights were quickly
put out, and nothing but noise and confusion resounded on all sides.
'Now, Sammy,' said Mr. Weller, taking off his greatcoat with
much deliberation, 'just you step out, and fetch in a watchman.'
'And wot are you a-goin' to do, the while?' inquired Sam.
'Never you mind me, Sammy,' replied the old gentleman; 'I
shall ockipy myself in havin' a small settlement with that 'ere
Stiggins.' Before Sam could interfere to prevent it, his heroic
parent had penetrated into a remote corner of the room, and
attacked the Reverend Mr. Stiggins with manual dexterity.
'Come off!' said Sam.
'Come on!' cried Mr. Weller; and without further invitation
he gave the Reverend Mr. Stiggins a preliminary tap on the head,
and began dancing round him in a buoyant and cork-like
manner, which in a gentleman at his time of life was a perfect
marvel to behold.
Finding all remonstrances unavailing, Sam pulled his hat
firmly on, threw his father's coat over his arm, and taking the old
man round the waist, forcibly dragged him down the ladder, and
into the street; never releasing his hold, or permitting him to
stop, until they reached the corner. As they gained it, they could
hear the shouts of the populace, who were witnessing the removal
of the Reverend Mr. Stiggins to strong lodgings for the night,
and could hear the noise occasioned by the dispersion in various
directions of the members of the Brick Lane Branch of the
United Grand Junction Ebenezer Temperance Association.
CHAPTER XXXIV
IS WHOLLY DEVOTED TO A FULL AND FAITHFUL REPORT
OF THE MEMORABLE TRIAL OF BARDELL AGAINST PICKWICK
'I wonder what the foreman of the jury, whoever he'll be, has got
for breakfast,' said Mr. Snodgrass, by way of keeping up a
conversation on the eventful morning of the fourteenth of February.
'Ah!' said Perker, 'I hope he's got a good one.'
'Why so?' inquired Mr. Pickwick.
'Highly important--very important, my dear Sir,' replied
Perker. 'A good, contented, well-breakfasted juryman is a capital
thing to get hold of. Discontented or hungry jurymen, my dear
sir, always find for the plaintiff.'
'Bless my heart,' said Mr. Pickwick, looking very blank, 'what
do they do that for?'
'Why, I don't know,' replied the little man coolly; 'saves time,
I suppose. If it's near dinner-time, the foreman takes out his
watch when the jury has retired, and says, "Dear me, gentlemen,
ten minutes to five, I declare! I dine at five, gentlemen." "So do I,"
says everybody else, except two men who ought to have dined at
three and seem more than half disposed to stand out in consequence.
The foreman smiles, and puts up his watch:--"Well,
gentlemen, what do we say, plaintiff or defendant, gentlemen? I
rather think, so far as I am concerned, gentlemen,--I say, I
rather think--but don't let that influence you--I RATHER think
the plaintiff's the man." Upon this, two or three other men
are sure to say that they think so too--as of course they do; and
then they get on very unanimously and comfortably. Ten minutes
past nine!' said the little man, looking at his watch.'Time we were
off, my dear sir; breach of promise trial-court is generally full
in such cases. You had better ring for a coach, my dear sir, or we
shall be rather late.'
Mr. Pickwick immediately rang the bell, and a coach having
been procured, the four Pickwickians and Mr. Perker ensconced
themselves therein, and drove to Guildhall; Sam Weller, Mr.
Lowten, and the blue bag, following in a cab.
'Lowten,' said Perker, when they reached the outer hall of the
court, 'put Mr. Pickwick's friends in the students' box; Mr.
Pickwick himself had better sit by me. This way, my dear sir, this
way.' Taking Mr. Pickwick by the coat sleeve, the little man led
him to the low seat just beneath the desks of the King's Counsel,
which is constructed for the convenience of attorneys, who from
that spot can whisper into the ear of the leading counsel in the
case, any instructions that may be necessary during the progress
of the trial. The occupants of this seat are invisible to the great
body of spectators, inasmuch as they sit on a much lower level
than either the barristers or the audience, whose seats are raised
above the floor. Of course they have their backs to both, and
their faces towards the judge.
'That's the witness-box, I suppose?' said Mr. Pickwick,
pointing to a kind of pulpit, with a brass rail, on his left hand.
'That's the witness-box, my dear sir,' replied Perker,
disinterring a quantity of papers from the blue bag, which Lowten
had just deposited at his feet.
'And that,' said Mr. Pickwick, pointing to a couple of enclosed
seats on his right, 'that's where the jurymen sit, is it not?'
'The identical place, my dear Sir,' replied Perker, tapping the
lid of his snuff-box.
Mr. Pickwick stood up in a state of great agitation, and took a
glance at the court. There were already a pretty large sprinkling
of spectators in the gallery, and a numerous muster of gentlemen
in wigs, in the barristers' seats, who presented, as a body, all that
pleasing and extensive variety of nose and whisker for which the
Bar of England is so justly celebrated. Such of the gentlemen as
had a brief to carry, carried it in as conspicuous a manner as
possible, and occasionally scratched their noses therewith, to
impress the fact more strongly on the observation of the spectators.
Other gentlemen, who had no briefs to show, carried
under their arms goodly octavos, with a red label behind, and that
under-done-pie-crust-coloured cover, which is technically known
as 'law calf.' Others, who had neither briefs nor books, thrust
their hands into their pockets, and looked as wise as they
conveniently could; others, again, moved here and there with great
restlessness and earnestness of manner, content to awaken
thereby the admiration and astonishment of the uninitiated
strangers. The whole, to the great wonderment of Mr, Pickwick,
were divided into little groups, who were chatting and discussing
the news of the day in the most unfeeling manner possible--just as
if no trial at all were coming on.
A bow from Mr. Phunky, as he entered, and took his seat
behind the row appropriated to the King's Counsel, attracted
Mr. Pickwick's attention; and he had scarcely returned it, when
Mr. Serjeant Snubbin appeared, followed by Mr. Mallard, who
half hid the Serjeant behind a large crimson bag, which he
placed on his table, and, after shaking hands with Perker, withdrew.
Then there entered two or three more Serjeants; and among them,
one with a fat body and a red face, who nodded in a friendly
manner to Mr. Serjeant Snubbin, and said it was a fine morning.
'Who's that red-faced man, who said it was a fine morning,
and nodded to our counsel?' whispered Mr. Pickwick.
'Mr. Serjeant Buzfuz,' replied Perker. 'He's opposed to us; he
leads on the other side. That gentleman behind him is Mr.
Skimpin, his junior.'
Mr. Pickwick was on the point of inquiring, with great
abhorrence of the man's cold-blooded villainy, how Mr, Serjeant
Buzfuz, who was counsel for the opposite party, dared to presume
to tell Mr. Serjeant Snubbin, who was counsel for him, that it
was a fine morning, when he was interrupted by a general rising
of the barristers, and a loud cry of 'Silence!' from the officers of
the court. Looking round, he found that this was caused by the
entrance of the judge.
Mr. Justice Stareleigh (who sat in the absence of the Chief
Justice, occasioned by indisposition) was a most particularly
short man, and so fat, that he seemed all face and waistcoat. He
rolled in, upon two little turned legs, and having bobbed gravely
to the Bar, who bobbed gravely to him, put his little legs underneath
his table, and his little three-cornered hat upon it;
and when Mr. Justice Stareleigh had done this, all you could
see of him was two queer little eyes, one broad pink face,
and somewhere about half of a big and very comical-looking wig.
The judge had no sooner taken his seat, than the officer on the
floor of the court called out 'Silence!' in a commanding tone,
upon which another officer in the gallery cried 'Silence!' in an
angry manner, whereupon three or four more ushers shouted
'Silence!' in a voice of indignant remonstrance. This being done,
a gentleman in black, who sat below the judge, proceeded to call
over the names of the jury; and after a great deal of bawling,
it was discovered that only ten special jurymen were present.
Upon this, Mr. Serjeant Buzfuz prayed a TALES; the gentleman
in black then proceeded to press into the special jury, two of the
common jurymen; and a greengrocer and a chemist were caught directly.
'Answer to your names, gentlemen, that you may be sworn,'
said the gentleman in black. 'Richard Upwitch.'
'Here,' said the greengrocer.
'Thomas Groffin.'
'Here,' said the chemist.
'Take the book, gentlemen. You shall well and truly try--'
'I beg this court's pardon,' said the chemist, who was a tall, thin,
yellow-visaged man, 'but I hope this court will excuse my attendance.'
'On what grounds, Sir?' said Mr. Justice Stareleigh.
'I have no assistant, my Lord,' said the chemist.
'I can't help that, Sir,' replied Mr. Justice Stareleigh. 'You
should hire one.'
'I can't afford it, my Lord,' rejoined the chemist.
'Then you ought to be able to afford it, Sir,' said the judge,
reddening; for Mr. Justice Stareleigh's temper bordered on the
irritable, and brooked not contradiction.
'I know I OUGHT to do, if I got on as well as I deserved; but I
don't, my Lord,' answered the chemist.
'Swear the gentleman,' said the judge peremptorily.
The officer had got no further than the 'You shall well and
truly try,' when he was again interrupted by the chemist.
'I am to be sworn, my Lord, am I?' said the chemist.
'Certainly, sir,' replied the testy little judge.
'Very well, my Lord,' replied the chemist, in a resigned
manner. 'Then there'll be murder before this trial's over; that's
all. Swear me, if you please, Sir;' and sworn the chemist was,
before the judge could find words to utter.
'I merely wanted to observe, my Lord,' said the chemist,
taking his seat with great deliberation, 'that I've left nobody but
an errand-boy in my shop. He is a very nice boy, my Lord, but
he is not acquainted with drugs; and I know that the prevailing
impression on his mind is, that Epsom salts means oxalic acid;
and syrup of senna, laudanum. That's all, my Lord.' With this,
the tall chemist composed himself into a comfortable attitude,
and, assuming a pleasant expression of countenance, appeared to
have prepared himself for the worst.
Mr. Pickwick was regarding the chemist with feelings of the
deepest horror, when a slight sensation was perceptible in the
body of the court; and immediately afterwards Mrs. Bardell,
supported by Mrs. Cluppins, was led in, and placed, in a drooping
state, at the other end of the seat on which Mr. Pickwick sat.
An extra-sized umbrella was then handed in by Mr. Dodson, and
a pair of pattens by Mr. Fogg, each of whom had prepared a
most sympathising and melancholy face for the occasion. Mrs.
Sanders then appeared, leading in Master Bardell. At sight of
her child, Mrs. Bardell started; suddenly recollecting herself, she
kissed him in a frantic manner; then relapsing into a state of
hysterical imbecility, the good lady requested to be informed
where she was. In reply to this, Mrs. Cluppins and Mrs. Sanders
turned their heads away and wept, while Messrs. Dodson and
Fogg entreated the plaintiff to compose herself. Serjeant Buzfuz
rubbed his eyes very hard with a large white handkerchief, and
gave an appealing look towards the jury, while the judge was
visibly affected, and several of the beholders tried to cough down
their emotion.
'Very good notion that indeed,' whispered Perker to Mr.
Pickwick. 'Capital fellows those Dodson and Fogg; excellent
ideas of effect, my dear Sir, excellent.'
As Perker spoke, Mrs. Bardell began to recover by slow
degrees, while Mrs. Cluppins, after a careful survey of Master
Bardell's buttons and the button-holes to which they severally
belonged, placed him on the floor of the court in front of his
mother--a commanding position in which he could not fail to
awaken the full commiseration and sympathy of both judge and
jury. This was not done without considerable opposition, and
many tears, on the part of the young gentleman himself, who had
certain inward misgivings that the placing him within the full
glare of the judge's eye was only a formal prelude to his being
immediately ordered away for instant execution, or for transportation
beyond the seas, during the whole term of his natural
life, at the very least.
'Bardell and Pickwick,' cried the gentleman in black, calling
on the case, which stood first on the list.
'I am for the plaintiff, my Lord,' said Mr. Serjeant Buzfuz.
'Who is with you, Brother Buzfuz?' said the judge. Mr.
Skimpin bowed, to intimate that he was.
'I appear for the defendant, my Lord,' said Mr. Serjeant Snubbin.
'Anybody with you, Brother Snubbin?' inquired the court.
'Mr. Phunky, my Lord,' replied Serjeant Snubbin.
'Serjeant Buzfuz and Mr. Skimpin for the plaintiff,' said
the judge, writing down the names in his note-book, and reading
as he wrote; 'for the defendant, Serjeant Snubbin and Mr. Monkey.'
'Beg your Lordship's pardon, Phunky.'
'Oh, very good,' said the judge; 'I never had the pleasure of
hearing the gentleman's name before.' Here Mr. Phunky bowed
and smiled, and the judge bowed and smiled too, and then Mr.
Phunky, blushing into the very whites of his eyes, tried to look as
if he didn't know that everybody was gazing at him, a thing
which no man ever succeeded in doing yet, or in all reasonable
probability, ever will.
'Go on,' said the judge.
The ushers again called silence, and Mr. Skimpin proceeded
to 'open the case'; and the case appeared to have very little inside
it when he had opened it, for he kept such particulars as he
knew, completely to himself, and sat down, after a lapse of
three minutes, leaving the jury in precisely the same advanced
stage of wisdom as they were in before.
Serjeant Buzfuz then rose with all the majesty and dignity
which the grave nature of the proceedings demanded, and
having whispered to Dodson, and conferred briefly with Fogg,
pulled his gown over his shoulders, settled his wig, and addressed
the jury.
Serjeant Buzfuz began by saying, that never, in the whole
course of his professional experience--never, from the very first
moment of his applying himself to the study and practice of the
law--had he approached a case with feelings of such deep
emotion, or with such a heavy sense of the responsibility imposed
upon him--a responsibility, he would say, which he could never
have supported, were he not buoyed up and sustained by a conviction
so strong, that it amounted to positive certainty that the
cause of truth and justice, or, in other words, the cause of his
much-injured and most oppressed client, must prevail with the
high-minded and intelligent dozen of men whom he now saw in
that box before him.
Counsel usually begin in this way, because it puts the jury on
the very best terms with themselves, and makes them think what
sharp fellows they must be. A visible effect was produced
immediately, several jurymen beginning to take voluminous notes
with the utmost eagerness.
'You have heard from my learned friend, gentlemen,' continued
Serjeant Buzfuz, well knowing that, from the learned
friend alluded to, the gentlemen of the jury had heard just
nothing at all--'you have heard from my learned friend, gentlemen,
that this is an action for a breach of promise of marriage,
in which the damages are laid at #1,500. But you have not heard
from my learned friend, inasmuch as it did not come within my
learned friend's province to tell you, what are the facts and
circumstances of the case. Those facts and circumstances,
gentlemen, you shall hear detailed by me, and proved by
the unimpeachable female whom I will place in that box before you.'
Here, Mr. Serjeant Buzfuz, with a tremendous emphasis on
the word 'box,' smote his table with a mighty sound, and glanced
at Dodson and Fogg, who nodded admiration of the Serjeant,
and indignant defiance of the defendant.
'The plaintiff, gentlemen,' continued Serjeant Buzfuz, in a soft
and melancholy voice, 'the plaintiff is a widow; yes, gentlemen, a
widow. The late Mr. Bardell, after enjoying, for many years, the
esteem and confidence of his sovereign, as one of the guardians
of his royal revenues, glided almost imperceptibly from the
world, to seek elsewhere for that repose and peace which a
custom-house can never afford.'
At this pathetic description of the decease of Mr. Bardell, who
had been knocked on the head with a quart-pot in a public-house
cellar, the learned serjeant's voice faltered, and he proceeded,
with emotion--
'Some time before his death, he had stamped his likeness upon
a little boy. With this little boy, the only pledge of her departed
exciseman, Mrs. Bardell shrank from the world, and courted the
retirement and tranquillity of Goswell Street; and here she
placed in her front parlour window a written placard, bearing
this inscription--"Apartments furnished for a single gentleman.
Inquire within."' Here Serjeant Buzfuz paused, while several
gentlemen of the jury took a note of the document.
'There is no date to that, is there?' inquired a juror.
'There is no date, gentlemen,' replied Serjeant Buzfuz; 'but I
am instructed to say that it was put in the plaintiff's parlour
window just this time three years. I entreat the attention of the
jury to the wording of this document--"Apartments furnished
for a single gentleman"! Mrs. Bardell's opinions of the opposite
sex, gentlemen, were derived from a long contemplation of the
inestimable qualities of her lost husband. She had no fear, she
had no distrust, she had no suspicion; all was confidence and
reliance. "Mr. Bardell," said the widow--"Mr. Bardell was a
man of honour, Mr. Bardell was a man of his word, Mr. Bardell
was no deceiver, Mr. Bardell was once a single gentleman himself;
to single gentlemen I look for protection, for assistance, for
comfort, and for consolation; in single gentlemen I shall
perpetually see something to remind me of what Mr. Bardell was
when he first won my young and untried affections; to a single
gentleman, then, shall my lodgings be let." Actuated by this
beautiful and touching impulse (among the best impulses of our
imperfect nature, gentlemen), the lonely and desolate widow
dried her tears, furnished her first floor, caught her innocent boy
to her maternal bosom, and put the bill up in her parlour window.
Did it remain there long? No. The serpent was on the watch, the
train was laid, the mine was preparing, the sapper and miner was
at work. Before the bill had been in the parlour window three
days--three days, gentlemen--a being, erect upon two legs, and
bearing all the outward semblance of a man, and not of a
monster, knocked at the door of Mrs. Bardell's house. He
inquired within--he took the lodgings; and on the very next day
he entered into possession of them. This man was Pickwick--
Pickwick, the defendant.'
Serjeant Buzfuz, who had proceeded with such volubility that
his face was perfectly crimson, here paused for breath. The
silence awoke Mr. Justice Stareleigh, who immediately wrote
down something with a pen without any ink in it, and looked
unusually profound, to impress the jury with the belief that he
always thought most deeply with his eyes shut. Serjeant Buzfuz
proceeded--
'Of this man Pickwick I will say little; the subject presents but
few attractions; and I, gentlemen, am not the man, nor are you,
gentlemen, the men, to delight in the contemplation of revolting
heartlessness, and of systematic villainy.'
Here Mr. Pickwick, who had been writhing in silence for some
time, gave a violent start, as if some vague idea of assaulting
Serjeant Buzfuz, in the august presence of justice and law,
suggested itself to his mind. An admonitory gesture from Perker
restrained him, and he listened to the learned gentleman's
continuation with a look of indignation, which contrasted
forcibly with the admiring faces of Mrs. Cluppins and Mrs. Sanders.
'I say systematic villainy, gentlemen,' said Serjeant Buzfuz,
looking through Mr. Pickwick, and talking AT him; 'and when I
say systematic villainy, let me tell the defendant Pickwick, if he
be in court, as I am informed he is, that it would have been more
decent in him, more becoming, in better judgment, and in better
taste, if he had stopped away. Let me tell him, gentlemen, that
any gestures of dissent or disapprobation in which he may
indulge in this court will not go down with you; that you will
know how to value and how to appreciate them; and let me tell him
further, as my Lord will tell you, gentlemen, that a counsel, in the
discharge of his duty to his client, is neither to be intimidated
nor bullied, nor put down; and that any attempt to do either
the one or the other, or the first, or the last, will recoil on the head
of the attempter, be he plaintiff or be he defendant, be his name
Pickwick, or Noakes, or Stoakes, or Stiles, or Brown, or Thompson.'
This little divergence from the subject in hand, had, of course,
the intended effect of turning all eyes to Mr. Pickwick. Serjeant
Buzfuz, having partially recovered from the state of moral
elevation into which he had lashed himself, resumed--
'I shall show you, gentlemen, that for two years, Pickwick
continued to reside constantly, and without interruption or
intermission, at Mrs. Bardell's house. I shall show you that
Mrs. Bardell, during the whole of that time, waited on him,
attended to his comforts, cooked his meals, looked out his linen
for the washerwoman when it went abroad, darned, aired, and
prepared it for wear, when it came home, and, in short, enjoyed
his fullest trust and confidence. I shall show you that, on many
occasions, he gave halfpence, and on some occasions even sixpences,
to her little boy; and I shall prove to you, by a witness
whose testimony it will be impossible for my learned friend to
weaken or controvert, that on one occasion he patted the boy on
the head, and, after inquiring whether he had won any "ALLEY
TORS" or "COMMONEYS" lately (both of which I understand to be a
particular species of marbles much prized by the youth of this
town), made use of this remarkable expression, "How should you
like to have another father?" I shall prove to you, gentlemen,
that about a year ago, Pickwick suddenly began to absent himself
from home, during long intervals, as if with the intention of
gradually breaking off from my client; but I shall show you also,
that his resolution was not at that time sufficiently strong, or that
his better feelings conquered, if better feelings he has, or that the
charms and accomplishments of my client prevailed against his
unmanly intentions, by proving to you, that on one occasion,
when he returned from the country, he distinctly and in terms,
offered her marriage: previously, however, taking special care
that there would be no witness to their solemn contract; and I
am in a situation to prove to you, on the testimony of three of
his own friends--most unwilling witnesses, gentlemen--most
unwilling witnesses--that on that morning he was discovered by
them holding the plaintiff in his arms, and soothing her agitation
by his caresses and endearments.'
A visible impression was produced upon the auditors by this
part of the learned Serjeant's address. Drawing forth two very
small scraps of paper, he proceeded--
'And now, gentlemen, but one word more. Two letters have
passed between these parties, letters which are admitted to be in
the handwriting of the defendant, and which speak volumes,
indeed. The letters, too, bespeak the character of the man. They
are not open, fervent, eloquent epistles, breathing nothing but
the language of affectionate attachment. They are covert, sly,
underhanded communications, but, fortunately, far more conclusive
than if couched in the most glowing language and the
most poetic imagery--letters that must be viewed with a cautious
and suspicious eye--letters that were evidently intended at the
time, by Pickwick, to mislead and delude any third parties into
whose hands they might fall. Let me read the first: "Garraways,
twelve o'clock. Dear Mrs. B.--Chops and tomato sauce. Yours,
PICKWICK." Gentlemen, what does this mean? Chops and tomato
sauce. Yours, Pickwick! Chops! Gracious heavens! and tomato
sauce! Gentlemen, is the happiness of a sensitive and confiding
female to be trifled away, by such shallow artifices as these? The
next has no date whatever, which is in itself suspicious. "Dear
Mrs. B., I shall not be at home till to-morrow. Slow coach."
And then follows this very remarkable expression. "Don't trouble
yourself about the warming-pan." The warming-pan! Why,
gentlemen, who DOES trouble himself about a warming-pan?
When was the peace of mind of man or woman broken or disturbed
by a warming-pan, which is in itself a harmless, a useful,
and I will add, gentlemen, a comforting article of domestic
furniture? Why is Mrs. Bardell so earnestly entreated not to
agitate herself about this warming-pan, unless (as is no doubt the
case) it is a mere cover for hidden fire--a mere substitute for
some endearing word or promise, agreeably to a preconcerted
system of correspondence, artfully contrived by Pickwick with a
view to his contemplated desertion, and which I am not in a
condition to explain? And what does this allusion to the slow
coach mean? For aught I know, it may be a reference to Pickwick
himself, who has most unquestionably been a criminally slow
coach during the whole of this transaction, but whose speed will
now be very unexpectedly accelerated, and whose wheels,
gentlemen, as he will find to his cost, will very soon be greased
by you!'
Mr. Serjeant Buzfuz paused in this place, to see whether the
jury smiled at his joke; but as nobody took it but the greengrocer,
whose sensitiveness on the subject was very probably occasioned
by his having subjected a chaise-cart to the process in question
on that identical morning, the learned Serjeant considered it
advisable to undergo a slight relapse into the dismals before he
concluded.
'But enough of this, gentlemen,' said Mr. Serjeant Buzfuz, 'it
is difficult to smile with an aching heart; it is ill jesting when our
deepest sympathies are awakened. My client's hopes and prospects
are ruined, and it is no figure of speech to say that her occupation
is gone indeed. The bill is down--but there is no tenant. Eligible
single gentlemen pass and repass-but there is no invitation for
to inquire within or without. All is gloom and silence in the
house; even the voice of the child is hushed; his infant sports are
disregarded when his mother weeps; his "alley tors" and his
"commoneys" are alike neglected; he forgets the long familiar
cry of "knuckle down," and at tip-cheese, or odd and even, his
hand is out. But Pickwick, gentlemen, Pickwick, the ruthless
destroyer of this domestic oasis in the desert of Goswell Street--
Pickwick who has choked up the well, and thrown ashes on the
sward--Pickwick, who comes before you to-day with his heartless
tomato sauce and warming-pans--Pickwick still rears his head
with unblushing effrontery, and gazes without a sigh on the ruin
he has made. Damages, gentlemen--heavy damages is the only
punishment with which you can visit him; the only recompense
you can award to my client. And for those damages she now
appeals to an enlightened, a high-minded, a right-feeling, a
conscientious, a dispassionate, a sympathising, a contemplative jury
of her civilised countrymen.' With this beautiful peroration,
Mr. Serjeant Buzfuz sat down, and Mr. Justice Stareleigh
woke up.
'Call Elizabeth Cluppins,' said Serjeant Buzfuz, rising a
minute afterwards, with renewed vigour.
The nearest usher called for Elizabeth Tuppins; another one,
at a little distance off, demanded Elizabeth Jupkins; and a third
rushed in a breathless state into King Street, and screamed for
Elizabeth Muffins till he was hoarse.
Meanwhile Mrs. Cluppins, with the combined assistance of
Mrs. Bardell, Mrs. Sanders, Mr. Dodson, and Mr. Fogg, was
hoisted into the witness-box; and when she was safely perched
on the top step, Mrs. Bardell stood on the bottom one, with the
pocket-handkerchief and pattens in one hand, and a glass bottle
that might hold about a quarter of a pint of smelling-salts in the
other, ready for any emergency. Mrs. Sanders, whose eyes were
intently fixed on the judge's face, planted herself close by, with
the large umbrella, keeping her right thumb pressed on the spring
with an earnest countenance, as if she were fully prepared to put
it up at a moment's notice.
'Mrs. Cluppins,' said Serjeant Buzfuz, 'pray compose yourself,
ma'am.' Of course, directly Mrs. Cluppins was desired to compose
herself, she sobbed with increased vehemence, and gave
divers alarming manifestations of an approaching fainting fit,
or, as she afterwards said, of her feelings being too many for her.
'Do you recollect, Mrs. Cluppins,' said Serjeant Buzfuz, after
a few unimportant questions--'do you recollect being in Mrs.
Bardell's back one pair of stairs, on one particular morning in
July last, when she was dusting Pickwick's apartment?'
'Yes, my Lord and jury, I do,' replied Mrs. Cluppins.
'Mr. Pickwick's sitting-room was the first-floor front, I believe?'
'Yes, it were, Sir,' replied Mrs. Cluppins.
'What were you doing in the back room, ma'am?' inquired the
little judge.
'My Lord and jury,' said Mrs. Cluppins, with interesting
agitation, 'I will not deceive you.'
'You had better not, ma'am,' said the little judge.
'I was there,' resumed Mrs. Cluppins, 'unbeknown to Mrs.
Bardell; I had been out with a little basket, gentlemen, to buy
three pound of red kidney pertaties, which was three pound
tuppence ha'penny, when I see Mrs. Bardell's street door on the jar.'
'On the what?' exclaimed the little judge.
'Partly open, my Lord,' said Serjeant Snubbin.
'She said on the jar,' said the little judge, with a cunning look.
'It's all the same, my Lord,' said Serjeant Snubbin. The little
judge looked doubtful, and said he'd make a note of it. Mrs.
Cluppins then resumed--
'I walked in, gentlemen, just to say good-mornin', and went, in
a permiscuous manner, upstairs, and into the back room. Gentlemen,
there was the sound of voices in the front room, and--'
'And you listened, I believe, Mrs. Cluppins?' said Serjeant Buzfuz.
'Beggin' your pardon, Sir,' replied Mrs. Cluppins, in a majestic
manner, 'I would scorn the haction. The voices was very loud,
Sir, and forced themselves upon my ear,'
'Well, Mrs. Cluppins, you were not listening, but you heard
the voices. Was one of those voices Pickwick's?'
'Yes, it were, Sir.'
And Mrs. Cluppins, after distinctly stating that Mr. Pickwick
addressed himself to Mrs. Bardell, repeated by slow degrees, and
by dint of many questions, the conversation with which our
readers are already acquainted.
The jury looked suspicious, and Mr. Serjeant Buzfuz smiled
as he sat down. They looked positively awful when Serjeant
Snubbin intimated that he should not cross-examine the witness,
for Mr. Pickwick wished it to be distinctly stated that it was due
to her to say, that her account was in substance correct.
Mrs. Cluppins having once broken the ice, thought it a
favourable opportunity for entering into a short dissertation on
her own domestic affairs; so she straightway proceeded to inform
the court that she was the mother of eight children at that present
speaking, and that she entertained confident expectations of
presenting Mr. Cluppins with a ninth, somewhere about that day
six months. At this interesting point, the little judge interposed
most irascibly; and the effect of the interposition was, that both
the worthy lady and Mrs. Sanders were politely taken out of
court, under the escort of Mr. Jackson, without further parley.
'Nathaniel Winkle!' said Mr. Skimpin.
'Here!' replied a feeble voice. Mr. Winkle entered the witnessbox,
and having been duly sworn, bowed to the judge with
considerable deference.
'Don't look at me, Sir,' said the judge sharply, in acknowledgment
of the salute; 'look at the jury.'
Mr. Winkle obeyed the mandate, and looked at the place
where he thought it most probable the jury might be; for seeing
anything in his then state of intellectual complication was wholly
out of the question.
Mr. Winkle was then examined by Mr. Skimpin, who, being
a promising young man of two or three-and-forty, was of course
anxious to confuse a witness who was notoriously predisposed in
favour of the other side, as much as he could.
'Now, Sir,' said Mr. Skimpin, 'have the goodness to let his
Lordship know what your name is, will you?' and Mr. Skimpin
inclined his head on one side to listen with great sharpness to the
answer, and glanced at the jury meanwhile, as if to imply that he
rather expected Mr. Winkle's natural taste for perjury would
induce him to give some name which did not belong to him.
'Winkle,' replied the witness.
'What's your Christian name, Sir?' angrily inquired the little judge.
'Nathaniel, Sir.'
'Daniel--any other name?'
'Nathaniel, sir--my Lord, I mean.'
'Nathaniel Daniel, or Daniel Nathaniel?'
'No, my Lord, only Nathaniel--not Daniel at all.'
'What did you tell me it was Daniel for, then, sir?' inquired the judge.
'I didn't, my Lord,' replied Mr. Winkle.
'You did, Sir,' replied the judge, with a severe frown. 'How
could I have got Daniel on my notes, unless you told me so, Sir?'
This argument was, of course, unanswerable.
'Mr. Winkle has rather a short memory, my Lord,' interposed
Mr. Skimpin, with another glance at the jury. 'We shall find
means to refresh it before we have quite done with him, I dare say.'
'You had better be careful, Sir,' said the little judge, with a
sinister look at the witness.
Poor Mr. Winkle bowed, and endeavoured to feign an easiness
of manner, which, in his then state of confusion, gave him rather
the air of a disconcerted pickpocket.
'Now, Mr. Winkle,' said Mr. Skimpin, 'attend to me, if you
please, Sir; and let me recommend you, for your own sake, to
bear in mind his Lordship's injunctions to be careful. I believe
you are a particular friend of Mr. Pickwick, the defendant, are
you not?'
'I have known Mr. Pickwick now, as well as I recollect at this
moment, nearly--'
'Pray, Mr. Winkle, do not evade the question. Are you, or are
you not, a particular friend of the defendant's?'
'I was just about to say, that--'
'Will you, or will you not, answer my question, Sir?'
'If you don't answer the question, you'll be committed, Sir,'
interposed the little judge, looking over his note-book.
'Come, Sir,' said Mr. Skimpin, 'yes or no, if you please.'
'Yes, I am,' replied Mr. Winkle.
'Yes, you are. And why couldn't you say that at once, Sir?
Perhaps you know the plaintiff too? Eh, Mr. Winkle?'
'I don't know her; I've seen her.'
'Oh, you don't know her, but you've seen her? Now, have the
goodness to tell the gentlemen of the jury what you mean by that,
Mr. Winkle.'
'I mean that I am not intimate with her, but I have seen her
when I went to call on Mr. Pickwick, in Goswell Street.'
'How often have you seen her, Sir?'
'How often?'
'Yes, Mr. Winkle, how often? I'll repeat the question for you
a dozen times, if you require it, Sir.' And the learned gentleman,
with a firm and steady frown, placed his hands on his hips, and
smiled suspiciously to the jury.
On this question there arose the edifying brow-beating,
customary on such points. First of all, Mr. Winkle said it was
quite impossible for him to say how many times he had seen
Mrs. Bardell. Then he was asked if he had seen her twenty times,
to which he replied, 'Certainly--more than that.' Then he was
asked whether he hadn't seen her a hundred times--whether he
couldn't swear that he had seen her more than fifty times--
whether he didn't know that he had seen her at least seventy-five
times, and so forth; the satisfactory conclusion which was arrived
at, at last, being, that he had better take care of himself, and
mind what he was about. The witness having been by these
means reduced to the requisite ebb of nervous perplexity, the
examination was continued as follows--
'Pray, Mr. Winkle, do you remember calling on the defendant
Pickwick at these apartments in the plaintiff's house in Goswell
Street, on one particular morning, in the month of July last?'
'Yes, I do.'
'Were you accompanied on that occasion by a friend of the
name of Tupman, and another by the name of Snodgrass?'
'Yes, I was.'
'Are they here?'
'Yes, they are,' replied Mr. Winkle, looking very earnestly
towards the spot where his friends were stationed.
'Pray attend to me, Mr. Winkle, and never mind your friends,'
said Mr. Skimpin, with another expressive look at the jury.
'They must tell their stories without any previous consultation
with you, if none has yet taken place (another look at the jury).
Now, Sir, tell the gentlemen of the jury what you saw on entering
the defendant's room, on this particular morning. Come; out
with it, Sir; we must have it, sooner or later.'
'The defendant, Mr. Pickwick, was holding the plaintiff in his
arms, with his hands clasping her waist,' replied Mr. Winkle with
natural hesitation, 'and the plaintiff appeared to have fainted away.'
'Did you hear the defendant say anything?'
'I heard him call Mrs. Bardell a good creature, and I heard him
ask her to compose herself, for what a situation it was, if anybody
should come, or words to that effect.'
'Now, Mr. Winkle, I have only one more question to ask you,
and I beg you to bear in mind his Lordship's caution. Will you
undertake to swear that Pickwick, the defendant, did not say on
the occasion in question--"My dear Mrs. Bardell, you're a good
creature; compose yourself to this situation, for to this situation
you must come," or words to that effect?'
'I--I didn't understand him so, certainly,' said Mr. Winkle,
astounded on this ingenious dove-tailing of the few words he had
heard. 'I was on the staircase, and couldn't hear distinctly; the
impression on my mind is--'
'The gentlemen of the jury want none of the impressions on
your mind, Mr. Winkle, which I fear would be of little service to
honest, straightforward men,' interposed Mr. Skimpin. 'You
were on the staircase, and didn't distinctly hear; but you will not
swear that Pickwick did not make use of the expressions I have
quoted? Do I understand that?'
'No, I will not,' replied Mr. Winkle; and down sat Mr.
Skimpin with a triumphant countenance.
Mr. Pickwick's case had not gone off in so particularly happy
a manner, up to this point, that it could very well afford to have
any additional suspicion cast upon it. But as it could afford to
be placed in a rather better light, if possible, Mr. Phunky rose for
the purpose of getting something important out of Mr. Winkle in
cross-examination. Whether he did get anything important out
of him, will immediately appear.
'I believe, Mr. Winkle,' said Mr. Phunky, 'that Mr. Pickwick
is not a young man?'
'Oh, no,' replied Mr. Winkle; 'old enough to be my father.'
'You have told my learned friend that you have known Mr.
Pickwick a long time. Had you ever any reason to suppose or
believe that he was about to be married?'
'Oh, no; certainly not;' replied Mr. Winkle with so much
eagerness, that Mr. Phunky ought to have got him out of the box
with all possible dispatch. Lawyers hold that there are two kinds
of particularly bad witnesses--a reluctant witness, and a too-willing
witness; it was Mr. Winkle's fate to figure in both characters.
'I will even go further than this, Mr. Winkle,' continued
Mr. Phunky, in a most smooth and complacent manner. 'Did
you ever see anything in Mr. Pickwick's manner and conduct
towards the opposite sex, to induce you to believe that he ever
contemplated matrimony of late years, in any case?'
'Oh, no; certainly not,' replied Mr. Winkle.
'Has his behaviour, when females have been in the case, always
been that of a man, who, having attained a pretty advanced period
of life, content with his own occupations and amusements,
treats them only as a father might his daughters?'
'Not the least doubt of it,' replied Mr. Winkle, in the fulness of
his heart. 'That is--yes--oh, yes--certainly.'
'You have never known anything in his behaviour towards
Mrs. Bardell, or any other female, in the least degree suspicious?'
said Mr. Phunky, preparing to sit down; for Serjeant Snubbin
was winking at him.
'N-n-no,' replied Mr. Winkle, 'except on one trifling
occasion, which, I have no doubt, might be easily explained.'
Now, if the unfortunate Mr. Phunky had sat down when
Serjeant Snubbin had winked at him, or if Serjeant Buzfuz had
stopped this irregular cross-examination at the outset (which he
knew better than to do; observing Mr. Winkle's anxiety, and
well knowing it would, in all probability, lead to something
serviceable to him), this unfortunate admission would not have
been elicited. The moment the words fell from Mr. Winkle's lips,
Mr. Phunky sat down, and Serjeant Snubbin rather hastily
told him he might leave the box, which Mr. Winkle prepared
to do with great readiness, when Serjeant Buzfuz stopped him.
'Stay, Mr. Winkle, stay!' said Serjeant Buzfuz, 'will your
Lordship have the goodness to ask him, what this one instance of
suspicious behaviour towards females on the part of this gentleman,
who is old enough to be his father, was?'
'You hear what the learned counsel says, Sir,' observed the
judge, turning to the miserable and agonised Mr. Winkle.
'Describe the occasion to which you refer.'
'My Lord,' said Mr. Winkle, trembling with anxiety, 'I--I'd
rather not.'
'Perhaps so,' said the little judge; 'but you must.'
Amid the profound silence of the whole court, Mr. Winkle
faltered out, that the trifling circumstance of suspicion was Mr.
Pickwick's being found in a lady's sleeping-apartment at midnight;
which had terminated, he believed, in the breaking off of
the projected marriage of the lady in question, and had led, he
knew, to the whole party being forcibly carried before George
Nupkins, Esq., magistrate and justice of the peace, for the
borough of Ipswich!
'You may leave the box, Sir,' said Serjeant Snubbin. Mr.
Winkle did leave the box, and rushed with delirious haste to the
George and Vulture, where he was discovered some hours after,
by the waiter, groaning in a hollow and dismal manner, with his
head buried beneath the sofa cushions.
Tracy Tupman, and Augustus Snodgrass, were severally called
into the box; both corroborated the testimony of their unhappy
friend; and each was driven to the verge of desperation by
excessive badgering.
Susannah Sanders was then called, and examined by Serjeant
Buzfuz, and cross-examined by Serjeant Snubbin. Had always
said and believed that Pickwick would marry Mrs. Bardell; knew
that Mrs. Bardell's being engaged to Pickwick was the current
topic of conversation in the neighbourhood, after the fainting in
July; had been told it herself by Mrs. Mudberry which kept a
mangle, and Mrs. Bunkin which clear-starched, but did not see
either Mrs. Mudberry or Mrs. Bunkin in court. Had heard
Pickwick ask the little boy how he should like to have another
father. Did not know that Mrs. Bardell was at that time keeping
company with the baker, but did know that the baker was then a
single man and is now married. Couldn't swear that Mrs.
Bardell was not very fond of the baker, but should think that the
baker was not very fond of Mrs. Bardell, or he wouldn't have
married somebody else. Thought Mrs. Bardell fainted away on
the morning in July, because Pickwick asked her to name the day:
knew that she (witness) fainted away stone dead when Mr.
Sanders asked her to name the day, and believed that everybody as
called herself a lady would do the same, under similar circumstances.
Heard Pickwick ask the boy the question about the marbles, but upon
her oath did not know the difference between an 'alley tor'
and a 'commoney.'
By the COURT.--During the period of her keeping company
with Mr. Sanders, had received love letters, like other ladies. In
the course of their correspondence Mr. Sanders had often called
her a 'duck,' but never 'chops,' nor yet 'tomato sauce.' He was
particularly fond of ducks. Perhaps if he had been as fond of
chops and tomato sauce, he might have called her that, as a
term of affection.
Serjeant Buzfuz now rose with more importance than he had
yet exhibited, if that were possible, and vociferated; 'Call Samuel
Weller.'
It was quite unnecessary to call Samuel Weller; for Samuel
Weller stepped briskly into the box the instant his name was
pronounced; and placing his hat on the floor, and his arms on
the rail, took a bird's-eye view of the Bar, and a comprehensive
survey of the Bench, with a remarkably cheerful and lively aspect.
'What's your name, sir?' inquired the judge.
'Sam Weller, my Lord,' replied that gentleman.
'Do you spell it with a "V" or a "W"?' inquired the judge.
'That depends upon the taste and fancy of the speller, my
Lord,' replied Sam; 'I never had occasion to spell it more than
once or twice in my life, but I spells it with a "V." '
Here a voice in the gallery exclaimed aloud, 'Quite right too,
Samivel, quite right. Put it down a "we," my Lord, put it down
a "we."'
'Who is that, who dares address the court?' said the little
judge, looking up. 'Usher.'
'Yes, my Lord.'
'Bring that person here instantly.'
'Yes, my Lord.'
But as the usher didn't find the person, he didn't bring him;
and, after a great commotion, all the people who had got up to
look for the culprit, sat down again. The little judge turned to the
witness as soon as his indignation would allow him to speak, and
said--
'Do you know who that was, sir?'
'I rayther suspect it was my father, my lord,' replied Sam.
'Do you see him here now?' said the judge.
'No, I don't, my Lord,' replied Sam, staring right up into the
lantern at the roof of the court.
'If you could have pointed him out, I would have committed
him instantly,' said the judge.
Sam bowed his acknowledgments and turned, with unimpaired
cheerfulness of countenance, towards Serjeant Buzfuz.
'Now, Mr. Weller,' said Serjeant Buzfuz.
'Now, sir,' replied Sam.
'I believe you are in the service of Mr. Pickwick, the defendant
in this case? Speak up, if you please, Mr. Weller.'
'I mean to speak up, Sir,' replied Sam; 'I am in the service o'
that 'ere gen'l'man, and a wery good service it is.'
'Little to do, and plenty to get, I suppose?' said Serjeant
Buzfuz, with jocularity.
'Oh, quite enough to get, Sir, as the soldier said ven they
ordered him three hundred and fifty lashes,' replied Sam.
'You must not tell us what the soldier, or any other man, said,
Sir,' interposed the judge; 'it's not evidence.'
'Wery good, my Lord,' replied Sam.
'Do you recollect anything particular happening on the
morning when you were first engaged by the defendant; eh,
Mr. Weller?' said Serjeant Buzfuz.
'Yes, I do, sir,' replied Sam.
'Have the goodness to tell the jury what it was.'
'I had a reg'lar new fit out o' clothes that mornin', gen'l'men
of the jury,' said Sam, 'and that was a wery partickler and
uncommon circumstance vith me in those days.'
Hereupon there was a general laugh; and the little judge,
looking with an angry countenance over his desk, said, 'You had
better be careful, Sir.'
'So Mr. Pickwick said at the time, my Lord,' replied Sam; 'and
I was wery careful o' that 'ere suit o' clothes; wery careful indeed,
my Lord.'
The judge looked sternly at Sam for full two minutes, but
Sam's features were so perfectly calm and serene that the judge
said nothing, and motioned Serjeant Buzfuz to proceed.
'Do you mean to tell me, Mr. Weller,' said Serjeant Buzfuz,
folding his arms emphatically, and turning half-round to
the jury, as if in mute assurance that he would bother the
witness yet--'do you mean to tell me, Mr. Weller, that you saw
nothing of this fainting on the part of the plaintiff in the arms of
the defendant, which you have heard described by the witnesses?'
'Certainly not,' replied Sam; 'I was in the passage till they
called me up, and then the old lady was not there.'
'Now, attend, Mr. Weller,' said Serjeant Buzfuz, dipping a
large pen into the inkstand before him, for the purpose of
frightening Sam with a show of taking down his answer. 'You
were in the passage, and yet saw nothing of what was going
forward. Have you a pair of eyes, Mr. Weller?'
'Yes, I have a pair of eyes,' replied Sam, 'and that's just it. If
they wos a pair o' patent double million magnifyin' gas microscopes
of hextra power, p'raps I might be able to see through a
flight o' stairs and a deal door; but bein' only eyes, you see, my
wision 's limited.'
At this answer, which was delivered without the slightest
appearance of irritation, and with the most complete simplicity
and equanimity of manner, the spectators tittered, the little judge
smiled, and Serjeant Buzfuz looked particularly foolish. After a
short consultation with Dodson & Fogg, the learned Serjeant
again turned towards Sam, and said, with a painful effort to
conceal his vexation, 'Now, Mr. Weller, I'll ask you a question
on another point, if you please.'
'If you please, Sir,' rejoined Sam, with the utmost good-humour.
'Do you remember going up to Mrs. Bardell's house, one
night in November last?'
'Oh, yes, wery well.'
'Oh, you do remember that, Mr. Weller,' said Serjeant Buzfuz,
recovering his spirits; 'I thought we should get at something at last.'
'I rayther thought that, too, sir,' replied Sam; and at this the
spectators tittered again.
'Well; I suppose you went up to have a little talk about this
trial--eh, Mr. Weller?' said Serjeant Buzfuz, looking knowingly
at the jury.
'I went up to pay the rent; but we did get a-talkin' about the
trial,' replied Sam.
'Oh, you did get a-talking about the trial,' said Serjeant
Buzfuz, brightening up with the anticipation of some important
discovery. 'Now, what passed about the trial; will you have the
goodness to tell us, Mr. Weller'?'
'Vith all the pleasure in life, sir,' replied Sam. 'Arter a few
unimportant obserwations from the two wirtuous females as has
been examined here to-day, the ladies gets into a very great state
o' admiration at the honourable conduct of Mr. Dodson and
Fogg--them two gen'l'men as is settin' near you now.' This, of
course, drew general attention to Dodson & Fogg, who looked
as virtuous as possible.
'The attorneys for the plaintiff,' said Mr. Serjeant Buzfuz.
'Well! They spoke in high praise of the honourable conduct of
Messrs. Dodson and Fogg, the attorneys for the plaintiff, did they?'
'Yes,' said Sam, 'they said what a wery gen'rous thing it was
o' them to have taken up the case on spec, and to charge nothing
at all for costs, unless they got 'em out of Mr. Pickwick.'
At this very unexpected reply, the spectators tittered again, and
Dodson & Fogg, turning very red, leaned over to Serjeant
Buzfuz, and in a hurried manner whispered something in his ear.
'You are quite right,' said Serjeant Buzfuz aloud, with affected
composure. 'It's perfectly useless, my Lord, attempting to get at
any evidence through the impenetrable stupidity of this witness.
I will not trouble the court by asking him any more questions.
Stand down, sir.'
'Would any other gen'l'man like to ask me anythin'?' inquired
Sam, taking up his hat, and looking round most deliberately.
'Not I, Mr. Weller, thank you,' said Serjeant Snubbin, laughing.
'You may go down, sir,' said Serjeant Buzfuz, waving his hand
impatiently. Sam went down accordingly, after doing Messrs.
Dodson & Fogg's case as much harm as he conveniently
could, and saying just as little respecting Mr. Pickwick as
might be, which was precisely the object he had had in view all along.
'I have no objection to admit, my Lord,' said Serjeant
Snubbin, 'if it will save the examination of another witness, that
Mr. Pickwick has retired from business, and is a gentleman of
considerable independent property.'
'Very well,' said Serjeant Buzfuz, putting in the two letters to
be read, 'then that's my case, my Lord.'
Serjeant Snubbin then addressed the jury on behalf of the
defendant; and a very long and a very emphatic address he
delivered, in which he bestowed the highest possible eulogiums
on the conduct and character of Mr. Pickwick; but inasmuch as
our readers are far better able to form a correct estimate of that
gentleman's merits and deserts, than Serjeant Snubbin could
possibly be, we do not feel called upon to enter at any length into
the learned gentleman's observations. He attempted to show
that the letters which had been exhibited, merely related
to Mr. Pickwick's dinner, or to the preparations for receiving
him in his apartments on his return from some country excursion.
It is sufficient to add in general terms, that he did the
best he could for Mr. Pickwick; and the best, as everybody
knows, on the infallible authority of the old adage, could do
no more.
Mr. Justice Stareleigh summed up, in the old-established and
most approved form. He read as much of his notes to the jury as
he could decipher on so short a notice, and made runningcomments
on the evidence as he went along. If Mrs. Bardell were
right, it was perfectly clear that Mr. Pickwick was wrong, and if
they thought the evidence of Mrs. Cluppins worthy of credence
they would believe it, and, if they didn't, why, they wouldn't. If
they were satisfied that a breach of promise of marriage had been
committed they would find for the plaintiff with such damages as
they thought proper; and if, on the other hand, it appeared to
them that no promise of marriage had ever been given, they
would find for the defendant with no damages at all. The jury
then retired to their private room to talk the matter over, and the
judge retired to HIS private room, to refresh himself with a mutton
chop and a glass of sherry.
An anxious quarter of a hour elapsed; the jury came back; the
judge was fetched in. Mr. Pickwick put on his spectacles, and
gazed at the foreman with an agitated countenance and a
quickly-beating heart.
'Gentlemen,' said the individual in black, 'are you all agreed
upon your verdict?'
'We are,' replied the foreman.
'Do you find for the plaintiff, gentlemen, or for the defendant?'
'For the plaintiff.'
'With what damages, gentlemen?'
'Seven hundred and fifty pounds.'
Mr. Pickwick took off his spectacles, carefully wiped the
glasses, folded them into their case, and put them in his pocket;
then, having drawn on his gloves with great nicety, and stared at
the foreman all the while, he mechanically followed Mr. Perker
and the blue bag out of court.
They stopped in a side room while Perker paid the court fees;
and here, Mr. Pickwick was joined by his friends. Here, too, he
encountered Messrs. Dodson & Fogg, rubbing their hands with
every token of outward satisfaction.
'Well, gentlemen,' said Mr. Pickwick.
'Well, Sir,' said Dodson, for self and partner.
'You imagine you'll get your costs, don't you, gentlemen?'
said Mr. Pickwick.
Fogg said they thought it rather probable. Dodson smiled, and
said they'd try.
'You may try, and try, and try again, Messrs. Dodson and
Fogg,' said Mr. Pickwick vehemently,'but not one farthing of
costs or damages do you ever get from me, if I spend the rest of
my existence in a debtor's prison.'
'Ha! ha!' laughed Dodson. 'You'll think better of that, before
next term, Mr. Pickwick.'
'He, he, he! We'll soon see about that, Mr. Pickwick,' grinned Fogg.
Speechless with indignation, Mr. Pickwick allowed himself to
be led by his solicitor and friends to the door, and there assisted
into a hackney-coach, which had been fetched for the purpose,
by the ever-watchful Sam Weller.
Sam had put up the steps, and was preparing to jump upon the
box, when he felt himself gently touched on the shoulder; and,
looking round, his father stood before him. The old gentleman's
countenance wore a mournful expression, as he shook his head
gravely, and said, in warning accents--
'I know'd what 'ud come o' this here mode o' doin' bisness.
Oh, Sammy, Sammy, vy worn't there a alleybi!'
CHAPTER XXXV
IN WHICH Mr. PICKWICK THINKS HE HAD BETTER GO TO
BATH; AND GOES ACCORDINGLY
'But surely, my dear sir,' said little Perker, as he stood in Mr.
Pickwick's apartment on the morning after the trial, 'surely you
don't really mean--really and seriously now, and irritation
apart--that you won't pay these costs and damages?'
'Not one halfpenny,' said Mr. Pickwick firmly; 'not one halfpenny.'
'Hooroar for the principle, as the money-lender said ven he
vouldn't renew the bill,' observed Mr. Weller, who was clearing
away the breakfast-things.
'Sam,' said Mr. Pickwick, 'have the goodness to step downstairs.'
'Cert'nly, sir,' replied Mr. Weller; and acting on Mr. Pickwick's
gentle hint, Sam retired.
'No, Perker,' said Mr. Pickwick, with great seriousness of
manner, 'my friends here have endeavoured to dissuade me from
this determination, but without avail. I shall employ myself as
usual, until the opposite party have the power of issuing a legal
process of execution against me; and if they are vile enough to
avail themselves of it, and to arrest my person, I shall yield
myself up with perfect cheerfulness and content of heart. When
can they do this?'
'They can issue execution, my dear Sir, for the amount of the
damages and taxed costs, next term,' replied Perker, 'just two
months hence, my dear sir.'
'Very good,' said Mr. Pickwick. 'Until that time, my dear
fellow, let me hear no more of the matter. And now,' continued
Mr. Pickwick, looking round on his friends with a goodhumoured
smile, and a sparkle in the eye which no spectacles
could dim or conceal, 'the only question is, Where shall we go next?'
Mr. Tupman and Mr. Snodgrass were too much affected by
their friend's heroism to offer any reply. Mr. Winkle had not yet
sufficiently recovered the recollection of his evidence at the trial,
to make any observation on any subject, so Mr. Pickwick paused
in vain.
'Well,' said that gentleman, 'if you leave me to suggest our
destination, I say Bath. I think none of us have ever been there.'
Nobody had; and as the proposition was warmly seconded by
Perker, who considered it extremely probable that if Mr. Pickwick
saw a little change and gaiety he would be inclined to think
better of his determination, and worse of a debtor's prison, it was
carried unanimously; and Sam was at once despatched to the
White Horse Cellar, to take five places by the half-past seven
o'clock coach, next morning.
There were just two places to be had inside, and just three to
be had out; so Sam Weller booked for them all, and having
exchanged a few compliments with the booking-office clerk on
the subject of a pewter half-crown which was tendered him as a
portion of his 'change,' walked back to the George and Vulture,
where he was pretty busily employed until bed-time in reducing
clothes and linen into the smallest possible compass, and exerting
his mechanical genius in constructing a variety of ingenious
devices for keeping the lids on boxes which had neither locks nor hinges.
The next was a very unpropitious morning for a journey--
muggy, damp, and drizzly. The horses in the stages that were
going out, and had come through the city, were smoking so, that
the outside passengers were invisible. The newspaper-sellers
looked moist, and smelled mouldy; the wet ran off the hats of
the orange-vendors as they thrust their heads into the coach
windows, and diluted the insides in a refreshing manner. The
Jews with the fifty-bladed penknives shut them up in despair; the
men with the pocket-books made pocket-books of them. Watchguards
and toasting-forks were alike at a discount, and pencilcases
and sponges were a drug in the market.
Leaving Sam Weller to rescue the luggage from the seven or
eight porters who flung themselves savagely upon it, the moment
the coach stopped, and finding that they were about twenty
minutes too early, Mr. Pickwick and his friends went for shelter
into the travellers' room--the last resource of human dejection.
The travellers' room at the White Horse Cellar is of course
uncomfortable; it would be no travellers' room if it were not. It
is the right-hand parlour, into which an aspiring kitchen fireplace
appears to have walked, accompanied by a rebellious poker,
tongs, and shovel. It is divided into boxes, for the solitary confinement
of travellers, and is furnished with a clock, a looking-glass,
and a live waiter, which latter article is kept in a small kennel
for washing glasses, in a corner of the apartment.
One of these boxes was occupied, on this particular occasion,
by a stern-eyed man of about five-and-forty, who had a bald and
glossy forehead, with a good deal of black hair at the sides and
back of his head, and large black whiskers. He was buttoned up
to the chin in a brown coat; and had a large sealskin travellingcap,
and a greatcoat and cloak, lying on the seat beside him. He
looked up from his breakfast as Mr. Pickwick entered, with a
fierce and peremptory air, which was very dignified; and, having
scrutinised that gentleman and his companions to his entire
satisfaction, hummed a tune, in a manner which seemed to say
that he rather suspected somebody wanted to take advantage of
him, but it wouldn't do.
'Waiter,' said the gentleman with the whiskers.
'Sir?' replied a man with a dirty complexion, and a towel of
the same, emerging from the kennel before mentioned.
'Some more toast.'
'Yes, sir.'
'Buttered toast, mind,' said the gentleman fiercely.
'Directly, sir,' replied the waiter.
The gentleman with the whiskers hummed a tune in the same
manner as before, and pending the arrival of the toast, advanced
to the front of the fire, and, taking his coat tails under his arms,
looked at his boots and ruminated.
'I wonder whereabouts in Bath this coach puts up,' said
Mr. Pickwick, mildly addressing Mr. Winkle.
'Hum--eh--what's that?' said the strange man.
'I made an observation to my friend, sir,' replied Mr. Pickwick,
always ready to enter into conversation. 'I wondered at what
house the Bath coach put up. Perhaps you can inform me.'
'Are you going to Bath?' said the strange man.
'I am, sir,' replied Mr. Pickwick.
'And those other gentlemen?'
'They are going also,' said Mr. Pickwick.
'Not inside--I'll be damned if you're going inside,' said the
strange man.
'Not all of us,' said Mr. Pickwick.
'No, not all of you,' said the strange man emphatically. 'I've
taken two places. If they try to squeeze six people into an infernal
box that only holds four, I'll take a post-chaise and bring an
action. I've paid my fare. It won't do; I told the clerk when I
took my places that it wouldn't do. I know these things have
been done. I know they are done every day; but I never was done,
and I never will be. Those who know me best, best know it;
crush me!' Here the fierce gentleman rang the bell with great
violence, and told the waiter he'd better bring the toast in five
seconds, or he'd know the reason why.
'My good sir,' said Mr. Pickwick, 'you will allow me to
observe that this is a very unnecessary display of excitement. I
have only taken places inside for two.'
'I am glad to hear it,' said the fierce man. 'I withdraw my
expressions. I tender an apology. There's my card. Give me your
acquaintance.'
'With great pleasure, Sir,' replied Mr. Pickwick. 'We are to be
fellow-travellers, and I hope we shall find each other's society
mutually agreeable.'
'I hope we shall,' said the fierce gentleman. 'I know we shall.
I like your looks; they please me. Gentlemen, your hands and
names. Know me.'
Of course, an interchange of friendly salutations followed this
gracious speech; and the fierce gentleman immediately proceeded
to inform the friends, in the same short, abrupt, jerking sentences,
that his name was Dowler; that he was going to Bath on pleasure;
that he was formerly in the army; that he had now set up in
business as a gentleman; that he lived upon the profits; and that
the individual for whom the second place was taken, was a
personage no less illustrious than Mrs. Dowler, his lady wife.
'She's a fine woman,' said Mr. Dowler. 'I am proud of her. I
have reason.'
'I hope I shall have the pleasure of judging,' said Mr. Pickwick,
with a smile.
'You shall,' replied Dowler. 'She shall know you. She shall
esteem you. I courted her under singular circumstances. I won
her through a rash vow. Thus. I saw her; I loved her; I proposed;
she refused me.--"You love another?"--"Spare my blushes."--
"I know him."--"You do."--"Very good; if he remains here, I'll
skin him."'
'Lord bless me!' exclaimed Mr. Pickwick involuntarily.
'Did you skin the gentleman, Sir?' inquired Mr. Winkle, with
a very pale face.
'I wrote him a note, I said it was a painful thing. And so it was.'
'Certainly,' interposed Mr. Winkle.
'I said I had pledged my word as a gentleman to skin him. My
character was at stake. I had no alternative. As an officer in His
Majesty's service, I was bound to skin him. I regretted the
necessity, but it must be done. He was open to conviction. He
saw that the rules of the service were imperative. He fled. I
married her. Here's the coach. That's her head.'
As Mr. Dowler concluded, he pointed to a stage which had
just driven up, from the open window of which a rather pretty
face in a bright blue bonnet was looking among the crowd on the
pavement, most probably for the rash man himself. Mr. Dowler
paid his bill, and hurried out with his travelling cap, coat, and
cloak; and Mr. Pickwick and his friends followed to secure their
places.
Mr. Tupman and Mr. Snodgrass had seated themselves at the
back part of the coach; Mr. Winkle had got inside; and Mr.
Pickwick was preparing to follow him, when Sam Weller came
up to his master, and whispering in his ear, begged to speak to
him, with an air of the deepest mystery.
'Well, Sam,' said Mr. Pickwick, 'what's the matter now?'
'Here's rayther a rum go, sir,' replied Sam.
'What?' inquired Mr. Pickwick.
'This here, Sir,' rejoined Sam. 'I'm wery much afeerd, sir, that
the properiator o' this here coach is a playin' some imperence
vith us.'
'How is that, Sam?' said Mr. Pickwick; 'aren't the names down
on the way-bill?'
'The names is not only down on the vay-bill, Sir,' replied Sam,
'but they've painted vun on 'em up, on the door o' the coach.'
As Sam spoke, he pointed to that part of the coach door on
which the proprietor's name usually appears; and there, sure
enough, in gilt letters of a goodly size, was the magic name of
PICKWICK!
'Dear me,' exclaimed Mr. Pickwick, quite staggered by the
coincidence; 'what a very extraordinary thing!'
'Yes, but that ain't all,' said Sam, again directing his master's
attention to the coach door; 'not content vith writin' up "Pickwick,"
they puts "Moses" afore it, vich I call addin' insult to
injury, as the parrot said ven they not only took him from his
native land, but made him talk the English langwidge arterwards.'
'It's odd enough, certainly, Sam,' said Mr. Pickwick; 'but if
we stand talking here, we shall lose our places.'
'Wot, ain't nothin' to be done in consequence, sir?' exclaimed
Sam, perfectly aghast at the coolness with which Mr. Pickwick
prepared to ensconce himself inside.
'Done!' said Mr. Pickwick. 'What should be done?'
'Ain't nobody to be whopped for takin' this here liberty, sir?'
said Mr. Weller, who had expected that at least he would have
been commissioned to challenge the guard and the coachman to
a pugilistic encounter on the spot.
'Certainly not,' replied Mr. Pickwick eagerly; 'not on any
account. Jump up to your seat directly.'
'I am wery much afeered,' muttered Sam to himself, as he
turned away, 'that somethin' queer's come over the governor, or
he'd never ha' stood this so quiet. I hope that 'ere trial hasn't
broke his spirit, but it looks bad, wery bad.' Mr. Weller shook
his head gravely; and it is worthy of remark, as an illustration
of the manner in which he took this circumstance to heart,
that he did not speak another word until the coach reached
the Kensington turnpike. Which was so long a time for him to
remain taciturn, that the fact may be considered wholly unprecedented.
Nothing worthy of special mention occurred during the
journey. Mr. Dowler related a variety of anecdotes, all illustrative
of his own personal prowess and desperation, and appealed to
Mrs. Dowler in corroboration thereof; when Mrs. Dowler
invariably brought in, in the form of an appendix, some remarkable
fact or circumstance which Mr. Dowler had forgotten, or
had perhaps through modesty, omitted; for the addenda in every
instance went to show that Mr. Dowler was even a more wonderful
fellow than he made himself out to be. Mr. Pickwick and
Mr. Winkle listened with great admiration, and at intervals
conversed with Mrs. Dowler, who was a very agreeable and
fascinating person. So, what between Mr. Dowler's stories, and
Mrs. Dowler's charms, and Mr. Pickwick's good-humour, and
Mr. Winkle's good listening, the insides contrived to be very
companionable all the way.
The outsides did as outsides always do. They were very cheerful
and talkative at the beginning of every stage, and very dismal and
sleepy in the middle, and very bright and wakeful again towards
the end. There was one young gentleman in an India-rubber
cloak, who smoked cigars all day; and there was another young
gentleman in a parody upon a greatcoat, who lighted a good many,
and feeling obviously unsettled after the second whiff, threw them
away when he thought nobody was looking at him. There was a
third young man on the box who wished to be learned in cattle;
and an old one behind, who was familiar with farming. There
was a constant succession of Christian names in smock-frocks
and white coats, who were invited to have a 'lift' by the guard,
and who knew every horse and hostler on the road and off it;
and there was a dinner which would have been cheap at half-acrown
a mouth, if any moderate number of mouths could have
eaten it in the time. And at seven o'clock P.m. Mr. Pickwick and
his friends, and Mr. Dowler and his wife, respectively retired to
their private sitting-rooms at the White Hart Hotel, opposite the
Great Pump Room, Bath, where the waiters, from their costume,
might be mistaken for Westminster boys, only they destroy the
illusion by behaving themselves much better.
Breakfast had scarcely been cleared away on the succeeding
morning, when a waiter brought in Mr. Dowler's card, with a
request to be allowed permission to introduce a friend. Mr.
Dowler at once followed up the delivery of the card, by bringing
himself and the friend also.
The friend was a charming young man of not much more than
fifty, dressed in a very bright blue coat with resplendent buttons,
black trousers, and the thinnest possible pair of highly-polished
boots. A gold eye-glass was suspended from his neck by a short,
broad, black ribbon; a gold snuff-box was lightly clasped in his
left hand; gold rings innumerable glittered on his fingers; and
a large diamond pin set in gold glistened in his shirt frill. He
had a gold watch, and a gold curb chain with large gold seals;
and he carried a pliant ebony cane with a gold top. His linen was
of the very whitest, finest, and stiffest; his wig of the glossiest,
blackest, and curliest. His snuff was princes' mixture; his scent
BOUQUET DU ROI. His features were contracted into a perpetual
smile; and his teeth were in such perfect order that it was difficult
at a small distance to tell the real from the false.
'Mr. Pickwick,' said Mr. Dowler; 'my friend, Angelo Cyrus
Bantam, Esquire, M.C.; Bantam; Mr. Pickwick. Know each other.'
'Welcome to Ba-ath, Sir. This is indeed an acquisition. Most
welcome to Ba-ath, sir. It is long--very long, Mr. Pickwick,
since you drank the waters. It appears an age, Mr. Pickwick.
Re-markable!'
Such were the expressions with which Angelo Cyrus Bantam,
Esquire, M.C., took Mr. Pickwick's hand; retaining it in his,
meantime, and shrugging up his shoulders with a constant
succession of bows, as if he really could not make up his mind to
the trial of letting it go again.
'It is a very long time since I drank the waters, certainly,'
replied Mr. Pickwick; 'for, to the best of my knowledge, I was
never here before.'
'Never in Ba-ath, Mr. Pickwick!' exclaimed the Grand
Master, letting the hand fall in astonishment. 'Never in Ba-ath!
He! he! Mr. Pickwick, you are a wag. Not bad, not bad. Good,
good. He! he! he! Re-markable!'
'To my shame, I must say that I am perfectly serious,' rejoined
Mr. Pickwick. 'I really never was here before.'
'Oh, I see,' exclaimed the Grand Master, looking extremely
pleased; 'yes, yes--good, good--better and better. You are the
gentleman of whom we have heard. Yes; we know you, Mr.
Pickwick; we know you.'
'The reports of the trial in those confounded papers,' thought
Mr. Pickwick. 'They have heard all about me.'
'You are the gentleman residing on Clapham Green,' resumed
Bantam, 'who lost the use of his limbs from imprudently taking
cold after port wine; who could not be moved in consequence of
acute suffering, and who had the water from the king's bath
bottled at one hundred and three degrees, and sent by wagon to
his bedroom in town, where he bathed, sneezed, and the same day
recovered. Very remarkable!'
Mr. Pickwick acknowledged the compliment which the supposition
implied, but had the self-denial to repudiate it, notwithstanding;
and taking advantage of a moment's silence on the part
of the M.C., begged to introduce his friends, Mr. Tupman,
Mr. Winkle, and Mr. Snodgrass. An introduction which overwhelmed
the M.C. with delight and honour.
'Bantam,' said Mr. Dowler, 'Mr. Pickwick and his friends are
strangers. They must put their names down. Where's the book?'
'The register of the distinguished visitors in Ba-ath will be at
the Pump Room this morning at two o'clock,' replied the M.C.
'Will you guide our friends to that splendid building, and enable
me to procure their autographs?'
'I will,' rejoined Dowler. 'This is a long call. It's time to go. I
shall be here again in an hour. Come.'
'This is a ball-night,' said the M.C., again taking Mr. Pickwick's
hand, as he rose to go. 'The ball-nights in Ba-ath are moments
snatched from paradise; rendered bewitching by music, beauty,
elegance, fashion, etiquette, and--and--above all, by the absence
of tradespeople, who are quite inconsistent with paradise, and
who have an amalgamation of themselves at the Guildhall every
fortnight, which is, to say the least, remarkable. Good-bye,
good-bye!' and protesting all the way downstairs that he was
most satisfied, and most delighted, and most overpowered,
and most flattered, Angelo Cyrus Bantam, Esquire, M.C.,
stepped into a very elegant chariot that waited at the door, and
rattled off.
At the appointed hour, Mr. Pickwick and his friends, escorted
by Dowler, repaired to the Assembly Rooms, and wrote their
names down in the book--an instance of condescension at which
Angelo Bantam was even more overpowered than before. Tickets
of admission to that evening's assembly were to have been
prepared for the whole party, but as they were not ready, Mr.
Pickwick undertook, despite all the protestations to the contrary
of Angelo Bantam, to send Sam for them at four o'clock in
the afternoon, to the M.C.'s house in Queen Square. Having
taken a short walk through the city, and arrived at the unanimous
conclusion that Park Street was very much like the
perpendicular streets a man sees in a dream, which he cannot
get up for the life of him, they returned to the White Hart, and
despatched Sam on the errand to which his master had pledged him.
Sam Weller put on his hat in a very easy and graceful manner,
and, thrusting his hands in his waistcoat pockets, walked with
great deliberation to Queen Square, whistling as he went along,
several of the most popular airs of the day, as arranged with
entirely new movements for that noble instrument the organ,
either mouth or barrel. Arriving at the number in Queen Square
to which he had been directed, he left off whistling and gave a
cheerful knock, which was instantaneously answered by a
powdered-headed footman in gorgeous livery, and of symmetrical
stature.
'is this here Mr. Bantam's, old feller?' inquired Sam Weller,
nothing abashed by the blaze of splendour which burst upon his
sight in the person of the powdered-headed footman with the
gorgeous livery.
'Why, young man?' was the haughty inquiry of the powderedheaded
footman.
''Cos if it is, jist you step in to him with that 'ere card, and say
Mr. Veller's a-waitin', will you?' said Sam. And saying it, he very
coolly walked into the hall, and sat down.
The powdered-headed footman slammed the door very hard,
and scowled very grandly; but both the slam and the scowl were
lost upon Sam, who was regarding a mahogany umbrella-stand
with every outward token of critical approval.
Apparently his master's reception of the card had impressed
the powdered-headed footman in Sam's favour, for when he
came back from delivering it, he smiled in a friendly manner, and
said that the answer would be ready directly.
'Wery good,' said Sam. 'Tell the old gen'l'm'n not to put
himself in a perspiration. No hurry, six-foot. I've had my dinner.'
'You dine early, sir,' said the powdered-headed footman.
'I find I gets on better at supper when I does,' replied Sam.
'Have you been long in Bath, sir?' inquired the powderedheaded
footman. 'I have not had the pleasure of hearing of you before.'
'I haven't created any wery surprisin' sensation here, as yet,'
rejoined Sam, 'for me and the other fash'nables only come last night.'
'Nice place, Sir,' said the powdered-headed footman.
'Seems so,' observed Sam.
'Pleasant society, sir,' remarked the powdered-headed footman.
'Very agreeable servants, sir.'
'I should think they wos,' replied Sam. 'Affable, unaffected,
say-nothin'-to-nobody sorts o' fellers.'
'Oh, very much so, indeed, sir,' said the powdered-headed
footman, taking Sam's remarks as a high compliment. 'Very
much so indeed. Do you do anything in this way, Sir?' inquired
the tall footman, producing a small snuff-box with a fox's head
on the top of it.
'Not without sneezing,' replied Sam.
'Why, it IS difficult, sir, I confess,' said the tall footman. 'It
may be done by degrees, Sir. Coffee is the best practice. I carried
coffee, Sir, for a long time. It looks very like rappee, sir.'
Here, a sharp peal at the bell reduced the powdered-headed
footman to the ignominious necessity of putting the fox's head
in his pocket, and hastening with a humble countenance to
Mr. Bantam's 'study.' By the bye, who ever knew a man who
never read or wrote either, who hadn't got some small back
parlour which he WOULD call a study!
'There is the answer, sir,' said the powdered-headed footman.
'I'm afraid you'll find it inconveniently large.'
'Don't mention it,' said Sam, taking a letter with a small
enclosure. 'It's just possible as exhausted natur' may manage to
surwive it.'
'I hope we shall meet again, Sir,' said the powdered-headed
footman, rubbing his hands, and following Sam out to the door-step.
'You are wery obligin', sir,' replied Sam. 'Now, don't allow
yourself to be fatigued beyond your powers; there's a amiable
bein'. Consider what you owe to society, and don't let yourself be
injured by too much work. For the sake o' your feller-creeturs,
keep yourself as quiet as you can; only think what a loss you
would be!' With these pathetic words, Sam Weller departed.
'A very singular young man that,' said the powdered-headed
footman, looking after Mr. Weller, with a countenance which
clearly showed he could make nothing of him.
Sam said nothing at all. He winked, shook his head, smiled,
winked again; and, with an expression of countenance which
seemed to denote that he was greatly amused with something or
other, walked merrily away.
At precisely twenty minutes before eight o'clock that night,
Angelo Cyrus Bantam, Esq., the Master of the Ceremonies,
emerged from his chariot at the door of the Assembly Rooms in
the same wig, the same teeth, the same eye-glass, the same watch
and seals, the same rings, the same shirt-pin, and the same cane.
The only observable alterations in his appearance were, that he
wore a brighter blue coat, with a white silk lining, black tights,
black silk stockings, and pumps, and a white waistcoat, and was,
if possible, just a thought more scented.
Thus attired, the Master of the Ceremonies, in strict discharge
of the important duties of his all-important office, planted
himself in the room to receive the company.
Bath being full, the company, and the sixpences for tea,
poured in, in shoals. In the ballroom, the long card-room, the
octagonal card-room, the staircases, and the passages, the hum
of many voices, and the sound of many feet, were perfectly
bewildering. Dresses rustled, feathers waved, lights shone, and
jewels sparkled. There was the music--not of the quadrille band,
for it had not yet commenced; but the music of soft, tiny footsteps,
with now and then a clear, merry laugh--low and gentle,
but very pleasant to hear in a female voice, whether in Bath or
elsewhere. Brilliant eyes, lighted up with pleasurable expectation,
gleamed from every side; and, look where you would, some
exquisite form glided gracefully through the throng, and was no
sooner lost, than it was replaced by another as dainty and bewitching.
In the tea-room, and hovering round the card-tables, were a
vast number of queer old ladies, and decrepit old gentlemen,
discussing all the small talk and scandal of the day, with a relish
and gusto which sufficiently bespoke the intensity of the pleasure
they derived from the occupation. Mingled with these groups,
were three or four match-making mammas, appearing to be
wholly absorbed by the conversation in which they were taking
part, but failing not from time to time to cast an anxious sidelong
glance upon their daughters, who, remembering the maternal
injunction to make the best use of their youth, had already
commenced incipient flirtations in the mislaying scarves, putting
on gloves, setting down cups, and so forth; slight matters apparently,
but which may be turned to surprisingly good account by
expert practitioners.
Lounging near the doors, and in remote corners, were various
knots of silly young men, displaying various varieties of puppyism
and stupidity; amusing all sensible people near them with their
folly and conceit; and happily thinking themselves the objects of
general admiration--a wise and merciful dispensation which no
good man will quarrel with.
And lastly, seated on some of the back benches, where they had
already taken up their positions for the evening, were divers
unmarried ladies past their grand climacteric, who, not dancing
because there were no partners for them, and not playing cards
lest they should be set down as irretrievably single, were in the
favourable situation of being able to abuse everybody without
reflecting on themselves. In short, they could abuse everybody,
because everybody was there. It was a scene of gaiety, glitter, and
show; of richly-dressed people, handsome mirrors, chalked
floors, girandoles and wax-candles; and in all parts of the scene,
gliding from spot to spot in silent softness, bowing obsequiously
to this party, nodding familiarly to that, and smiling complacently
on all, was the sprucely-attired person of Angelo Cyrus Bantam,
Esquire, the Master of the Ceremonies.
'Stop in the tea-room. Take your sixpenn'orth. Then lay on hot
water, and call it tea. Drink it,' said Mr. Dowler, in a loud voice,
directing Mr. Pickwick, who advanced at the head of the little
party, with Mrs. Dowler on his arm. Into the tea-room Mr.
Pickwick turned; and catching sight of him, Mr. Bantam corkscrewed
his way through the crowd and welcomed him with ecstasy.
'My dear Sir, I am highly honoured. Ba-ath is favoured.
Mrs. Dowler, you embellish the rooms. I congratulate you on
your feathers. Re-markable!'
'Anybody here?' inquired Dowler suspiciously.
'Anybody! The ELITE of Ba-ath. Mr. Pickwick, do you see the
old lady in the gauze turban?'
'The fat old lady?' inquired Mr. Pickwick innocently.
'Hush, my dear sir--nobody's fat or old in Ba-ath. That's the
Dowager Lady Snuphanuph.'
'Is it, indeed?' said Mr. Pickwick.
'No less a person, I assure you,' said the Master of the Ceremonies.
'Hush. Draw a little nearer, Mr. Pickwick. You see the
splendidly-dressed young man coming this way?'
'The one with the long hair, and the particularly small forehead?'
inquired Mr. Pickwick.
'The same. The richest young man in Ba-ath at this moment.
Young Lord Mutanhed.'
'You don't say so?' said Mr. Pickwick.
'Yes. You'll hear his voice in a moment, Mr. Pickwick. He'll
speak to me. The other gentleman with him, in the red underwaistcoat
and dark moustache, is the Honourable Mr. Crushton,
his bosom friend. How do you do, my Lord?'
'Veway hot, Bantam,' said his Lordship.
'It IS very warm, my Lord,' replied the M.C.
'Confounded,' assented the Honourable Mr. Crushton.
'Have you seen his Lordship's mail-cart, Bantam?' inquired the
Honourable Mr. Crushton, after a short pause, during which
young Lord Mutanhed had been endeavouring to stare Mr.
Pickwick out of countenance, and Mr. Crushton had been
reflecting what subject his Lordship could talk about best.
'Dear me, no,' replied the M.C.'A mail-cart! What an excellent
idea. Re-markable!'
'Gwacious heavens!' said his Lordship, 'I thought evewebody
had seen the new mail-cart; it's the neatest, pwettiest, gwacefullest
thing that ever wan upon wheels. Painted wed, with a
cweam piebald.'
'With a real box for the letters, and all complete,' said the
Honourable Mr. Crushton.
'And a little seat in fwont, with an iwon wail, for the dwiver,'
added his Lordship. 'I dwove it over to Bwistol the other
morning, in a cwimson coat, with two servants widing a quarter
of a mile behind; and confound me if the people didn't wush out
of their cottages, and awest my pwogwess, to know if I wasn't
the post. Glorwious--glorwious!'
At this anecdote his Lordship laughed very heartily, as did the
listeners, of course. Then, drawing his arm through that of the
obsequious Mr. Crushton, Lord Mutanhed walked away.
'Delightful young man, his Lordship,' said the Master of
the Ceremonies.
'So I should think,' rejoined Mr. Pickwick drily.
The dancing having commenced, the necessary introductions
having been made, and all preliminaries arranged, Angelo
Bantam rejoined Mr. Pickwick, and led him into the card-room.
Just at the very moment of their entrance, the Dowager Lady
Snuphanuph and two other ladies of an ancient and whist-like
appearance, were hovering over an unoccupied card-table; and
they no sooner set eyes upon Mr. Pickwick under the convoy of
Angelo Bantam, than they exchanged glances with each other,
seeing that he was precisely the very person they wanted, to make
up the rubber.
'My dear Bantam,' said the Dowager Lady Snuphanuph
coaxingly, 'find us some nice creature to make up this table;
there's a good soul.' Mr. Pickwick happened to be looking
another way at the moment, so her Ladyship nodded her head
towards him, and frowned expressively.
'My friend Mr. Pickwick, my Lady, will be most happy, I am
sure, remarkably so,' said the M.C., taking the hint. 'Mr. Pickwick,
Lady Snuphanuph--Mrs. Colonel Wugsby--Miss Bolo.'
Mr. Pickwick bowed to each of the ladies, and, finding escape
impossible, cut. Mr. Pickwick and Miss Bolo against Lady
Snuphanuph and Mrs. Colonel Wugsby.
As the trump card was turned up, at the commencement of the
second deal, two young ladies hurried into the room, and took
their stations on either side of Mrs. Colonel Wugsby's chair,
where they waited patiently until the hand was over.
'Now, Jane,' said Mrs. Colonel Wugsby, turning to one of the
girls, 'what is it?'
'I came to ask, ma, whether I might dance with the youngest
Mr. Crawley,' whispered the prettier and younger of the two.
'Good God, Jane, how can you think of such things?' replied
the mamma indignantly. 'Haven't you repeatedly heard that his
father has eight hundred a year, which dies with him? I am
ashamed of you. Not on any account.'
'Ma,' whispered the other, who was much older than her sister,
and very insipid and artificial, 'Lord Mutanhed has been introduced
to me. I said I thought I wasn't engaged, ma.'
'You're a sweet pet, my love,' replied Mrs. Colonel Wugsby,
tapping her daughter's cheek with her fan, 'and are always to be
trusted. He's immensely rich, my dear. Bless you!' With these
words Mrs. Colonel Wugsby kissed her eldest daughter most
affectionately, and frowning in a warning manner upon the other,
sorted her cards.
Poor Mr. Pickwick! he had never played with three thoroughpaced
female card-players before. They were so desperately sharp,
that they quite frightened him. If he played a wrong card, Miss
Bolo looked a small armoury of daggers; if he stopped to consider
which was the right one, Lady Snuphanuph would throw
herself back in her chair, and smile with a mingled glance of
impatience and pity to Mrs. Colonel Wugsby, at which Mrs.
Colonel Wugsby would shrug up her shoulders, and cough, as
much as to say she wondered whether he ever would begin.
Then, at the end of every hand, Miss Bolo would inquire with a
dismal countenance and reproachful sigh, why Mr. Pickwick had
not returned that diamond, or led the club, or roughed the spade,
or finessed the heart, or led through the honour, or brought out
the ace, or played up to the king, or some such thing; and in
reply to all these grave charges, Mr. Pickwick would be wholly
unable to plead any justification whatever, having by this time
forgotten all about the game. People came and looked on, too,
which made Mr. Pickwick nervous. Besides all this, there was a
great deal of distracting conversation near the table, between
Angelo Bantam and the two Misses Matinter, who, being single
and singular, paid great court to the Master of the Ceremonies, in
the hope of getting a stray partner now and then. All these things,
combined with the noises and interruptions of constant comings
in and goings out, made Mr. Pickwick play rather badly; the
cards were against him, also; and when they left off at ten minutes
past eleven, Miss Bolo rose from the table considerably agitated,
and went straight home, in a flood of tears and a sedan-chair.
Being joined by his friends, who one and all protested that they
had scarcely ever spent a more pleasant evening, Mr. Pickwick
accompanied them to the White Hart, and having soothed his
feelings with something hot, went to bed, and to sleep, almost
simultaneously.
CHAPTER XXXVI
THE CHIEF FEATURES OF WHICH WILL BE FOUND TO BE
AN AUTHENTIC VERSION OF THE LEGEND OF PRINCE
BLADUD, AND A MOST EXTRAORDINARY CALAMITY THAT
BEFELL Mr. WINKLE
As Mr. Pickwick contemplated a stay of at least two months in
Bath, he deemed it advisable to take private lodgings for himself
and friends for that period; and as a favourable opportunity
offered for their securing, on moderate terms, the upper portion
of a house in the Royal Crescent, which was larger than they
required, Mr. and Mrs. Dowler offered to relieve them of a
bedroom and sitting-room. This proposition was at once
accepted, and in three days' time they were all located in their
new abode, when Mr. Pickwick began to drink the waters with the
utmost assiduity. Mr. Pickwick took them systematically. He
drank a quarter of a pint before breakfast, and then walked up a
hill; and another quarter of a pint after breakfast, and then
walked down a hill; and, after every fresh quarter of a pint,
Mr. Pickwick declared, in the most solemn and emphatic terms,
that he felt a great deal better; whereat his friends were very
much delighted, though they had not been previously aware that
there was anything the matter with him.
The Great Pump Room is a spacious saloon, ornamented with
Corinthian pillars, and a music-gallery, and a Tompion clock,
and a statue of Nash, and a golden inscription, to which all the
water-drinkers should attend, for it appeals to them in the cause
of a deserving charity. There is a large bar with a marble vase,
out of which the pumper gets the water; and there are a number
of yellow-looking tumblers, out of which the company get it;
and it is a most edifying and satisfactory sight to behold the
perseverance and gravity with which they swallow it. There are
baths near at hand, in which a part of the company wash themselves;
and a band plays afterwards, to congratulate the remainder
on their having done so. There is another pump room, into which
infirm ladies and gentlemen are wheeled, in such an astonishing
variety of chairs and chaises, that any adventurous individual
who goes in with the regular number of toes, is in imminent danger
of coming out without them; and there is a third, into which the quiet
people go, for it is less noisy than either. There is an immensity of
promenading, on crutches and off, with sticks and without, and a
great deal of conversation, and liveliness, and pleasantry.
Every morning, the regular water-drinkers, Mr. Pickwick
among the number, met each other in the pump room, took their
quarter of a pint, and walked constitutionally. At the afternoon's
promenade, Lord Mutanhed, and the Honourable Mr. Crushton,
the Dowager Lady Snuphanuph, Mrs. Colonel Wugsby, and
all the great people, and all the morning water-drinkers, met in
grand assemblage. After this, they walked out, or drove out, or
were pushed out in bath-chairs, and met one another again. After
this, the gentlemen went to the reading-rooms, and met divisions
of the mass. After this, they went home. If it were theatre-night,
perhaps they met at the theatre; if it were assembly-night, they
met at the rooms; and if it were neither, they met the next day.
A very pleasant routine, with perhaps a slight tinge of sameness.
Mr. Pickwick was sitting up by himself, after a day spent in
this manner, making entries in his journal, his friends having
retired to bed, when he was roused by a gentle tap at the room door.
'Beg your pardon, Sir,' said Mrs. Craddock, the landlady,
peeping in; 'but did you want anything more, sir?'
'Nothing more, ma'am,' replied Mr. Pickwick.
'My young girl is gone to bed, Sir,' said Mrs. Craddock; 'and
Mr. Dowler is good enough to say that he'll sit up for Mrs.
Dowler, as the party isn't expected to be over till late; so I was
thinking that if you wanted nothing more, Mr. Pickwick, I
would go to bed.'
'By all means, ma'am,' replied Mr. Pickwick.
'Wish you good-night, Sir,' said Mrs. Craddock.
'Good-night, ma'am,' rejoined Mr. Pickwick.
Mrs. Craddock closed the door, and Mr. Pickwick resumed his writing.
In half an hour's time the entries were concluded. Mr. Pickwick
carefully rubbed the last page on the blotting-paper, shut up the
book, wiped his pen on the bottom of the inside of his coat tail,
and opened the drawer of the inkstand to put it carefully away.
There were a couple of sheets of writing-paper, pretty closely
written over, in the inkstand drawer, and they were folded so,
that the title, which was in a good round hand, was fully disclosed
to him. Seeing from this, that it was no private document;
and as it seemed to relate to Bath, and was very short: Mr. Pickwick
unfolded it, lighted his bedroom candle that it might burn
up well by the time he finished; and drawing his chair nearer the
fire, read as follows--
THE TRUE LEGEND OF PRINCE BLADUD
'Less than two hundred years ago, on one of the public baths
in this city, there appeared an inscription in honour of its mighty
founder, the renowned Prince Bladud. That inscription is now erased.
'For many hundred years before that time, there had been
handed down, from age to age, an old legend, that the illustrious
prince being afflicted with leprosy, on his return from reaping a
rich harvest of knowledge in Athens, shunned the court of his
royal father, and consorted moodily with husbandman and pigs.
Among the herd (so said the legend) was a pig of grave and
solemn countenance, with whom the prince had a fellow-feeling
--for he too was wise--a pig of thoughtful and reserved demeanour;
an animal superior to his fellows, whose grunt was
terrible, and whose bite was sharp. The young prince sighed
deeply as he looked upon the countenance of the majestic swine;
he thought of his royal father, and his eyes were bedewed with tears.
'This sagacious pig was fond of bathing in rich, moist mud.
Not in summer, as common pigs do now, to cool themselves,
and did even in those distant ages (which is a proof that the light
of civilisation had already begun to dawn, though feebly), but in
the cold, sharp days of winter. His coat was ever so sleek, and
his complexion so clear, that the prince resolved to essay the
purifying qualities of the same water that his friend resorted to.
He made the trial. Beneath that black mud, bubbled the hot
springs of Bath. He washed, and was cured. Hastening to his
father's court, he paid his best respects, and returning quickly
hither, founded this city and its famous baths.
'He sought the pig with all the ardour of their early friendship
--but, alas! the waters had been his death. He had imprudently
taken a bath at too high a temperature, and the natural philosopher
was no more! He was succeeded by Pliny, who also fell a
victim to his thirst for knowledge.
'This was the legend. Listen to the true one.
'A great many centuries since, there flourished, in great state,
the famous and renowned Lud Hudibras, king of Britain. He was
a mighty monarch. The earth shook when he walked--he was so
very stout. His people basked in the light of his countenance--it
was so red and glowing. He was, indeed, every inch a king. And
there were a good many inches of him, too, for although he was
not very tall, he was a remarkable size round, and the inches that
he wanted in height, he made up in circumference. If any
degenerate monarch of modern times could be in any way compared
with him, I should say the venerable King Cole would be
that illustrious potentate.
'This good king had a queen, who eighteen years before, had
had a son, who was called Bladud. He was sent to a preparatory
seminary in his father's dominions until he was ten years old, and
was then despatched, in charge of a trusty messenger, to a
finishing school at Athens; and as there was no extra charge for
remaining during the holidays, and no notice required previous
to the removal of a pupil, there he remained for eight long years,
at the expiration of which time, the king his father sent the lord
chamberlain over, to settle the bill, and to bring him home;
which, the lord chamberlain doing, was received with shouts, and
pensioned immediately.
'When King Lud saw the prince his son, and found he had
grown up such a fine young man, he perceived what a grand
thing it would be to have him married without delay, so that his
children might be the means of perpetuating the glorious race of
Lud, down to the very latest ages of the world. With this view,
he sent a special embassy, composed of great noblemen who had
nothing particular to do, and wanted lucrative employment, to a
neighbouring king, and demanded his fair daughter in marriage
for his son; stating at the same time that he was anxious to be on
the most affectionate terms with his brother and friend, but that
if they couldn't agree in arranging this marriage, he should be
under the unpleasant necessity of invading his kingdom and
putting his eyes out. To this, the other king (who was the weaker
of the two) replied that he was very much obliged to his friend
and brother for all his goodness and magnanimity, and that his
daughter was quite ready to be married, whenever Prince Bladud
liked to come and fetch her.
'This answer no sooner reached Britain, than the whole nation
was transported with joy. Nothing was heard, on all sides, but
the sounds of feasting and revelry--except the chinking of money
as it was paid in by the people to the collector of the royal
treasures, to defray the expenses of the happy ceremony. It was
upon this occasion that King Lud, seated on the top of his throne
in full council, rose, in the exuberance of his feelings, and commanded
the lord chief justice to order in the richest wines and
the court minstrels--an act of graciousness which has been,
through the ignorance of traditionary historians, attributed to
King Cole, in those celebrated lines in which his Majesty is
represented as
Calling for his pipe, and calling for his pot,
And calling for his fiddlers three.
Which is an obvious injustice to the memory of King Lud, and
a dishonest exaltation of the virtues of King Cole.
'But, in the midst of all this festivity and rejoicing, there was
one individual present, who tasted not when the sparkling wines
were poured forth, and who danced not, when the minstrels
played. This was no other than Prince Bladud himself, in honour
of whose happiness a whole people were, at that very moment,
straining alike their throats and purse-strings. The truth was,
that the prince, forgetting the undoubted right of the minister for
foreign affairs to fall in love on his behalf, had, contrary to every
precedent of policy and diplomacy, already fallen in love on his
own account, and privately contracted himself unto the fair
daughter of a noble Athenian.
'Here we have a striking example of one of the manifold
advantages of civilisation and refinement. If the prince had lived
in later days, he might at once have married the object of his
father's choice, and then set himself seriously to work, to relieve
himself of the burden which rested heavily upon him. He might have
endeavoured to break her heart by a systematic course of insult and
neglect; or, if the spirit of her sex, and a proud consciousness
of her many wrongs had upheld her under this ill-treatment, he
might have sought to take her life, and so get rid of her effectually.
But neither mode of relief suggested itself to Prince Bladud; so he
solicited a private audience, and told his father.
'it is an old prerogative of kings to govern everything but their
passions. King Lud flew into a frightful rage, tossed his crown up
to the ceiling, and caught it again--for in those days kings kept
their crowns on their heads, and not in the Tower--stamped the
ground, rapped his forehead, wondered why his own flesh and
blood rebelled against him, and, finally, calling in his guards,
ordered the prince away to instant Confinement in a lofty turret;
a course of treatment which the kings of old very generally
pursued towards their sons, when their matrimonial inclinations
did not happen to point to the same quarter as their own.
'When Prince Bladud had been shut up in the lofty turret for
the greater part of a year, with no better prospect before his
bodily eyes than a stone wall, or before his mental vision than
prolonged imprisonment, he naturally began to ruminate on a
plan of escape, which, after months of preparation, he managed
to accomplish; considerately leaving his dinner-knife in the heart
of his jailer, lest the poor fellow (who had a family) should be
considered privy to his flight, and punished accordingly by the
infuriated king.
'The monarch was frantic at the loss of his son. He knew not
on whom to vent his grief and wrath, until fortunately bethinking
himself of the lord chamberlain who had brought him home, he
struck off his pension and his head together.
'Meanwhile, the young prince, effectually disguised, wandered
on foot through his father's dominions, cheered and supported
in all his hardships by sweet thoughts of the Athenian maid, who
was the innocent cause of his weary trials. One day he stopped
to rest in a country village; and seeing that there were gay dances
going forward on the green, and gay faces passing to and fro,
ventured to inquire of a reveller who stood near him, the reason
for this rejoicing.
'"Know you not, O stranger," was the reply, "of the recent
proclamation of our gracious king?"
'"Proclamation! No. What proclamation?" rejoined the
prince--for he had travelled along the by and little-frequented
ways, and knew nothing of what had passed upon the public
roads, such as they were.
'"Why," replied the peasant, "the foreign lady that our prince
wished to wed, is married to a foreign noble of her own country,
and the king proclaims the fact, and a great public festival
besides; for now, of course, Prince Bladud will come back and
marry the lady his father chose, who they say is as beautiful as
the noonday sun. Your health, sir. God save the king!"
'The prince remained to hear no more. He fled from the spot,
and plunged into the thickest recesses of a neighbouring wood.
On, on, he wandered, night and day; beneath the blazing sun, and
the cold pale moon; through the dry heat of noon, and the damp
cold of night; in the gray light of morn, and the red glare
of eve. So heedless was he of time or object, that being
bound for Athens, he wandered as far out of his way as Bath.
'There was no city where Bath stands, then. There was no
vestige of human habitation, or sign of man's resort, to bear the
name; but there was the same noble country, the same broad
expanse of hill and dale, the same beautiful channel stealing on,
far away, the same lofty mountains which, like the troubles of
life, viewed at a distance, and partially obscured by the bright
mist of its morning, lose their ruggedness and asperity, and seem
all ease and softness. Moved by the gentle beauty of the scene,
the prince sank upon the green turf, and bathed his swollen feet
in his tears.
'"Oh!" said the unhappy Bladud, clasping his hands, and
mournfully raising his eyes towards the sky, "would that my
wanderings might end here! Would that these grateful tears with
which I now mourn hope misplaced, and love despised, might
flow in peace for ever!"
'The wish was heard. It was in the time of the heathen deities,
who used occasionally to take people at their words, with a
promptness, in some cases, extremely awkward. The ground
opened beneath the prince's feet; he sank into the chasm; and
instantaneously it closed upon his head for ever, save where his
hot tears welled up through the earth, and where they have
continued to gush forth ever since.
'It is observable that, to this day, large numbers of elderly
ladies and gentlemen who have been disappointed in procuring
partners, and almost as many young ones who are anxious to
obtain them, repair annually to Bath to drink the waters, from
which they derive much strength and comfort. This is most
complimentary to the virtue of Prince Bladud's tears, and strongly
corroborative of the veracity of this legend.'
Mr. Pickwick yawned several times when he had arrived at the
end of this little manuscript, carefully refolded, and replaced it in
the inkstand drawer, and then, with a countenance expressive of
the utmost weariness, lighted his chamber candle, and went
upstairs to bed.
He stopped at Mr. Dowler's door, according to custom, and
knocked to say good-night.
'Ah!' said Dowler, 'going to bed? I wish I was. Dismal night.
Windy; isn't it?'
'Very,' said Mr. Pickwick. 'Good-night.'
'Good-night.'
Mr. Pickwick went to his bedchamber, and Mr. Dowler
resumed his seat before the fire, in fulfilment of his rash promise
to sit up till his wife came home.
There are few things more worrying than sitting up for somebody,
especially if that somebody be at a party. You cannot help
thinking how quickly the time passes with them, which drags so
heavily with you; and the more you think of this, the more your
hopes of their speedy arrival decline. Clocks tick so loud, too,
when you are sitting up alone, and you seem as if you had an
under-garment of cobwebs on. First, something tickles your
right knee, and then the same sensation irritates your left. You
have no sooner changed your position, than it comes again in the
arms; when you have fidgeted your limbs into all sorts of queer
shapes, you have a sudden relapse in the nose, which you rub as
if to rub it off--as there is no doubt you would, if you could.
Eyes, too, are mere personal inconveniences; and the wick of one
candle gets an inch and a half long, while you are snuffing the
other. These, and various other little nervous annoyances,
render sitting up for a length of time after everybody else has
gone to bed, anything but a cheerful amusement.
This was just Mr. Dowler's opinion, as he sat before the fire,
and felt honestly indignant with all the inhuman people at the
party who were keeping him up. He was not put into better
humour either, by the reflection that he had taken it into his
head, early in the evening, to think he had got an ache there, and
so stopped at home. At length, after several droppings asleep,
and fallings forward towards the bars, and catchings backward
soon enough to prevent being branded in the face, Mr. Dowler
made up his mind that he would throw himself on the bed in the
back room and think--not sleep, of course.
'I'm a heavy sleeper,' said Mr. Dowler, as he flung himself on
the bed. 'I must keep awake. I suppose I shall hear a knock here.
Yes. I thought so. I can hear the watchman. There he goes.
Fainter now, though. A little fainter. He's turning the corner.
Ah!' When Mr. Dowler arrived at this point, he turned the
corner at which he had been long hesitating, and fell fast asleep.
Just as the clock struck three, there was blown into the crescent
a sedan-chair with Mrs. Dowler inside, borne by one short, fat
chairman, and one long, thin one, who had had much ado to
keep their bodies perpendicular: to say nothing of the chair.
But on that high ground, and in the crescent, which the wind
swept round and round as if it were going to tear the paving
stones up, its fury was tremendous. They were very glad to set
the chair down, and give a good round loud double-knock at the
street door.
They waited some time, but nobody came.
'Servants is in the arms o' Porpus, I think,' said the short
chairman, warming his hands at the attendant link-boy's torch.
'I wish he'd give 'em a squeeze and wake 'em,' observed the
long one.
'Knock again, will you, if you please,' cried Mrs. Dowler from
the chair. 'Knock two or three times, if you please.'
The short man was quite willing to get the job over, as soon as
possible; so he stood on the step, and gave four or five most
startling double-knocks, of eight or ten knocks a-piece, while the
long man went into the road, and looked up at the windows for
a light.
Nobody came. It was all as silent and dark as ever.
'Dear me!' said Mrs. Dowler. 'You must knock again, if you
please.'
'There ain't a bell, is there, ma'am?' said the short chairman.
'Yes, there is,' interposed the link-boy, 'I've been a-ringing at
it ever so long.'
'It's only a handle,' said Mrs. Dowler, 'the wire's broken.'
'I wish the servants' heads wos,' growled the long man.
'I must trouble you to knock again, if you please,' said Mrs.
Dowler, with the utmost politeness.
The short man did knock again several times, without producing
the smallest effect. The tall man, growing very impatient,
then relieved him, and kept on perpetually knocking doubleknocks
of two loud knocks each, like an insane postman.
At length Mr. Winkle began to dream that he was at a club,
and that the members being very refractory, the chairman was
obliged to hammer the table a good deal to preserve order; then
he had a confused notion of an auction room where there were
no bidders, and the auctioneer was buying everything in; and
ultimately he began to think it just within the bounds of possibility
that somebody might be knocking at the street door. To
make quite certain, however, he remained quiet in bed for ten
minutes or so, and listened; and when he had counted two or
three-and-thirty knocks, he felt quite satisfied, and gave himself a
great deal of credit for being so wakeful.
'Rap rap-rap rap-rap rap-ra, ra, ra, ra, ra, rap!' went the knocker.
Mr. Winkle jumped out of bed, wondering very much what
could possibly be the matter, and hastily putting on his stockings
and slippers, folded his dressing-gown round him, lighted a flat
candle from the rush-light that was burning in the fireplace, and
hurried downstairs.
'Here's somebody comin' at last, ma'am,' said the
short chairman.
'I wish I wos behind him vith a bradawl,' muttered the long one.
'Who's there?' cried Mr. Winkle, undoing the chain.
'Don't stop to ask questions, cast-iron head,' replied the long
man, with great disgust, taking it for granted that the inquirer was
a footman; 'but open the door.'
'Come, look sharp, timber eyelids,' added the other encouragingly.
Mr. Winkle, being half asleep, obeyed the command mechanically,
opened the door a little, and peeped out. The first thing he
saw, was the red glare of the link-boy's torch. Startled by the
sudden fear that the house might be on fire, he hastily threw the
door wide open, and holding the candle above his head, stared
eagerly before him, not quite certain whether what he saw was a
sedan-chair or a fire-engine. At this instant there came a violent
gust of wind; the light was blown out; Mr. Winkle felt himself
irresistibly impelled on to the steps; and the door blew to, with
a loud crash.
'Well, young man, now you HAVE done it!' said the short chairman.
Mr. Winkle, catching sight of a lady's face at the window of
the sedan, turned hastily round, plied the knocker with all his
might and main, and called frantically upon the chairman to
take the chair away again.
'Take it away, take it away,' cried Mr. Winkle. 'Here's somebody
coming out of another house; put me into the chair. Hide
me! Do something with me!'
All this time he was shivering with cold; and every time he
raised his hand to the knocker, the wind took the dressing-gown
in a most unpleasant manner.
'The people are coming down the crescent now. There are
ladies with 'em; cover me up with something. Stand before me!'
roared Mr. Winkle. But the chairmen were too much exhausted
with laughing to afford him the slightest assistance, and the ladies
were every moment approaching nearer and nearer.
Mr. Winkle gave a last hopeless knock; the ladies were only a
few doors off. He threw away the extinguished candle, which, all
this time he had held above his head, and fairly bolted into the
sedan-chair where Mrs. Dowler was.
Now, Mrs. Craddock had heard the knocking and the voices
at last; and, only waiting to put something smarter on her head
than her nightcap, ran down into the front drawing-room to make
sure that it was the right party. Throwing up the window-sash
as Mr. Winkle was rushing into the chair, she no sooner caught
sight of what was going forward below, than she raised a vehement
and dismal shriek, and implored Mr. Dowler to get up
directly, for his wife was running away with another gentleman.
Upon this, Mr. Dowler bounced off the bed as abruptly as an
India-rubber ball, and rushing into the front room, arrived at one
window just as Mr. Pickwick threw up the other, when the first
object that met the gaze of both, was Mr. Winkle bolting into the
sedan-chair.
'Watchman,' shouted Dowler furiously, 'stop him--hold him
--keep him tight--shut him in, till I come down. I'll cut his
throat--give me a knife--from ear to ear, Mrs. Craddock--I
will!' And breaking from the shrieking landlady, and from Mr.
Pickwick, the indignant husband seized a small supper-knife, and
tore into the street.
But Mr. Winkle didn't wait for him. He no sooner heard the
horrible threat of the valorous Dowler, than he bounced out of
the sedan, quite as quickly as he had bounced in, and throwing
off his slippers into the road, took to his heels and tore round the
crescent, hotly pursued by Dowler and the watchman. He kept
ahead; the door was open as he came round the second time; he
rushed in, slammed it in Dowler's face, mounted to his bedroom,
locked the door, piled a wash-hand-stand, chest of drawers, and a
table against it, and packed up a few necessaries ready for flight
with the first ray of morning.
Dowler came up to the outside of the door; avowed, through
the keyhole, his steadfast determination of cutting Mr. Winkle's
throat next day; and, after a great confusion of voices in the
drawing-room, amidst which that of Mr. Pickwick was distinctly
heard endeavouring to make peace, the inmates dispersed to their
several bed-chambers, and all was quiet once more.
It is not unlikely that the inquiry may be made, where Mr.
Weller was, all this time? We will state where he was, in the next
chapter.
CHAPTER XXXVII
HONOURABLY ACCOUNTS FOR Mr. WELLER'S ABSENCE,
BY DESCRIBING A SOIREE TO WHICH HE WAS INVITED
AND WENT; ALSO RELATES HOW HE WAS ENTRUSTED BY
Mr. PICKWICK WITH A PRIVATE MISSION OF DELICACY
AND IMPORTANCE
'Mr. Weller,' said Mrs. Craddock, upon the morning of this very
eventful day, 'here's a letter for you.'
'Wery odd that,' said Sam; 'I'm afeerd there must be somethin'
the matter, for I don't recollect any gen'l'm'n in my circle of
acquaintance as is capable o' writin' one.'
'Perhaps something uncommon has taken place,' observed
Mrs. Craddock.
'It must be somethin' wery uncommon indeed, as could
perduce a letter out o' any friend o' mine,' replied Sam, shaking
his head dubiously; 'nothin' less than a nat'ral conwulsion, as the
young gen'l'm'n observed ven he wos took with fits. It can't be
from the gov'ner,' said Sam, looking at the direction. 'He always
prints, I know, 'cos he learnt writin' from the large bills in the
booking-offices. It's a wery strange thing now, where this here
letter can ha' come from.'
As Sam said this, he did what a great many people do when
they are uncertain about the writer of a note--looked at the seal,
and then at the front, and then at the back, and then at the sides,
and then at the superscription; and, as a last resource, thought
perhaps he might as well look at the inside, and try to find out
from that.
'It's wrote on gilt-edged paper,' said Sam, as he unfolded it,
'and sealed in bronze vax vith the top of a door key. Now for it.'
And, with a very grave face, Mr. Weller slowly read as follows--
'A select company of the Bath footmen presents their compliments
to Mr. Weller, and requests the pleasure of his company
this evening, to a friendly swarry, consisting of a boiled leg of
mutton with the usual trimmings. The swarry to be on table at
half-past nine o'clock punctually.'
This was inclosed in another note, which ran thus--
'Mr. John Smauker, the gentleman who had the pleasure of
meeting Mr. Weller at the house of their mutual acquaintance,
Mr. Bantam, a few days since, begs to inclose Mr. Weller the
herewith invitation. If Mr. Weller will call on Mr. John Smauker
at nine o'clock, Mr. John Smauker will have the pleasure of
introducing Mr. Weller.
(Signed) 'JOHN SMAUKER.'
The envelope was directed to blank Weller, Esq., at Mr. Pickwick's;
and in a parenthesis, in the left hand corner, were the
words 'airy bell,' as an instruction to the bearer.
'Vell,' said Sam, 'this is comin' it rayther powerful, this is. I
never heerd a biled leg o' mutton called a swarry afore. I wonder
wot they'd call a roast one.'
However, without waiting to debate the point, Sam at once
betook himself into the presence of Mr. Pickwick, and requested
leave of absence for that evening, which was readily granted.
With this permission and the street-door key, Sam Weller issued
forth a little before the appointed time, and strolled leisurely
towards Queen Square, which he no sooner gained than he had
the satisfaction of beholding Mr. John Smauker leaning his
powdered head against a lamp-post at a short distance off,
smoking a cigar through an amber tube.
'How do you do, Mr. Weller?' said Mr. John Smauker, raising
his hat gracefully with one hand, while he gently waved the other
in a condescending manner. 'How do you do, Sir?'
'Why, reasonably conwalessent,' replied Sam. 'How do YOU
find yourself, my dear feller?'
'Only so so,' said Mr. John Smauker.
'Ah, you've been a-workin' too hard,' observed Sam. 'I was
fearful you would; it won't do, you know; you must not give way
to that 'ere uncompromisin' spirit o' yourn.'
'It's not so much that, Mr. Weller,' replied Mr. John Smauker,
'as bad wine; I'm afraid I've been dissipating.'
'Oh! that's it, is it?' said Sam; 'that's a wery bad complaint, that.'
'And yet the temptation, you see, Mr. Weller,' observed Mr.
John Smauker.
'Ah, to be sure,' said Sam.
'Plunged into the very vortex of society, you know, Mr.
Weller,' said Mr. John Smauker, with a sigh.
'Dreadful, indeed!' rejoined Sam.
'But it's always the way,' said Mr. John Smauker; 'if your
destiny leads you into public life, and public station, you must
expect to be subjected to temptations which other people is free
from, Mr. Weller.'
'Precisely what my uncle said, ven he vent into the public line,'
remarked Sam, 'and wery right the old gen'l'm'n wos, for he
drank hisself to death in somethin' less than a quarter.'
Mr. John Smauker looked deeply indignant at any parallel
being drawn between himself and the deceased gentleman in
question; but, as Sam's face was in the most immovable state of
calmness, he thought better of it, and looked affable again.
'Perhaps we had better be walking,' said Mr. Smauker,
consulting a copper timepiece which dwelt at the bottom of a deep
watch-pocket, and was raised to the surface by means of a black
string, with a copper key at the other end.
'P'raps we had,' replied Sam, 'or they'll overdo the swarry, and
that'll spile it.'
'Have you drank the waters, Mr. Weller?' inquired his
companion, as they walked towards High Street.
'Once,' replied Sam.
'What did you think of 'em, Sir?'
'I thought they was particklery unpleasant,' replied Sam.
'Ah,' said Mr. John Smauker, 'you disliked the killibeate
taste, perhaps?'
'I don't know much about that 'ere,' said Sam. 'I thought
they'd a wery strong flavour o' warm flat irons.'
'That IS the killibeate, Mr. Weller,' observed Mr. John Smauker
contemptuously.
'Well, if it is, it's a wery inexpressive word, that's all,' said
Sam. 'It may be, but I ain't much in the chimical line myself, so
I can't say.' And here, to the great horror of Mr. John Smauker,
Sam Weller began to whistle.
'I beg your pardon, Mr. Weller,' said Mr. John Smauker,
agonised at the exceeding ungenteel sound, 'will you take my arm?'
'Thank'ee, you're wery good, but I won't deprive you of it,'
replied Sam. 'I've rayther a way o' putting my hands in my
pockets, if it's all the same to you.' As Sam said this, he suited
the action to the word, and whistled far louder than before.
'This way,' said his new friend, apparently much relieved as
they turned down a by-street; 'we shall soon be there.'
'Shall we?' said Sam, quite unmoved by the announcement of
his close vicinity to the select footmen of Bath.
'Yes,' said Mr. John Smauker. 'Don't be alarmed, Mr. Weller.'
'Oh, no,' said Sam.
'You'll see some very handsome uniforms, Mr. Weller,' continued
Mr. John Smauker; 'and perhaps you'll find some of the
gentlemen rather high at first, you know, but they'll soon come round.'
'That's wery kind on 'em,' replied Sam.
'And you know,' resumed Mr. John Smauker, with an air of
sublime protection--'you know, as you're a stranger, perhaps,
they'll be rather hard upon you at first.'
'They won't be wery cruel, though, will they?' inquired Sam.
'No, no,' replied Mr. John Smauker, pulling forth the fox's
head, and taking a gentlemanly pinch. 'There are some funny
dogs among us, and they will have their joke, you know; but you
mustn't mind 'em, you mustn't mind 'em.'
'I'll try and bear up agin such a reg'lar knock down o' talent,'
replied Sam.
'That's right,' said Mr. John Smauker, putting forth his fox's
head, and elevating his own; 'I'll stand by you.'
By this time they had reached a small greengrocer's shop,
which Mr. John Smauker entered, followed by Sam, who, the
moment he got behind him, relapsed into a series of the very
broadest and most unmitigated grins, and manifested other
demonstrations of being in a highly enviable state of inward merriment.
Crossing the greengrocer's shop, and putting their hats on the
stairs in the little passage behind it, they walked into a small
parlour; and here the full splendour of the scene burst upon Mr.
Weller's view.
A couple of tables were put together in the middle of the
parlour, covered with three or four cloths of different ages and
dates of washing, arranged to look as much like one as the
circumstances of the case would allow. Upon these were laid
knives and forks for six or eight people. Some of the knife
handles were green, others red, and a few yellow; and as all the
forks were black, the combination of colours was exceedingly
striking. Plates for a corresponding number of guests were
warming behind the fender; and the guests themselves were
warming before it: the chief and most important of whom appeared
to be a stoutish gentleman in a bright crimson coat with long
tails, vividly red breeches, and a cocked hat, who was standing
with his back to the fire, and had apparently just entered, for
besides retaining his cocked hat on his head, he carried in his
hand a high stick, such as gentlemen of his profession usually
elevate in a sloping position over the roofs of carriages.
'Smauker, my lad, your fin,' said the gentleman with the
cocked hat.
Mr. Smauker dovetailed the top joint of his right-hand little
finger into that of the gentleman with the cocked hat, and said he
was charmed to see him looking so well.
'Well, they tell me I am looking pretty blooming,' said
the man with the cocked hat, 'and it's a wonder, too. I've
been following our old woman about, two hours a day, for
the last fortnight; and if a constant contemplation of the
manner in which she hooks-and-eyes that infernal lavendercoloured
old gown of hers behind, isn't enough to throw anybody
into a low state of despondency for life, stop my quarter's salary.'
At this, the assembled selections laughed very heartily; and
one gentleman in a yellow waistcoat, with a coach-trimming
border, whispered a neighbour in green-foil smalls, that Tuckle
was in spirits to-night.
'By the bye,' said Mr. Tuckle, 'Smauker, my boy, you--'
The remainder of the sentence was forwarded into Mr. John
Smauker's ear, by whisper.
'Oh, dear me, I quite forgot,' said Mr. John Smauker.
'Gentlemen, my friend Mr. Weller.'
'Sorry to keep the fire off you, Weller,' said Mr. Tuckle, with a
familiar nod. 'Hope you're not cold, Weller.'
'Not by no means, Blazes,' replied Sam. 'It 'ud be a wery chilly
subject as felt cold wen you stood opposite. You'd save coals if
they put you behind the fender in the waitin'-room at a public
office, you would.'
As this retort appeared to convey rather a personal allusion to
Mr. Tuckle's crimson livery, that gentleman looked majestic for
a few seconds, but gradually edging away from the fire, broke
into a forced smile, and said it wasn't bad.
'Wery much obliged for your good opinion, sir,' replied Sam.
'We shall get on by degrees, I des-say. We'll try a better one by
and bye.'
At this point the conversation was interrupted by the arrival
of a gentleman in orange-coloured plush, accompanied by
another selection in purple cloth, with a great extent of stocking.
The new-comers having been welcomed by the old ones, Mr.
Tuckle put the question that supper be ordered in, which was
carried unanimously.
The greengrocer and his wife then arranged upon the table a
boiled leg of mutton, hot, with caper sauce, turnips, and potatoes.
Mr. Tuckle took the chair, and was supported at the other end
of the board by the gentleman in orange plush. The greengrocer
put on a pair of wash-leather gloves to hand the plates with, and
stationed himself behind Mr. Tuckle's chair.
'Harris,' said Mr. Tuckle, in a commanding tone.
'Sir,' said the greengrocer.
'Have you got your gloves on?'
'Yes, Sir.'
'Then take the kiver off.'
'Yes, Sir.'
The greengrocer did as he was told, with a show of great
humility, and obsequiously handed Mr. Tuckle the carvingknife;
in doing which, he accidentally gaped.
'What do you mean by that, Sir?' said Mr. Tuckle, with great asperity.
'I beg your pardon, Sir,' replied the crestfallen greengrocer, 'I
didn't mean to do it, Sir; I was up very late last night, Sir.'
'I tell you what my opinion of you is, Harris,' said Mr. Tuckle,
with a most impressive air, 'you're a wulgar beast.'
'I hope, gentlemen,' said Harris, 'that you won't be severe
with me, gentlemen. I am very much obliged to you indeed,
gentlemen, for your patronage, and also for your recommendations,
gentlemen, whenever additional assistance in waiting is
required. I hope, gentlemen, I give satisfaction.'
'No, you don't, Sir,' said Mr. Tuckle. 'Very far from it, Sir.'
'We consider you an inattentive reskel,' said the gentleman in
the orange plush.
'And a low thief,' added the gentleman in the green-foil smalls.
'And an unreclaimable blaygaird,' added the gentleman in purple.
The poor greengrocer bowed very humbly while these little
epithets were bestowed upon him, in the true spirit of the very
smallest tyranny; and when everybody had said something to
show his superiority, Mr. Tuckle proceeded to carve the leg of
mutton, and to help the company.
This important business of the evening had hardly commenced,
when the door was thrown briskly open, and another
gentleman in a light-blue suit, and leaden buttons, made his appearance.
'Against the rules,' said Mr. Tuckle. 'Too late, too late.'
'No, no; positively I couldn't help it,' said the gentleman in
blue. 'I appeal to the company. An affair of gallantry now, an
appointment at the theayter.'
'Oh, that indeed,' said the gentleman in the orange plush.
'Yes; raly now, honour bright,' said the man in blue. 'I made a
promese to fetch our youngest daughter at half-past ten, and she
is such an uncauminly fine gal, that I raly hadn't the 'art to
disappint her. No offence to the present company, Sir, but a
petticut, sir--a petticut, Sir, is irrevokeable.'
'I begin to suspect there's something in that quarter,' said
Tuckle, as the new-comer took his seat next Sam, 'I've remarked,
once or twice, that she leans very heavy on your shoulder when
she gets in and out of the carriage.'
'Oh, raly, raly, Tuckle, you shouldn't,' said the man in blue.
'It's not fair. I may have said to one or two friends that she wos a
very divine creechure, and had refused one or two offers without
any hobvus cause, but--no, no, no, indeed, Tuckle--before
strangers, too--it's not right--you shouldn't. Delicacy, my
dear friend, delicacy!' And the man in blue, pulling up his
neckerchief, and adjusting his coat cuffs, nodded and frowned as
if there were more behind, which he could say if he liked, but was
bound in honour to suppress.
The man in blue being a light-haired, stiff-necked, free and easy
sort of footman, with a swaggering air and pert face, had
attracted Mr. Weller's special attention at first, but when he
began to come out in this way, Sam felt more than ever disposed
to cultivate his acquaintance; so he launched himself into the
conversation at once, with characteristic independence.
'Your health, Sir,' said Sam. 'I like your conversation much.
I think it's wery pretty.'
At this the man in blue smiled, as if it were a compliment he
was well used to; but looked approvingly on Sam at the same
time, and said he hoped he should be better acquainted with him,
for without any flattery at all he seemed to have the makings of a
very nice fellow about him, and to be just the man after his own heart.
'You're wery good, sir,' said Sam. 'What a lucky feller you are!'
'How do you mean?' inquired the gentleman in blue.
'That 'ere young lady,' replied Sam.'She knows wot's wot, she
does. Ah! I see.' Mr. Weller closed one eye, and shook his head
from side to side, in a manner which was highly gratifying to the
personal vanity of the gentleman in blue.
'I'm afraid your a cunning fellow, Mr. Weller,' said that
individual.
'No, no,' said Sam. 'I leave all that 'ere to you. It's a great deal
more in your way than mine, as the gen'l'm'n on the right side o'
the garden vall said to the man on the wrong un, ven the mad
bull vos a-comin' up the lane.'
'Well, well, Mr. Weller,' said the gentleman in blue, 'I think she
has remarked my air and manner, Mr. Weller.'
'I should think she couldn't wery well be off o' that,' said Sam.
'Have you any little thing of that kind in hand, sir?' inquired
the favoured gentleman in blue, drawing a toothpick from his
waistcoat pocket.
'Not exactly,' said Sam. 'There's no daughters at my place,
else o' course I should ha' made up to vun on 'em. As it is, I don't
think I can do with anythin' under a female markis. I might keep
up with a young 'ooman o' large property as hadn't a title, if she
made wery fierce love to me. Not else.'
'Of course not, Mr. Weller,' said the gentleman in blue, 'one
can't be troubled, you know; and WE know, Mr. Weller--we,
who are men of the world--that a good uniform must work its
way with the women, sooner or later. In fact, that's the only
thing, between you and me, that makes the service worth entering into.'
'Just so,' said Sam. 'That's it, o' course.'
When this confidential dialogue had gone thus far, glasses were
placed round, and every gentleman ordered what he liked best,
before the public-house shut up. The gentleman in blue, and the
man in orange, who were the chief exquisites of the party,
ordered 'cold shrub and water,' but with the others, gin-andwater,
sweet, appeared to be the favourite beverage. Sam called
the greengrocer a 'desp'rate willin,' and ordered a large bowl of
punch--two circumstances which seemed to raise him very much
in the opinion of the selections.
'Gentlemen,' said the man in blue, with an air of the most
consummate dandyism, 'I'll give you the ladies; come.'
'Hear, hear!' said Sam. 'The young mississes.'
Here there was a loud cry of 'Order,' and Mr. John Smauker,
as the gentleman who had introduced Mr. Weller into that
company, begged to inform him that the word he had just made use
of, was unparliamentary.
'Which word was that 'ere, Sir?' inquired Sam.
'Mississes, Sir,' replied Mr. John Smauker, with an alarming
frown. 'We don't recognise such distinctions here.'
'Oh, wery good,' said Sam; 'then I'll amend the obserwation
and call 'em the dear creeturs, if Blazes vill allow me.'
Some doubt appeared to exist in the mind of the gentleman in
the green-foil smalls, whether the chairman could be legally
appealed to, as 'Blazes,' but as the company seemed more
disposed to stand upon their own rights than his, the question
was not raised. The man with the cocked hat breathed short, and
looked long at Sam, but apparently thought it as well to say
nothing, in case he should get the worst of it.
After a short silence, a gentleman in an embroidered coat
reaching down to his heels, and a waistcoat of the same which
kept one half of his legs warm, stirred his gin-and-water with
great energy, and putting himself upon his feet, all at once by a
violent effort, said he was desirous of offering a few remarks to
the company, whereupon the person in the cocked hat had no
doubt that the company would be very happy to hear any
remarks that the man in the long coat might wish to offer.
'I feel a great delicacy, gentlemen, in coming for'ard,' said the
man in the long coat, 'having the misforchune to be a coachman,
and being only admitted as a honorary member of these agreeable
swarrys, but I do feel myself bound, gentlemen--drove into a
corner, if I may use the expression--to make known an afflicting
circumstance which has come to my knowledge; which has
happened I may say within the soap of my everyday contemplation.
Gentlemen, our friend Mr. Whiffers (everybody looked at
the individual in orange), our friend Mr. Whiffers has resigned.'
Universal astonishment fell upon the hearers. Each gentleman
looked in his neighbour's face, and then transferred his glance to
the upstanding coachman.
'You may well be sapparised, gentlemen,' said the coachman.
'I will not wenchure to state the reasons of this irrepairabel loss
to the service, but I will beg Mr. Whiffers to state them himself,
for the improvement and imitation of his admiring friends.'
The suggestion being loudly approved of, Mr. Whiffers
explained. He said he certainly could have wished to have continued
to hold the appointment he had just resigned. The uniform
was extremely rich and expensive, the females of the family
was most agreeable, and the duties of the situation was not, he
was bound to say, too heavy; the principal service that was
required of him, being, that he should look out of the hall
window as much as possible, in company with another gentleman,
who had also resigned. He could have wished to have spared that
company the painful and disgusting detail on which he was about
to enter, but as the explanation had been demanded of him, he
had no alternative but to state, boldly and distinctly, that he had
been required to eat cold meat.
It is impossible to conceive the disgust which this avowal
awakened in the bosoms of the hearers. Loud cries of 'Shame,'
mingled with groans and hisses, prevailed for a quarter of an hour.
Mr. Whiffers then added that he feared a portion of this
outrage might be traced to his own forbearing and accommodating
disposition. He had a distinct recollection of having once
consented to eat salt butter, and he had, moreover, on an occasion
of sudden sickness in the house, so far forgotten himself as to
carry a coal-scuttle up to the second floor. He trusted he had not
lowered himself in the good opinion of his friends by this frank
confession of his faults; and he hoped the promptness with which
he had resented the last unmanly outrage on his feelings, to
which he had referred, would reinstate him in their good opinion,
if he had.
Mr. Whiffers's address was responded to, with a shout of
admiration, and the health of the interesting martyr was drunk
in a most enthusiastic manner; for this, the martyr returned
thanks, and proposed their visitor, Mr. Weller--a gentleman
whom he had not the pleasure of an intimate acquaintance with,
but who was the friend of Mr. John Smauker, which was a
sufficient letter of recommendation to any society of gentlemen
whatever, or wherever. On this account, he should have been
disposed to have given Mr. Weller's health with all the honours,
if his friends had been drinking wine; but as they were taking
spirits by way of a change, and as it might be inconvenient to
empty a tumbler at every toast, he should propose that the
honours be understood.
At the conclusion of this speech, everybody took a sip in
honour of Sam; and Sam having ladled out, and drunk, two full
glasses of punch in honour of himself, returned thanks in a neat speech.
'Wery much obliged to you, old fellers,' said Sam, ladling
away at the punch in the most unembarrassed manner possible,
'for this here compliment; which, comin' from sich a quarter, is
wery overvelmin'. I've heered a good deal on you as a body, but
I will say, that I never thought you was sich uncommon nice men
as I find you air. I only hope you'll take care o' yourselves, and
not compromise nothin' o' your dignity, which is a wery charmin'
thing to see, when one's out a-walkin', and has always made me
wery happy to look at, ever since I was a boy about half as high
as the brass-headed stick o' my wery respectable friend, Blazes,
there. As to the wictim of oppression in the suit o' brimstone, all
I can say of him, is, that I hope he'll get jist as good a berth as he
deserves; in vitch case it's wery little cold swarry as ever he'll be
troubled with agin.'
Here Sam sat down with a pleasant smile, and his speech
having been vociferously applauded, the company broke up.
'Wy, you don't mean to say you're a-goin' old feller?' said
Sam Weller to his friend, Mr. John Smauker.
'I must, indeed,' said Mr. Smauker; 'I promised Bantam.'
'Oh, wery well,' said Sam; 'that's another thing. P'raps he'd
resign if you disappinted him. You ain't a-goin', Blazes?'
'Yes, I am,' said the man with the cocked hat.
'Wot, and leave three-quarters of a bowl of punch behind
you!' said Sam; 'nonsense, set down agin.'
Mr. Tuckle was not proof against this invitation. He laid aside
the cocked hat and stick which he had just taken up, and said he
would have one glass, for good fellowship's sake.
As the gentleman in blue went home the same way as Mr.
Tuckle, he was prevailed upon to stop too. When the punch was
about half gone, Sam ordered in some oysters from the greengrocer's
shop; and the effect of both was so extremely exhilarating,
that Mr. Tuckle, dressed out with the cocked hat and stick,
danced the frog hornpipe among the shells on the table, while the
gentleman in blue played an accompaniment upon an ingenious
musical instrument formed of a hair-comb upon a curl-paper.
At last, when the punch was all gone, and the night nearly so,
they sallied forth to see each other home. Mr. Tuckle no sooner
got into the open air, than he was seized with a sudden desire to
lie on the curbstone; Sam thought it would be a pity to contradict
him, and so let him have his own way. As the cocked hat would
have been spoiled if left there, Sam very considerately flattened it
down on the head of the gentleman in blue, and putting the big
stick in his hand, propped him up against his own street-door,
rang the bell, and walked quietly home.
At a much earlier hour next morning than his usual time of
rising, Mr. Pickwick walked downstairs completely dressed, and
rang the bell.
'Sam,' said Mr. Pickwick, when Mr. Weller appeared in reply
to the summons, 'shut the door.'
Mr. Weller did so.
'There was an unfortunate occurrence here, last night, Sam,'
said Mr. Pickwick, 'which gave Mr. Winkle some cause to
apprehend violence from Mr. Dowler.'
'So I've heerd from the old lady downstairs, Sir,' replied Sam.
'And I'm sorry to say, Sam,' continued Mr. Pickwick, with a
most perplexed countenance, 'that in dread of this violence,
Mr. Winkle has gone away.'
'Gone avay!' said Sam.
'Left the house early this morning, without the slightest
previous communication with me,' replied Mr. Pickwick. 'And
is gone, I know not where.'
'He should ha' stopped and fought it out, Sir,' replied Sam
contemptuously. 'It wouldn't take much to settle that 'ere
Dowler, Sir.'
'Well, Sam,' said Mr. Pickwick, 'I may have my doubts of his
great bravery and determination also. But however that may be,
Mr. Winkle is gone. He must be found, Sam. Found and brought
back to me.'
'And s'pose he won't come back, Sir?' said Sam.
'He must be made, Sam,' said Mr. Pickwick.
'Who's to do it, Sir?' inquired Sam, with a smile.
'You,' replied Mr. Pickwick.
'Wery good, Sir.'
With these words Mr. Weller left the room, and immediately
afterwards was heard to shut the street door. In two hours' time
he returned with so much coolness as if he had been despatched
on the most ordinary message possible, and brought the information
that an individual, in every respect answering Mr. Winkle's
description, had gone over to Bristol that morning, by the branch
coach from the Royal Hotel.
'Sam,' said Mr. Pickwick, grasping his hand, 'you're a capital
fellow; an invaluable fellow. You must follow him, Sam.'
'Cert'nly, Sir,' replied Mr. Weller.
'The instant you discover him, write to me immediately, Sam,'
said Mr. Pickwick. 'If he attempts to run away from you, knock
him down, or lock him up. You have my full authority, Sam.'
'I'll be wery careful, sir,' rejoined Sam.
'You'll tell him,' said Mr. Pickwick, 'that I am highly excited,
highly displeased, and naturally indignant, at the very
extraordinary course he has thought proper to pursue.'
'I will, Sir,' replied Sam.
'You'll tell him,' said Mr. Pickwick, 'that if he does not come
back to this very house, with you, he will come back with me, for
I will come and fetch him.'
'I'll mention that 'ere, Sir,' rejoined Sam.
'You think you can find him, Sam?' said Mr. Pickwick, looking
earnestly in his face.
'Oh, I'll find him if he's anyvere,' rejoined Sam, with
great confidence.
'Very well,' said Mr. Pickwick. 'Then the sooner you go the
better.'
With these instructions, Mr. Pickwick placed a sum of money
in the hands of his faithful servitor, and ordered him to start for
Bristol immediately, in pursuit of the fugitive.
Sam put a few necessaries in a carpet-bag, and was ready for
starting. He stopped when he had got to the end of the passage,
and walking quietly back, thrust his head in at the parlour door.
'Sir,' whispered Sam.
'Well, Sam,' said Mr. Pickwick.
'I fully understands my instructions, do I, Sir?' inquired Sam.
'I hope so,' said Mr. Pickwick.
'It's reg'larly understood about the knockin' down, is it, Sir?'
inquired Sam.
'Perfectly,' replied Pickwick. 'Thoroughly. Do what you think
necessary. You have my orders.'
Sam gave a nod of intelligence, and withdrawing his head
from the door, set forth on his pilgrimage with a light heart.
CHAPTER XXXVIII
HOW Mr. WINKLE, WHEN HE STEPPED OUT OF THE
FRYING-PAN, WALKED GENTLY AND COMFORTABLY INTO
THE FIRE
The ill-starred gentleman who had been the unfortunate cause of
the unusual noise and disturbance which alarmed the inhabitants of
the Royal Crescent in manner and form already described, after
passing a night of great confusion and anxiety, left the roof
beneath which his friends still slumbered, bound he knew not whither.
The excellent and considerate feelings which prompted Mr. Winkle to
take this step can never be too highly appreciated or too warmly
extolled. 'If,' reasoned Mr. Winkle with himself--'if this Dowler
attempts (as I have no doubt he will) to carry into execution his
threat of personal violence against myself, it will be incumbent on me
to call him out. He has a wife; that wife is attached to, and
dependent on him. Heavens! If I should kill him in the blindness of my
wrath, what would be my feelings ever afterwards!' This painful
consideration operated so powerfully on the feelings of the humane
young man, as to cause his knees to knock together, and his
countenance to exhibit alarming manifestations of inward
emotion. Impelled by such reflections, he grasped his carpetbag,
and creeping stealthily downstairs, shut the detestable street
door with as little noise as possible, and walked off. Bending his
steps towards the Royal Hotel, he found a coach on the point of
starting for Bristol, and, thinking Bristol as good a place for his
purpose as any other he could go to, he mounted the box, and
reached his place of destination in such time as the pair of horses,
who went the whole stage and back again, twice a day or more,
could be reasonably supposed to arrive there.
He took up his quarters at the Bush, and designing to postpone
any communication by letter with Mr. Pickwick until it was
probable that Mr. Dowler's wrath might have in some degree
evaporated, walked forth to view the city, which struck him as
being a shade more dirty than any place he had ever seen. Having
inspected the docks and shipping, and viewed the cathedral, he
inquired his way to Clifton, and being directed thither, took the
route which was pointed out to him. But as the pavements of
Bristol are not the widest or cleanest upon earth, so its streets are
not altogether the straightest or least intricate; and Mr. Winkle,
being greatly puzzled by their manifold windings and twistings,
looked about him for a decent shop in which he could apply
afresh for counsel and instruction.
His eye fell upon a newly-painted tenement which had been
recently converted into something between a shop and a private
house, and which a red lamp, projecting over the fanlight of the
street door, would have sufficiently announced as the residence
of a medical practitioner, even if the word 'Surgery' had not been
inscribed in golden characters on a wainscot ground, above the
window of what, in times bygone, had been the front parlour.
Thinking this an eligible place wherein to make his inquiries,
Mr. Winkle stepped into the little shop where the gilt-labelled
drawers and bottles were; and finding nobody there, knocked
with a half-crown on the counter, to attract the attention of anybody
who might happen to be in the back parlour, which he
judged to be the innermost and peculiar sanctum of the establishment,
from the repetition of the word surgery on the door--
painted in white letters this time, by way of taking off the monotony.
At the first knock, a sound, as of persons fencing with fireirons,
which had until now been very audible, suddenly ceased;
at the second, a studious-looking young gentleman in green
spectacles, with a very large book in his hand, glided quietly into
the shop, and stepping behind the counter, requested to know the
visitor's pleasure.
'I am sorry to trouble you, Sir,' said Mr. Winkle, 'but will you
have the goodness to direct me to--'
'Ha! ha! ha!' roared the studious young gentleman, throwing
the large book up into the air, and catching it with great dexterity
at the very moment when it threatened to smash to atoms all the
bottles on the counter. 'Here's a start!'
There was, without doubt; for Mr. Winkle was so very much
astonished at the extraordinary behaviour of the medical gentleman,
that he involuntarily retreated towards the door, and looked
very much disturbed at his strange reception.
'What, don't you know me?' said the medical gentleman.
Mr. Winkle murmured, in reply, that he had not that pleasure.
'Why, then,' said the medical gentleman, 'there are hopes for
me yet; I may attend half the old women in Bristol, if I've decent
luck. Get out, you mouldy old villain, get out!' With this adjuration,
which was addressed to the large book, the medical gentleman
kicked the volume with remarkable agility to the farther end
of the shop, and, pulling off his green spectacles, grinned
the identical grin of Robert Sawyer, Esquire, formerly of Guy's
Hospital in the Borough, with a private residence in Lant Street.
'You don't mean to say you weren't down upon me?' said
Mr. Bob Sawyer, shaking Mr. Winkle's hand with friendly warmth.
'Upon my word I was not,' replied Mr. Winkle, returning
his pressure.
'I wonder you didn't see the name,' said Bob Sawyer, calling
his friend's attention to the outer door, on which, in the same
white paint, were traced the words 'Sawyer, late Nockemorf.'
'It never caught my eye,' returned Mr. Winkle.
'Lord, if I had known who you were, I should have rushed out,
and caught you in my arms,' said Bob Sawyer; 'but upon my
life, I thought you were the King's-taxes.'
'No!' said Mr. Winkle.
'I did, indeed,' responded Bob Sawyer, 'and I was just going to
say that I wasn't at home, but if you'd leave a message I'd be sure
to give it to myself; for he don't know me; no more does the
Lighting and Paving. I think the Church-rates guesses who I am,
and I know the Water-works does, because I drew a tooth of his
when I first came down here. But come in, come in!' Chattering
in this way, Mr. Bob Sawyer pushed Mr. Winkle into the back
room, where, amusing himself by boring little circular caverns in
the chimney-piece with a red-hot poker, sat no less a person than
Mr. Benjamin Allen.
'Well!' said Mr. Winkle. 'This is indeed a pleasure I did not
expect. What a very nice place you have here!'
'Pretty well, pretty well,' replied Bob Sawyer. 'I PASSED, soon
after that precious party, and my friends came down with the
needful for this business; so I put on a black suit of clothes, and
a pair of spectacles, and came here to look as solemn as I could.'
'And a very snug little business you have, no doubt?' said
Mr. Winkle knowingly.
'Very,' replied Bob Sawyer. 'So snug, that at the end of a few
years you might put all the profits in a wine-glass, and cover 'em
over with a gooseberry leaf.'
'You cannot surely mean that?' said Mr. Winkle. 'The stock itself--'
'Dummies, my dear boy,' said Bob Sawyer; 'half the drawers
have nothing in 'em, and the other half don't open.'
'Nonsense!' said Mr. Winkle.
'Fact--honour!' returned Bob Sawyer, stepping out into the
shop, and demonstrating the veracity of the assertion by divers
hard pulls at the little gilt knobs on the counterfeit drawers.
'Hardly anything real in the shop but the leeches, and THEY are
second-hand.'
'I shouldn't have thought it!' exclaimed Mr. Winkle, much surprised.
'I hope not,' replied Bob Sawyer, 'else where's the use of
appearances, eh? But what will you take? Do as we do? That's
right. Ben, my fine fellow, put your hand into the cupboard, and
bring out the patent digester.'
Mr. Benjamin Allen smiled his readiness, and produced from
the closet at his elbow a black bottle half full of brandy.
'You don't take water, of course?' said Bob Sawyer.
'Thank you,' replied Mr. Winkle. 'It's rather early. I should
like to qualify it, if you have no objection.'
'None in the least, if you can reconcile it to your conscience,'
replied Bob Sawyer, tossing off, as he spoke, a glass of the liquor
with great relish. 'Ben, the pipkin!'
Mr. Benjamin Allen drew forth, from the same hiding-place, a
small brass pipkin, which Bob Sawyer observed he prided himself
upon, particularly because it looked so business-like. The water
in the professional pipkin having been made to boil, in course of
time, by various little shovelfuls of coal, which Mr. Bob Sawyer
took out of a practicable window-seat, labelled 'Soda Water,'
Mr. Winkle adulterated his brandy; and the conversation was
becoming general, when it was interrupted by the entrance into
the shop of a boy, in a sober gray livery and a gold-laced hat,
with a small covered basket under his arm, whom Mr. Bob
Sawyer immediately hailed with, 'Tom, you vagabond, come here.'
The boy presented himself accordingly.
'You've been stopping to "over" all the posts in Bristol, you
idle young scamp!' said Mr. Bob Sawyer.
'No, sir, I haven't,' replied the boy.
'You had better not!' said Mr. Bob Sawyer, with a threatening
aspect. 'Who do you suppose will ever employ a professional
man, when they see his boy playing at marbles in the gutter, or
flying the garter in the horse-road? Have you no feeling for your
profession, you groveller? Did you leave all the medicine?'
'Yes, Sir.'
'The powders for the child, at the large house with the new
family, and the pills to be taken four times a day at the illtempered
old gentleman's with the gouty leg?'
'Yes, sir.'
'Then shut the door, and mind the shop.'
'Come,' said Mr. Winkle, as the boy retired, 'things are not
quite so bad as you would have me believe, either. There is SOME
medicine to be sent out.'
Mr. Bob Sawyer peeped into the shop to see that no stranger
was within hearing, and leaning forward to Mr. Winkle, said, in a
low tone--
'He leaves it all at the wrong houses.'
Mr. Winkle looked perplexed, and Bob Sawyer and his friend laughed.
'Don't you see?' said Bob. 'He goes up to a house, rings the
area bell, pokes a packet of medicine without a direction into the
servant's hand, and walks off. Servant takes it into the diningparlour;
master opens it, and reads the label: "Draught to be
taken at bedtime--pills as before--lotion as usual--the powder.
From Sawyer's, late Nockemorf's. Physicians' prescriptions
carefully prepared," and all the rest of it. Shows it to his wife--
she reads the label; it goes down to the servants--THEY read the
label. Next day, boy calls: "Very sorry--his mistake--immense
business--great many parcels to deliver--Mr. Sawyer's
compliments--late Nockemorf." The name gets known, and that's
the thing, my boy, in the medical way. Bless your heart, old
fellow, it's better than all the advertising in the world. We have
got one four-ounce bottle that's been to half the houses in Bristol,
and hasn't done yet.'
'Dear me, I see,' observed Mr. Winkle; 'what an excellent plan!'
'Oh, Ben and I have hit upon a dozen such,' replied Bob
Sawyer, with great glee. 'The lamplighter has eighteenpence a
week to pull the night-bell for ten minutes every time he comes
round; and my boy always rushes into the church just before the
psalms, when the people have got nothing to do but look about
'em, and calls me out, with horror and dismay depicted on his
countenance. "Bless my soul," everybody says, "somebody taken
suddenly ill! Sawyer, late Nockemorf, sent for. What a business
that young man has!"'
At the termination of this disclosure of some of the mysteries
of medicine, Mr. Bob Sawyer and his friend, Ben Allen, threw
themselves back in their respective chairs, and laughed boisterously.
When they had enjoyed the joke to their heart's content, the
discourse changed to topics in which Mr. Winkle was more
immediately interested.
We think we have hinted elsewhere, that Mr. Benjamin Allen
had a way of becoming sentimental after brandy. The case is not
a peculiar one, as we ourself can testify, having, on a few
occasions, had to deal with patients who have been afflicted in a
similar manner. At this precise period of his existence, Mr. Benjamin
Allen had perhaps a greater predisposition to maudlinism
than he had ever known before; the cause of which malady was
briefly this. He had been staying nearly three weeks with Mr. Bob
Sawyer; Mr. Bob Sawyer was not remarkable for temperance,
nor was Mr. Benjamin Allen for the ownership of a very strong
head; the consequence was that, during the whole space of time
just mentioned, Mr. Benjamin Allen had been wavering between
intoxication partial, and intoxication complete.
'My dear friend,' said Mr. Ben Allen, taking advantage of
Mr. Bob Sawyer's temporary absence behind the counter,
whither he had retired to dispense some of the second-hand
leeches, previously referred to; 'my dear friend, I am very miserable.'
Mr. Winkle professed his heartfelt regret to hear it, and
begged to know whether he could do anything to alleviate the
sorrows of the suffering student.
'Nothing, my dear boy, nothing,' said Ben. 'You recollect
Arabella, Winkle? My sister Arabella--a little girl, Winkle, with
black eyes--when we were down at Wardle's? I don't know
whether you happened to notice her--a nice little girl, Winkle.
Perhaps my features may recall her countenance to your recollection?'
Mr. Winkle required nothing to recall the charming Arabella
to his mind; and it was rather fortunate he did not, for the
features of her brother Benjamin would unquestionably have
proved but an indifferent refresher to his memory. He answered,
with as much calmness as he could assume, that he perfectly
remembered the young lady referred to, and sincerely trusted she
was in good health.
'Our friend Bob is a delightful fellow, Winkle,' was the only
reply of Mr. Ben Allen.
'Very,' said Mr. Winkle, not much relishing this close
connection of the two names.
'I designed 'em for each other; they were made for each other,
sent into the world for each other, born for each other, Winkle,'
said Mr. Ben Allen, setting down his glass with emphasis.
'There's a special destiny in the matter, my dear sir; there's only
five years' difference between 'em, and both their birthdays are
in August.'
Mr. Winkle was too anxious to hear what was to follow to
express much wonderment at this extraordinary coincidence,
marvellous as it was; so Mr. Ben Allen, after a tear or two, went
on to say that, notwithstanding all his esteem and respect and
veneration for his friend, Arabella had unaccountably and
undutifully evinced the most determined antipathy to his person.
'And I think,' said Mr. Ben Allen, in conclusion. 'I think
there's a prior attachment.'
'Have you any idea who the object of it might be?' asked Mr.
Winkle, with great trepidation.
Mr. Ben Allen seized the poker, flourished it in a warlike
manner above his head, inflicted a savage blow on an imaginary
skull, and wound up by saying, in a very expressive manner, that
he only wished he could guess; that was all.
'I'd show him what I thought of him,' said Mr. Ben Allen.
And round went the poker again, more fiercely than before.
All this was, of course, very soothing to the feelings of Mr.
Winkle, who remained silent for a few minutes; but at length
mustered up resolution to inquire whether Miss Allen was in Kent.
'No, no,' said Mr. Ben Allen, laying aside the poker, and
looking very cunning; 'I didn't think Wardle's exactly the place
for a headstrong girl; so, as I am her natural protector and
guardian, our parents being dead, I have brought her down into
this part of the country to spend a few months at an old aunt's, in
a nice, dull, close place. I think that will cure her, my boy. If it
doesn't, I'll take her abroad for a little while, and see what
that'll do.'
'Oh, the aunt's is in Bristol, is it?' faltered Mr. Winkle.
'No, no, not in Bristol,' replied Mr. Ben Allen, jerking his
thumb over his right shoulder; 'over that way--down there.
But, hush, here's Bob. Not a word, my dear friend, not a word.'
Short as this conversation was, it roused in Mr. Winkle the
highest degree of excitement and anxiety. The suspected prior
attachment rankled in his heart. Could he be the object of it?
Could it be for him that the fair Arabella had looked scornfully
on the sprightly Bob Sawyer, or had he a successful rival? He
determined to see her, cost what it might; but here an insurmountable
objection presented itself, for whether the explanatory
'over that way,' and 'down there,' of Mr. Ben Allen, meant three
miles off, or thirty, or three hundred, he could in no wise guess.
But he had no opportunity of pondering over his love just then,
for Bob Sawyer's return was the immediate precursor of the
arrival of a meat-pie from the baker's, of which that gentleman
insisted on his staying to partake. The cloth was laid by an
occasional charwoman, who officiated in the capacity of Mr. Bob
Sawyer's housekeeper; and a third knife and fork having been
borrowed from the mother of the boy in the gray livery (for
Mr. Sawyer's domestic arrangements were as yet conducted on
a limited scale), they sat down to dinner; the beer being served
up, as Mr. Sawyer remarked, 'in its native pewter.'
After dinner, Mr. Bob Sawyer ordered in the largest mortar in
the shop, and proceeded to brew a reeking jorum of rum-punch
therein, stirring up and amalgamating the materials with a pestle
in a very creditable and apothecary-like manner. Mr. Sawyer,
being a bachelor, had only one tumbler in the house, which was
assigned to Mr. Winkle as a compliment to the visitor, Mr. Ben
Allen being accommodated with a funnel with a cork in the
narrow end, and Bob Sawyer contented himself with one of those
wide-lipped crystal vessels inscribed with a variety of cabalistic
characters, in which chemists are wont to measure out their
liquid drugs in compounding prescriptions. These preliminaries
adjusted, the punch was tasted, and pronounced excellent; and it
having been arranged that Bob Sawyer and Ben Allen should be
considered at liberty to fill twice to Mr. Winkle's once, they
started fair, with great satisfaction and good-fellowship.
There was no singing, because Mr. Bob Sawyer said it wouldn't
look professional; but to make amends for this deprivation there
was so much talking and laughing that it might have been heard,
and very likely was, at the end of the street. Which conversation
materially lightened the hours and improved the mind of Mr.
Bob Sawyer's boy, who, instead of devoting the evening to his
ordinary occupation of writing his name on the counter, and
rubbing it out again, peeped through the glass door, and thus
listened and looked on at the same time.
The mirth of Mr. Bob Sawyer was rapidly ripening into the
furious, Mr. Ben Allen was fast relapsing into the sentimental,
and the punch had well-nigh disappeared altogether, when the
boy hastily running in, announced that a young woman had just
come over, to say that Sawyer late Nockemorf was wanted
directly, a couple of streets off. This broke up the party. Mr. Bob
Sawyer, understanding the message, after some twenty repetitions,
tied a wet cloth round his head to sober himself, and, having
partially succeeded, put on his green spectacles and issued forth.
Resisting all entreaties to stay till he came back, and finding it
quite impossible to engage Mr. Ben Allen in any intelligible
conversation on the subject nearest his heart, or indeed on
any other, Mr. Winkle took his departure, and returned to the
Bush.
The anxiety of his mind, and the numerous meditations which
Arabella had awakened, prevented his share of the mortar of
punch producing that effect upon him which it would have had
under other circumstances. So, after taking a glass of soda-water
and brandy at the bar, he turned into the coffee-room, dispirited
rather than elevated by the occurrences of the evening.
Sitting in front of the fire, with his back towards him, was a
tallish gentleman in a greatcoat: the only other occupant of the
room. It was rather a cool evening for the season of the year, and
the gentleman drew his chair aside to afford the new-comer a
sight of the fire. What were Mr. Winkle's feelings when, in doing
so, he disclosed to view the face and figure of the vindictive and
sanguinary Dowler!
Mr. Winkle's first impulse was to give a violent pull at the
nearest bell-handle, but that unfortunately happened to be
immediately behind Mr. Dowler's head. He had made one step
towards it, before he checked himself. As he did so, Mr. Dowler
very hastily drew back.
'Mr. Winkle, Sir. Be calm. Don't strike me. I won't bear it. A
blow! Never!' said Mr. Dowler, looking meeker than Mr. Winkle
had expected in a gentleman of his ferocity.
'A blow, Sir?' stammered Mr. Winkle.
'A blow, Sir,' replied Dowler. 'Compose your feelings. Sit
down. Hear me.'
'Sir,' said Mr. Winkle, trembling from head to foot, 'before I
consent to sit down beside, or opposite you, without the presence
of a waiter, I must be secured by some further understanding.
You used a threat against me last night, Sir, a dreadful threat,
Sir.' Here Mr. Winkle turned very pale indeed, and stopped short.
'I did,' said Dowler, with a countenance almost as white as
Mr. Winkle's. 'Circumstances were suspicious. They have been
explained. I respect your bravery. Your feeling is upright.
Conscious innocence. There's my hand. Grasp it.'
'Really, Sir,' said Mr. Winkle, hesitating whether to give his
hand or not, and almost fearing that it was demanded in order
that he might be taken at an advantage, 'really, Sir, I--'
'I know what you mean,' interposed Dowler. 'You feel
aggrieved. Very natural. So should I. I was wrong. I beg your
pardon. Be friendly. Forgive me.' With this, Dowler fairly
forced his hand upon Mr. Winkle, and shaking it with the utmost
vehemence, declared he was a fellow of extreme spirit, and he had
a higher opinion of him than ever.
'Now,' said Dowler, 'sit down. Relate it all. How did you find
me? When did you follow? Be frank. Tell me.'
'It's quite accidental,' replied Mr. Winkle, greatly perplexed
by the curious and unexpected nature of the interview. 'Quite.'
'Glad of it,' said Dowler. 'I woke this morning. I had forgotten
my threat. I laughed at the accident. I felt friendly. I said so.'
'To whom?' inquired Mr. Winkle.
'To Mrs. Dowler. "You made a vow," said she. "I did," said I.
"It was a rash one," said she. "It was," said I. "I'll apologise.
Where is he?"'
'Who?' inquired Mr. Winkle.
'You,' replied Dowler. 'I went downstairs. You were not to be
found. Pickwick looked gloomy. Shook his head. Hoped no
violence would be committed. I saw it all. You felt yourself
insulted. You had gone, for a friend perhaps. Possibly for pistols.
"High spirit," said I. "I admire him."'
Mr. Winkle coughed, and beginning to see how the land lay,
assumed a look of importance.
'I left a note for you,' resumed Dowler. 'I said I was sorry. So
I was. Pressing business called me here. You were not satisfied.
You followed. You required a verbal explanation. You were
right. It's all over now. My business is finished. I go back
to-morrow. Join me.'
As Dowler progressed in his explanation, Mr. Winkle's
countenance grew more and more dignified. The mysterious
nature of the commencement of their conversation was
explained; Mr. Dowler had as great an objection to duelling as
himself; in short, this blustering and awful personage was one of
the most egregious cowards in existence, and interpreting Mr.
Winkle's absence through the medium of his own fears, had
taken the same step as himself, and prudently retired until all
excitement of feeling should have subsided.
As the real state of the case dawned upon Mr. Winkle's mind,
he looked very terrible, and said he was perfectly satisfied; but at
the same time, said so with an air that left Mr. Dowler no alternative
but to infer that if he had not been, something most horrible
and destructive must inevitably have occurred. Mr. Dowler
appeared to be impressed with a becoming sense of Mr. Winkle's
magnanimity and condescension; and the two belligerents parted
for the night, with many protestations of eternal friendship.
About half-past twelve o'clock, when Mr. Winkle had been
revelling some twenty minutes in the full luxury of his first sleep,
he was suddenly awakened by a loud knocking at his chamber
door, which, being repeated with increased vehemence, caused
him to start up in bed, and inquire who was there, and what the
matter was.
'Please, Sir, here's a young man which says he must see you
directly,' responded the voice of the chambermaid.
'A young man!' exclaimed Mr. Winkle.
'No mistake about that 'ere, Sir,' replied another voice through
the keyhole; 'and if that wery same interestin' young creetur ain't
let in vithout delay, it's wery possible as his legs vill enter afore
his countenance.' The young man gave a gentle kick at one of the
lower panels of the door, after he had given utterance to this hint,
as if to add force and point to the remark.
'Is that you, Sam?' inquired Mr. Winkle, springing out of bed.
'Quite unpossible to identify any gen'l'm'n vith any degree o'
mental satisfaction, vithout lookin' at him, Sir,' replied the
voice dogmatically.
Mr. Winkle, not much doubting who the young man was,
unlocked the door; which he had no sooner done than Mr.
Samuel Weller entered with great precipitation, and carefully
relocking it on the inside, deliberately put the key in his waistcoat
pocket; and, after surveying Mr. Winkle from head to foot,
said--
'You're a wery humorous young gen'l'm'n, you air, Sir!'
'What do you mean by this conduct, Sam?' inquired Mr.
Winkle indignantly. 'Get out, sir, this instant. What do you
mean, Sir?'
'What do I mean,' retorted Sam; 'come, Sir, this is rayther too
rich, as the young lady said when she remonstrated with the
pastry-cook, arter he'd sold her a pork pie as had got nothin' but
fat inside. What do I mean! Well, that ain't a bad 'un, that ain't.'
'Unlock that door, and leave this room immediately, Sir,' said
Mr. Winkle.
'I shall leave this here room, sir, just precisely at the wery
same moment as you leaves it,' responded Sam, speaking in a
forcible manner, and seating himself with perfect gravity. 'If I
find it necessary to carry you away, pick-a-back, o' course I shall
leave it the least bit o' time possible afore you; but allow me to
express a hope as you won't reduce me to extremities; in saying
wich, I merely quote wot the nobleman said to the fractious
pennywinkle, ven he vouldn't come out of his shell by means of a
pin, and he conseqvently began to be afeered that he should be
obliged to crack him in the parlour door.' At the end of this
address, which was unusually lengthy for him, Mr. Weller
planted his hands on his knees, and looked full in Mr. Winkle's
face, with an expression of countenance which showed that he
had not the remotest intention of being trifled with.
'You're a amiably-disposed young man, Sir, I don't think,'
resumed Mr. Weller, in a tone of moral reproof, 'to go inwolving
our precious governor in all sorts o' fanteegs, wen he's made up
his mind to go through everythink for principle. You're far
worse nor Dodson, Sir; and as for Fogg, I consider him a born
angel to you!' Mr. Weller having accompanied this last sentiment
with an emphatic slap on each knee, folded his arms with a look
of great disgust, and threw himself back in his chair, as if
awaiting the criminal's defence.
'My good fellow,' said Mr. Winkle, extending his hand--his
teeth chattering all the time he spoke, for he had been standing,
during the whole of Mr. Weller's lecture, in his night-gear--'my
good fellow, I respect your attachment to my excellent friend,
and I am very sorry indeed to have added to his causes for
disquiet. There, Sam, there!'
'Well,' said Sam, rather sulkily, but giving the proffered hand
a respectful shake at the same time--'well, so you ought to be,
and I am very glad to find you air; for, if I can help it, I won't
have him put upon by nobody, and that's all about it.'
'Certainly not, Sam,' said Mr. Winkle. 'There! Now go to bed,
Sam, and we'll talk further about this in the morning.'
'I'm wery sorry,' said Sam, 'but I can't go to bed.'
'Not go to bed!' repeated Mr. Winkle.
'No,' said Sam, shaking his head. 'Can't be done.'
'You don't mean to say you're going back to-night, Sam?'
urged Mr. Winkle, greatly surprised.
'Not unless you particklerly wish it,' replied Sam; 'but I
mustn't leave this here room. The governor's orders wos peremptory.'
'Nonsense, Sam,' said Mr. Winkle, 'I must stop here two or
three days; and more than that, Sam, you must stop here too,
to assist me in gaining an interview with a young lady--Miss
Allen, Sam; you remember her--whom I must and will see before
I leave Bristol.'
But in reply to each of these positions, Sam shook his head
with great firmness, and energetically replied, 'It can't be done.'
After a great deal of argument and representation on the part
of Mr. Winkle, however, and a full disclosure of what had passed
in the interview with Dowler, Sam began to waver; and at length
a compromise was effected, of which the following were the main
and principal conditions:--
That Sam should retire, and leave Mr. Winkle in the undisturbed
possession of his apartment, on the condition that he had
permission to lock the door on the outside, and carry off the key;
provided always, that in the event of an alarm of fire, or other
dangerous contingency, the door should be instantly unlocked.
That a letter should be written to Mr. Pickwick early next
morning, and forwarded per Dowler, requesting his consent to
Sam and Mr. Winkle's remaining at Bristol, for the purpose and
with the object already assigned, and begging an answer by the
next coach--, if favourable, the aforesaid parties to remain
accordingly, and if not, to return to Bath immediately on the
receipt thereof. And, lastly, that Mr. Winkle should be understood
as distinctly pledging himself not to resort to the window,
fireplace, or other surreptitious mode of escape in the meanwhile.
These stipulations having been concluded, Sam locked the door
and departed.
He had nearly got downstairs, when he stopped, and drew the
key from his pocket.
'I quite forgot about the knockin' down,' said Sam, half
turning back. 'The governor distinctly said it was to be done.
Amazin' stupid o' me, that 'ere! Never mind,' said Sam, brightening
up, 'it's easily done to-morrow, anyvays.'
Apparently much consoled by this reflection, Mr. Weller once
more deposited the key in his pocket, and descending the remainder
of the stairs without any fresh visitations of conscience,
was soon, in common with the other inmates of the house, buried
in profound repose.
CHAPTER XXXIX
Mr. SAMUEL WELLER, BEING INTRUSTED WITH A MISSION
OF LOVE, PROCEEDS TO EXECUTE IT; WITH WHAT SUCCESS
WILL HEREINAFTER APPEAR
During the whole of next day, Sam kept Mr. Winkle steadily in
sight, fully determined not to take his eyes off him for one
instant, until he should receive express instructions from the
fountain-head. However disagreeable Sam's very close watch and
great vigilance were to Mr. Winkle, he thought it better to bear
with them, than, by any act of violent opposition, to hazard
being carried away by force, which Mr. Weller more than once
strongly hinted was the line of conduct that a strict sense of duty
prompted him to pursue. There is little reason to doubt that Sam
would very speedily have quieted his scruples, by bearing
Mr. Winkle back to Bath, bound hand and foot, had not Mr.
Pickwick's prompt attention to the note, which Dowler had
undertaken to deliver, forestalled any such proceeding. In
short, at eight o'clock in the evening, Mr. Pickwick himself
walked into the coffee-room of the Bush Tavern, and told Sam
with a smile, to his very great relief, that he had done quite
right, and it was unnecessary for him to mount guard any longer.
'I thought it better to come myself,' said Mr. Pickwick,
addressing Mr. Winkle, as Sam disencumbered him of his greatcoat
and travelling-shawl, 'to ascertain, before I gave my consent
to Sam's employment in this matter, that you are quite in earnest
and serious, with respect to this young lady.'
'Serious, from my heart--from my soul!'returned Mr. Winkle,
with great energy.
'Remember,' said Mr. Pickwick, with beaming eyes, 'we met
her at our excellent and hospitable friend's, Winkle. It would be
an ill return to tamper lightly, and without due consideration,
with this young lady's affections. I'll not allow that, sir. I'll not
allow it.'
'I have no such intention, indeed,' exclaimed Mr. Winkle
warmly. 'I have considered the matter well, for a long time, and
I feel that my happiness is bound up in her.'
'That's wot we call tying it up in a small parcel, sir,' interposed
Mr. Weller, with an agreeable smile.
Mr. Winkle looked somewhat stern at this interruption, and
Mr. Pickwick angrily requested his attendant not to jest with one
of the best feelings of our nature; to which Sam replied, 'That he
wouldn't, if he was aware on it; but there were so many on 'em, that
he hardly know'd which was the best ones wen he heerd 'em mentioned.'
Mr. Winkle then recounted what had passed between himself
and Mr. Ben Allen, relative to Arabella; stated that his object was
to gain an interview with the young lady, and make a formal
disclosure of his passion; and declared his conviction, founded
on certain dark hints and mutterings of the aforesaid Ben, that,
wherever she was at present immured, it was somewhere near the
Downs. And this was his whole stock of knowledge or suspicion
on the subject.
With this very slight clue to guide him, it was determined that
Mr. Weller should start next morning on an expedition of
discovery; it was also arranged that Mr. Pickwick and Mr.
Winkle, who were less confident of their powers, should parade
the town meanwhile, and accidentally drop in upon Mr. Bob
Sawyer in the course of the day, in the hope of seeing or hearing
something of the young lady's whereabouts.
Accordingly, next morning, Sam Weller issued forth upon his
quest, in no way daunted by the very discouraging prospect
before him; and away he walked, up one street and down another
--we were going to say, up one hill and down another, only it's
all uphill at Clifton--without meeting with anything or anybody
that tended to throw the faintest light on the matter in hand.
Many were the colloquies into which Sam entered with grooms
who were airing horses on roads, and nursemaids who were
airing children in lanes; but nothing could Sam elicit from either
the first-mentioned or the last, which bore the slightest reference
to the object of his artfully-prosecuted inquiries. There were a
great many young ladies in a great many houses, the greater part
whereof were shrewdly suspected by the male and female
domestics to be deeply attached to somebody, or perfectly ready
to become so, if opportunity afforded. But as none among these
young ladies was Miss Arabella Allen, the information left
Sam at exactly the old point of wisdom at which he had stood before.
Sam struggled across the Downs against a good high wind,
wondering whether it was always necessary to hold your hat on
with both hands in that part of the country, and came to a shady
by-place, about which were sprinkled several little villas of quiet
and secluded appearance. Outside a stable door at the bottom of
a long back lane without a thoroughfare, a groom in undress was
idling about, apparently persuading himself that he was doing
something with a spade and a wheel-barrow. We may remark, in
this place, that we have scarcely ever seen a groom near a stable,
in his lazy moments, who has not been, to a greater or less extent,
the victim of this singular delusion.
Sam thought he might as well talk to this groom as to any one
else, especially as he was very tired with walking, and there was a
good large stone just opposite the wheel-barrow; so he strolled
down the lane, and, seating himself on the stone, opened a
conversation with the ease and freedom for which he was remarkable.
'Mornin', old friend,' said Sam.
'Arternoon, you mean,' replied the groom, casting a surly look
at Sam.
'You're wery right, old friend,' said Sam; 'I DO mean arternoon.
How are you?'
'Why, I don't find myself much the better for seeing of you,'
replied the ill-tempered groom.
'That's wery odd--that is,' said Sam, 'for you look so uncommon
cheerful, and seem altogether so lively, that it does vun's
heart good to see you.'
The surly groom looked surlier still at this, but not sufficiently
so to produce any effect upon Sam, who immediately inquired,
with a countenance of great anxiety, whether his master's name
was not Walker.
'No, it ain't,' said the groom.
'Nor Brown, I s'pose?' said Sam.
'No, it ain't.'
'Nor Vilson?'
'No; nor that @ither,' said the groom.
'Vell,' replied Sam, 'then I'm mistaken, and he hasn't got the
honour o' my acquaintance, which I thought he had. Don't wait
here out o' compliment to me,' said Sam, as the groom wheeled
in the barrow, and prepared to shut the gate. 'Ease afore
ceremony, old boy; I'll excuse you.'
'I'd knock your head off for half-a-crown,' said the surly
groom, bolting one half of the gate.
'Couldn't afford to have it done on those terms,' rejoined Sam.
'It 'ud be worth a life's board wages at least, to you, and 'ud be
cheap at that. Make my compliments indoors. Tell 'em not to
vait dinner for me, and say they needn't mind puttin' any by, for
it'll be cold afore I come in.'
In reply to this, the groom waxing very wroth, muttered a
desire to damage somebody's person; but disappeared without
carrying it into execution, slamming the door angrily after him,
and wholly unheeding Sam's affectionate request, that he would
leave him a lock of his hair before he went.
Sam continued to sit on the large stone, meditating upon what
was best to be done, and revolving in his mind a plan for knocking
at all the doors within five miles of Bristol, taking them at a
hundred and fifty or two hundred a day, and endeavouring to
find Miss Arabella by that expedient, when accident all of a
sudden threw in his way what he might have sat there for a
twelvemonth and yet not found without it.
Into the lane where he sat, there opened three or four garden
gates, belonging to as many houses, which though detached from
each other, were only separated by their gardens. As these were
large and long, and well planted with trees, the houses were not
only at some distance off, but the greater part of them were
nearly concealed from view. Sam was sitting with his eyes fixed
upon the dust-heap outside the next gate to that by which the
groom had disappeared, profoundly turning over in his mind the
difficulties of his present undertaking, when the gate opened, and
a female servant came out into the lane to shake some bedside carpets.
Sam was so very busy with his own thoughts, that it is probable
he would have taken no more notice of the young woman than
just raising his head and remarking that she had a very neat and
pretty figure, if his feelings of gallantry had not been most
strongly roused by observing that she had no one to help her, and
that the carpets seemed too heavy for her single strength. Mr.
Weller was a gentleman of great gallantry in his own way, and he
no sooner remarked this circumstance than he hastily rose from
the large stone, and advanced towards her.
'My dear,' said Sam, sliding up with an air of great respect,
'you'll spile that wery pretty figure out o' all perportion if you
shake them carpets by yourself. Let me help you.'
The young lady, who had been coyly affecting not to know
that a gentleman was so near, turned round as Sam spoke--no
doubt (indeed she said so, afterwards) to decline this offer from a
perfect stranger--when instead of speaking, she started back, and
uttered a half-suppressed scream. Sam was scarcely less staggered,
for in the countenance of the well-shaped female servant, he
beheld the very features of his valentine, the pretty housemaid
from Mr. Nupkins's.
'Wy, Mary, my dear!' said Sam.
'Lauk, Mr. Weller,' said Mary, 'how you do frighten one!'
Sam made no verbal answer to this complaint, nor can we
precisely say what reply he did make. We merely know that after
a short pause Mary said, 'Lor, do adun, Mr. Weller!' and that his
hat had fallen off a few moments before--from both of which
tokens we should be disposed to infer that one kiss, or more, had
passed between the parties.
'Why, how did you come here?' said Mary, when the conversation
to which this interruption had been offered, was
resumed.
'O' course I came to look arter you, my darlin',' replied Mr.
Weller; for once permitting his passion to get the better of
his veracity.
'And how did you know I was here?' inquired Mary. 'Who
could have told you that I took another service at Ipswich, and
that they afterwards moved all the way here? Who COULD have
told you that, Mr. Weller?'
'Ah, to be sure,' said Sam, with a cunning look, 'that's the
pint. Who could ha' told me?'
'It wasn't Mr. Muzzle, was it?' inquired Mary.
'Oh, no.' replied Sam, with a solemn shake of the head, 'it
warn't him.'
'It must have been the cook,' said Mary.
'O' course it must,' said Sam.
'Well, I never heard the like of that!' exclaimed Mary.
'No more did I,' said Sam. 'But Mary, my dear'--here Sam's
manner grew extremely affectionate--'Mary, my dear, I've got
another affair in hand as is wery pressin'. There's one o' my
governor's friends--Mr. Winkle, you remember him?'
'Him in the green coat?' said Mary. 'Oh, yes, I remember him.'
'Well,' said Sam, 'he's in a horrid state o' love; reg'larly
comfoozled, and done over vith it.'
'Lor!' interposed Mary.
'Yes,' said Sam; 'but that's nothin' if we could find out the
young 'ooman;' and here Sam, with many digressions upon the
personal beauty of Mary, and the unspeakable tortures he had
experienced since he last saw her, gave a faithful account of
Mr. Winkle's present predicament.
'Well,' said Mary, 'I never did!'
'O' course not,' said Sam, 'and nobody never did, nor never
vill neither; and here am I a-walkin' about like the wandering
Jew--a sportin' character you have perhaps heerd on Mary, my
dear, as vos alvays doin' a match agin' time, and never vent to
sleep--looking arter this here Miss Arabella Allen.'
'Miss who?' said Mary, in great astonishment.
'Miss Arabella Allen,' said Sam.
'Goodness gracious!' said Mary, pointing to the garden door
which the sulky groom had locked after him. 'Why, it's that very
house; she's been living there these six weeks. Their upper housemaid,
which is lady's-maid too, told me all about it over the
wash-house palin's before the family was out of bed, one mornin'.'
'Wot, the wery next door to you?' said Sam.
'The very next,' replied Mary.
Mr. Weller was so deeply overcome on receiving this intelligence
that he found it absolutely necessary to cling to his fair
informant for support; and divers little love passages had passed
between them, before he was sufficiently collected to return to
the subject.
'Vell,' said Sam at length, 'if this don't beat cock-fightin'
nothin' never vill, as the lord mayor said, ven the chief secretary
o' state proposed his missis's health arter dinner. That wery next
house! Wy, I've got a message to her as I've been a-trying all day
to deliver.'
'Ah,' said Mary, 'but you can't deliver it now, because she only
walks in the garden in the evening, and then only for a very little
time; she never goes out, without the old lady.'
Sam ruminated for a few moments, and finally hit upon the
following plan of operations; that he should return just at dusk
--the time at which Arabella invariably took her walk--and,
being admitted by Mary into the garden of the house to which she
belonged, would contrive to scramble up the wall, beneath the
overhanging boughs of a large pear-tree, which would effectually
screen him from observation; would there deliver his message,
and arrange, if possible, an interview on behalf of Mr. Winkle for
the ensuing evening at the same hour. Having made this arrangement
with great despatch, he assisted Mary in the long-deferred
occupation of shaking the carpets.
It is not half as innocent a thing as it looks, that shaking little
pieces of carpet--at least, there may be no great harm in the
shaking, but the folding is a very insidious process. So long as the
shaking lasts, and the two parties are kept the carpet's length
apart, it is as innocent an amusement as can well be devised;
but when the folding begins, and the distance between them gets
gradually lessened from one half its former length to a quarter,
and then to an eighth, and then to a sixteenth, and then to a
thirty-second, if the carpet be long enough, it becomes dangerous.
We do not know, to a nicety, how many pieces of carpet were
folded in this instance, but we can venture to state that as many
pieces as there were, so many times did Sam kiss the pretty housemaid.
Mr. Weller regaled himself with moderation at the nearest
tavern until it was nearly dusk, and then returned to the lane
without the thoroughfare. Having been admitted into the
garden by Mary, and having received from that lady sundry
admonitions concerning the safety of his limbs and neck, Sam
mounted into the pear-tree, to wait until Arabella should come
into sight.
He waited so long without this anxiously-expected event
occurring, that he began to think it was not going to take place
at all, when he heard light footsteps upon the gravel, and
immediately afterwards beheld Arabella walking pensively down
the garden. As soon as she came nearly below the tree, Sam
began, by way of gently indicating his presence, to make sundry
diabolical noises similar to those which would probably be
natural to a person of middle age who had been afflicted with a
combination of inflammatory sore throat, croup, and whoopingcough,
from his earliest infancy.
Upon this, the young lady cast a hurried glance towards the
spot whence the dreadful sounds proceeded; and her previous
alarm being not at all diminished when she saw a man among the
branches, she would most certainly have decamped, and alarmed
the house, had not fear fortunately deprived her of the power of
moving, and caused her to sink down on a garden seat, which
happened by good luck to be near at hand.
'She's a-goin' off,' soliloquised Sam in great perplexity. 'Wot
a thing it is, as these here young creeturs will go a-faintin' avay
just ven they oughtn't to. Here, young 'ooman, Miss Sawbones,
Mrs. Vinkle, don't!'
Whether it was the magic of Mr. Winkle's name, or the coolness
of the open air, or some recollection of Mr. Weller's voice,
that revived Arabella, matters not. She raised her head and
languidly inquired, 'Who's that, and what do you want?'
'Hush,' said Sam, swinging himself on to the wall, and crouching
there in as small a compass as he could reduce himself to,
'only me, miss, only me.'
'Mr. Pickwick's servant!' said Arabella earnestly.
'The wery same, miss,' replied Sam. 'Here's Mr. Vinkle
reg'larly sewed up vith desperation, miss.'
'Ah!' said Arabella, drawing nearer the wall.
'Ah, indeed,' said Sam. 'Ve thought ve should ha' been
obliged to strait-veskit him last night; he's been a-ravin' all day;
and he says if he can't see you afore to-morrow night's over, he
vishes he may be somethin' unpleasanted if he don't drownd hisself.'
'Oh, no, no, Mr. Weller!' said Arabella, clasping her hands.
'That's wot he says, miss,' replied Sam coolly. 'He's a man of
his word, and it's my opinion he'll do it, miss. He's heerd all
about you from the sawbones in barnacles.'
'From my brother!' said Arabella, having some faint recognition
of Sam's description.
'I don't rightly know which is your brother, miss,' replied Sam.
'Is it the dirtiest vun o' the two?'
'Yes, yes, Mr. Weller,' returned Arabella, 'go on. Make haste, pray.'
'Well, miss,' said Sam, 'he's heerd all about it from him; and
it's the gov'nor's opinion that if you don't see him wery quick,
the sawbones as we've been a-speakin' on, 'ull get as much extra
lead in his head as'll rayther damage the dewelopment o' the
orgins if they ever put it in spirits artervards.'
'Oh, what can I do to prevent these dreadful quarrels!'
exclaimed Arabella.
'It's the suspicion of a priory 'tachment as is the cause of it all,'
replied Sam. 'You'd better see him, miss.'
'But how?--where?'cried Arabella. 'I dare not leave the house
alone. My brother is so unkind, so unreasonable! I know how
strange my talking thus to you may appear, Mr. Weller, but I am
very, very unhappy--' and here poor Arabella wept so bitterly
that Sam grew chivalrous.
'It may seem wery strange talkin' to me about these here
affairs, miss,' said Sam, with great vehemence; 'but all I can say
is, that I'm not only ready but villin' to do anythin' as'll make
matters agreeable; and if chuckin' either o' them sawboneses out
o' winder 'ull do it, I'm the man.' As Sam Weller said this, he
tucked up his wristbands, at the imminent hazard of falling off the
wall in so doing, to intimate his readiness to set to work immediately.
Flattering as these professions of good feeling were, Arabella
resolutely declined (most unaccountably, as Sam thought) to
avail herself of them. For some time she strenuously refused to
grant Mr. Winkle the interview Sam had so pathetically requested;
but at length, when the conversation threatened to be
interrupted by the unwelcome arrival of a third party, she
hurriedly gave him to understand, with many professions of
gratitude, that it was barely possible she might be in the garden
an hour later, next evening. Sam understood this perfectly well;
and Arabella, bestowing upon him one of her sweetest smiles,
tripped gracefully away, leaving Mr. Weller in a state of very
great admiration of her charms, both personal and mental.
Having descended in safety from the wall, and not forgotten
to devote a few moments to his own particular business in the
same department, Mr. Weller then made the best of his way back
to the Bush, where his prolonged absence had occasioned much
speculation and some alarm.
'We must be careful,' said Mr. Pickwick, after listening
attentively to Sam's tale, 'not for our sakes, but for that of the
young lady. We must be very cautious.'
'WE!' said Mr. Winkle, with marked emphasis.
Mr. Pickwick's momentary look of indignation at the tone of
this remark, subsided into his characteristic expression of
benevolence, as he replied--
'WE, Sir! I shall accompany you.'
'You!' said Mr. Winkle.
'I,' replied Mr. Pickwick mildly. 'In affording you this interview,
the young lady has taken a natural, perhaps, but still a
very imprudent step. If I am present at the meeting--a mutual
friend, who is old enough to be the father of both parties--the
voice of calumny can never be raised against her hereafter.'
Mr. Pickwick's eyes lightened with honest exultation at his
own foresight, as he spoke thus. Mr. Winkle was touched by this
little trait of his delicate respect for the young PROTEGEE of his
friend, and took his hand with a feeling of regard, akin to veneration.
'You SHALL go,' said Mr. Winkle.
'I will,' said Mr. Pickwick. 'Sam, have my greatcoat and shawl
ready, and order a conveyance to be at the door to-morrow
evening, rather earlier than is absolutely necessary, in order that
we may be in good time.'
Mr. Weller touched his hat, as an earnest of his obedience,
and withdrew to make all needful preparations for the expedition.
The coach was punctual to the time appointed; and Mr. Weller,
after duly installing Mr. Pickwick and Mr. Winkle inside, took
his seat on the box by the driver. They alighted, as had been
agreed on, about a quarter of a mile from the place of rendezvous,
and desiring the coachman to await their return, proceeded the
remaining distance on foot.
It was at this stage of the undertaking that Mr. Pickwick, with
many smiles and various other indications of great self-satisfaction,
produced from one of his coat pockets a dark lantern, with
which he had specially provided himself for the occasion, and the
great mechanical beauty of which he proceeded to explain to
Mr. Winkle, as they walked along, to the no small surprise of the
few stragglers they met.
'I should have been the better for something of this kind, in
my last garden expedition, at night; eh, Sam?' said Mr. Pickwick,
looking good-humouredly round at his follower, who was
trudging behind.
'Wery nice things, if they're managed properly, Sir,' replied
Mr. Weller; 'but wen you don't want to be seen, I think they're
more useful arter the candle's gone out, than wen it's alight.'
Mr. Pickwick appeared struck by Sam's remarks, for he put
the lantern into his pocket again, and they walked on in silence.
'Down here, Sir,' said Sam. 'Let me lead the way. This is the
lane, Sir.'
Down the lane they went, and dark enough it was. Mr. Pickwick
brought out the lantern, once or twice, as they groped their
way along, and threw a very brilliant little tunnel of light before
them, about a foot in diameter. It was very pretty to look at, but
seemed to have the effect of rendering surrounding objects
rather darker than before.
At length they arrived at the large stone. Here Sam recommended
his master and Mr. Winkle to seat themselves, while
he reconnoitred, and ascertained whether Mary was yet in waiting.
After an absence of five or ten minutes, Sam returned to say
that the gate was opened, and all quiet. Following him with
stealthy tread, Mr. Pickwick and Mr. Winkle soon found themselves
in the garden. Here everybody said, 'Hush!' a good many
times; and that being done, no one seemed to have any very
distinct apprehension of what was to be done next.
'Is Miss Allen in the garden yet, Mary?' inquired Mr. Winkle,
much agitated.
'I don't know, sir,' replied the pretty housemaid. 'The best
thing to be done, sir, will be for Mr. Weller to give you a hoist up
into the tree, and perhaps Mr. Pickwick will have the goodness
to see that nobody comes up the lane, while I watch at the other
end of the garden. Goodness gracious, what's that?'
'That 'ere blessed lantern 'ull be the death on us all,' exclaimed
Sam peevishly. 'Take care wot you're a-doin' on, sir; you're
a-sendin' a blaze o' light, right into the back parlour winder.'
'Dear me!' said Mr. Pickwick, turning hastily aside, 'I didn't
mean to do that.'
'Now, it's in the next house, sir,' remonstrated Sam.
'Bless my heart!' exclaimed Mr. Pickwick, turning round again.
'Now, it's in the stable, and they'll think the place is afire,' said
Sam. 'Shut it up, sir, can't you?'
'It's the most extraordinary lantern I ever met with, in all my
life!' exclaimed Mr. Pickwick, greatly bewildered by the effects
he had so unintentionally produced. 'I never saw such a powerful
reflector.'
'It'll be vun too powerful for us, if you keep blazin' avay in
that manner, sir,' replied Sam, as Mr. Pickwick, after various
unsuccessful efforts, managed to close the slide. 'There's the
young lady's footsteps. Now, Mr. Winkle, sir, up vith you.'
'Stop, stop!' said Mr. Pickwick, 'I must speak to her first.
Help me up, Sam.'
'Gently, Sir,' said Sam, planting his head against the wall, and
making a platform of his back. 'Step atop o' that 'ere flower-pot,
Sir. Now then, up vith you.'
'I'm afraid I shall hurt you, Sam,' said Mr. Pickwick.
'Never mind me, Sir,' replied Sam. 'Lend him a hand, Mr.
Winkle. sir. Steady, sir, steady! That's the time o' day!'
As Sam spoke, Mr. Pickwick, by exertions almost supernatural
in a gentleman of his years and weight, contrived to get upon
Sam's back; and Sam gently raising himself up, and Mr. Pickwick
holding on fast by the top of the wall, while Mr. Winkle
clasped him tight by the legs, they contrived by these means to
bring his spectacles just above the level of the coping.
'My dear,' said Mr. Pickwick, looking over the wall, and
catching sight of Arabella, on the other side, 'don't be frightened,
my dear, it's only me.'
'Oh, pray go away, Mr. Pickwick,' said Arabella. 'Tell them all
to go away. I am so dreadfully frightened. Dear, dear Mr.
Pickwick, don't stop there. You'll fall down and kill yourself, I
know you will.'
'Now, pray don't alarm yourself, my dear,' said Mr. Pickwick
soothingly. 'There is not the least cause for fear, I assure you.
Stand firm, Sam,' said Mr. Pickwick, looking down.
'All right, sir,' replied Mr. Weller. 'Don't be longer than you
can conweniently help, sir. You're rayther heavy.'
'Only another moment, Sam,' replied Mr. Pickwick.
'I merely wished you to know, my dear, that I should not have
allowed my young friend to see you in this clandestine way, if the
situation in which you are placed had left him any alternative;
and, lest the impropriety of this step should cause you any
uneasiness, my love, it may be a satisfaction to you, to know that
I am present. That's all, my dear.'
'Indeed, Mr. Pickwick, I am very much obliged to you for your
kindness and consideration,' replied Arabella, drying her tears
with her handkerchief. She would probably have said much more,
had not Mr. Pickwick's head disappeared with great swiftness, in
consequence of a false step on Sam's shoulder which brought
him suddenly to the ground. He was up again in an instant
however; and bidding Mr. Winkle make haste and get the interview
over, ran out into the lane to keep watch, with all the
courage and ardour of youth. Mr. Winkle himself, inspired by
the occasion, was on the wall in a moment, merely pausing to
request Sam to be careful of his master.
'I'll take care on him, sir,' replied Sam. 'Leave him to me.'
'Where is he? What's he doing, Sam?' inquired Mr. Winkle.
'Bless his old gaiters,' rejoined Sam, looking out at the garden
door. 'He's a-keepin' guard in the lane vith that 'ere dark lantern,
like a amiable Guy Fawkes! I never see such a fine creetur in my
days. Blessed if I don't think his heart must ha' been born fiveand-
twenty year arter his body, at least!'
Mr. Winkle stayed not to hear the encomium upon his friend.
He had dropped from the wall; thrown himself at Arabella's
feet; and by this time was pleading the sincerity of his passion
with an eloquence worthy even of Mr. Pickwick himself.
While these things were going on in the open air, an elderly
gentleman of scientific attainments was seated in his library, two
or three houses off, writing a philosophical treatise, and ever and
anon moistening his clay and his labours with a glass of claret
from a venerable-looking bottle which stood by his side. In the
agonies of composition, the elderly gentleman looked sometimes
at the carpet, sometimes at the ceiling, and sometimes at the wall;
and when neither carpet, ceiling, nor wall afforded the requisite
degree of inspiration, he looked out of the window.
In one of these pauses of invention, the scientific gentleman
was gazing abstractedly on the thick darkness outside, when he
was very much surprised by observing a most brilliant light glide
through the air, at a short distance above the ground, and almost
instantaneously vanish. After a short time the phenomenon was
repeated, not once or twice, but several times; at last the scientific
gentleman, laying down his pen, began to consider to what
natural causes these appearances were to be assigned.
They were not meteors; they were too low. They were not
glow-worms; they were too high. They were not will-o'-thewisps;
they were not fireflies; they were not fireworks. What could
they be? Some extraordinary and wonderful phenomenon of
nature, which no philosopher had ever seen before; something
which it had been reserved for him alone to discover, and which
he should immortalise his name by chronicling for the benefit of
posterity. Full of this idea, the scientific gentleman seized his
pen again, and committed to paper sundry notes of these
unparalleled appearances, with the date, day, hour, minute, and
precise second at which they were visible: all of which were to
form the data of a voluminous treatise of great research and deep
learning, which should astonish all the atmospherical wiseacres
that ever drew breath in any part of the civilised globe.
He threw himself back in his easy-chair, wrapped in
contemplations of his future greatness. The mysterious light appeared
more brilliantly than before, dancing, to all appearance, up and
down the lane, crossing from side to side, and moving in an
orbit as eccentric as comets themselves.
The scientific gentleman was a bachelor. He had no wife to call
in and astonish, so he rang the bell for his servant.
'Pruffle,' said the scientific gentleman, 'there is something very
extraordinary in the air to-night? Did you see that?' said the
scientific gentleman, pointing out of the window, as the light
again became visible.
'Yes, I did, Sir.'
'What do you think of it, Pruffle?'
'Think of it, Sir?'
'Yes. You have been bred up in this country. What should you
say was the cause for those lights, now?'
The scientific gentleman smilingly anticipated Pruffle's reply
that he could assign no cause for them at all. Pruffle meditated.
'I should say it was thieves, Sir,' said Pruffle at length.
'You're a fool, and may go downstairs,' said the scientific gentleman.
'Thank you, Sir,' said Pruffle. And down he went.
But the scientific gentleman could not rest under the idea of the
ingenious treatise he had projected being lost to the world, which
must inevitably be the case if the speculation of the ingenious
Mr. Pruffle were not stifled in its birth. He put on his hat and
walked quickly down the garden, determined to investigate the
matter to the very bottom.
Now, shortly before the scientific gentleman walked out into
the garden, Mr. Pickwick had run down the lane as fast as he
could, to convey a false alarm that somebody was coming that
way; occasionally drawing back the slide of the dark lantern to
keep himself from the ditch. The alarm was no sooner given,
than Mr. Winkle scrambled back over the wall, and Arabella ran
into the house; the garden gate was shut, and the three adventurers
were making the best of their way down the lane, when
they were startled by the scientific gentleman unlocking his
garden gate.
'Hold hard,' whispered Sam, who was, of course, the first of
the party. 'Show a light for just vun second, Sir.'
Mr. Pickwick did as he was desired, and Sam, seeing a man's
head peeping out very cautiously within half a yard of his own,
gave it a gentle tap with his clenched fist, which knocked it, with
a hollow sound, against the gate. Having performed this feat with
great suddenness and dexterity, Mr. Weller caught Mr. Pickwick
up on his back, and followed Mr. Winkle down the lane at a pace
which, considering the burden he carried, was perfectly astonishing.
'Have you got your vind back agin, Sir,' inquired Sam, when
they had reached the end.
'Quite. Quite, now,' replied Mr. Pickwick.
'Then come along, Sir,' said Sam, setting his master on his feet
again. 'Come betveen us, sir. Not half a mile to run. Think you're
vinnin' a cup, sir. Now for it.'
Thus encouraged, Mr. Pickwick made the very best use of his
legs. It may be confidently stated that a pair of black gaiters
never got over the ground in better style than did those of Mr.
Pickwick on this memorable occasion.
The coach was waiting, the horses were fresh, the roads were
good, and the driver was willing. The whole party arrived in
safety at the Bush before Mr. Pickwick had recovered his breath.
'in with you at once, sir,' said Sam, as he helped his master out.
'Don't stop a second in the street, arter that 'ere exercise. Beg
your pardon, sir,'continued Sam, touching his hat as Mr. Winkle
descended, 'hope there warn't a priory 'tachment, sir?'
Mr. Winkle grasped his humble friend by the hand, and
whispered in his ear, 'It's all right, Sam; quite right.' Upon which
Mr. Weller struck three distinct blows upon his nose in token of
intelligence, smiled, winked, and proceeded to put the steps up,
with a countenance expressive of lively satisfaction.
As to the scientific gentleman, he demonstrated, in a masterly
treatise, that these wonderful lights were the effect of electricity;
and clearly proved the same by detailing how a flash of fire
danced before his eyes when he put his head out of the gate, and
how he received a shock which stunned him for a quarter of an
hour afterwards; which demonstration delighted all the scientific
associations beyond measure, and caused him to be considered a
light of science ever afterwards.
CHAPTER XL
INTRODUCES Mr. PICKWICK TO A NEW AND NOT UNINTERESTING
SCENE IN THE GREAT DRAMA OF LIFE
The remainder of the period which Mr. Pickwick had assigned
as the duration of the stay at Bath passed over without the
occurrence of anything material. Trinity term commenced. On the
expiration of its first week, Mr. Pickwick and his friends returned
to London; and the former gentleman, attended of course by Sam,
straightway repaired to his old quarters at the George and Vulture.
On the third morning after their arrival, just as all the clocks in
the city were striking nine individually, and somewhere about
nine hundred and ninety-nine collectively, Sam was taking the air
in George Yard, when a queer sort of fresh-painted vehicle drove
up, out of which there jumped with great agility, throwing the
reins to a stout man who sat beside him, a queer sort of gentleman,
who seemed made for the vehicle, and the vehicle for him.
The vehicle was not exactly a gig, neither was it a stanhope. It
was not what is currently denominated a dog-cart, neither was it
a taxed cart, nor a chaise-cart, nor a guillotined cabriolet; and
yet it had something of the character of each and every of these
machines. It was painted a bright yellow, with the shafts and
wheels picked out in black; and the driver sat in the orthodox
sporting style, on cushions piled about two feet above the rail.
The horse was a bay, a well-looking animal enough; but with
something of a flash and dog-fighting air about him, nevertheless,
which accorded both with the vehicle and his master.
The master himself was a man of about forty, with black hair,
and carefully combed whiskers. He was dressed in a particularly
gorgeous manner, with plenty of articles of jewellery about him--
all about three sizes larger than those which are usually worn by
gentlemen--and a rough greatcoat to crown the whole. Into one
pocket of this greatcoat, he thrust his left hand the moment he
dismounted, while from the other he drew forth, with his right, a
very bright and glaring silk handkerchief, with which he whisked
a speck or two of dust from his boots, and then, crumpling it in
his hand, swaggered up the court.
It had not escaped Sam's attention that, when this person
dismounted, a shabby-looking man in a brown greatcoat shorn
of divers buttons, who had been previously slinking about, on the
opposite side of the way, crossed over, and remained stationary
close by. Having something more than a suspicion of the object
of the gentleman's visit, Sam preceded him to the George and
Vulture, and, turning sharp round, planted himself in the Centre
of the doorway.
'Now, my fine fellow!' said the man in the rough coat, in an
imperious tone, attempting at the same time to push his way past.
'Now, Sir, wot's the matter?' replied Sam, returning the push
with compound interest.
'Come, none of this, my man; this won't do with me,' said the
owner of the rough coat, raising his voice, and turning white.
'Here, Smouch!'
'Well, wot's amiss here?' growled the man in the brown coat, who
had been gradually sneaking up the court during this short dialogue.
'Only some insolence of this young man's,' said the principal,
giving Sam another push.
'Come, none o' this gammon,' growled Smouch, giving him
another, and a harder one.
This last push had the effect which it was intended by the
experienced Mr. Smouch to produce; for while Sam, anxious to
return the compliment, was grinding that gentleman's body
against the door-post, the principal crept past, and made his way
to the bar, whither Sam, after bandying a few epithetical remarks
with Mr. Smouch, followed at once.
'Good-morning, my dear,' said the principal, addressing the
young lady at the bar, with Botany Bay ease, and New South
Wales gentility; 'which is Mr. Pickwick's room, my dear?'
'Show him up,' said the barmaid to a waiter, without deigning
another look at the exquisite, in reply to his inquiry.
The waiter led the way upstairs as he was desired, and the man
in the rough coat followed, with Sam behind him, who, in his
progress up the staircase, indulged in sundry gestures indicative
of supreme contempt and defiance, to the unspeakable gratification
of the servants and other lookers-on. Mr. Smouch, who was
troubled with a hoarse cough, remained below, and expectorated
in the passage.
Mr. Pickwick was fast asleep in bed, when his early visitor,
followed by Sam, entered the room. The noise they made, in so
doing, awoke him.
'Shaving-water, Sam,' said Mr. Pickwick, from within the curtains.
'Shave you directly, Mr. Pickwick,' said the visitor, drawing
one of them back from the bed's head. 'I've got an execution
against you, at the suit of Bardell.--Here's the warrant.--
Common Pleas.--Here's my card. I suppose you'll come over to
my house.' Giving Mr. Pickwick a friendly tap on the shoulder,
the sheriff's officer (for such he was) threw his card on the
counterpane, and pulled a gold toothpick from his waistcoat pocket.
'Namby's the name,' said the sheriff's deputy, as Mr. Pickwick
took his spectacles from under the pillow, and put them on, to
read the card. 'Namby, Bell Alley, Coleman Street.'
At this point, Sam Weller, who had had his eyes fixed hitherto
on Mr. Namby's shining beaver, interfered.
'Are you a Quaker?' said Sam.
'I'll let you know I am, before I've done with you,' replied the
indignant officer. 'I'll teach you manners, my fine fellow, one of
these fine mornings.'
'Thank'ee,' said Sam. 'I'll do the same to you. Take your hat
off.' With this, Mr. Weller, in the most dexterous manner,
knocked Mr. Namby's hat to the other side of the room, with
such violence, that he had very nearly caused him to swallow the
gold toothpick into the bargain.
'Observe this, Mr. Pickwick,' said the disconcerted officer,
gasping for breath. 'I've been assaulted in the execution of my
dooty by your servant in your chamber. I'm in bodily fear. I call
you to witness this.'
'Don't witness nothin', Sir,' interposed Sam. 'Shut your eyes
up tight, Sir. I'd pitch him out o' winder, only he couldn't fall far
enough, 'cause o' the leads outside.'
'Sam,' said Mr. Pickwick, in an angry voice, as his attendant
made various demonstrations of hostilities, 'if you say another
word, or offer the slightest interference with this person, I
discharge you that instant.'
'But, Sir!' said Sam.
'Hold your tongue,' interposed Mr. Pickwick. 'Take that hat
up again.'
But this Sam flatly and positively refused to do; and, after he
had been severely reprimanded by his master, the officer, being
in a hurry, condescended to pick it up himself, venting a great
variety of threats against Sam meanwhile, which that gentleman
received with perfect composure, merely observing that if Mr.
Namby would have the goodness to put his hat on again, he
would knock it into the latter end of next week. Mr. Namby,
perhaps thinking that such a process might be productive of
inconvenience to himself, declined to offer the temptation, and,
soon after, called up Smouch. Having informed him that the
capture was made, and that he was to wait for the prisoner until
he should have finished dressing, Namby then swaggered out, and
drove away. Smouch, requesting Mr. Pickwick in a surly manner
'to be as alive as he could, for it was a busy time,' drew up a chair
by the door and sat there, until he had finished dressing. Sam was
then despatched for a hackney-coach, and in it the triumvirate
proceeded to Coleman Street. It was fortunate the distance was
short; for Mr. Smouch, besides possessing no very enchanting
conversational powers, was rendered a decidedly unpleasant
companion in a limited space, by the physical weakness to which
we have elsewhere adverted.
The coach having turned into a very narrow and dark street,
stopped before a house with iron bars to all the windows; the
door-posts of which were graced by the name and title of
'Namby, Officer to the Sheriffs of London'; the inner gate having
been opened by a gentleman who might have passed for a
neglected twin-brother of Mr. Smouch, and who was endowed
with a large key for the purpose, Mr. Pickwick was shown into
the 'coffee-room.'
This coffee-room was a front parlour, the principal features of
which were fresh sand and stale tobacco smoke. Mr. Pickwick
bowed to the three persons who were seated in it when he
entered; and having despatched Sam for Perker, withdrew into
an obscure corner, and looked thence with some curiosity upon
his new companions.
One of these was a mere boy of nineteen or twenty, who,
though it was yet barely ten o'clock, was drinking gin-and-water,
and smoking a cigar--amusements to which, judging from his
inflamed countenance, he had devoted himself pretty constantly
for the last year or two of his life. Opposite him, engaged in
stirring the fire with the toe of his right boot, was a coarse,
vulgar young man of about thirty, with a sallow face and harsh
voice; evidently possessed of that knowledge of the world, and
captivating freedom of manner, which is to be acquired in
public-house parlours, and at low billiard tables. The third
tenant of the apartment was a middle-aged man in a very old suit
of black, who looked pale and haggard, and paced up and down
the room incessantly; stopping, now and then, to look with
great anxiety out of the window as if he expected somebody, and
then resuming his walk.
'You'd better have the loan of my razor this morning, Mr.
Ayresleigh,' said the man who was stirring the fire, tipping the
wink to his friend the boy.
'Thank you, no, I shan't want it; I expect I shall be out, in the
course of an hour or so,' replied the other in a hurried manner.
Then, walking again up to the window, and once more returning
disappointed, he sighed deeply, and left the room; upon which
the other two burst into a loud laugh.
'Well, I never saw such a game as that,' said the gentleman
who had offered the razor, whose name appeared to be Price.
'Never!' Mr. Price confirmed the assertion with an oath, and
then laughed again, when of course the boy (who thought his
companion one of the most dashing fellows alive) laughed also.
'You'd hardly think, would you now,' said Price, turning
towards Mr. Pickwick, 'that that chap's been here a week
yesterday, and never once shaved himself yet, because he feels so
certain he's going out in half an hour's time, thinks he may as
well put it off till he gets home?'
'Poor man!' said Mr. Pickwick. 'Are his chances of getting out
of his difficulties really so great?'
'Chances be d--d,' replied Price; 'he hasn't half the ghost of
one. I wouldn't give THAT for his chance of walking about the
streets this time ten years.' With this, Mr. Price snapped his
fingers contemptuously, and rang the bell.
'Give me a sheet of paper, Crookey,' said Mr. Price to the
attendant, who in dress and general appearance looked something
between a bankrupt glazier, and a drover in a state of
insolvency; 'and a glass of brandy-and-water, Crookey, d'ye
hear? I'm going to write to my father, and I must have a
stimulant, or I shan't be able to pitch it strong enough into the
old boy.' At this facetious speech, the young boy, it is almost
needless to say, was fairly convulsed.
'That's right,' said Mr. Price. 'Never say die. All fun, ain't it?'
'Prime!' said the young gentleman.
'You've got some spirit about you, you have,' said Price.
'You've seen something of life.'
'I rather think I have!' replied the boy. He had looked at it
through the dirty panes of glass in a bar door.
Mr. Pickwick, feeling not a little disgusted with this dialogue,
as well as with the air and manner of the two beings by whom it
had been carried on, was about to inquire whether he could not
be accommodated with a private sitting-room, when two or three
strangers of genteel appearance entered, at sight of whom the
boy threw his cigar into the fire, and whispering to Mr. Price
that they had come to 'make it all right' for him, joined them at a
table in the farther end of the room.
It would appear, however, that matters were not going to be
made all right quite so speedily as the young gentleman anticipated;
for a very long conversation ensued, of which Mr.
Pickwick could not avoid hearing certain angry fragments
regarding dissolute conduct, and repeated forgiveness. At last,
there were very distinct allusions made by the oldest gentleman
of the party to one Whitecross Street, at which the young gentleman,
notwithstanding his primeness and his spirit, and his
knowledge of life into the bargain, reclined his head upon the
table, and howled dismally.
Very much satisfied with this sudden bringing down of the
youth's valour, and this effectual lowering of his tone, Mr. Pickwick
rang the bell, and was shown, at his own request, into a
private room furnished with a carpet, table, chairs, sideboard and
sofa, and ornamented with a looking-glass, and various old
prints. Here he had the advantage of hearing Mrs. Namby's
performance on a square piano overhead, while the breakfast was
getting ready; when it came, Mr. Perker came too.
'Aha, my dear sir,' said the little man, 'nailed at last, eh?
Come, come, I'm not sorry for it either, because now you'll see
the absurdity of this conduct. I've noted down the amount of the
taxed costs and damages for which the ca-sa was issued, and we
had better settle at once and lose no time. Namby is come home
by this time, I dare say. What say you, my dear sir? Shall I draw
a cheque, or will you?' The little man rubbed his hands with
affected cheerfulness as he said this, but glancing at Mr. Pickwick's
countenance, could not forbear at the same time casting a
desponding look towards Sam Weller.
'Perker,' said Mr. Pickwick, 'let me hear no more of this, I beg.
I see no advantage in staying here, so I Shall go to prison to-night.'
'You can't go to Whitecross Street, my dear Sir,' said Perker.
'Impossible! There are sixty beds in a ward; and the bolt's on,
sixteen hours out of the four-and-twenty.'
'I would rather go to some other place of confinement if I can,'
said Mr. Pickwick. 'If not, I must make the best I can of that.'
'You can go to the Fleet, my dear Sir, if you're determined to
go somewhere,' said Perker.
'That'll do,' said Mr. Pickwick. 'I'll go there directly I have
finished my breakfast.'
'Stop, stop, my dear Sir; not the least occasion for being in such
a violent hurry to get into a place that most other men are as
eager to get out of,' said the good-natured little attorney. 'We
must have a habeas-corpus. There'll be no judge at chambers till
four o'clock this afternoon. You must wait till then.'
'Very good,' said Mr. Pickwick, with unmoved patience.
'Then we will have a chop here, at two. See about it, Sam, and
tell them to be punctual.'
Mr. Pickwick remaining firm, despite all the remonstrances and
arguments of Perker, the chops appeared and disappeared in due
course; he was then put into another hackney coach, and carried
off to Chancery Lane, after waiting half an hour or so for Mr.
Namby, who had a select dinner-party and could on no account
be disturbed before.
There were two judges in attendance at Serjeant's Inn--one
King's Bench, and one Common Pleas--and a great deal of
business appeared to be transacting before them, if the number
of lawyer's clerks who were hurrying in and out with bundles of
papers, afforded any test. When they reached the low archway
which forms the entrance to the inn, Perker was detained a few
moments parlaying with the coachman about the fare and the
change; and Mr. Pickwick, stepping to one side to be out of the
way of the stream of people that were pouring in and out, looked
about him with some curiosity.
The people that attracted his attention most, were three or four
men of shabby-genteel appearance, who touched their hats to
many of the attorneys who passed, and seemed to have some
business there, the nature of which Mr. Pickwick could not
divine. They were curious-looking fellows. One was a slim and
rather lame man in rusty black, and a white neckerchief; another
was a stout, burly person, dressed in the same apparel, with a
great reddish-black cloth round his neck; a third was a little
weazen, drunken-looking body, with a pimply face. They were
loitering about, with their hands behind them, and now and then
with an anxious countenance whispered something in the ear of
some of the gentlemen with papers, as they hurried by. Mr.
Pickwick remembered to have very often observed them lounging
under the archway when he had been walking past; and his
curiosity was quite excited to know to what branch of the profession
these dingy-looking loungers could possibly belong.
He was about to propound the question to Namby, who kept
close beside him, sucking a large gold ring on his little finger,
when Perker bustled up, and observing that there was no time to
lose, led the way into the inn. As Mr. Pickwick followed, the
lame man stepped up to him, and civilly touching his hat, held
out a written card, which Mr. Pickwick, not wishing to hurt the
man's feelings by refusing, courteously accepted and deposited in
his waistcoat pocket.
'Now,' said Perker, turning round before he entered one of the
offices, to see that his companions were close behind him. 'In
here, my dear sir. Hallo, what do you want?'
This last question was addressed to the lame man, who,
unobserved by Mr. Pickwick, made one of the party. In reply to it,
the lame man touched his hat again, with all imaginable politeness,
and motioned towards Mr. Pickwick.
'No, no,' said Perker, with a smile. 'We don't want you, my
dear friend, we don't want you.'
'I beg your pardon, sir,' said the lame man. 'The gentleman
took my card. I hope you will employ me, sir. The gentleman
nodded to me. I'll be judged by the gentleman himself. You
nodded to me, sir?'
'Pooh, pooh, nonsense. You didn't nod to anybody, Pickwick?
A mistake, a mistake,' said Perker.
'The gentleman handed me his card,' replied Mr. Pickwick,
producing it from his waistcoat pocket. 'I accepted it, as the
gentleman seemed to wish it--in fact I had some curiosity to look
at it when I should be at leisure. I--'
The little attorney burst into a loud laugh, and returning the
card to the lame man, informing him it was all a mistake,
whispered to Mr. Pickwick as the man turned away in dudgeon,
that he was only a bail.
'A what!' exclaimed Mr. Pickwick.
'A bail,' replied Perker.
'A bail!'
'Yes, my dear sir--half a dozen of 'em here. Bail you to any
amount, and only charge half a crown. Curious trade, isn't it?'
said Perker, regaling himself with a pinch of snuff.
'What! Am I to understand that these men earn a livelihood
by waiting about here, to perjure themselves before the judges of
the land, at the rate of half a crown a crime?' exclaimed Mr.
Pickwick, quite aghast at the disclosure.
'Why, I don't exactly know about perjury, my dear sir,' replied
the little gentleman. 'Harsh word, my dear sir, very harsh word
indeed. It's a legal fiction, my dear sir, nothing more.' Saying
which, the attorney shrugged his shoulders, smiled, took a second
pinch of snuff, and led the way into the office of the judge's clerk.
This was a room of specially dirty appearance, with a very low
ceiling and old panelled walls; and so badly lighted, that although
it was broad day outside, great tallow candles were burning on
the desks. At one end, was a door leading to the judge's private
apartment, round which were congregated a crowd of attorneys
and managing clerks, who were called in, in the order in which
their respective appointments stood upon the file. Every time this
door was opened to let a party out, the next party made a violent
rush to get in; and, as in addition to the numerous dialogues
which passed between the gentlemen who were waiting to see the
judge, a variety of personal squabbles ensued between the greater
part of those who had seen him, there was as much noise as could
well be raised in an apartment of such confined dimensions.
Nor were the conversations of these gentlemen the only sounds
that broke upon the ear. Standing on a box behind a wooden bar
at another end of the room was a clerk in spectacles who was
'taking the affidavits'; large batches of which were, from time to
time, carried into the private room by another clerk for the
judge's signature. There were a large number of attorneys' clerks
to be sworn, and it being a moral impossibility to swear them all
at once, the struggles of these gentlemen to reach the clerk in
spectacles, were like those of a crowd to get in at the pit door of a
theatre when Gracious Majesty honours it with its presence.
Another functionary, from time to time, exercised his lungs in
calling over the names of those who had been sworn, for the
purpose of restoring to them their affidavits after they had been
signed by the judge, which gave rise to a few more scuffles; and
all these things going on at the same time, occasioned as much
bustle as the most active and excitable person could desire to
behold. There were yet another class of persons--those who were
waiting to attend summonses their employers had taken out,
which it was optional to the attorney on the opposite side to
attend or not--and whose business it was, from time to time, to
cry out the opposite attorney's name; to make certain that he
was not in attendance without their knowledge.
For example. Leaning against the wall, close beside the seat
Mr. Pickwick had taken, was an office-lad of fourteen, with a
tenor voice; near him a common-law clerk with a bass one.
A clerk hurried in with a bundle of papers, and stared about him.
'Sniggle and Blink,' cried the tenor.
'Porkin and Snob,' growled the bass.
'Stumpy and Deacon,' said the new-comer.
Nobody answered; the next man who came in, was bailed by
the whole three; and he in his turn shouted for another firm;
and then somebody else roared in a loud voice for another; and
so forth.
All this time, the man in the spectacles was hard at work,
swearing the clerks; the oath being invariably administered,
without any effort at punctuation, and usually in the following
terms:--
'Take the book in your right hand this is your name and handwriting
you swear that the contents of this your affidavit are true
so help you God a shilling you must get change I haven't got it.'
'Well, Sam,' said Mr. Pickwick, 'I suppose they are getting the
HABEAS-CORPUS ready?'
'Yes,' said Sam, 'and I vish they'd bring out the have-hiscarcase.
It's wery unpleasant keepin' us vaitin' here. I'd ha' got
half a dozen have-his-carcases ready, pack'd up and all, by this time.'
What sort of cumbrous and unmanageable machine, Sam
Weller imagined a habeas-corpus to be, does not appear;
for Perker, at that moment, walked up and took Mr. Pickwick away.
The usual forms having been gone through, the body of
Samuel Pickwick was soon afterwards confided to the custody of
the tipstaff, to be by him taken to the warden of the Fleet Prison,
and there detained until the amount of the damages and costs in
the action of Bardell against Pickwick was fully paid
and satisfied.
'And that,' said Mr. Pickwick, laughing, 'will be a very long
time. Sam, call another hackney-coach. Perker, my dear friend,
good-bye.'
'I shall go with you, and see you safe there,' said Perker.
'Indeed,' replied Mr. Pickwick, 'I would rather go without any
other attendant than Sam. As soon as I get settled, I will write
and let you know, and I shall expect you immediately. Until then,
good-bye.'
As Mr. Pickwick said this, he got into the coach which had by
this time arrived, followed by the tipstaff. Sam having stationed
himself on the box, it rolled away.
'A most extraordinary man that!' said Perker, as he stopped to
pull on his gloves.
'What a bankrupt he'd make, Sir,' observed Mr. Lowten, who
was standing near. 'How he would bother the commissioners!
He'd set 'em at defiance if they talked of committing him, Sir.'
The attorney did not appear very much delighted with his
clerk's professional estimate of Mr. Pickwick's character, for he
walked away without deigning any reply.
The hackney-coach jolted along Fleet Street, as hackneycoaches
usually do. The horses 'went better', the driver said,
when they had anything before them (they must have gone at
a most extraordinary pace when there was nothing), and so
the vehicle kept behind a cart; when the cart stopped, it stopped;
and when the cart went on again, it did the same. Mr. Pickwick
sat opposite the tipstaff; and the tipstaff sat with his hat between
his knees, whistling a tune, and looking out of the coach window.
Time performs wonders. By the powerful old gentleman's aid,
even a hackney-coach gets over half a mile of ground. They
stopped at length, and Mr. Pickwick alighted at the gate of the Fleet.
The tipstaff, just looking over his shoulder to see that his
charge was following close at his heels, preceded Mr. Pickwick
into the prison; turning to the left, after they had entered, they
passed through an open door into a lobby, from which a heavy
gate, opposite to that by which they had entered, and which was
guarded by a stout turnkey with the key in his hand, led at once
into the interior of the prison.
Here they stopped, while the tipstaff delivered his papers; and
here Mr. Pickwick was apprised that he would remain, until he
had undergone the ceremony, known to the initiated as 'sitting
for your portrait.'
'Sitting for my portrait?' said Mr. Pickwick.
'Having your likeness taken, sir,' replied the stout turnkey.
'We're capital hands at likenesses here. Take 'em in no time, and
always exact. Walk in, sir, and make yourself at home.'
Mr. Pickwick complied with the invitation, and sat himself
down; when Mr. Weller, who stationed himself at the back of the
chair, whispered that the sitting was merely another term for
undergoing an inspection by the different turnkeys, in order that
they might know prisoners from visitors.
'Well, Sam,' said Mr. Pickwick, 'then I wish the artists would
come. This is rather a public place.'
'They von't be long, Sir, I des-say,' replied Sam. 'There's a
Dutch clock, sir.'
'So I see,' observed Mr. Pickwick.
'And a bird-cage, sir,' says Sam. 'Veels vithin veels, a prison in
a prison. Ain't it, Sir?'
As Mr. Weller made this philosophical remark, Mr. Pickwick
was aware that his sitting had commenced. The stout turnkey
having been relieved from the lock, sat down, and looked at him
carelessly, from time to time, while a long thin man who had
relieved him, thrust his hands beneath his coat tails, and planting
himself opposite, took a good long view of him. A third rather
surly-looking gentleman, who had apparently been disturbed at
his tea, for he was disposing of the last remnant of a crust and
butter when he came in, stationed himself close to Mr. Pickwick;
and, resting his hands on his hips, inspected him narrowly; while
two others mixed with the group, and studied his features with
most intent and thoughtful faces. Mr. Pickwick winced a good
deal under the operation, and appeared to sit very uneasily in his
chair; but he made no remark to anybody while it was being
performed, not even to Sam, who reclined upon the back of the
chair, reflecting, partly on the situation of his master, and partly
on the great satisfaction it would have afforded him to make a
fierce assault upon all the turnkeys there assembled, one after the
other, if it were lawful and peaceable so to do.
At length the likeness was completed, and Mr. Pickwick was
informed that he might now proceed into the prison.
'Where am I to sleep to-night?' inquired Mr. Pickwick.
'Why, I don't rightly know about to-night,' replied the stout
turnkey. 'You'll be chummed on somebody to-morrow, and then
you'll be all snug and comfortable. The first night's generally
rather unsettled, but you'll be set all squares to-morrow.'
After some discussion, it was discovered that one of the turnkeys
had a bed to let, which Mr. Pickwick could have for that night.
He gladly agreed to hire it.
'If you'll come with me, I'll show it you at once,' said the man.
'It ain't a large 'un; but it's an out-and-outer to sleep in. This
way, sir.'
They passed through the inner gate, and descended a short flight
of steps. The key was turned after them; and Mr. Pickwick found
himself, for the first time in his life, within the walls of a debtors'
prison.
CHAPTER XLI
WHAT BEFELL Mr. PICKWICK WHEN HE GOT INTO THE
FLEET; WHAT PRISONERS HE SAW THERE, AND HOW HE
PASSED THE NIGHT
Mr. Tom Roker, the gentleman who had accompanied Mr. Pickwick into
the prison, turned sharp round to the right when he got to the
bottom of the little flight of steps, and led the way, through an
iron gate which stood open, and up another short flight of steps,
into a long narrow gallery, dirty and low, paved with stone, and
very dimly lighted by a window at each remote end.
'This,' said the gentleman, thrusting his hands into his pockets,
and looking carelessly over his shoulder to Mr. Pickwick--'this
here is the hall flight.'
'Oh,' replied Mr. Pickwick, looking down a dark and filthy
staircase, which appeared to lead to a range of damp and gloomy
stone vaults, beneath the ground, 'and those, I suppose, are the
little cellars where the prisoners keep their small quantities of
coals. Unpleasant places to have to go down to; but very
convenient, I dare say.'
'Yes, I shouldn't wonder if they was convenient,' replied the
gentleman, 'seeing that a few people live there, pretty snug.
That's the Fair, that is.'
'My friend,' said Mr. Pickwick, 'you don't really mean to say
that human beings live down in those wretched dungeons?'
'Don't I?' replied Mr. Roker, with indignant astonishment;
'why shouldn't I?'
'Live!--live down there!' exclaimed Mr. Pickwick.
'Live down there! Yes, and die down there, too, very often!'
replied Mr. Roker; 'and what of that? Who's got to say anything
agin it? Live down there! Yes, and a wery good place it is to live
in, ain't it?'
As Roker turned somewhat fiercely upon Mr. Pickwick in
saying this, and moreover muttered in an excited fashion certain
unpleasant invocations concerning his own eyes, limbs, and
circulating fluids, the latter gentleman deemed it advisable to
pursue the discourse no further. Mr. Roker then proceeded to
mount another staircase, as dirty as that which led to the place
which has just been the subject of discussion, in which ascent he
was closely followed by Mr. Pickwick and Sam.
'There,' said Mr. Roker, pausing for breath when they reached
another gallery of the same dimensions as the one below, 'this is
the coffee-room flight; the one above's the third, and the one
above that's the top; and the room where you're a-going to sleep
to-night is the warden's room, and it's this way--come on.'
Having said all this in a breath, Mr. Roker mounted another flight
of stairs with Mr. Pickwick and Sam Weller following at his heels.
These staircases received light from sundry windows placed at
some little distance above the floor, and looking into a gravelled
area bounded by a high brick wall, with iron CHEVAUX-DE-FRISE at
the top. This area, it appeared from Mr. Roker's statement, was
the racket-ground; and it further appeared, on the testimony
of the same gentleman, that there was a smaller area in that
portion of the prison which was nearest Farringdon Street,
denominated and called 'the Painted Ground,' from the fact of
its walls having once displayed the semblance of various menof-
war in full sail, and other artistical effects achieved in
bygone times by some imprisoned draughtsman in his leisure hours.
Having communicated this piece of information, apparently
more for the purpose of discharging his bosom of an important
fact, than with any specific view of enlightening Mr. Pickwick,
the guide, having at length reached another gallery, led the way
into a small passage at the extreme end, opened a door, and
disclosed an apartment of an appearance by no means inviting,
containing eight or nine iron bedsteads.
'There,' said Mr. Roker, holding the door open, and looking
triumphantly round at Mr. Pickwick, 'there's a room!'
Mr. Pickwick's face, however, betokened such a very trifling
portion of satisfaction at the appearance of his lodging, that
Mr. Roker looked, for a reciprocity of feeling, into the countenance
of Samuel Weller, who, until now, had observed a dignified silence.
'There's a room, young man,' observed Mr. Roker.
'I see it,' replied Sam, with a placid nod of the head.
'You wouldn't think to find such a room as this in the
Farringdon Hotel, would you?' said Mr. Roker, with a
complacent smile.
To this Mr. Weller replied with an easy and unstudied closing
of one eye; which might be considered to mean, either that he
would have thought it, or that he would not have thought it, or
that he had never thought anything at all about it, as the
observer's imagination suggested. Having executed this feat, and
reopened his eye, Mr. Weller proceeded to inquire which was the
individual bedstead that Mr. Roker had so flatteringly described
as an out-and-outer to sleep in.
'That's it,' replied Mr. Roker, pointing to a very rusty one in a
corner. 'It would make any one go to sleep, that bedstead would,
whether they wanted to or not.'
'I should think,' said Sam, eyeing the piece of furniture in
question with a look of excessive disgust--'I should think poppies
was nothing to it.'
'Nothing at all,' said Mr. Roker.
'And I s'pose,' said Sam, with a sidelong glance at his master,
as if to see whether there were any symptoms of his determination
being shaken by what passed, 'I s'pose the other gen'l'men as
sleeps here ARE gen'l'men.'
'Nothing but it,' said Mr. Roker. 'One of 'em takes his twelve
pints of ale a day, and never leaves off smoking even at his meals.'
'He must be a first-rater,' said Sam.
'A1,' replied Mr. Roker.
Nothing daunted, even by this intelligence, Mr. Pickwick
smilingly announced his determination to test the powers of the
narcotic bedstead for that night; and Mr. Roker, after informing
him that he could retire to rest at whatever hour he thought
proper, without any further notice or formality, walked off,
leaving him standing with Sam in the gallery.
It was getting dark; that is to say, a few gas jets were kindled
in this place which was never light, by way of compliment to the
evening, which had set in outside. As it was rather warm, some of
the tenants of the numerous little rooms which opened into the
gallery on either hand, had set their doors ajar. Mr. Pickwick
peeped into them as he passed along, with great curiosity and
interest. Here, four or five great hulking fellows, just visible
through a cloud of tobacco smoke, were engaged in noisy and
riotous conversation over half-emptied pots of beer, or playing
at all-fours with a very greasy pack of cards. In the adjoining
room, some solitary tenant might be seen poring, by the light of a
feeble tallow candle, over a bundle of soiled and tattered papers,
yellow with dust and dropping to pieces from age, writing, for the
hundredth time, some lengthened statement of his grievances, for
the perusal of some great man whose eyes it would never reach,
or whose heart it would never touch. In a third, a man, with his
wife and a whole crowd of children, might be seen making up a
scanty bed on the ground, or upon a few chairs, for the younger
ones to pass the night in. And in a fourth, and a fifth, and a sixth,
and a seventh, the noise, and the beer, and the tobacco smoke, and
the cards, all came over again in greater force than before.
In the galleries themselves, and more especially on the staircases,
there lingered a great number of people, who came there,
some because their rooms were empty and lonesome, others
because their rooms were full and hot; the greater part because
they were restless and uncomfortable, and not possessed of the
secret of exactly knowing what to do with themselves. There
were many classes of people here, from the labouring man in his
fustian jacket, to the broken-down spendthrift in his shawl
dressing-gown, most appropriately out at elbows; but there was
the same air about them all--a kind of listless, jail-bird, careless
swagger, a vagabondish who's-afraid sort of bearing, which is
wholly indescribable in words, but which any man can understand
in one moment if he wish, by setting foot in the nearest
debtors' prison, and looking at the very first group of people he
sees there, with the same interest as Mr. Pickwick did.
'It strikes me, Sam,' said Mr. Pickwick, leaning over the iron
rail at the stair-head-'it strikes me, Sam, that imprisonment for
debt is scarcely any punishment at all.'
'Think not, sir?' inquired Mr. Weller.
'You see how these fellows drink, and smoke, and roar,'
replied Mr. Pickwick. 'It's quite impossible that they can mind
it much.'
'Ah, that's just the wery thing, Sir,' rejoined Sam, 'they don't
mind it; it's a reg'lar holiday to them--all porter and skittles.
It's the t'other vuns as gets done over vith this sort o' thing;
them down-hearted fellers as can't svig avay at the beer, nor play
at skittles neither; them as vould pay if they could, and gets low
by being boxed up. I'll tell you wot it is, sir; them as is always
a-idlin' in public-houses it don't damage at all, and them as is
alvays a-workin' wen they can, it damages too much. "It's
unekal," as my father used to say wen his grog worn't made halfand-
half: "it's unekal, and that's the fault on it."'
'I think you're right, Sam,' said Mr. Pickwick, after a few
moments' reflection, 'quite right.'
'P'raps, now and then, there's some honest people as likes it,'
observed Mr. Weller, in a ruminative tone, 'but I never heerd o'
one as I can call to mind, 'cept the little dirty-faced man in the
brown coat; and that was force of habit.'
'And who was he?' inquired Mr. Pickwick.
'Wy, that's just the wery point as nobody never know'd,'
replied Sam.
'But what did he do?'
'Wy, he did wot many men as has been much better know'd
has done in their time, Sir,' replied Sam, 'he run a match agin the
constable, and vun it.'
'In other words, I suppose,' said Mr. Pickwick, 'he got into debt.'
'Just that, Sir,' replied Sam, 'and in course o' time he come
here in consekens. It warn't much--execution for nine pound
nothin', multiplied by five for costs; but hows'ever here he
stopped for seventeen year. If he got any wrinkles in his face,
they were stopped up vith the dirt, for both the dirty face and the
brown coat wos just the same at the end o' that time as they wos
at the beginnin'. He wos a wery peaceful, inoffendin' little
creetur, and wos alvays a-bustlin' about for somebody, or playin'
rackets and never vinnin'; till at last the turnkeys they got quite
fond on him, and he wos in the lodge ev'ry night, a-chattering
vith 'em, and tellin' stories, and all that 'ere. Vun night he wos in
there as usual, along vith a wery old friend of his, as wos on the
lock, ven he says all of a sudden, "I ain't seen the market outside,
Bill," he says (Fleet Market wos there at that time)--"I ain't
seen the market outside, Bill," he says, "for seventeen year."
"I know you ain't," says the turnkey, smoking his pipe. "I
should like to see it for a minit, Bill," he says. "Wery probable,"
says the turnkey, smoking his pipe wery fierce, and making
believe he warn't up to wot the little man wanted. "Bill," says
the little man, more abrupt than afore, "I've got the fancy in my
head. Let me see the public streets once more afore I die; and if
I ain't struck with apoplexy, I'll be back in five minits by the
clock." "And wot 'ud become o' me if you WOS struck with
apoplexy?" said the turnkey. "Wy," says the little creetur,
"whoever found me, 'ud bring me home, for I've got my card in
my pocket, Bill," he says, "No. 20, Coffee-room Flight": and
that wos true, sure enough, for wen he wanted to make the
acquaintance of any new-comer, he used to pull out a little limp
card vith them words on it and nothin' else; in consideration of
vich, he vos alvays called Number Tventy. The turnkey takes a
fixed look at him, and at last he says in a solemn manner,
"Tventy," he says, "I'll trust you; you Won't get your old friend
into trouble." "No, my boy; I hope I've somethin' better behind
here," says the little man; and as he said it he hit his little vesket
wery hard, and then a tear started out o' each eye, which wos
wery extraordinary, for it wos supposed as water never touched
his face. He shook the turnkey by the hand; out he vent--'
'And never came back again,' said Mr. Pickwick.
'Wrong for vunce, sir,' replied Mr. Weller, 'for back he come,
two minits afore the time, a-bilin' with rage, sayin' how he'd
been nearly run over by a hackney-coach that he warn't used to
it; and he was blowed if he wouldn't write to the lord mayor.
They got him pacified at last; and for five years arter that, he
never even so much as peeped out o' the lodge gate.'
'At the expiration of that time he died, I suppose,' said
Mr. Pickwick.
'No, he didn't, Sir,' replied Sam. 'He got a curiosity to go and
taste the beer at a new public-house over the way, and it wos such
a wery nice parlour, that he took it into his head to go there
every night, which he did for a long time, always comin' back
reg'lar about a quarter of an hour afore the gate shut, which was
all wery snug and comfortable. At last he began to get so precious
jolly, that he used to forget how the time vent, or care nothin' at
all about it, and he went on gettin' later and later, till vun night
his old friend wos just a-shuttin' the gate--had turned the key in
fact--wen he come up. "Hold hard, Bill," he says. "Wot, ain't
you come home yet, Tventy?' says the turnkey, "I thought you
wos in, long ago." "No, I wasn't," says the little man, with a
smile. "Well, then, I'll tell you wot it is, my friend," says the
turnkey, openin' the gate wery slow and sulky, "it's my 'pinion
as you've got into bad company o' late, which I'm wery sorry to
see. Now, I don't wish to do nothing harsh," he says, "but if you
can't confine yourself to steady circles, and find your vay back at
reg'lar hours, as sure as you're a-standin' there, I'll shut you out
altogether!" The little man was seized vith a wiolent fit o'
tremblin', and never vent outside the prison walls artervards!'
As Sam concluded, Mr. Pickwick slowly retraced his steps
downstairs. After a few thoughtful turns in the Painted Ground,
which, as it was now dark, was nearly deserted, he intimated to
Mr. Weller that he thought it high time for him to withdraw for
the night; requesting him to seek a bed in some adjacent publichouse,
and return early in the morning, to make arrangements
for the removal of his master's wardrobe from the George and
Vulture. This request Mr. Samuel Weller prepared to obey, with
as good a grace as he could assume, but with a very considerable
show of reluctance nevertheless. He even went so far as to essay
sundry ineffectual hints regarding the expediency of stretching
himself on the gravel for that night; but finding Mr. Pickwick
obstinately deaf to any such suggestions, finally withdrew.
There is no disguising the fact that Mr. Pickwick felt very
low-spirited and uncomfortable--not for lack of society, for the
prison was very full, and a bottle of wine would at once have
purchased the utmost good-fellowship of a few choice spirits,
without any more formal ceremony of introduction; but he was
alone in the coarse, vulgar crowd, and felt the depression of
spirits and sinking of heart, naturally consequent on the reflection
that he was cooped and caged up, without a prospect of liberation.
As to the idea of releasing himself by ministering to the
sharpness of Dodson & Fogg, it never for an instant entered his thoughts.
In this frame of mind he turned again into the coffee-room
gallery, and walked slowly to and fro. The place was intolerably
dirty, and the smell of tobacco smoke perfectly suffocating.
There was a perpetual slamming and banging of doors as the
people went in and out; and the noise of their voices and footsteps
echoed and re-echoed through the passages constantly. A young
woman, with a child in her arms, who seemed scarcely able to
crawl, from emaciation and misery, was walking up and down the
passage in conversation with her husband, who had no other
place to see her in. As they passed Mr. Pickwick, he could hear
the female sob bitterly; and once she burst into such a passion of
grief, that she was compelled to lean against the wall for support,
while the man took the child in his arms, and tried to soothe her.
Mr. Pickwick's heart was really too full to bear it, and he went
upstairs to bed.
Now, although the warder's room was a very uncomfortable
one (being, in every point of decoration and convenience, several
hundred degrees inferior to the common infirmary of a county
jail), it had at present the merit of being wholly deserted save by
Mr. Pickwick himself. So, he sat down at the foot of his little iron
bedstead, and began to wonder how much a year the warder
made out of the dirty room. Having satisfied himself, by mathematical
calculation, that the apartment was about equal in
annual value to the freehold of a small street in the suburbs of
London, he took to wondering what possible temptation could
have induced a dingy-looking fly that was crawling over his
pantaloons, to come into a close prison, when he had the choice
of so many airy situations--a course of meditation which led him to
the irresistible conclusion that the insect was insane. After
settling this point, he began to be conscious that he was getting
sleepy; whereupon he took his nightcap out of the pocket in
which he had had the precaution to stow it in the morning, and,
leisurely undressing himself, got into bed and fell asleep.
'Bravo! Heel over toe--cut and shuffle--pay away at it,
Zephyr! I'm smothered if the opera house isn't your proper
hemisphere. Keep it up! Hooray!' These expressions, delivered
in a most boisterous tone, and accompanied with loud peals of
laughter, roused Mr. Pickwick from one of those sound slumbers
which, lasting in reality some half-hour, seem to the sleeper to
have been protracted for three weeks or a month.
The voice had no sooner ceased than the room was shaken
with such violence that the windows rattled in their frames, and
the bedsteads trembled again. Mr. Pickwick started up, and
remained for some minutes fixed in mute astonishment at the
scene before him.
On the floor of the room, a man in a broad-skirted green coat,
with corduroy knee-smalls and gray cotton stockings, was
performing the most popular steps of a hornpipe, with a slang
and burlesque caricature of grace and lightness, which, combined
with the very appropriate character of his costume, was inexpressibly
absurd. Another man, evidently very drunk, who had
probably been tumbled into bed by his companions, was sitting
up between the sheets, warbling as much as he could recollect of
a comic song, with the most intensely sentimental feeling and
expression; while a third, seated on one of the bedsteads, was
applauding both performers with the air of a profound connoisseur,
and encouraging them by such ebullitions of feeling as had
already roused Mr. Pickwick from his sleep.
This last man was an admirable specimen of a class of gentry
which never can be seen in full perfection but in such places--
they may be met with, in an imperfect state, occasionally about
stable-yards and Public-houses; but they never attain their full
bloom except in these hot-beds, which would almost seem to be
considerately provided by the legislature for the sole purpose of
rearing them.
He was a tall fellow, with an olive complexion, long dark hair,
and very thick bushy whiskers meeting under his chin. He wore
no neckerchief, as he had been playing rackets all day, and his
Open shirt collar displayed their full luxuriance. On his head he
wore one of the common eighteenpenny French skull-caps, with a
gaudy tassel dangling therefrom, very happily in keeping with a
common fustian coat. His legs, which, being long, were afflicted
with weakness, graced a pair of Oxford-mixture trousers, made
to show the full symmetry of those limbs. Being somewhat
negligently braced, however, and, moreover, but imperfectly
buttoned, they fell in a series of not the most graceful folds over
a pair of shoes sufficiently down at heel to display a pair of very
soiled white stockings. There was a rakish, vagabond smartness,
and a kind of boastful rascality, about the whole man, that was
worth a mine of gold.
This figure was the first to perceive that Mr. Pickwick was
looking on; upon which he winked to the Zephyr, and entreated
him, with mock gravity, not to wake the gentleman.
'Why, bless the gentleman's honest heart and soul!' said the
Zephyr, turning round and affecting the extremity of surprise;
'the gentleman is awake. Hem, Shakespeare! How do you do,
Sir? How is Mary and Sarah, sir? and the dear old lady at home,
Sir? Will you have the kindness to put my compliments into the
first little parcel you're sending that way, sir, and say that I
would have sent 'em before, only I was afraid they might be
broken in the wagon, sir?'
'Don't overwhelm the gentlemen with ordinary civilities when
you see he's anxious to have something to drink,' said the
gentleman with the whiskers, with a jocose air. 'Why don't you
ask the gentleman what he'll take?'
'Dear me, I quite forgot,' replied the other. 'What will you
take, sir? Will you take port wine, sir, or sherry wine, sir? I can
recommend the ale, sir; or perhaps you'd like to taste the porter,
sir? Allow me to have the felicity of hanging up your nightcap, Sir.'
With this, the speaker snatched that article of dress from Mr.
Pickwick's head, and fixed it in a twinkling on that of the drunken
man, who, firmly impressed with the belief that he was delighting
a numerous assembly, continued to hammer away at the comic
song in the most melancholy strains imaginable.
Taking a man's nightcap from his brow by violent means, and
adjusting it on the head of an unknown gentleman, of dirty
exterior, however ingenious a witticism in itself, is unquestionably
one of those which come under the denomination of practical
jokes. Viewing the matter precisely in this light, Mr. Pickwick,
without the slightest intimation of his purpose, sprang vigorously
out of bed, struck the Zephyr so smart a blow in the chest as to
deprive him of a considerable portion of the commodity which
sometimes bears his name, and then, recapturing his nightcap,
boldly placed himself in an attitude of defence.
'Now,' said Mr. Pickwick, gasping no less from excitement
than from the expenditure of so much energy, 'come on--both of
you--both of you!' With this liberal invitation the worthy
gentleman communicated a revolving motion to his clenched
fists, by way of appalling his antagonists with a display of science.
It might have been Mr. Pickwick's very unexpected gallantry,
or it might have been the complicated manner in which he had
got himself out of bed, and fallen all in a mass upon the hornpipe
man, that touched his adversaries. Touched they were; for,
instead of then and there making an attempt to commit manslaughter,
as Mr. Pickwick implicitly believed they would have
done, they paused, stared at each other a short time, and finally
laughed outright.
'Well, you're a trump, and I like you all the better for it,' said
the Zephyr. 'Now jump into bed again, or you'll catch the
rheumatics. No malice, I hope?' said the man, extending a hand
the size of the yellow clump of fingers which sometimes swings
over a glover's door.
'Certainly not,' said Mr. Pickwick, with great alacrity; for,
now that the excitement was over, he began to feel rather cool
about the legs.
'Allow me the H-onour,' said the gentleman with the whiskers,
presenting his dexter hand, and aspirating the h.
'With much pleasure, sir,' said Mr. Pickwick; and having
executed a very long and solemn shake, he got into bed again.
'My name is Smangle, sir,' said the man with the whiskers.
'Oh,' said Mr. Pickwick.
'Mine is Mivins,' said the man in the stockings.
'I am delighted to hear it, sir,' said Mr. Pickwick.
'Hem,' coughed Mr. Smangle.
'Did you speak, sir?' said Mr. Pickwick.
'No, I did not, sir,' said Mr. Smangle.
All this was very genteel and pleasant; and, to make matters
still more comfortable, Mr. Smangle assured Mr. Pickwick a
great many more times that he entertained a very high respect for
the feelings of a gentleman; which sentiment, indeed, did him
infinite credit, as he could be in no wise supposed to understand them.
'Are you going through the court, sir?' inquired Mr. Smangle.
'Through the what?' said Mr. Pickwick.
'Through the court--Portugal Street--the Court for Relief
of-- You know.'
'Oh, no,' replied Mr. Pickwick. 'No, I am not.'
'Going out, perhaps?' suggested Mr. Mivins.
'I fear not,' replied Mr. Pickwick. 'I refuse to pay some
damages, and am here in consequence.'
'Ah,' said Mr. Smangle, 'paper has been my ruin.'
'A stationer, I presume, Sir?' said Mr. Pickwick innocently.
'Stationer! No, no; confound and curse me! Not so low as that.
No trade. When I say paper, I mean bills.'
'Oh, you use the word in that sense. I see,' said Mr. Pickwick.
'Damme! A gentleman must expect reverses,' said Smangle.
'What of that? Here am I in the Fleet Prison. Well; good. What
then? I'm none the worse for that, am I?'
'Not a bit,' replied Mr. Mivins. And he was quite right; for, so
far from Mr. Smangle being any the worse for it, he was something
the better, inasmuch as to qualify himself for the place, he
had attained gratuitous possession of certain articles of jewellery,
which, long before that, had found their way to the pawnbroker's.
'Well; but come,' said Mr. Smangle; 'this is dry work. Let's
rinse our mouths with a drop of burnt sherry; the last-comer shall
stand it, Mivins shall fetch it, and I'll help to drink it. That's a
fair and gentlemanlike division of labour, anyhow. Curse me!'
Unwilling to hazard another quarrel, Mr. Pickwick gladly
assented to the proposition, and consigned the money to Mr.
Mivins, who, as it was nearly eleven o'clock, lost no time in
repairing to the coffee-room on his errand.
'I say,' whispered Smangle, the moment his friend had left the
room; 'what did you give him?'
'Half a sovereign,' said Mr. Pickwick.
'He's a devilish pleasant gentlemanly dog,' said Mr. Smangle;--
'infernal pleasant. I don't know anybody more so; but--'
Here Mr. Smangle stopped short, and shook his head dubiously.
'You don't think there is any probability of his appropriating
the money to his own use?' said Mr. Pickwick.
'Oh, no! Mind, I don't say that; I expressly say that he's a
devilish gentlemanly fellow,' said Mr. Smangle. 'But I think,
perhaps, if somebody went down, just to see that he didn't dip
his beak into the jug by accident, or make some confounded
mistake in losing the money as he came upstairs, it would be as
well. Here, you sir, just run downstairs, and look after that
gentleman, will you?'
This request was addressed to a little timid-looking, nervous
man, whose appearance bespoke great poverty, and who had
been crouching on his bedstead all this while, apparently
stupefied by the novelty of his situation.
'You know where the coffee-room is,' said Smangle; 'just run
down, and tell that gentleman you've come to help him up with
the jug. Or--stop--I'll tell you what--I'll tell you how we'll do
him,' said Smangle, with a cunning look.
'How?' said Mr. Pickwick.
'Send down word that he's to spend the change in cigars.
Capital thought. Run and tell him that; d'ye hear? They shan't
be wasted,' continued Smangle, turning to Mr. Pickwick. 'I'LL
smoke 'em.'
This manoeuvring was so exceedingly ingenious and, withal,
performed with such immovable composure and coolness, that
Mr. Pickwick would have had no wish to disturb it, even if he had
had the power. In a short time Mr. Mivins returned, bearing the
sherry, which Mr. Smangle dispensed in two little cracked mugs;
considerately remarking, with reference to himself, that a
gentleman must not be particular under such circumstances, and
that, for his part, he was not too proud to drink out of the jug.
In which, to show his sincerity, he forthwith pledged the company
in a draught which half emptied it.
An excellent understanding having been by these means
promoted, Mr. Smangle proceeded to entertain his hearers with
a relation of divers romantic adventures in which he had been
from time to time engaged, involving various interesting anecdotes
of a thoroughbred horse, and a magnificent Jewess, both of
surpassing beauty, and much coveted by the nobility and gentry
of these kingdoms.
Long before these elegant extracts from the biography of a
gentleman were concluded, Mr. Mivins had betaken himself to
bed, and had set in snoring for the night, leaving the timid
stranger and Mr. Pickwick to the full benefit of Mr. Smangle's
experiences.
Nor were the two last-named gentlemen as much edified as
they might have been by the moving passages narrated. Mr.
Pickwick had been in a state of slumber for some time, when he
had a faint perception of the drunken man bursting out afresh
with the comic song, and receiving from Mr. Smangle a gentle
intimation, through the medium of the water-jug, that his
audience was not musically disposed. Mr. Pickwick then once
again dropped off to sleep, with a confused consciousness that
Mr. Smangle was still engaged in relating a long story, the chief
point of which appeared to be that, on some occasion particularly
stated and set forth, he had 'done' a bill and a gentleman at the
same time.
CHAPTER XLII
ILLUSTRATIVE, LIKE THE PRECEDING ONE, OF THE OLD
PROVERB, THAT ADVERSITY BRINGS A MAN ACQUAINTED
WITH STRANGE BEDFELLOWS--LIKEWISE CONTAINING Mr.
PICKWICK'S EXTRAORDINARY AND STARTLING ANNOUNCEMENT
TO Mr. SAMUEL WELLER
When Mr. Pickwick opened his eyes next morning, the first object
upon which they rested was Samuel Weller, seated upon a small
black portmanteau, intently regarding, apparently in a condition
of profound abstraction, the stately figure of the dashing Mr.
Smangle; while Mr. Smangle himself, who was already partially
dressed, was seated on his bedstead, occupied in the desperately
hopeless attempt of staring Mr. Weller out of countenance. We
say desperately hopeless, because Sam, with a comprehensive gaze
which took in Mr. Smangle's cap, feet, head, face, legs, and
whiskers, all at the same time, continued to look steadily on,
with every demonstration of lively satisfaction, but with no
more regard to Mr. Smangle's personal sentiments on the subject
than he would have displayed had he been inspecting a wooden
statue, or a straw-embowelled Guy Fawkes.
'Well; will you know me again?' said Mr. Smangle, with a frown.
'I'd svear to you anyveres, Sir,' replied Sam cheerfully.
'Don't be impertinent to a gentleman, Sir,' said Mr. Smangle.
'Not on no account,' replied Sam. 'if you'll tell me wen he
wakes, I'll be upon the wery best extra-super behaviour!' This
observation, having a remote tendency to imply that Mr.
Smangle was no gentleman, kindled his ire.
'Mivins!' said Mr. Smangle, with a passionate air.
'What's the office?' replied that gentleman from his couch.
'Who the devil is this fellow?'
''Gad,' said Mr. Mivins, looking lazily out from under the
bed-clothes, 'I ought to ask YOU that. Hasn't he any business here?'
'No,' replied Mr. Smangle.
'Then knock him downstairs, and tell him not to presume to
get up till I come and kick him,' rejoined Mr. Mivins; with this
prompt advice that excellent gentleman again betook himself to slumber.
The conversation exhibiting these unequivocal symptoms of
verging on the personal, Mr. Pickwick deemed it a fit point at
which to interpose.
'Sam,' said Mr. Pickwick.
'Sir,' rejoined that gentleman.
'Has anything new occurred since last night?'
'Nothin' partickler, sir,' replied Sam, glancing at Mr. Smangle's
whiskers; 'the late prewailance of a close and confined atmosphere
has been rayther favourable to the growth of veeds, of an
alarmin' and sangvinary natur; but vith that 'ere exception
things is quiet enough.'
'I shall get up,' said Mr. Pickwick; 'give me some clean things.'
Whatever hostile intentions Mr. Smangle might have entertained,
his thoughts were speedily diverted by the unpacking
of the portmanteau; the contents of which appeared to impress
him at once with a most favourable opinion, not only of Mr.
Pickwick, but of Sam also, who, he took an early opportunity
of declaring in a tone of voice loud enough for that eccentric
personage to overhear, was a regular thoroughbred original,
and consequently the very man after his own heart. As
to Mr. Pickwick, the affection he conceived for him knew no limits.
'Now is there anything I can do for you, my dear Sir?' said Smangle.
'Nothing that I am aware of, I am obliged to you,' replied
Mr. Pickwick.
'No linen that you want sent to the washerwoman's? I know a
delightful washerwoman outside, that comes for my things twice
a week; and, by Jove!--how devilish lucky!--this is the day she
calls. Shall I put any of those little things up with mine? Don't
say anything about the trouble. Confound and curse it! if one
gentleman under a cloud is not to put himself a little out of the
way to assist another gentleman in the same condition, what's
human nature?'
Thus spake Mr. Smangle, edging himself meanwhile as near as
possible to the portmanteau, and beaming forth looks of the
most fervent and disinterested friendship.
'There's nothing you want to give out for the man to brush,
my dear creature, is there?' resumed Smangle.
'Nothin' whatever, my fine feller,' rejoined Sam, taking the
reply into his own mouth. 'P'raps if vun of us wos to brush,
without troubling the man, it 'ud be more agreeable for all
parties, as the schoolmaster said when the young gentleman
objected to being flogged by the butler.'
'And there's nothing I can send in my little box to the washerwoman's,
is there?' said Smangle, turning from Sam to Mr.
Pickwick, with an air of some discomfiture.
'Nothin' whatever, Sir,' retorted Sam; 'I'm afeered the little
box must be chock full o' your own as it is.'
This speech was accompanied with such a very expressive look
at that particular portion of Mr. Smangle's attire, by the appearance
of which the skill of laundresses in getting up gentlemen's
linen is generally tested, that he was fain to turn upon his heel,
and, for the present at any rate, to give up all design on Mr.
Pickwick's purse and wardrobe. He accordingly retired in
dudgeon to the racket-ground, where he made a light and wholesome
breakfast on a couple of the cigars which had been purchased
on the previous night.
Mr. Mivins, who was no smoker, and whose account for small
articles of chandlery had also reached down to the bottom of the
slate, and been 'carried over' to the other side, remained in bed,
and, in his own words, 'took it out in sleep.'
After breakfasting in a small closet attached to the coffeeroom,
which bore the imposing title of the Snuggery, the temporary
inmate of which, in consideration of a small additional
charge, had the unspeakable advantage of overhearing all the
conversation in the coffee-room aforesaid; and, after despatching
Mr. Weller on some necessary errands, Mr. Pickwick repaired to
the lodge, to consult Mr. Roker concerning his future accommodation.
'Accommodation, eh?' said that gentleman, consulting a large
book. 'Plenty of that, Mr. Pickwick. Your chummage ticket will
be on twenty-seven, in the third.'
'Oh,' said Mr. Pickwick. 'My what, did you say?'
'Your chummage ticket,' replied Mr. Roker; 'you're up to
that?'
'Not quite,' replied Mr. Pickwick, with a smile.
'Why,' said Mr. Roker, 'it's as plain as Salisbury. You'll have
a chummage ticket upon twenty-seven in the third, and them as
is in the room will be your chums.'
'Are there many of them?' inquired Mr. Pickwick dubiously.
'Three,' replied Mr. Roker.
Mr. Pickwick coughed.
'One of 'em's a parson,' said Mr. Roker, filling up a little piece
of paper as he spoke; 'another's a butcher.'
'Eh?' exclaimed Mr. Pickwick.
'A butcher,' repeated Mr. Roker, giving the nib of his pen a
tap on the desk to cure it of a disinclination to mark. 'What a
thorough-paced goer he used to be sure-ly! You remember Tom
Martin, Neddy?' said Roker, appealing to another man in the
lodge, who was paring the mud off his shoes with a five-andtwenty-
bladed pocket-knife.
'I should think so,' replied the party addressed, with a strong
emphasis on the personal pronoun.
'Bless my dear eyes!' said Mr. Roker, shaking his head slowly
from side to side, and gazing abstractedly out of the grated
windows before him, as if he were fondly recalling some peaceful
scene of his early youth; 'it seems but yesterday that he whopped
the coal-heaver down Fox-under-the-Hill by the wharf there.
I think I can see him now, a-coming up the Strand between
the two street-keepers, a little sobered by the bruising, with
a patch o' winegar and brown paper over his right eyelid, and
that 'ere lovely bulldog, as pinned the little boy arterwards,
a-following at his heels. What a rum thing time is, ain't it, Neddy?'
The gentleman to whom these observations were addressed,
who appeared of a taciturn and thoughtful cast, merely echoed
the inquiry; Mr. Roker, shaking off the poetical and gloomy
train of thought into which he had been betrayed, descended to
the common business of life, and resumed his pen.
'Do you know what the third gentlemen is?' inquired Mr.
Pickwick, not very much gratified by this description of his
future associates.
'What is that Simpson, Neddy?' said Mr. Roker, turning to his
companion.
'What Simpson?' said Neddy.
'Why, him in twenty-seven in the third, that this gentleman's
going to be chummed on.'
'Oh, him!' replied Neddy; 'he's nothing exactly. He WAS a
horse chaunter: he's a leg now.'
'Ah, so I thought,' rejoined Mr. Roker, closing the book, and
placing the small piece of paper in Mr. Pickwick's hands. 'That's
the ticket, sir.'
Very much perplexed by this summary disposition of this
person, Mr. Pickwick walked back into the prison, revolving in
his mind what he had better do. Convinced, however, that before
he took any other steps it would be advisable to see, and hold
personal converse with, the three gentlemen with whom it was
proposed to quarter him, he made the best of his way to the third flight.
After groping about in the gallery for some time, attempting in
the dim light to decipher the numbers on the different doors, he
at length appealed to a pot-boy, who happened to be pursuing
his morning occupation of gleaning for pewter.
'Which is twenty-seven, my good fellow?' said Mr. Pickwick.
'Five doors farther on,' replied the pot-boy. 'There's the
likeness of a man being hung, and smoking the while, chalked
outside the door.'
Guided by this direction, Mr. Pickwick proceeded slowly along
the gallery until he encountered the 'portrait of a gentleman,'
above described, upon whose countenance he tapped, with the
knuckle of his forefinger--gently at first, and then audibly. After
repeating this process several times without effect, he ventured to
open the door and peep in.
There was only one man in the room, and he was leaning out
of window as far as he could without overbalancing himself,
endeavouring, with great perseverance, to spit upon the crown
of the hat of a personal friend on the parade below. As neither
speaking, coughing, sneezing, knocking, nor any other ordinary
mode of attracting attention, made this person aware of the
presence of a visitor, Mr. Pickwick, after some delay, stepped up
to the window, and pulled him gently by the coat tail. The
individual brought in his head and shoulders with great swiftness,
and surveying Mr. Pickwick from head to foot, demanded in a
surly tone what the--something beginning with a capital H--he wanted.
'I believe,' said Mr. Pickwick, consulting his ticket--'I believe
this is twenty-seven in the third?'
'Well?' replied the gentleman.
'I have come here in consequence of receiving this bit of
paper,' rejoined Mr. Pickwick.
'Hand it over,' said the gentleman.
Mr. Pickwick complied.
'I think Roker might have chummed you somewhere else,' said
Mr. Simpson (for it was the leg), after a very discontented sort of
a pause.
Mr. Pickwick thought so also; but, under all the circumstances,
he considered it a matter of sound policy to be silent.
Mr. Simpson mused for a few moments after this, and then,
thrusting his head out of the window, gave a shrill whistle, and
pronounced some word aloud, several times. What the word was,
Mr. Pickwick could not distinguish; but he rather inferred that
it must be some nickname which distinguished Mr. Martin, from
the fact of a great number of gentlemen on the ground below,
immediately proceeding to cry 'Butcher!' in imitation of the tone
in which that useful class of society are wont, diurnally, to make
their presence known at area railings.
Subsequent occurrences confirmed the accuracy of Mr. Pickwick's
impression; for, in a few seconds, a gentleman, prematurely
broad for his years, clothed in a professional blue jean frock and
top-boots with circular toes, entered the room nearly out of
breath, closely followed by another gentleman in very shabby
black, and a sealskin cap. The latter gentleman, who fastened his
coat all the way up to his chin by means of a pin and a button
alternately, had a very coarse red face, and looked like a drunken
chaplain; which, indeed, he was.
These two gentlemen having by turns perused Mr. Pickwick's
billet, the one expressed his opinion that it was 'a rig,' and the
other his conviction that it was 'a go.' Having recorded their
feelings in these very intelligible terms, they looked at Mr.
Pickwick and each other in awkward silence.
'It's an aggravating thing, just as we got the beds so snug,' said
the chaplain, looking at three dirty mattresses, each rolled up in
a blanket; which occupied one corner of the room during the day,
and formed a kind of slab, on which were placed an old cracked
basin, ewer, and soap-dish, of common yellow earthenware, with
a blue flower--'very aggravating.'
Mr. Martin expressed the same opinion in rather stronger
terms; Mr. Simpson, after having let a variety of expletive
adjectives loose upon society without any substantive to accompany
them, tucked up his sleeves, and began to wash the greens
for dinner.
While this was going on, Mr. Pickwick had been eyeing the
room, which was filthily dirty, and smelt intolerably close. There
was no vestige of either carpet, curtain, or blind. There was not
even a closet in it. Unquestionably there were but few things to
put away, if there had been one; but, however few in number, or
small in individual amount, still, remnants of loaves and pieces
of cheese, and damp towels, and scrags of meat, and articles of
wearing apparel, and mutilated crockery, and bellows without
nozzles, and toasting-forks without prongs, do present somewhat
of an uncomfortable appearance when they are scattered about
the floor of a small apartment, which is the common sitting and
sleeping room of three idle men.
'I suppose this can be managed somehow,' said the butcher,
after a pretty long silence. 'What will you take to go out?'
'I beg your pardon,' replied Mr. Pickwick. 'What did you say?
I hardly understand you.'
'What will you take to be paid out?' said the butcher. 'The
regular chummage is two-and-six. Will you take three bob?'
'And a bender,' suggested the clerical gentleman.
'Well, I don't mind that; it's only twopence a piece more,' said
Mr. Martin. 'What do you say, now? We'll pay you out for
three-and-sixpence a week. Come!'
'And stand a gallon of beer down,' chimed in Mr. Simpson.
'There!'
'And drink it on the spot,' said the chaplain. 'Now!'
'I really am so wholly ignorant of the rules of this place,'
returned Mr. Pickwick, 'that I do not yet comprehend you. Can
I live anywhere else? I thought I could not.'
At this inquiry Mr. Martin looked, with a countenance of
excessive surprise, at his two friends, and then each gentleman
pointed with his right thumb over his left shoulder. This action
imperfectly described in words by the very feeble term of 'over
the left,' when performed by any number of ladies or gentlemen
who are accustomed to act in unison, has a very graceful and airy
effect; its expression is one of light and playful sarcasm.
'CAN you!' repeated Mr. Martin, with a smile of pity.
'Well, if I knew as little of life as that, I'd eat my hat and
swallow the buckle whole,' said the clerical gentleman.
'So would I,' added the sporting one solemnly.
After this introductory preface, the three chums informed Mr.
Pickwick, in a breath, that money was, in the Fleet, just what
money was out of it; that it would instantly procure him almost
anything he desired; and that, supposing he had it, and had no
objection to spend it, if he only signified his wish to have a room
to himself, he might take possession of one, furnished and fitted
to boot, in half an hour's time.
With this the parties separated, very much to their common
satisfaction; Mr. Pickwick once more retracing his steps to the
lodge, and the three companions adjourning to the coffee-room,
there to spend the five shillings which the clerical gentleman had,
with admirable prudence and foresight, borrowed of him for the purpose.
'I knowed it!' said Mr. Roker, with a chuckle, when Mr.
Pickwick stated the object with which he had returned. 'Didn't I
say so, Neddy?'
The philosophical owner of the universal penknife growled an
affirmative.
'I knowed you'd want a room for yourself, bless you!' said
Mr. Roker. 'Let me see. You'll want some furniture. You'll hire
that of me, I suppose? That's the reg'lar thing.'
'With great pleasure,' replied Mr. Pickwick.
'There's a capital room up in the coffee-room flight, that
belongs to a Chancery prisoner,' said Mr. Roker. 'It'll stand you
in a pound a week. I suppose you don't mind that?'
'Not at all,' said Mr. Pickwick.
'Just step there with me,' said Roker, taking up his hat with
great alacrity; 'the matter's settled in five minutes. Lord! why
didn't you say at first that you was willing to come down handsome?'
The matter was soon arranged, as the turnkey had foretold.
The Chancery prisoner had been there long enough to have lost
his friends, fortune, home, and happiness, and to have acquired
the right of having a room to himself. As he laboured, however,
under the inconvenience of often wanting a morsel of bread, he
eagerly listened to Mr. Pickwick's proposal to rent the apartment,
and readily covenanted and agreed to yield him up the sole and
undisturbed possession thereof, in consideration of the weekly
payment of twenty shillings; from which fund he furthermore
contracted to pay out any person or persons that might be
chummed upon it.
As they struck the bargain, Mr. Pickwick surveyed him with a
painful interest. He was a tall, gaunt, cadaverous man, in an old
greatcoat and slippers, with sunken cheeks, and a restless, eager
eye. His lips were bloodless, and his bones sharp and thin. God
help him! the iron teeth of confinement and privation had been
slowly filing him down for twenty years.
'And where will you live meanwhile, Sir?' said Mr. Pickwick,
as he laid the amount of the first week's rent, in advance, on the
tottering table.
The man gathered up the money with a trembling hand, and
replied that he didn't know yet; he must go and see where he
could move his bed to.
'I am afraid, sir,' said Mr. Pickwick, laying his hand gently and
compassionately on his arm--'I am afraid you will have to live in
some noisy, crowded place. Now, pray, consider this room your
own when you want quiet, or when any of your friends come to
see you.'
'Friends!' interposed the man, in a voice which rattled in his
throat. 'if I lay dead at the bottom of the deepest mine in the
world; tight screwed down and soldered in my coffin; rotting in
the dark and filthy ditch that drags its slime along, beneath the
foundations of this prison; I could not be more forgotten or
unheeded than I am here. I am a dead man; dead to society,
without the pity they bestow on those whose souls have passed to
judgment. Friends to see me! My God! I have sunk, from the
prime of life into old age, in this place, and there is not one to
raise his hand above my bed when I lie dead upon it, and say,
"It is a blessing he is gone!"'
The excitement, which had cast an unwonted light over the
man's face, while he spoke, subsided as he concluded; and
pressing his withered hands together in a hasty and disordered
manner, he shuffled from the room.
'Rides rather rusty,' said Mr. Roker, with a smile. 'Ah! they're
like the elephants. They feel it now and then, and it makes 'em wild!'
Having made this deeply-sympathising remark, Mr. Roker
entered upon his arrangements with such expedition, that in a
short time the room was furnished with a carpet, six chairs, a
table, a sofa bedstead, a tea-kettle, and various small articles, on
hire, at the very reasonable rate of seven-and-twenty shillings and
sixpence per week.
'Now, is there anything more we can do for you?' inquired
Mr. Roker, looking round with great satisfaction, and gaily
chinking the first week's hire in his closed fist.
'Why, yes,' said Mr. Pickwick, who had been musing deeply
for some time. 'Are there any people here who run on errands,
and so forth?'
'Outside, do you mean?' inquired Mr. Roker.
'Yes. I mean who are able to go outside. Not prisoners.'
'Yes, there is,' said Roker. 'There's an unfortunate devil, who
has got a friend on the poor side, that's glad to do anything of
that sort. He's been running odd jobs, and that, for the last two
months. Shall I send him?'
'If you please,' rejoined Mr. Pickwick. 'Stay; no. The poor
side, you say? I should like to see it. I'll go to him myself.'
The poor side of a debtor's prison is, as its name imports, that
in which the most miserable and abject class of debtors are
confined. A prisoner having declared upon the poor side, pays
neither rent nor chummage. His fees, upon entering and leaving
the jail, are reduced in amount, and he becomes entitled to a share
of some small quantities of food: to provide which, a few
charitable persons have, from time to time, left trifling legacies in
their wills. Most of our readers will remember, that, until within a
very few years past, there was a kind of iron cage in the wall of
the Fleet Prison, within which was posted some man of hungry
looks, who, from time to time, rattled a money-box, and
exclaimed in a mournful voice, 'Pray, remember the poor debtors;
pray remember the poor debtors.' The receipts of this box, when
there were any, were divided among the poor prisoners; and the
men on the poor side relieved each other in this degrading office.
Although this custom has been abolished, and the cage is now
boarded up, the miserable and destitute condition of these
unhappy persons remains the same. We no longer suffer them to
appeal at the prison gates to the charity and compassion of the
passersby; but we still leave unblotted the leaves of our statute
book, for the reverence and admiration of succeeding ages, the
just and wholesome law which declares that the sturdy felon shall
be fed and clothed, and that the penniless debtor shall be left to
die of starvation and nakedness. This is no fiction. Not a week
passes over our head, but, in every one of our prisons for debt,
some of these men must inevitably expire in the slow agonies of
want, if they were not relieved by their fellow-prisoners.
Turning these things in his mind, as he mounted the narrow
staircase at the foot of which Roker had left him, Mr. Pickwick
gradually worked himself to the boiling-over point; and so
excited was he with his reflections on this subject, that he had
burst into the room to which he had been directed, before he had
any distinct recollection, either of the place in which he was, or of
the object of his visit.
The general aspect of the room recalled him to himself at once;
but he had no sooner cast his eye on the figure of a man who was
brooding over the dusty fire, than, letting his hat fall on the floor,
he stood perfectly fixed and immovable with astonishment.
Yes; in tattered garments, and without a coat; his common
calico shirt, yellow and in rags; his hair hanging over his face;
his features changed with suffering, and pinched with famine--
there sat Mr. Alfred Jingle; his head resting on his hands, his eyes
fixed upon the fire, and his whole appearance denoting misery
and dejection!
Near him, leaning listlessly against the wall, stood a strongbuilt
countryman, flicking with a worn-out hunting-whip the
top-boot that adorned his right foot; his left being thrust into an
old slipper. Horses, dogs, and drink had brought him there,
pell-mell. There was a rusty spur on the solitary boot, which he
occasionally jerked into the empty air, at the same time giving
the boot a smart blow, and muttering some of the sounds by
which a sportsman encourages his horse. He was riding, in
imagination, some desperate steeplechase at that moment. Poor
wretch! He never rode a match on the swiftest animal in his costly
stud, with half the speed at which he had torn along the course
that ended in the Fleet.
On the opposite side of the room an old man was seated on a
small wooden box, with his eyes riveted on the floor, and his face
settled into an expression of the deepest and most hopeless
despair. A young girl--his little grand-daughter--was hanging
about him, endeavouring, with a thousand childish devices, to
engage his attention; but the old man neither saw nor heard her.
The voice that had been music to him, and the eyes that had been
light, fell coldly on his senses. His limbs were shaking with
disease, and the palsy had fastened on his mind.
There were two or three other men in the room, congregated in
a little knot, and noiselessly talking among themselves. There was
a lean and haggard woman, too--a prisoner's wife--who was
watering, with great solicitude, the wretched stump of a dried-up,
withered plant, which, it was plain to see, could never send forth
a green leaf again--too true an emblem, perhaps, of the office
she had come there to discharge.
Such were the objects which presented themselves to Mr.
Pickwick's view, as he looked round him in amazement. The
noise of some one stumbling hastily into the room, roused him.
Turning his eyes towards the door, they encountered the newcomer;
and in him, through his rags and dirt, he recognised the
familiar features of Mr. Job Trotter.
'Mr. Pickwick!' exclaimed Job aloud.
'Eh?' said Jingle, starting from his seat. 'Mr --! So it is--
queer place--strange things--serves me right--very.' Mr. Jingle
thrust his hands into the place where his trousers pockets used to
be, and, dropping his chin upon his breast, sank back into his chair.
Mr. Pickwick was affected; the two men looked so very miserable.
The sharp, involuntary glance Jingle had cast at a small
piece of raw loin of mutton, which Job had brought in with him,
said more of their reduced state than two hours' explanation
could have done. Mr. Pickwick looked mildly at Jingle, and said--
'I should like to speak to you in private. Will you step out for
an instant?'
'Certainly,' said Jingle, rising hastily. 'Can't step far--no
danger of overwalking yourself here--spike park--grounds
pretty--romantic, but not extensive--open for public inspection
--family always in town--housekeeper desperately careful--very.'
'You have forgotten your coat,' said Mr. Pickwick, as they
walked out to the staircase, and closed the door after them.
'Eh?' said Jingle. 'Spout--dear relation--uncle Tom--
couldn't help it--must eat, you know. Wants of nature--and all that.'
'What do you mean?'
'Gone, my dear sir--last coat--can't help it. Lived on a pair of
boots--whole fortnight. Silk umbrella--ivory handle--week--
fact--honour--ask Job--knows it.'
'Lived for three weeks upon a pair of boots, and a silk umbrella
with an ivory handle!' exclaimed Mr. Pickwick, who had only
heard of such things in shipwrecks or read of them in Constable's
Miscellany.
'True,' said Jingle, nodding his head. 'Pawnbroker's shop--
duplicates here--small sums--mere nothing--all rascals.'
'Oh,' said Mr. Pickwick, much relieved by this explanation; 'I
understand you. You have pawned your wardrobe.'
'Everything--Job's too--all shirts gone--never mind--saves
washing. Nothing soon--lie in bed--starve--die--inquest--little
bone-house--poor prisoner--common necessaries--hush it up--
gentlemen of the jury--warden's tradesmen--keep it snug--
natural death--coroner's order--workhouse funeral--serve him
right--all over--drop the curtain.'
Jingle delivered this singular summary of his prospects in life,
with his accustomed volubility, and with various twitches of the
countenance to counterfeit smiles. Mr. Pickwick easily perceived
that his recklessness was assumed, and looking him full, but not
unkindly, in the face, saw that his eyes were moist with tears.
'Good fellow,' said Jingle, pressing his hand, and turning his
head away. 'Ungrateful dog--boyish to cry--can't help it--bad
fever--weak--ill--hungry. Deserved it all--but suffered much--very.'
Wholly unable to keep up appearances any longer, and
perhaps rendered worse by the effort he had made, the dejected
stroller sat down on the stairs, and, covering his face with his
hands, sobbed like a child.
'Come, come,' said Mr. Pickwick, with considerable emotion,
'we will see what can be done, when I know all about the matter.
Here, Job; where is that fellow?'
'Here, sir,' replied Job, presenting himself on the staircase. We
have described him, by the bye, as having deeply-sunken eyes, in
the best of times. In his present state of want and distress, he
looked as if those features had gone out of town altogether.
'Here, sir,' cried Job.
'Come here, sir,' said Mr. Pickwick, trying to look stern, with
four large tears running down his waistcoat. 'Take that, sir.'
Take what? In the ordinary acceptation of such language, it
should have been a blow. As the world runs, it ought to have
been a sound, hearty cuff; for Mr. Pickwick had been duped,
deceived, and wronged by the destitute outcast who was now
wholly in his power. Must we tell the truth? It was something
from Mr. Pickwick's waistcoat pocket, which chinked as it was
given into Job's hand, and the giving of which, somehow or other
imparted a sparkle to the eye, and a swelling to the heart, of our
excellent old friend, as he hurried away.
Sam had returned when Mr. Pickwick reached his own room,
and was inspecting the arrangements that had been made for his
comfort, with a kind of grim satisfaction which was very pleasant
to look upon. Having a decided objection to his master's being
there at all, Mr. Weller appeared to consider it a high moral duty
not to appear too much pleased with anything that was done,
said, suggested, or proposed.
'Well, Sam,' said Mr. Pickwick.
'Well, sir,' replied Mr. Weller.
'Pretty comfortable now, eh, Sam?'
'Pretty vell, sir,' responded Sam, looking round him in a
disparaging manner.
'Have you seen Mr. Tupman and our other friends?'
'Yes, I HAVE seen 'em, sir, and they're a-comin' to-morrow, and
wos wery much surprised to hear they warn't to come to-day,'
replied Sam.
'You have brought the things I wanted?'
Mr. Weller in reply pointed to various packages which he had
arranged, as neatly as he could, in a corner of the room.
'Very well, Sam,' said Mr. Pickwick, after a little hesitation;
'listen to what I am going to say, Sam.'
'Cert'nly, Sir,' rejoined Mr. Weller; 'fire away, Sir.'
'I have felt from the first, Sam,' said Mr. Pickwick, with much
solemnity, 'that this is not the place to bring a young man to.'
'Nor an old 'un neither, Sir,' observed Mr. Weller.
'You're quite right, Sam,' said Mr. Pickwick; 'but old men
may come here through their own heedlessness and unsuspicion,
and young men may be brought here by the selfishness of those
they serve. It is better for those young men, in every point of
view, that they should not remain here. Do you understand me, Sam?'
'Vy no, Sir, I do NOT,' replied Mr. Weller doggedly.
'Try, Sam,' said Mr. Pickwick.
'Vell, sir,' rejoined Sam, after a short pause, 'I think I see your
drift; and if I do see your drift, it's my 'pinion that you're acomin'
it a great deal too strong, as the mail-coachman said to
the snowstorm, ven it overtook him.'
'I see you comprehend me, Sam,' said Mr. Pickwick. 'Independently
of my wish that you should not be idling about a place
like this, for years to come, I feel that for a debtor in the Fleet to
be attended by his manservant is a monstrous absurdity. Sam,'
said Mr. Pickwick, 'for a time you must leave me.'
'Oh, for a time, eh, sir?'rejoined Mr. Weller. rather sarcastically.
'Yes, for the time that I remain here,' said Mr. Pickwick.
'Your wages I shall continue to pay. Any one of my three friends
will be happy to take you, were it only out of respect to me. And
if I ever do leave this place, Sam,' added Mr. Pickwick, with
assumed cheerfulness--'if I do, I pledge you my word that you
shall return to me instantly.'
'Now I'll tell you wot it is, Sir,' said Mr. Weller, in a grave and
solemn voice. 'This here sort o' thing won't do at all, so don't
let's hear no more about it.'
'I am serious, and resolved, Sam,' said Mr. Pickwick.
'You air, air you, sir?' inquired Mr. Weller firmly. 'Wery good,
Sir; then so am I.'
Thus speaking, Mr. Weller fixed his hat on his head with great
precision, and abruptly left the room.
'Sam!' cried Mr. Pickwick, calling after him, 'Sam! Here!'
But the long gallery ceased to re-echo the sound of footsteps.
Sam Weller was gone.
CHAPTER XLIII
SHOWING HOW Mr. SAMUEL WELLER GOT INTO DIFFICULTIES
In a lofty room, ill-lighted and worse ventilated, situated in
Portugal Street, Lincoln's Inn Fields, there sit nearly the
whole year round, one, two, three, or four gentlemen in wigs,
as the case may be, with little writing-desks before them,
constructed after the fashion of those used by the judges of the land,
barring the French polish. There is a box of barristers on their
right hand; there is an enclosure of insolvent debtors on their left;
and there is an inclined plane of most especially dirty faces in
their front. These gentlemen are the Commissioners of the
Insolvent Court, and the place in which they sit, is the Insolvent
Court itself.
It is, and has been, time out of mind, the remarkable fate of
this court to be, somehow or other, held and understood, by the
general consent of all the destitute shabby-genteel people in
London, as their common resort, and place of daily refuge. It is
always full. The steams of beer and spirits perpetually ascend to
the ceiling, and, being condensed by the heat, roll down the walls
like rain; there are more old suits of clothes in it at one time,
than will be offered for sale in all Houndsditch in a twelvemonth;
more unwashed skins and grizzly beards than all the pumps and
shaving-shops between Tyburn and Whitechapel could render
decent, between sunrise and sunset.
It must not be supposed that any of these people have the least
shadow of business in, or the remotest connection with, the place
they so indefatigably attend. If they had, it would be no matter of
surprise, and the singularity of the thing would cease. Some of
them sleep during the greater part of the sitting; others carry
small portable dinners wrapped in pocket-handkerchiefs or
sticking out of their worn-out pockets, and munch and listen
with equal relish; but no one among them was ever known to have
the slightest personal interest in any case that was ever brought
forward. Whatever they do, there they sit from the first moment
to the last. When it is heavy, rainy weather, they all come in, wet
through; and at such times the vapours of the court are like those
of a fungus-pit.
A casual visitor might suppose this place to be a temple
dedicated to the Genius of Seediness. There is not a messenger or
process-server attached to it, who wears a coat that was made for
him; not a tolerably fresh, or wholesome-looking man in the
whole establishment, except a little white-headed apple-faced
tipstaff, and even he, like an ill-conditioned cherry preserved in
brandy, seems to have artificially dried and withered up into a
state of preservation to which he can lay no natural claim. The
very barristers' wigs are ill-powdered, and their curls lack crispness.
But the attorneys, who sit at a large bare table below the
commissioners, are, after all, the greatest curiosities. The professional
establishment of the more opulent of these gentlemen, consists of
a blue bag and a boy; generally a youth of the Jewish persuasion.
They have no fixed offices, their legal business being transacted
in the parlours of public-houses, or the yards of prisons, whither
they repair in crowds, and canvass for customers after the manner
of omnibus cads. They are of a greasy and mildewed appearance;
and if they can be said to have any vices at all, perhaps drinking
and cheating are the most conspicuous among them. Their
residences are usually on the outskirts of 'the Rules,' chiefly
lying within a circle of one mile from the obelisk in St. George's
Fields. Their looks are not prepossessing, and their manners
are peculiar.
Mr. Solomon Pell, one of this learned body, was a fat, flabby,
pale man, in a surtout which looked green one minute, and
brown the next, with a velvet collar of the same chameleon tints.
His forehead was narrow, his face wide, his head large, and his
nose all on one side, as if Nature, indignant with the propensities
she observed in him in his birth, had given it an angry tweak
which it had never recovered. Being short-necked and asthmatic,
however, he respired principally through this feature; so, perhaps,
what it wanted in ornament, it made up in usefulness.
'I'm sure to bring him through it,' said Mr. Pell.
'Are you, though?' replied the person to whom the assurance
was pledged.
'Certain sure,' replied Pell; 'but if he'd gone to any irregular
practitioner, mind you, I wouldn't have answered for the consequences.'
'Ah!' said the other, with open mouth.
'No, that I wouldn't,' said Mr. Pell; and he pursed up his lips,
frowned, and shook his head mysteriously.
Now, the place where this discourse occurred was the publichouse
just opposite to the Insolvent Court; and the person with
whom it was held was no other than the elder Mr. Weller, who
had come there, to comfort and console a friend, whose petition
to be discharged under the act, was to be that day heard, and whose
attorney he was at that moment consulting.
'And vere is George?' inquired the old gentleman.
Mr. Pell jerked his head in the direction of a back parlour,
whither Mr. Weller at once repairing, was immediately greeted
in the warmest and most flattering manner by some half-dozen
of his professional brethren, in token of their gratification at his
arrival. The insolvent gentleman, who had contracted a speculative
but imprudent passion for horsing long stages, which had
led to his present embarrassments, looked extremely well, and
was soothing the excitement of his feelings with shrimps and porter.
The salutation between Mr. Weller and his friends was strictly
confined to the freemasonry of the craft; consisting of a jerking
round of the right wrist, and a tossing of the little finger into the
air at the same time. We once knew two famous coachmen (they
are dead now, poor fellows) who were twins, and between whom
an unaffected and devoted attachment existed. They passed
each other on the Dover road, every day, for twenty-four years,
never exchanging any other greeting than this; and yet, when
one died, the other pined away, and soon afterwards followed him!
'Vell, George,' said Mr. Weller senior, taking off his upper
coat, and seating himself with his accustomed gravity. 'How is it?
All right behind, and full inside?'
'All right, old feller,' replied the embarrassed gentleman.
'Is the gray mare made over to anybody?' inquired Mr. Weller
anxiously. George nodded in the affirmative.
'Vell, that's all right,' said Mr. Weller. 'Coach taken care on, also?'
'Con-signed in a safe quarter,' replied George, wringing the
heads off half a dozen shrimps, and swallowing them without any
more ado.
'Wery good, wery good,' said Mr. Weller. 'Alvays see to the
drag ven you go downhill. Is the vay-bill all clear and straight
for'erd?'
'The schedule, sir,' said Pell, guessing at Mr. Weller's meaning,
'the schedule is as plain and satisfactory as pen and ink can
make it.'
Mr. Weller nodded in a manner which bespoke his inward
approval of these arrangements; and then, turning to Mr. Pell,
said, pointing to his friend George--
'Ven do you take his cloths off?'
'Why,' replied Mr. Pell, 'he stands third on the opposed list,
and I should think it would be his turn in about half an hour. I
told my clerk to come over and tell us when there was a chance.'
Mr. Weller surveyed the attorney from head to foot with great
admiration, and said emphatically--
'And what'll you take, sir?'
'Why, really,' replied Mr. Pell, 'you're very-- Upon my
word and honour, I'm not in the habit of-- It's so very early
in the morning, that, actually, I am almost-- Well, you may
bring me threepenn'orth of rum, my dear.'
The officiating damsel, who had anticipated the order before it
was given, set the glass of spirits before Pell, and retired.
'Gentlemen,' said Mr. Pell, looking round upon the company,
'success to your friend! I don't like to boast, gentlemen; it's not
my way; but I can't help saying, that, if your friend hadn't been
fortunate enough to fall into hands that-- But I won't say
what I was going to say. Gentlemen, my service to you.' Having
emptied the glass in a twinkling, Mr. Pell smacked his lips, and
looked complacently round on the assembled coachmen, who
evidently regarded him as a species of divinity.
'Let me see,' said the legal authority. 'What was I a-saying,
gentlemen?'
'I think you was remarkin' as you wouldn't have no objection
to another o' the same, Sir,' said Mr. Weller, with grave facetiousness.
'Ha, ha!' laughed Mr. Pell. 'Not bad, not bad. A professional
man, too! At this time of the morning, it would be rather too
good a-- Well, I don't know, my dear--you may do that
again, if you please. Hem!'
This last sound was a solemn and dignified cough, in which
Mr. Pell, observing an indecent tendency to mirth in some of his
auditors, considered it due to himself to indulge.
'The late Lord Chancellor, gentlemen, was very fond of me,'
said Mr. Pell.
'And wery creditable in him, too,' interposed Mr. Weller.
'Hear, hear,' assented Mr. Pell's client. 'Why shouldn't he be?
'Ah! Why, indeed!' said a very red-faced man, who had said
nothing yet, and who looked extremely unlikely to say anything
more. 'Why shouldn't he?'
A murmur of assent ran through the company.
'I remember, gentlemen,' said Mr. Pell, 'dining with him on one
occasion; there was only us two, but everything as splendid as if
twenty people had been expected--the great seal on a dumbwaiter
at his right hand, and a man in a bag-wig and suit of
armour guarding the mace with a drawn sword and silk stockings
--which is perpetually done, gentlemen, night and day; when he
said, "Pell," he said, "no false delicacy, Pell. You're a man of
talent; you can get anybody through the Insolvent Court, Pell;
and your country should be proud of you." Those were his very
words. "My Lord," I said, "you flatter me."--"Pell," he said,
"if I do, I'm damned."'
'Did he say that?' inquired Mr. Weller.
'He did,' replied Pell.
'Vell, then,' said Mr. Weller, 'I say Parliament ought to ha'
took it up; and if he'd been a poor man, they would ha' done it.'
'But, my dear friend,' argued Mr. Pell, 'it was in confidence.'
'In what?' said Mr. Weller.
'In confidence.'
'Oh! wery good,' replied Mr. Weller, after a little reflection.
'If he damned hisself in confidence, o' course that was another thing.'
'Of course it was,' said Mr. Pell. 'The distinction's obvious, you
will perceive.'
'Alters the case entirely,' said Mr. Weller. 'Go on, Sir.'
'No, I will not go on, Sir,' said Mr. Pell, in a low and serious
tone. 'You have reminded me, Sir, that this conversation was
private--private and confidential, gentlemen. Gentlemen, I am a
professional man. It may be that I am a good deal looked up to,
in my profession--it may be that I am not. Most people know. I
say nothing. Observations have already been made, in this room,
injurious to the reputation of my noble friend. You will excuse
me, gentlemen; I was imprudent. I feel that I have no right to
mention this matter without his concurrence. Thank you, Sir;
thank you.' Thus delivering himself, Mr. Pell thrust his hands
into his pockets, and, frowning grimly around, rattled three halfpence
with terrible determination.
This virtuous resolution had scarcely been formed, when the
boy and the blue bag, who were inseparable companions, rushed
violently into the room, and said (at least the boy did, for the
blue bag took no part in the announcement) that the case was
coming on directly. The intelligence was no sooner received than
the whole party hurried across the street, and began to fight their
way into court--a preparatory ceremony, which has been
calculated to occupy, in ordinary cases, from twenty-five minutes
to thirty.
Mr. Weller, being stout, cast himself at once into the crowd,
with the desperate hope of ultimately turning up in some place
which would suit him. His success was not quite equal to his
expectations; for having neglected to take his hat off, it was
knocked over his eyes by some unseen person, upon whose toes
he had alighted with considerable force. Apparently this
individual regretted his impetuosity immediately afterwards, for,
muttering an indistinct exclamation of surprise, he dragged the
old man out into the hall, and, after a violent struggle, released
his head and face.
'Samivel!' exclaimed Mr. Weller, when he was thus enabled to
behold his rescuer.
Sam nodded.
'You're a dutiful and affectionate little boy, you are, ain't
you,' said Mr. Weller, 'to come a-bonnetin' your father in his
old age?'
'How should I know who you wos?' responded the son. 'Do
you s'pose I wos to tell you by the weight o' your foot?'
'Vell, that's wery true, Sammy,' replied Mr. Weller, mollified
at once; 'but wot are you a-doin' on here? Your gov'nor can't
do no good here, Sammy. They won't pass that werdick, they
won't pass it, Sammy.' And Mr. Weller shook his head with
legal solemnity.
'Wot a perwerse old file it is!' exclaimed Sam. 'always a-goin'
on about werdicks and alleybis and that. Who said anything
about the werdick?'
Mr. Weller made no reply, but once more shook his head most learnedly.
'Leave off rattlin' that 'ere nob o' yourn, if you don't want it
to come off the springs altogether,' said Sam impatiently, 'and
behave reasonable. I vent all the vay down to the Markis o'
Granby, arter you, last night.'
'Did you see the Marchioness o' Granby, Sammy?' inquired
Mr. Weller, with a sigh.
'Yes, I did,' replied Sam.
'How wos the dear creetur a-lookin'?'
'Wery queer,' said Sam. 'I think she's a-injurin' herself
gradivally vith too much o' that 'ere pine-apple rum, and other
strong medicines of the same natur.'
'You don't mean that, Sammy?' said the senior earnestly.
'I do, indeed,' replied the junior. Mr. Weller seized his son's
hand, clasped it, and let it fall. There was an expression on his
countenance in doing so--not of dismay or apprehension, but
partaking more of the sweet and gentle character of hope. A
gleam of resignation, and even of cheerfulness, passed over his
face too, as he slowly said, 'I ain't quite certain, Sammy; I
wouldn't like to say I wos altogether positive, in case of any
subsekent disappointment, but I rayther think, my boy, I rayther
think, that the shepherd's got the liver complaint!'
'Does he look bad?' inquired Sam.
'He's uncommon pale,' replied his father, ''cept about the
nose, which is redder than ever. His appetite is wery so-so, but he
imbibes wonderful.'
Some thoughts of the rum appeared to obtrude themselves on
Mr. Weller's mind, as he said this; for he looked gloomy and
thoughtful; but he very shortly recovered, as was testified by a
perfect alphabet of winks, in which he was only wont to indulge
when particularly pleased.
'Vell, now,' said Sam, 'about my affair. Just open them ears o'
yourn, and don't say nothin' till I've done.' With this preface,
Sam related, as succinctly as he could, the last memorable
conversation he had had with Mr. Pickwick.
'Stop there by himself, poor creetur!' exclaimed the elder
Mr. Weller, 'without nobody to take his part! It can't be done,
Samivel, it can't be done.'
'O' course it can't,' asserted Sam: 'I know'd that, afore I came.'
'Why, they'll eat him up alive, Sammy,'exclaimed Mr. Weller.
Sam nodded his concurrence in the opinion.
'He goes in rayther raw, Sammy,' said Mr. Weller metaphorically,
'and he'll come out, done so ex-ceedin' brown, that his most
formiliar friends won't know him. Roast pigeon's nothin' to it, Sammy.'
Again Sam Weller nodded.
'It oughtn't to be, Samivel,' said Mr. Weller gravely.
'It mustn't be,' said Sam.
'Cert'nly not,' said Mr. Weller.
'Vell now,' said Sam, 'you've been a-prophecyin' away, wery
fine, like a red-faced Nixon, as the sixpenny books gives picters on.'
'Who wos he, Sammy?' inquired Mr. Weller.
'Never mind who he was,' retorted Sam; 'he warn't a coachman;
that's enough for you.'
'I know'd a ostler o' that name,' said Mr. Weller, musing.
'It warn't him,' said Sam. 'This here gen'l'm'n was a prophet.'
'Wot's a prophet?' inquired Mr. Weller, looking sternly on his son.
'Wy, a man as tells what's a-goin' to happen,' replied Sam.
'I wish I'd know'd him, Sammy,' said Mr. Weller. 'P'raps he
might ha' throw'd a small light on that 'ere liver complaint as we
wos a-speakin' on, just now. Hows'ever, if he's dead, and ain't
left the bisness to nobody, there's an end on it. Go on, Sammy,'
said Mr. Weller, with a sigh.
'Well,' said Sam, 'you've been a-prophecyin' avay about wot'll
happen to the gov'ner if he's left alone. Don't you see any way o'
takin' care on him?'
'No, I don't, Sammy,' said Mr. Weller, with a reflective visage.
'No vay at all?' inquired Sam.
'No vay,' said Mr. Weller, 'unless'--and a gleam of intelligence
lighted up his countenance as he sank his voice to a whisper, and
applied his mouth to the ear of his offspring--'unless it is getting
him out in a turn-up bedstead, unbeknown to the turnkeys,
Sammy, or dressin' him up like a old 'ooman vith a green
wail.'
Sam Weller received both of these suggestions with unexpected
contempt, and again propounded his question.
'No,' said the old gentleman; 'if he von't let you stop there, I
see no vay at all. It's no thoroughfare, Sammy, no thoroughfare.'
'Well, then, I'll tell you wot it is,' said Sam, 'I'll trouble you
for the loan of five-and-twenty pound.'
'Wot good'll that do?' inquired Mr. Weller.
'Never mind,' replied Sam. 'P'raps you may ask for it five
minits arterwards; p'raps I may say I von't pay, and cut up
rough. You von't think o' arrestin' your own son for the money,
and sendin' him off to the Fleet, will you, you unnat'ral wagabone?'
At this reply of Sam's, the father and son exchanged a
complete code of telegraph nods and gestures, after which, the elder
Mr. Weller sat himself down on a stone step and laughed till he
was purple.
'Wot a old image it is!' exclaimed Sam, indignant at this loss
of time. 'What are you a-settin' down there for, con-wertin' your
face into a street-door knocker, wen there's so much to be done.
Where's the money?'
'In the boot, Sammy, in the boot,' replied Mr. Weller,
composing his features. 'Hold my hat, Sammy.'
Having divested himself of this encumbrance, Mr. Weller gave
his body a sudden wrench to one side, and by a dexterous twist,
contrived to get his right hand into a most capacious pocket,
from whence, after a great deal of panting and exertion, he
extricated a pocket-book of the large octavo size, fastened by a
huge leathern strap. From this ledger he drew forth a couple of
whiplashes, three or four buckles, a little sample-bag of corn,
and, finally, a small roll of very dirty bank-notes, from which he
selected the required amount, which he handed over to Sam.
'And now, Sammy,' said the old gentleman, when the whiplashes,
and the buckles, and the samples, had been all put back,
and the book once more deposited at the bottom of the same
pocket, 'now, Sammy, I know a gen'l'm'n here, as'll do the rest
o' the bisness for us, in no time--a limb o' the law, Sammy, as
has got brains like the frogs, dispersed all over his body, and
reachin' to the wery tips of his fingers; a friend of the Lord
Chancellorship's, Sammy, who'd only have to tell him what he
wanted, and he'd lock you up for life, if that wos all.'
'I say,' said Sam, 'none o' that.'
'None o' wot?' inquired Mr. Weller.
'Wy, none o' them unconstitootional ways o' doin' it,' retorted
Sam. 'The have-his-carcass, next to the perpetual motion, is vun
of the blessedest things as wos ever made. I've read that 'ere in
the newspapers wery of'en.'
'Well, wot's that got to do vith it?' inquired Mr. Weller.
'Just this here,' said Sam, 'that I'll patronise the inwention,
and go in, that vay. No visperin's to the Chancellorship--I don't
like the notion. It mayn't be altogether safe, vith reference to
gettin' out agin.'
Deferring to his son's feeling upon this point, Mr. Weller at
once sought the erudite Solomon Pell, and acquainted him with
his desire to issue a writ, instantly, for the SUM of twenty-five
pounds, and costs of process; to be executed without delay upon
the body of one Samuel Weller; the charges thereby incurred, to
be paid in advance to Solomon Pell.
The attorney was in high glee, for the embarrassed coachhorser
was ordered to be discharged forthwith. He highly
approved of Sam's attachment to his master; declared that it
strongly reminded him of his own feelings of devotion to his
friend, the Chancellor; and at once led the elder Mr. Weller
down to the Temple, to swear the affidavit of debt, which the
boy, with the assistance of the blue bag, had drawn up on the spot.
Meanwhile, Sam, having been formally introduced to the
whitewashed gentleman and his friends, as the offspring of Mr.
Weller, of the Belle Savage, was treated with marked distinction,
and invited to regale himself with them in honour of the occasion
--an invitation which he was by no means backward in accepting.
The mirth of gentlemen of this class is of a grave and quiet
character, usually; but the present instance was one of peculiar
festivity, and they relaxed in proportion. After some rather
tumultuous toasting of the Chief Commissioner and Mr. Solomon
Pell, who had that day displayed such transcendent abilities, a
mottled-faced gentleman in a blue shawl proposed that somebody
should sing a song. The obvious suggestion was, that the mottledfaced
gentleman, being anxious for a song, should sing it himself;
but this the mottled-faced gentleman sturdily, and somewhat
offensively, declined to do. Upon which, as is not unusual in such
cases, a rather angry colloquy ensued.
'Gentlemen,' said the coach-horser, 'rather than disturb the
harmony of this delightful occasion, perhaps Mr. Samuel Weller
will oblige the company.'
'Raly, gentlemen,' said Sam, 'I'm not wery much in the habit
o' singin' without the instrument; but anythin' for a quiet life, as
the man said wen he took the sitivation at the lighthouse.'
With this prelude, Mr. Samuel Weller burst at once into the
following wild and beautiful legend, which, under the impression
that it is not generally known, we take the liberty of quoting. We
would beg to call particular attention to the monosyllable at the
end of the second and fourth lines, which not only enables the
singer to take breath at those points, but greatly assists the metre.
ROMANCE
I
Bold Turpin vunce, on Hounslow Heath,
His bold mare Bess bestrode-er;
Ven there he see'd the Bishop's coach
A-coming along the road-er.
So he gallops close to the 'orse's legs,
And he claps his head vithin;
And the Bishop says, 'Sure as eggs is eggs,
This here's the bold Turpin!'
CHORUS
And the Bishop says, 'Sure as eggs is eggs,
This here's the bold Turpin!'
II
Says Turpin, 'You shall eat your words,
With a sarse of leaden bul-let;'
So he puts a pistol to his mouth,
And he fires it down his gul-let.
The coachman he not likin' the job,
Set off at full gal-lop,
But Dick put a couple of balls in his nob,
And perwailed on him to stop.
CHORUS (sarcastically)
But Dick put a couple of balls in his nob,
And perwailed on him to stop.
'I maintain that that 'ere song's personal to the cloth,' said the
mottled-faced gentleman, interrupting it at this point. 'I demand
the name o' that coachman.'
'Nobody know'd,' replied Sam. 'He hadn't got his card in his pocket.'
'I object to the introduction o' politics,' said the mottledfaced
gentleman. 'I submit that, in the present company, that
'ere song's political; and, wot's much the same, that it ain't true.
I say that that coachman did not run away; but that he died
game--game as pheasants; and I won't hear nothin' said to
the contrairey.'
As the mottled-faced gentleman spoke with great energy and
determination, and as the opinions of the company seemed
divided on the subject, it threatened to give rise to fresh altercation,
when Mr. Weller and Mr. Pell most opportunely arrived.
'All right, Sammy,' said Mr. Weller.
'The officer will be here at four o'clock,' said Mr. Pell. 'I
suppose you won't run away meanwhile, eh? Ha! ha!'
'P'raps my cruel pa 'ull relent afore then,' replied Sam, with a
broad grin.
'Not I,' said the elder Mr. Weller.
'Do,' said Sam.
'Not on no account,' replied the inexorable creditor.
'I'll give bills for the amount, at sixpence a month,' said Sam.
'I won't take 'em,' said Mr. Weller.
'Ha, ha, ha! very good, very good,' said Mr. Solomon
Pell, who was making out his little bill of costs; 'a very
amusing incident indeed! Benjamin, copy that.' And Mr.
Pell smiled again, as he called Mr. Weller's attention to the amount.
'Thank you, thank you,' said the professional gentleman,
taking up another of the greasy notes as Mr. Weller took it from
the pocket-book. 'Three ten and one ten is five. Much obliged to
you, Mr. Weller. Your son is a most deserving young man, very
much so indeed, Sir. It's a very pleasant trait in a young man's
character, very much so,' added Mr. Pell, smiling smoothly
round, as he buttoned up the money.
'Wot a game it is!' said the elder Mr. Weller, with a chuckle.
'A reg'lar prodigy son!'
'Prodigal--prodigal son, Sir,' suggested Mr. Pell, mildly.
'Never mind, Sir,' said Mr. Weller, with dignity. 'I know wot's
o'clock, Sir. Wen I don't, I'll ask you, Sir.'
By the time the officer arrived, Sam had made himself so
extremely popular, that the congregated gentlemen determined to
see him to prison in a body. So off they set; the plaintiff and
defendant walking arm in arm, the officer in front, and eight stout
coachmen bringing up the rear. At Serjeant's Inn Coffee-house
the whole party halted to refresh, and, the legal arrangements
being completed, the procession moved on again.
Some little commotion was occasioned in Fleet Street, by the
pleasantry of the eight gentlemen in the flank, who persevered in
walking four abreast; it was also found necessary to leave the
mottled-faced gentleman behind, to fight a ticket-porter, it being
arranged that his friends should call for him as they came back.
Nothing but these little incidents occurred on the way. When they
reached the gate of the Fleet, the cavalcade, taking the time from
the plaintiff, gave three tremendous cheers for the defendant, and,
after having shaken hands all round, left him.
Sam, having been formally delivered into the warder's custody,
to the intense astonishment of Roker, and to the evident emotion
of even the phlegmatic Neddy, passed at once into the prison,
walked straight to his master's room, and knocked at the door.
'Come in,' said Mr. Pickwick.
Sam appeared, pulled off his hat, and smiled.
'Ah, Sam, my good lad!' said Mr. Pickwick, evidently delighted
to see his humble friend again; 'I had no intention of hurting your
feelings yesterday, my faithful fellow, by what I said. Put down
your hat, Sam, and let me explain my meaning, a little more at length.'
'Won't presently do, sir?' inquired Sam.
'Certainly,' said Mr. Pickwick; 'but why not now?'
'I'd rayther not now, sir,' rejoined Sam.
'Why?' inquired Mr. Pickwick.
''Cause--' said Sam, hesitating.
'Because of what?' inquired Mr. Pickwick, alarmed at his
follower's manner. 'Speak out, Sam.'
''Cause,' rejoined Sam--''cause I've got a little bisness as I
want to do.'
'What business?' inquired Mr. Pickwick, surprised at Sam's
confused manner.
'Nothin' partickler, Sir,' replied Sam.
'Oh, if it's nothing particular,' said Mr. Pickwick, with a
smile, 'you can speak with me first.'
'I think I'd better see arter it at once,' said Sam, still hesitating.
Mr. Pickwick looked amazed, but said nothing.
'The fact is--' said Sam, stopping short.
'Well!' said Mr. Pickwick. 'Speak out, Sam.'
'Why, the fact is,' said Sam, with a desperate effort, 'perhaps
I'd better see arter my bed afore I do anythin' else.'
'YOUR BED!' exclaimed Mr. Pickwick, in astonishment.
'Yes, my bed, Sir,' replied Sam, 'I'm a prisoner. I was arrested
this here wery arternoon for debt.'
'You arrested for debt!' exclaimed Mr. Pickwick, sinking into
a chair.
'Yes, for debt, Sir,' replied Sam. 'And the man as puts me in,
'ull never let me out till you go yourself.'
'Bless my heart and soul!' ejaculated Mr. Pickwick. 'What do
you mean?'
'Wot I say, Sir,' rejoined Sam. 'If it's forty years to come, I shall
be a prisoner, and I'm very glad on it; and if it had been Newgate,
it would ha' been just the same. Now the murder's out, and,
damme, there's an end on it!'
With these words, which he repeated with great emphasis and
violence, Sam Weller dashed his hat upon the ground, in a most
unusual state of excitement; and then, folding his arms, looked
firmly and fixedly in his master's face.
CHAPTER LXIV
TREATS OF DIVERS LITTLE MATTERS WHICH OCCURRED
IN THE FLEET, AND OF Mr. WINKLE'S MYSTERIOUS
BEHAVIOUR; AND SHOWS HOW THE POOR CHANCERY
PRISONER OBTAINED HIS RELEASE AT LAST
Mr. Pickwick felt a great deal too much touched by the warmth of
Sam's attachment, to be able to exhibit any manifestation of
anger or displeasure at the precipitate course he had adopted, in
voluntarily consigning himself to a debtor's prison for an
indefinite period. The only point on which he persevered in
demanding an explanation, was, the name of Sam's detaining
creditor; but this Mr. Weller as perseveringly withheld.
'It ain't o' no use, sir,' said Sam, again and again; 'he's a
malicious, bad-disposed, vorldly-minded, spiteful, windictive creetur,
with a hard heart as there ain't no soft'nin', as the wirtuous clergyman
remarked of the old gen'l'm'n with the dropsy, ven he said, that
upon the whole he thought he'd rayther leave his property to his
vife than build a chapel vith it.'
'But consider, Sam,' Mr. Pickwick remonstrated, 'the sum is so
small that it can very easily be paid; and having made up My
mind that you shall stop with me, you should recollect how much
more useful you would be, if you could go outside the walls.'
'Wery much obliged to you, sir,' replied Mr. Weller gravely;
'but I'd rayther not.'
'Rather not do what, Sam?'
'Wy, I'd rayther not let myself down to ask a favour o' this
here unremorseful enemy.'
'But it is no favour asking him to take his money, Sam,'
reasoned Mr. Pickwick.
'Beg your pardon, sir,' rejoined Sam, 'but it 'ud be a wery
great favour to pay it, and he don't deserve none; that's where
it is, sir.'
Here Mr. Pickwick, rubbing his nose with an air of some
vexation, Mr. Weller thought it prudent to change the theme of
the discourse.
'I takes my determination on principle, Sir,' remarked Sam,
'and you takes yours on the same ground; wich puts me in mind
o' the man as killed his-self on principle, wich o' course you've
heerd on, Sir.' Mr. Weller paused when he arrived at this point,
and cast a comical look at his master out of the corners of his eyes.
'There is no "of course" in the case, Sam,' said Mr. Pickwick,
gradually breaking into a smile, in spite of the uneasiness which
Sam's obstinacy had given him. 'The fame of the gentleman in
question, never reached my ears.'
'No, sir!' exclaimed Mr. Weller. 'You astonish me, Sir; he wos
a clerk in a gov'ment office, sir.'
'Was he?' said Mr. Pickwick.
'Yes, he wos, Sir,' rejoined Mr. Weller; 'and a wery pleasant
gen'l'm'n too--one o' the precise and tidy sort, as puts their feet
in little India-rubber fire-buckets wen it's wet weather, and never
has no other bosom friends but hare-skins; he saved up his
money on principle, wore a clean shirt ev'ry day on principle;
never spoke to none of his relations on principle, 'fear they
shou'd want to borrow money of him; and wos altogether, in
fact, an uncommon agreeable character. He had his hair cut on
principle vunce a fortnight, and contracted for his clothes on the
economic principle--three suits a year, and send back the old
uns. Being a wery reg'lar gen'l'm'n, he din'd ev'ry day at the
same place, where it was one-and-nine to cut off the joint, and a
wery good one-and-nine's worth he used to cut, as the landlord
often said, with the tears a-tricklin' down his face, let alone the
way he used to poke the fire in the vinter time, which wos a dead
loss o' four-pence ha'penny a day, to say nothin' at all o' the
aggrawation o' seein' him do it. So uncommon grand with it
too! "POST arter the next gen'l'm'n," he sings out ev'ry day ven
he comes in. "See arter the TIMES, Thomas; let me look at the
MORNIN' HERALD, when it's out o' hand; don't forget to bespeak
the CHRONICLE; and just bring the 'TIZER, vill you:" and then he'd
set vith his eyes fixed on the clock, and rush out, just a quarter
of a minit 'fore the time to waylay the boy as wos a-comin' in
with the evenin' paper, which he'd read with sich intense interest
and persewerance as worked the other customers up to the wery
confines o' desperation and insanity, 'specially one i-rascible old
gen'l'm'n as the vaiter wos always obliged to keep a sharp eye
on, at sich times, fear he should be tempted to commit some rash
act with the carving-knife. Vell, Sir, here he'd stop, occupyin' the
best place for three hours, and never takin' nothin' arter his
dinner, but sleep, and then he'd go away to a coffee-house a few
streets off, and have a small pot o' coffee and four crumpets,
arter wich he'd walk home to Kensington and go to bed. One
night he wos took very ill; sends for a doctor; doctor comes in a
green fly, with a kind o' Robinson Crusoe set o' steps, as he
could let down wen he got out, and pull up arter him wen he
got in, to perwent the necessity o' the coachman's gettin' down,
and thereby undeceivin' the public by lettin' 'em see that it wos
only a livery coat as he'd got on, and not the trousers to match.
"Wot's the matter?" says the doctor. "Wery ill," says the patient.
"Wot have you been a-eatin' on?" says the doctor. "Roast
weal," says the patient. "Wot's the last thing you dewoured?"
says the doctor. "Crumpets," says the patient. "That's it!" says
the doctor. "I'll send you a box of pills directly, and don't you
never take no more of 'em," he says. "No more o' wot?" says
the patient--"pills?" "No; crumpets," says the doctor. "Wy?"
says the patient, starting up in bed; "I've eat four crumpets,
ev'ry night for fifteen year, on principle." "Well, then, you'd
better leave 'em off, on principle," says the doctor. "Crumpets is
NOT wholesome, Sir," says the doctor, wery fierce. "But they're
so cheap," says the patient, comin' down a little, "and so wery
fillin' at the price." "They'd be dear to you, at any price; dear if
you wos paid to eat 'em," says the doctor. "Four crumpets a
night," he says, "vill do your business in six months!" The patient
looks him full in the face, and turns it over in his mind for a long
time, and at last he says, "Are you sure o' that 'ere, Sir?" "I'll
stake my professional reputation on it," says the doctor. "How
many crumpets, at a sittin', do you think 'ud kill me off at once?"
says the patient. "I don't know," says the doctor. "Do you think
half-a-crown's wurth 'ud do it?" says the patient. "I think it
might," says the doctor. "Three shillins' wurth 'ud be sure to do
it, I s'pose?" says the patient. "Certainly," says the doctor.
"Wery good," says the patient; "good-night." Next mornin' he
gets up, has a fire lit, orders in three shillins' wurth o' crumpets,
toasts 'em all, eats 'em all, and blows his brains out.'
'What did he do that for?' inquired Mr. Pickwick abruptly; for
he was considerably startled by this tragical termination of
the narrative.
'Wot did he do it for, Sir?' reiterated Sam. 'Wy, in support of
his great principle that crumpets wos wholesome, and to show
that he wouldn't be put out of his way for nobody!'
With such like shiftings and changings of the discourse, did
Mr. Weller meet his master's questioning on the night of his
taking up his residence in the Fleet. Finding all gentle remonstrance
useless, Mr. Pickwick at length yielded a reluctant consent
to his taking lodgings by the week, of a bald-headed cobbler, who
rented a small slip room in one of the upper galleries. To this
humble apartment Mr. Weller moved a mattress and bedding,
which he hired of Mr. Roker; and, by the time he lay down upon
it at night, was as much at home as if he had been bred in the
prison, and his whole family had vegetated therein for three generations.
'Do you always smoke arter you goes to bed, old cock?'
inquired Mr. Weller of his landlord, when they had both retired
for the night.
'Yes, I does, young bantam,' replied the cobbler.
'Will you allow me to in-quire wy you make up your bed
under that 'ere deal table?' said Sam.
''Cause I was always used to a four-poster afore I came here,
and I find the legs of the table answer just as well,' replied
the cobbler.
'You're a character, sir,' said Sam.
'I haven't got anything of the kind belonging to me,' rejoined
the cobbler, shaking his head; 'and if you want to meet with a
good one, I'm afraid you'll find some difficulty in suiting yourself
at this register office.'
The above short dialogue took place as Mr. Weller lay
extended on his mattress at one end of the room, and the cobbler
on his, at the other; the apartment being illumined by the light
of a rush-candle, and the cobbler's pipe, which was glowing
below the table, like a red-hot coal. The conversation, brief as it
was, predisposed Mr. Weller strongly in his landlord's favour;
and, raising himself on his elbow, he took a more lengthened
survey of his appearance than he had yet had either time or
inclination to make.
He was a sallow man--all cobblers are; and had a strong
bristly beard--all cobblers have. His face was a queer, goodtempered,
crooked-featured piece of workmanship, ornamented
with a couple of eyes that must have worn a very joyous
expression at one time, for they sparkled yet. The man was sixty,
by years, and Heaven knows how old by imprisonment, so that
his having any look approaching to mirth or contentment, was
singular enough. He was a little man, and, being half doubled up
as he lay in bed, looked about as long as he ought to have been
without his legs. He had a great red pipe in his mouth, and was
smoking, and staring at the rush-light, in a state of enviable
placidity.
'Have you been here long?' inquired Sam, breaking the silence
which had lasted for some time.
'Twelve year,' replied the cobbler, biting the end of his pipe as
he spoke.
'Contempt?' inquired Sam.
The cobbler nodded.
'Well, then,' said Sam, with some sternness, 'wot do you
persevere in bein' obstinit for, vastin' your precious life away, in
this here magnified pound? Wy don't you give in, and tell the
Chancellorship that you're wery sorry for makin' his court
contemptible, and you won't do so no more?'
The cobbler put his pipe in the corner of his mouth, while he smiled,
and then brought it back to its old place again; but said nothing.
'Wy don't you?' said Sam, urging his question strenuously.
'Ah,' said the cobbler, 'you don't quite understand these
matters. What do you suppose ruined me, now?'
'Wy,' said Sam, trimming the rush-light, 'I s'pose the beginnin'
wos, that you got into debt, eh?'
'Never owed a farden,' said the cobbler; 'try again.'
'Well, perhaps,' said Sam, 'you bought houses, wich is delicate
English for goin' mad; or took to buildin', wich is a medical
term for bein' incurable.'
The cobbler shook his head and said, 'Try again.'
'You didn't go to law, I hope?' said Sam suspiciously.
'Never in my life,' replied the cobbler. 'The fact is, I was ruined
by having money left me.'
'Come, come,' said Sam, 'that von't do. I wish some rich
enemy 'ud try to vork my destruction in that 'ere vay. I'd let him.'
'Oh, I dare say you don't believe it,' said the cobbler, quietly
smoking his pipe. 'I wouldn't if I was you; but it's true for
all that.'
'How wos it?' inquired Sam, half induced to believe the fact
already, by the look the cobbler gave him.
'Just this,' replied the cobbler; 'an old gentleman that I
worked for, down in the country, and a humble relation of whose
I married--she's dead, God bless her, and thank Him for it!--
was seized with a fit and went off.'
'Where?' inquired Sam, who was growing sleepy after the
numerous events of the day.
'How should I know where he went?' said the cobbler, speaking
through his nose in an intense enjoyment of his pipe. 'He went
off dead.'
'Oh, that indeed,' said Sam. 'Well?'
'Well,' said the cobbler, 'he left five thousand pound behind him.'
'And wery gen-teel in him so to do,' said Sam.
'One of which,' continued the cobbler, 'he left to me, 'cause I
married his relation, you see.'
'Wery good,' murmured Sam.
'And being surrounded by a great number of nieces and
nevys, as was always quarrelling and fighting among themselves
for the property, he makes me his executor, and leaves the rest to
me in trust, to divide it among 'em as the will prowided.'
'Wot do you mean by leavin' it on trust?' inquired Sam, waking
up a little. 'If it ain't ready-money, were's the use on it?'
'It's a law term, that's all,' said the cobbler.
'I don't think that,' said Sam, shaking his head. 'There's wery
little trust at that shop. Hows'ever, go on.'
'Well,' said the cobbler, 'when I was going to take out a
probate of the will, the nieces and nevys, who was desperately
disappointed at not getting all the money, enters a caveat
against it.'
'What's that?' inquired Sam.
'A legal instrument, which is as much as to say, it's no go,'
replied the cobbler.
'I see,' said Sam, 'a sort of brother-in-law o' the have-hiscarcass.
Well.'
'But,' continued the cobbler, 'finding that they couldn't agree
among themselves, and consequently couldn't get up a case
against the will, they withdrew the caveat, and I paid all the
legacies. I'd hardly done it, when one nevy brings an action to set
the will aside. The case comes on, some months afterwards, afore
a deaf old gentleman, in a back room somewhere down by Paul's
Churchyard; and arter four counsels had taken a day a-piece to
bother him regularly, he takes a week or two to consider, and
read the evidence in six volumes, and then gives his judgment
that how the testator was not quite right in his head, and I must
pay all the money back again, and all the costs. I appealed; the
case come on before three or four very sleepy gentlemen, who had
heard it all before in the other court, where they're lawyers
without work; the only difference being, that, there, they're
called doctors, and in the other place delegates, if you understand
that; and they very dutifully confirmed the decision of the old
gentleman below. After that, we went into Chancery, where we
are still, and where I shall always be. My lawyers have had all my
thousand pound long ago; and what between the estate, as they
call it, and the costs, I'm here for ten thousand, and shall stop
here, till I die, mending shoes. Some gentlemen have talked of
bringing it before Parliament, and I dare say would have done it,
only they hadn't time to come to me, and I hadn't power to go
to them, and they got tired of my long letters, and dropped the
business. And this is God's truth, without one word of suppression
or exaggeration, as fifty people, both in this place and out
of it, very well know.'
The cobbler paused to ascertain what effect his story had
produced on Sam; but finding that he had dropped asleep, knocked
the ashes out of his pipe, sighed, put it down, drew the bedclothes
over his head, and went to sleep, too.
Mr. Pickwick was sitting at breakfast, alone, next morning
(Sam being busily engaged in the cobbler's room, polishing his
master's shoes and brushing the black gaiters) when there came a
knock at the door, which, before Mr. Pickwick could cry 'Come
in!' was followed by the appearance of a head of hair
and a cotton-velvet cap, both of which articles of dress he
had no difficulty in recognising as the personal property of
Mr. Smangle.
'How are you?' said that worthy, accompanying the inquiry
with a score or two of nods; 'I say--do you expect anybody this
morning? Three men--devilish gentlemanly fellows--have been
asking after you downstairs, and knocking at every door on the
hall flight; for which they've been most infernally blown up by
the collegians that had the trouble of opening 'em.'
'Dear me! How very foolish of them,' said Mr. Pickwick,
rising. 'Yes; I have no doubt they are some friends whom I
rather expected to see, yesterday.'
'Friends of yours!' exclaimed Smangle, seizing Mr. Pickwick
by the hand. 'Say no more. Curse me, they're friends of mine
from this minute, and friends of Mivins's, too. Infernal pleasant,
gentlemanly dog, Mivins, isn't he?' said Smangle, with great feeling.
'I know so little of the gentleman,' said Mr. Pickwick,
hesitating, 'that I--'
'I know you do,' interrupted Smangle, clasping Mr. Pickwick
by the shoulder. 'You shall know him better. You'll be delighted
with him. That man, Sir,' said Smangle, with a solemn countenance,
'has comic powers that would do honour to Drury Lane Theatre.'
'Has he indeed?' said Mr. Pickwick.
'Ah, by Jove he has!' replied Smangle. 'Hear him come the
four cats in the wheel-barrow--four distinct cats, sir, I pledge you
my honour. Now you know that's infernal clever! Damme, you
can't help liking a man, when you see these traits about him.
He's only one fault--that little failing I mentioned to you, you know.'
As Mr. Smangle shook his head in a confidential and sympathising
manner at this juncture, Mr. Pickwick felt that he was
expected to say something, so he said, 'Ah!' and looked restlessly
at the door.
'Ah!' echoed Mr. Smangle, with a long-drawn sigh. 'He's
delightful company, that man is, sir. I don't know better company
anywhere; but he has that one drawback. If the ghost of his
grandfather, Sir, was to rise before him this minute, he'd ask him
for the loan of his acceptance on an eightpenny stamp.'
'Dear me!' exclaimed Mr. Pickwick.
'Yes,' added Mr. Smangle; 'and if he'd the power of raising
him again, he would, in two months and three days from this
time, to renew the bill!'
'Those are very remarkable traits,' said Mr. Pickwick; 'but
I'm afraid that while we are talking here, my friends may be in a
state of great perplexity at not finding me.'
'I'll show 'em the way,' said Smangle, making for the door.
'Good-day. I won't disturb you while they're here, you know. By
the bye--'
As Smangle pronounced the last three words, he stopped
suddenly, reclosed the door which he had opened, and, walking
softly back to Mr. Pickwick, stepped close up to him on tiptoe,
and said, in a very soft whisper--
'You couldn't make it convenient to lend me half-a-crown till
the latter end of next week, could you?'
Mr. Pickwick could scarcely forbear smiling, but managing to
preserve his gravity, he drew forth the coin, and placed it in
Mr. Smangle's palm; upon which, that gentleman, with many
nods and winks, implying profound mystery, disappeared in
quest of the three strangers, with whom he presently returned;
and having coughed thrice, and nodded as many times, as an
assurance to Mr. Pickwick that he would not forget to pay, he
shook hands all round, in an engaging manner, and at length
took himself off.
'My dear friends,' said Mr. Pickwick, shaking hands alternately
with Mr. Tupman, Mr. Winkle, and Mr. Snodgrass,
who were the three visitors in question, 'I am delighted to see you.'
The triumvirate were much affected. Mr. Tupman shook his
head deploringly, Mr. Snodgrass drew forth his handkerchief,
with undisguised emotion; and Mr. Winkle retired to the
window, and sniffed aloud.
'Mornin', gen'l'm'n,' said Sam, entering at the moment with
the shoes and gaiters. 'Avay vith melincholly, as the little boy
said ven his schoolmissus died. Velcome to the college, gen'l'm'n.'
'This foolish fellow,' said Mr. Pickwick, tapping Sam on the
head as he knelt down to button up his master's gaiters--'this
foolish fellow has got himself arrested, in order to be near me.'
'What!' exclaimed the three friends.
'Yes, gen'l'm'n,' said Sam, 'I'm a--stand steady, sir, if you
please--I'm a prisoner, gen'l'm'n. Con-fined, as the lady said.'
'A prisoner!' exclaimed Mr. Winkle, with unaccountable vehemence.
'Hollo, sir!' responded Sam, looking up. 'Wot's the matter, Sir?'
'I had hoped, Sam, that-- Nothing, nothing,' said Mr.
Winkle precipitately.
There was something so very abrupt and unsettled in Mr.
Winkle's manner, that Mr. Pickwick involuntarily looked at his
two friends for an explanation.
'We don't know,' said Mr. Tupman, answering this mute
appeal aloud. 'He has been much excited for two days past,
and his whole demeanour very unlike what it usually is. We
feared there must be something the matter, but he resolutely
denies it.'
'No, no,' said Mr. Winkle, colouring beneath Mr. Pickwick's
gaze; 'there is really nothing. I assure you there is nothing, my
dear sir. It will be necessary for me to leave town, for a short
time, on private business, and I had hoped to have prevailed
upon you to allow Sam to accompany me.'
Mr. Pickwick looked more astonished than before.
'I think,' faltered Mr. Winkle, 'that Sam would have had no
objection to do so; but, of course, his being a prisoner here,
renders it impossible. So I must go alone.'
As Mr. Winkle said these words, Mr. Pickwick felt, with some
astonishment, that Sam's fingers were trembling at the gaiters, as
if he were rather surprised or startled. Sam looked up at Mr.
Winkle, too, when he had finished speaking; and though the
glance they exchanged was instantaneous, they seemed to understand
each other.
'Do you know anything of this, Sam?' said Mr. Pickwick sharply.
'No, I don't, sir,' replied Mr. Weller, beginning to button with
extraordinary assiduity.
'Are you sure, Sam?' said Mr. Pickwick.
'Wy, sir,' responded Mr. Weller; 'I'm sure so far, that I've
never heerd anythin' on the subject afore this moment. If I makes
any guess about it,' added Sam, looking at Mr. Winkle, 'I
haven't got any right to say what 'It is, fear it should be a
wrong 'un.'
'I have no right to make any further inquiry into the private
affairs of a friend, however intimate a friend,' said Mr. Pickwick,
after a short silence; 'at present let me merely say, that I do not
understand this at all. There. We have had quite enough of the
subject.'
Thus expressing himself, Mr. Pickwick led the conversation to
different topics, and Mr. Winkle gradually appeared more at
ease, though still very far from being completely so. They had all
so much to converse about, that the morning very quickly passed
away; and when, at three o'clock, Mr. Weller produced upon the
little dining-table, a roast leg of mutton and an enormous meatpie,
with sundry dishes of vegetables, and pots of porter, which
stood upon the chairs or the sofa bedstead, or where they could,
everybody felt disposed to do justice to the meal, notwithstanding
that the meat had been purchased, and dressed, and the pie
made, and baked, at the prison cookery hard by.
To these succeeded a bottle or two of very good wine, for
which a messenger was despatched by Mr. Pickwick to the Horn
Coffee-house, in Doctors' Commons. The bottle or two, indeed,
might be more properly described as a bottle or six, for by the
time it was drunk, and tea over, the bell began to ring for
strangers to withdraw.
But, if Mr. Winkle's behaviour had been unaccountable in the
morning, it became perfectly unearthly and solemn when, under
the influence of his feelings, and his share of the bottle or six,
he prepared to take leave of his friend. He lingered behind, until
Mr. Tupman and Mr. Snodgrass had disappeared, and then
fervently clenched Mr. Pickwick's hand, with an expression of
face in which deep and mighty resolve was fearfully blended with
the very concentrated essence of gloom.
'Good-night, my dear Sir!' said Mr. Winkle between his set teeth.
'Bless you, my dear fellow!' replied the warm-hearted Mr.
Pickwick, as he returned the pressure of his young friend's hand.
'Now then!' cried Mr. Tupman from the gallery.
'Yes, yes, directly,' replied Mr. Winkle. 'Good-night!'
'Good-night,' said Mr. Pickwick.
There was another good-night, and another, and half a dozen
more after that, and still Mr. Winkle had fast hold of his friend's
hand, and was looking into his face with the same strange expression.
'Is anything the matter?' said Mr. Pickwick at last, when his
arm was quite sore with shaking.
'Nothing,' said Mr. Winkle.
'Well then, good-night,' said Mr. Pickwick, attempting to
disengage his hand.
'My friend, my benefactor, my honoured companion,' murmured
Mr. Winkle, catching at his wrist. 'Do not judge me
harshly; do not, when you hear that, driven to extremity by
hopeless obstacles, I--'
'Now then,' said Mr. Tupman, reappearing at the door. 'Are
you coming, or are we to be locked in?'
'Yes, yes, I am ready,' replied Mr. Winkle. And with a violent
effort he tore himself away.
As Mr. Pickwick was gazing down the passage after them in
silent astonishment, Sam Weller appeared at the stair-head, and
whispered for one moment in Mr. Winkle's ear.
'Oh, certainly, depend upon me,' said that gentleman aloud.
'Thank'ee, sir. You won't forget, sir?' said Sam.
'Of course not,' replied Mr. Winkle.
'Wish you luck, Sir,' said Sam, touching his hat. 'I should very
much liked to ha' joined you, Sir; but the gov'nor, o' course,
is paramount.'
'It is very much to your credit that you remain here,'
said Mr. Winkle. With these words they disappeared down the stairs.
,Very extraordinary,' said Mr. Pickwick, going back into his
room, and seating himself at the table in a musing attitude.
'What can that young man be going to do?'
He had sat ruminating about the matter for some time, when
the voice of Roker, the turnkey, demanded whether he might
come in.
'By all means,' said Mr. Pickwick.
'I've brought you a softer pillow, Sir,' said Mr. Roker, 'instead
of the temporary one you had last night.'
'Thank you,' said Mr. Pickwick. 'Will you take a glass of wine?'
'You're wery good, Sir,' replied Mr. Roker, accepting the
proffered glass. 'Yours, sir.'
'Thank you,' said Mr. Pickwick.
'I'm sorry to say that your landlord's wery bad to-night, Sir,'
said Roker, setting down the glass, and inspecting the lining of
his hat preparatory to putting it on again.
'What! The Chancery prisoner!' exclaimed Mr. Pickwick.
'He won't be a Chancery prisoner wery long, Sir,' replied
Roker, turning his hat round, so as to get the maker's name
right side upwards, as he looked into it.
'You make my blood run cold,' said Mr. Pickwick. 'What do
you mean?'
'He's been consumptive for a long time past,' said Mr. Roker,
'and he's taken wery bad in the breath to-night. The doctor said,
six months ago, that nothing but change of air could save him.'
'Great Heaven!' exclaimed Mr. Pickwick; 'has this man been
slowly murdered by the law for six months?'
'I don't know about that,' replied Roker, weighing the hat by
the brim in both hands. 'I suppose he'd have been took the same,
wherever he was. He went into the infirmary, this morning; the
doctor says his strength is to be kept up as much as possible; and
the warden's sent him wine and broth and that, from his own
house. It's not the warden's fault, you know, sir.'
'Of course not,' replied Mr. Pickwick hastily.
'I'm afraid, however,' said Roker, shaking his head, 'that it's
all up with him. I offered Neddy two six-penn'orths to one upon
it just now, but he wouldn't take it, and quite right. Thank'ee, Sir.
Good-night, sir.'
'Stay,' said Mr. Pickwick earnestly. 'Where is this infirmary?'
'Just over where you slept, sir,' replied Roker. 'I'll show you, if
you like to come.' Mr. Pickwick snatched up his hat without
speaking, and followed at once.
The turnkey led the way in silence; and gently raising the
latch of the room door, motioned Mr. Pickwick to enter. It was
a large, bare, desolate room, with a number of stump bedsteads
made of iron, on one of which lay stretched the shadow of a man
--wan, pale, and ghastly. His breathing was hard and thick, and
he moaned painfully as it came and went. At the bedside sat a
short old man in a cobbler's apron, who, by the aid of a pair of
horn spectacles, was reading from the Bible aloud. It was the
fortunate legatee.
The sick man laid his hand upon his attendant's arm, and
motioned him to stop. He closed the book, and laid it on the bed.
'Open the window,' said the sick man.
He did so. The noise of carriages and carts, the rattle of
wheels, the cries of men and boys, all the busy sounds of a mighty
multitude instinct with life and occupation, blended into one
deep murmur, floated into the room. Above the hoarse loud
hum, arose, from time to time, a boisterous laugh; or a scrap of
some jingling song, shouted forth, by one of the giddy crowd,
would strike upon the ear, for an instant, and then be lost amidst
the roar of voices and the tramp of footsteps; the breaking of the
billows of the restless sea of life, that rolled heavily on, without.
These are melancholy sounds to a quiet listener at any time; but
how melancholy to the watcher by the bed of death!
'There is no air here,' said the man faintly. 'The place pollutes
it. It was fresh round about, when I walked there, years ago; but
it grows hot and heavy in passing these walls. I cannot breathe it.'
'We have breathed it together, for a long time,' said the old
man. 'Come, come.'
There was a short silence, during which the two spectators
approached the bed. The sick man drew a hand of his old fellowprisoner
towards him, and pressing it affectionately between both
his own, retained it in his grasp.
'I hope,' he gasped after a while, so faintly that they bent their
ears close over the bed to catch the half-formed sounds his pale
lips gave vent to--'I hope my merciful Judge will bear in mind
my heavy punishment on earth. Twenty years, my friend, twenty
years in this hideous grave! My heart broke when my child died,
and I could not even kiss him in his little coffin. My loneliness
since then, in all this noise and riot, has been very dreadful. May
God forgive me! He has seen my solitary, lingering death.'
He folded his hands, and murmuring something more they
could not hear, fell into a sleep--only a sleep at first, for they saw
him smile.
They whispered together for a little time, and the turnkey,
stooping over the pillow, drew hastily back. 'He has got his
discharge, by G--!' said the man.
He had. But he had grown so like death in life, that they knew
not when he died.
CHAPTER XLIV
DESCRIPTIVE OF AN AFFECTING INTERVIEW BETWEEN Mr.
SAMUEL WELLER AND A FAMILY PARTY. Mr. PICKWICK
MAKES A TOUR OF THE DIMINUTIVE WORLD HE
INHABITS, AND RESOLVES TO MIX WITH IT, IN FUTURE,
AS LITTLE AS POSSIBLE
A few mornings after his incarceration, Mr. Samuel Weller,
having arranged his master's room with all possible care, and
seen him comfortably seated over his books and papers, withdrew
to employ himself for an hour or two to come, as he best could.
It was a fine morning, and it occurred to Sam that a pint of
porter in the open air would lighten his next quarter of an hour
or so, as well as any little amusement in which he could indulge.
Having arrived at this conclusion, he betook himself to the
tap. Having purchased the beer, and obtained, moreover, the
day-but-one-before-yesterday's paper, he repaired to the skittleground,
and seating himself on a bench, proceeded to enjoy
himself in a very sedate and methodical manner.
First of all, he took a refreshing draught of the beer, and then
he looked up at a window, and bestowed a platonic wink on a
young lady who was peeling potatoes thereat. Then he opened
the paper, and folded it so as to get the police reports outwards;
and this being a vexatious and difficult thing to do, when there is
any wind stirring, he took another draught of the beer when he
had accomplished it. Then, he read two lines of the paper, and
stopped short to look at a couple of men who were finishing a
game at rackets, which, being concluded, he cried out 'wery
good,' in an approving manner, and looked round upon the
spectators, to ascertain whether their sentiments coincided with
his own. This involved the necessity of looking up at the windows
also; and as the young lady was still there, it was an act of
common politeness to wink again, and to drink to her good
health in dumb show, in another draught of the beer, which Sam
did; and having frowned hideously upon a small boy who had
noted this latter proceeding with open eyes, he threw one leg over
the other, and, holding the newspaper in both hands, began to
read in real earnest.
He had hardly composed himself into the needful state of
abstraction, when he thought he heard his own name proclaimed
in some distant passage. Nor was he mistaken, for it quickly
passed from mouth to mouth, and in a few seconds the air
teemed with shouts of 'Weller!'
'Here!' roared Sam, in a stentorian voice. 'Wot's the matter?
Who wants him? Has an express come to say that his country
house is afire?'
'Somebody wants you in the hall,' said a man who was standing by.
'Just mind that 'ere paper and the pot, old feller, will you?'
said Sam. 'I'm a-comin'. Blessed, if they was a-callin' me to the
bar, they couldn't make more noise about it!'
Accompanying these words with a gentle rap on the head of the young
gentleman before noticed, who, unconscious of his close vicinity to
the person in request, was screaming 'Weller!' with all his might,
Sam hastened across the ground, and ran up the steps into the hall.
Here, the first object that met his eyes was his beloved father sitting
on a bottom stair, with his hat in his hand, shouting out 'Weller!' in
his very loudest tone, at half-minute intervals.
'Wot are you a-roarin' at?' said Sam impetuously, when the old
gentleman had discharged himself of another shout; 'making
yourself so precious hot that you looks like a aggrawated glassblower.
Wot's the matter?'
'Aha!' replied the old gentleman, 'I began to be afeerd that
you'd gone for a walk round the Regency Park, Sammy.'
'Come,' said Sam, 'none o' them taunts agin the wictim o'
avarice, and come off that 'ere step. Wot arc you a-settin' down
there for? I don't live there.'
'I've got such a game for you, Sammy,' said the elder Mr.
Weller, rising.
'Stop a minit,' said Sam, 'you're all vite behind.'
'That's right, Sammy, rub it off,' said Mr. Weller, as his son
dusted him. 'It might look personal here, if a man walked about
with vitevash on his clothes, eh, Sammy?'
As Mr. Weller exhibited in this place unequivocal symptoms
of an approaching fit of chuckling, Sam interposed to stop it.
'Keep quiet, do,' said Sam, 'there never vos such a old pictercard
born. Wot are you bustin' vith, now?'
'Sammy,' said Mr. Weller, wiping his forehead, 'I'm afeerd
that vun o' these days I shall laugh myself into a appleplexy, my boy.'
'Vell, then, wot do you do it for?' said Sam. 'Now, then, wot
have you got to say?'
'Who do you think's come here with me, Samivel?' said Mr.
Weller, drawing back a pace or two, pursing up his mouth, and
extending his eyebrows.
'Pell?' said Sam.
Mr. Weller shook his head, and his red cheeks expanded with
the laughter that was endeavouring to find a vent.
'Mottled-faced man, p'raps?' asked Sam.
Again Mr. Weller shook his head.
'Who then?'asked Sam.
'Your mother-in-law,' said Mr. Weller; and it was lucky he did
say it, or his cheeks must inevitably have cracked, from their
most unnatural distension.
'Your mother--in--law, Sammy,' said Mr. Weller, 'and the
red-nosed man, my boy; and the red-nosed man. Ho! ho! ho!'
With this, Mr. Weller launched into convulsions of laughter,
while Sam regarded him with a broad grin gradually overspreading
his whole countenance.
'They've come to have a little serious talk with you, Samivel,'
said Mr. Weller, wiping his eyes. 'Don't let out nothin' about the
unnat'ral creditor, Sammy.'
'Wot, don't they know who it is?' inquired Sam.
'Not a bit on it,' replied his father.
'Vere are they?' said Sam, reciprocating all the old gentleman's grins.
'In the snuggery,' rejoined Mr. Weller. 'Catch the red-nosed
man a-goin' anyvere but vere the liquors is; not he, Samivel, not
he. Ve'd a wery pleasant ride along the road from the Markis
this mornin', Sammy,' said Mr. Weller, when he felt himself
equal to the task of speaking in an articulate manner. 'I drove the
old piebald in that 'ere little shay-cart as belonged to your
mother-in-law's first wenter, into vich a harm-cheer wos lifted
for the shepherd; and I'm blessed,' said Mr. Weller, with a look
of deep scorn--'I'm blessed if they didn't bring a portable flight
o' steps out into the road a-front o' our door for him, to get up by.'
'You don't mean that?' said Sam.
'I do mean that, Sammy,' replied his father, 'and I vish you
could ha' seen how tight he held on by the sides wen he did get
up, as if he wos afeerd o' being precipitayted down full six foot, and
dashed into a million hatoms. He tumbled in at last, however, and avay
ve vent; and I rayther think--I say I rayther think, Samivel--that he
found his-self a little jolted ven ve turned the corners.'
'Wot, I s'pose you happened to drive up agin a post or two?'
said Sam.
'I'm afeerd,' replied Mr. Weller, in a rapture of winks--'I'm
afeerd I took vun or two on 'em, Sammy; he wos a-flyin' out o'
the arm-cheer all the way.'
Here the old gentleman shook his head from side to side, and
was seized with a hoarse internal rumbling, accompanied with a
violent swelling of the countenance, and a sudden increase in the
breadth of all his features; symptoms which alarmed his son
not a little.
'Don't be frightened, Sammy, don't be frightened,' said the
old gentleman, when by dint of much struggling, and various
convulsive stamps upon the ground, he had recovered his
voice. 'It's only a kind o' quiet laugh as I'm a-tryin' to come, Sammy.'
'Well, if that's wot it is,' said Sam, 'you'd better not try to
come it agin. You'll find it rayther a dangerous inwention.'
'Don't you like it, Sammy?' inquired the old gentleman.
'Not at all,' replied Sam.
'Well,' said Mr. Weller, with the tears still running down his
cheeks, 'it 'ud ha' been a wery great accommodation to me if I
could ha' done it, and 'ud ha' saved a good many vords atween
your mother-in-law and me, sometimes; but I'm afeerd you're
right, Sammy, it's too much in the appleplexy line--a deal too
much, Samivel.'
This conversation brought them to the door of the snuggery,
into which Sam--pausing for an instant to look over his shoulder,
and cast a sly leer at his respected progenitor, who was still
giggling behind--at once led the way.
'Mother-in-law,' said Sam, politely saluting the lady, 'wery
much obliged to you for this here wisit.--Shepherd, how air you?'
'Oh, Samuel!' said Mrs. Weller. 'This is dreadful.'
'Not a bit on it, mum,' replied Sam.--'Is it, shepherd?'
Mr. Stiggins raised his hands, and turned up his eyes, until the
whites--or rather the yellows--were alone visible; but made no
reply in words.
'Is this here gen'l'm'n troubled with any painful complaint?'
said Sam, looking to his mother-in-law for explanation.
'The good man is grieved to see you here, Samuel,' replied
Mrs. Weller.
'Oh, that's it, is it?' said Sam. 'I was afeerd, from his manner,
that he might ha' forgotten to take pepper vith that 'ere last
cowcumber he eat. Set down, Sir, ve make no extra charge for
settin' down, as the king remarked wen he blowed up his ministers.'
'Young man,' said Mr. Stiggins ostentatiously, 'I fear you are
not softened by imprisonment.'
'Beg your pardon, Sir,' replied Sam; 'wot wos you graciously
pleased to hobserve?'
'I apprehend, young man, that your nature is no softer for this
chastening,' said Mr. Stiggins, in a loud voice.
'Sir,' replied Sam, 'you're wery kind to say so. I hope my
natur is NOT a soft vun, Sir. Wery much obliged to you for your
good opinion, Sir.'
At this point of the conversation, a sound, indecorously
approaching to a laugh, was heard to proceed from the chair
in which the elder Mr. Weller was seated; upon which Mrs.
Weller, on a hasty consideration of all the circumstances of the
case, considered it her bounden duty to become gradually hysterical.
'Weller,' said Mrs. W. (the old gentleman was seated in a
corner); 'Weller! Come forth.'
'Wery much obleeged to you, my dear,' replied Mr. Weller;
'but I'm quite comfortable vere I am.'
Upon this, Mrs. Weller burst into tears.
'Wot's gone wrong, mum?' said Sam.
'Oh, Samuel!' replied Mrs. Weller, 'your father makes me
wretched. Will nothing do him good?'
'Do you hear this here?' said Sam. 'Lady vants to know vether
nothin' 'ull do you good.'
'Wery much indebted to Mrs. Weller for her po-lite inquiries,
Sammy,' replied the old gentleman. 'I think a pipe vould benefit
me a good deal. Could I be accommodated, Sammy?'
Here Mrs. Weller let fall some more tears, and Mr. Stiggins groaned.
'Hollo! Here's this unfortunate gen'l'm'n took ill agin,' said
Sam, looking round. 'Vere do you feel it now, sir?'
'In the same place, young man,' rejoined Mr. Stiggins, 'in the
same place.'
'Vere may that be, Sir?' inquired Sam, with great outward simplicity.
'In the buzzim, young man,' replied Mr. Stiggins, placing his
umbrella on his waistcoat.
At this affecting reply, Mrs. Weller, being wholly unable to
suppress her feelings, sobbed aloud, and stated her conviction
that the red-nosed man was a saint; whereupon Mr. Weller,
senior, ventured to suggest, in an undertone, that he must be the
representative of the united parishes of St. Simon Without and
St. Walker Within.
'I'm afeered, mum,' said Sam, 'that this here gen'l'm'n, with
the twist in his countenance, feels rather thirsty, with the
melancholy spectacle afore him. Is it the case, mum?'
The worthy lady looked at Mr. Stiggins for a reply; that
gentleman, with many rollings of the eye, clenched his throat
with his right hand, and mimicked the act of swallowing, to
intimate that he was athirst.
'I am afraid, Samuel, that his feelings have made him so
indeed,' said Mrs. Weller mournfully.
'Wot's your usual tap, sir?' replied Sam.
'Oh, my dear young friend,' replied Mr. Stiggins, 'all taps
is vanities!'
'Too true, too true, indeed,' said Mrs. Weller, murmuring a
groan, and shaking her head assentingly.
'Well,' said Sam, 'I des-say they may be, sir; but wich is your
partickler wanity? Wich wanity do you like the flavour on
best, sir?'
'Oh, my dear young friend,' replied Mr. Stiggins, 'I despise
them all. If,' said Mr. Stiggins--'if there is any one of them less
odious than another, it is the liquor called rum. Warm, my dear
young friend, with three lumps of sugar to the tumbler.'
'Wery sorry to say, sir,' said Sam, 'that they don't allow that
particular wanity to be sold in this here establishment.'
'Oh, the hardness of heart of these inveterate men!' ejaculated
Mr. Stiggins. 'Oh, the accursed cruelty of these inhuman persecutors!'
With these words, Mr. Stiggins again cast up his eyes, and
rapped his breast with his umbrella; and it is but justice to the
reverend gentleman to say, that his indignation appeared very
real and unfeigned indeed.
After Mrs. Weller and the red-nosed gentleman had commented
on this inhuman usage in a very forcible manner, and
had vented a variety of pious and holy execrations against its
authors, the latter recommended a bottle of port wine, warmed
with a little water, spice, and sugar, as being grateful to the
stomach, and savouring less of vanity than many other compounds.
It was accordingly ordered to be prepared, and pending
its preparation the red-nosed man and Mrs. Weller looked at the
elder W. and groaned.
'Well, Sammy,' said the gentleman, 'I hope you'll find your
spirits rose by this here lively wisit. Wery cheerful and improvin'
conwersation, ain't it, Sammy?'
'You're a reprobate,' replied Sam; 'and I desire you won't
address no more o' them ungraceful remarks to me.'
So far from being edified by this very proper reply, the elder
Mr. Weller at once relapsed into a broad grin; and this inexorable
conduct causing the lady and Mr. Stiggins to close their eyes, and
rock themselves to and fro on their chairs, in a troubled manner,
he furthermore indulged in several acts of pantomime, indicative
of a desire to pummel and wring the nose of the aforesaid
Stiggins, the performance of which, appeared to afford him great
mental relief. The old gentleman very narrowly escaped detection
in one instance; for Mr. Stiggins happening to give a start on the
arrival of the negus, brought his head in smart contact with the
clenched fist with which Mr. Weller had been describing imaginary
fireworks in the air, within two inches of his ear, for some minutes.
'Wot are you a-reachin' out, your hand for the tumbler in that
'ere sawage way for?' said Sam, with great promptitude. 'Don't
you see you've hit the gen'l'm'n?'
'I didn't go to do it, Sammy,' said Mr. Weller, in some degree
abashed by the very unexpected occurrence of the incident.
'Try an in'ard application, sir,' said Sam, as the red-nosed
gentleman rubbed his head with a rueful visage. 'Wot do you
think o' that, for a go o' wanity, warm, Sir?'
Mr. Stiggins made no verbal answer, but his manner was
expressive. He tasted the contents of the glass which Sam had
placed in his hand, put his umbrella on the floor, and tasted it
again, passing his hand placidly across his stomach twice or
thrice; he then drank the whole at a breath, and smacking his
lips, held out the tumbler for more.
Nor was Mrs. Weller behind-hand in doing justice to the
composition. The good lady began by protesting that she couldn't
touch a drop--then took a small drop--then a large drop--
then a great many drops; and her feelings being of the nature
of those substances which are powerfully affected by the application
of strong waters, she dropped a tear with every drop
of negus, and so got on, melting the feelings down, until at
length she had arrived at a very pathetic and decent pitch of misery.
The elder Mr. Weller observed these signs and tokens with
many manifestations of disgust, and when, after a second jug of
the same, Mr. Stiggins began to sigh in a dismal manner, he
plainly evinced his disapprobation of the whole proceedings, by
sundry incoherent ramblings of speech, among which frequent
angry repetitions of the word 'gammon' were alone distinguishable
to the ear.
'I'll tell you wot it is, Samivel, my boy,' whispered the old
gentleman into his son's ear, after a long and steadfast
contemplation of his lady and Mr. Stiggins; 'I think there must be
somethin' wrong in your mother-in-law's inside, as vell as in that
o' the red-nosed man.'
'Wot do you mean?' said Sam.
'I mean this here, Sammy,' replied the old gentleman, 'that
wot they drink, don't seem no nourishment to 'em; it all turns to
warm water, and comes a-pourin' out o' their eyes. 'Pend upon
it, Sammy, it's a constitootional infirmity.'
Mr. Weller delivered this scientific opinion with many
confirmatory frowns and nods; which, Mrs. Weller remarking, and
concluding that they bore some disparaging reference either to
herself or to Mr. Stiggins, or to both, was on the point of
becoming infinitely worse, when Mr. Stiggins, getting on his legs
as well as he could, proceeded to deliver an edifying discourse for
the benefit of the company, but more especially of Mr. Samuel,
whom he adjured in moving terms to be upon his guard in that
sink of iniquity into which he was cast; to abstain from all
hypocrisy and pride of heart; and to take in all things exact
pattern and copy by him (Stiggins), in which case he might
calculate on arriving, sooner or later at the comfortable
conclusion, that, like him, he was a most estimable and blameless
character, and that all his acquaintances and friends were hopelessly
abandoned and profligate wretches. Which consideration,
he said, could not but afford him the liveliest satisfaction.
He furthermore conjured him to avoid, above all things, the
vice of intoxication, which he likened unto the filthy habits of
swine, and to those poisonous and baleful drugs which being
chewed in the mouth, are said to filch away the memory. At this
point of his discourse, the reverend and red-nosed gentleman
became singularly incoherent, and staggering to and fro in the
excitement of his eloquence, was fain to catch at the back of a
chair to preserve his perpendicular.
Mr. Stiggins did not desire his hearers to be upon their guard
against those false prophets and wretched mockers of religion,
who, without sense to expound its first doctrines, or hearts to feel
its first principles, are more dangerous members of society than
the common criminal; imposing, as they necessarily do, upon the
weakest and worst informed, casting scorn and contempt on
what should be held most sacred, and bringing into partial
disrepute large bodies of virtuous and well-conducted persons of
many excellent sects and persuasions. But as he leaned over the
back of the chair for a considerable time, and closing one eye,
winked a good deal with the other, it is presumed that he thought
all this, but kept it to himself.
During the delivery of the oration, Mrs. Weller sobbed and
wept at the end of the paragraphs; while Sam, sitting crosslegged
on a chair and resting his arms on the top rail, regarded
the speaker with great suavity and blandness of demeanour;
occasionally bestowing a look of recognition on the old gentleman,
who was delighted at the beginning, and went to sleep
about half-way.
'Brayvo; wery pretty!' said Sam, when the red-nosed man
having finished, pulled his worn gloves on, thereby thrusting his
fingers through the broken tops till the knuckles were disclosed
to view. 'Wery pretty.'
'I hope it may do you good, Samuel,' said Mrs. Weller solemnly.
'I think it vill, mum,' replied Sam.
'I wish I could hope that it would do your father good,' said
Mrs. Weller.
'Thank'ee, my dear,' said Mr. Weller, senior. 'How do you find
yourself arter it, my love?'
'Scoffer!' exclaimed Mrs. Weller.
'Benighted man!' said the Reverend Mr. Stiggins.
'If I don't get no better light than that 'ere moonshine o'
yourn, my worthy creetur,' said the elder Mr. Weller, 'it's wery
likely as I shall continey to be a night coach till I'm took off the
road altogether. Now, Mrs. We, if the piebald stands at livery
much longer, he'll stand at nothin' as we go back, and p'raps
that 'ere harm-cheer 'ull be tipped over into some hedge or
another, with the shepherd in it.'
At this supposition, the Reverend Mr. Stiggins, in evident
consternation, gathered up his hat and umbrella, and proposed
an immediate departure, to which Mrs. Weller assented. Sam
walked with them to the lodge gate, and took a dutiful leave.
'A-do, Samivel,' said the old gentleman.
'Wot's a-do?' inquired Sammy.
'Well, good-bye, then,' said the old gentleman.
'Oh, that's wot you're aimin' at, is it?' said Sam. 'Good-bye!'
'Sammy,' whispered Mr. Weller, looking cautiously round;
'my duty to your gov'nor, and tell him if he thinks better o' this
here bis'ness, to com-moonicate vith me. Me and a cab'netmaker
has dewised a plan for gettin' him out. A pianner, Samivel
--a pianner!' said Mr. Weller, striking his son on the chest with
the back of his hand, and falling back a step or two.
'Wot do you mean?' said Sam.
'A pianner-forty, Samivel,' rejoined Mr. Weller, in a still more
mysterious manner, 'as he can have on hire; vun as von't play, Sammy.'
'And wot 'ud be the good o' that?' said Sam.
'Let him send to my friend, the cabinet-maker, to fetch it back,
Sammy,' replied Mr. Weller. 'Are you avake, now?'
'No,' rejoined Sam.
'There ain't no vurks in it,' whispered his father. 'It 'ull hold
him easy, vith his hat and shoes on, and breathe through the legs,
vich his holler. Have a passage ready taken for 'Merriker. The
'Merrikin gov'ment will never give him up, ven vunce they find
as he's got money to spend, Sammy. Let the gov'nor stop there,
till Mrs. Bardell's dead, or Mr. Dodson and Fogg's hung (wich
last ewent I think is the most likely to happen first, Sammy),
and then let him come back and write a book about the
'Merrikins as'll pay all his expenses and more, if he blows 'em
up enough.'
Mr. Weller delivered this hurried abstract of his plot with
great vehemence of whisper; and then, as if fearful of weakening
the effect of the tremendous communication by any further
dialogue, he gave the coachman's salute, and vanished.
Sam had scarcely recovered his usual composure of countenance,
which had been greatly disturbed by the secret communication
of his respected relative, when Mr. Pickwick accosted him.
'Sam,' said that gentleman.
'Sir,' replied Mr. Weller.
'I am going for a walk round the prison, and I wish you to
attend me. I see a prisoner we know coming this way, Sam,' said
Mr. Pickwick, smiling.
'Wich, Sir?' inquired Mr. Weller; 'the gen'l'm'n vith the head
o' hair, or the interestin' captive in the stockin's?'
'Neither,' rejoined Mr. Pickwick. 'He is an older friend of
yours, Sam.'
'O' mine, Sir?' exclaimed Mr. Weller.
'You recollect the gentleman very well, I dare say, Sam,'
replied Mr. Pickwick, 'or else you are more unmindful of your
old acquaintances than I think you are. Hush! not a word, Sam;
not a syllable. Here he is.'
As Mr. Pickwick spoke, Jingle walked up. He looked less
miserable than before, being clad in a half-worn suit of clothes,
which, with Mr. Pickwick's assistance, had been released
from the pawnbroker's. He wore clean linen too, and had had
his hair cut. He was very pale and thin, however; and as he
crept slowly up, leaning on a stick, it was easy to see that he
had suffered severely from illness and want, and was still very
weak. He took off his hat as Mr. Pickwick saluted him,
and seemed much humbled and abashed at the sight of Sam Weller.
Following close at his heels, came Mr. Job Trotter, in the
catalogue of whose vices, want of faith and attachment to his
companion could at all events find no place. He was still ragged
and squalid, but his face was not quite so hollow as on his first
meeting with Mr. Pickwick, a few days before. As he took off his
hat to our benevolent old friend, he murmured some broken
expressions of gratitude, and muttered something about having
been saved from starving.
'Well, well,' said Mr. Pickwick, impatiently interrupting him,
'you can follow with Sam. I want to speak to you, Mr. Jingle.
Can you walk without his arm?'
'Certainly, sir--all ready--not too fast--legs shaky--head
queer--round and round--earthquaky sort of feeling--very.'
'Here, give me your arm,' said Mr. Pickwick.
'No, no,' replied Jingle; 'won't indeed--rather not.'
'Nonsense,' said Mr. Pickwick; 'lean upon me, I desire, Sir.'
Seeing that he was confused and agitated, and uncertain what
to do, Mr. Pickwick cut the matter short by drawing the invalided
stroller's arm through his, and leading him away, without saying
another word about it.
During the whole of this time the countenance of Mr. Samuel
Weller had exhibited an expression of the most overwhelming
and absorbing astonishment that the imagination can portray.
After looking from Job to Jingle, and from Jingle to Job in
profound silence, he softly ejaculated the words, 'Well, I AM
damn'd!' which he repeated at least a score of times; after which
exertion, he appeared wholly bereft of speech, and again cast his
eyes, first upon the one and then upon the other, in mute
perplexity and bewilderment.
'Now, Sam!' said Mr. Pickwick, looking back.
'I'm a-comin', sir,' replied Mr. Weller, mechanically following
his master; and still he lifted not his eyes from Mr. Job Trotter,
who walked at his side in silence.
Job kept his eyes fixed on the ground for some time. Sam, with
his glued to Job's countenance, ran up against the people who
were walking about, and fell over little children, and stumbled
against steps and railings, without appearing at all sensible of it,
until Job, looking stealthily up, said--
'How do you do, Mr. Weller?'
'It IS him!' exclaimed Sam; and having established Job's
identity beyond all doubt, he smote his leg, and vented his
feelings in a long, shrill whistle.
'Things has altered with me, sir,' said Job.
'I should think they had,' exclaimed Mr. Weller, surveying his
companion's rags with undisguised wonder. 'This is rayther a
change for the worse, Mr. Trotter, as the gen'l'm'n said, wen he
got two doubtful shillin's and sixpenn'orth o' pocket-pieces for a
good half-crown.'
'It is indeed,' replied Job, shaking his head. 'There is no
deception now, Mr. Weller. Tears,' said Job, with a look of
momentary slyness--'tears are not the only proofs of distress,
nor the best ones.'
'No, they ain't,' replied Sam expressively.
'They may be put on, Mr. Weller,' said Job.
'I know they may,' said Sam; 'some people, indeed, has 'em
always ready laid on, and can pull out the plug wenever they likes.'
'Yes,' replied Job; 'but these sort of things are not so easily
counterfeited, Mr. Weller, and it is a more painful process to get
them up.' As he spoke, he pointed to his sallow, sunken cheeks,
and, drawing up his coat sleeve, disclosed an arm which looked
as if the bone could be broken at a touch, so sharp and brittle did
it appear, beneath its thin covering of flesh.
'Wot have you been a-doin' to yourself?' said Sam, recoiling.
'Nothing,' replied Job.
'Nothin'!' echoed Sam.
'I have been doin' nothing for many weeks past,' said Job;
and eating and drinking almost as little.'
Sam took one comprehensive glance at Mr. Trotter's thin face
and wretched apparel; and then, seizing him by the arm,
commenced dragging him away with great violence.
'Where are you going, Mr. Weller?' said Job, vainly struggling
in the powerful grasp of his old enemy.
'Come on,' said Sam; 'come on!' He deigned no further
explanation till they reached the tap, and then called for a pot of
porter, which was speedily produced.
'Now,' said Sam, 'drink that up, ev'ry drop on it, and then
turn the pot upside down, to let me see as you've took the medicine.'
'But, my dear Mr. Weller,' remonstrated Job.
'Down vith it!' said Sam peremptorily.
Thus admonished, Mr. Trotter raised the pot to his lips, and,
by gentle and almost imperceptible degrees, tilted it into the air.
He paused once, and only once, to draw a long breath, but
without raising his face from the vessel, which, in a few moments
thereafter, he held out at arm's length, bottom upward. Nothing
fell upon the ground but a few particles of froth, which slowly
detached themselves from the rim, and trickled lazily down.
'Well done!' said Sam. 'How do you find yourself arter it?'
'Better, Sir. I think I am better,' responded Job.
'O' course you air,' said Sam argumentatively. 'It's like puttin'
gas in a balloon. I can see with the naked eye that you gets
stouter under the operation. Wot do you say to another o' the
same dimensions?'
'I would rather not, I am much obliged to you, Sir,' replied
Job--'much rather not.'
'Vell, then, wot do you say to some wittles?' inquired Sam.
'Thanks to your worthy governor, Sir,' said Mr. Trotter, 'we
have half a leg of mutton, baked, at a quarter before three, with
the potatoes under it to save boiling.'
'Wot! Has HE been a-purwidin' for you?' asked Sam emphatically.
'He has, Sir,' replied Job. 'More than that, Mr. Weller; my
master being very ill, he got us a room--we were in a kennel
before--and paid for it, Sir; and come to look at us, at night,
when nobody should know. Mr. Weller,' said Job, with real tears
in his eyes, for once, 'I could serve that gentleman till I fell down
dead at his feet.'
'I say!' said Sam, 'I'll trouble you, my friend! None o' that!'
Job Trotter looked amazed.
'None o' that, I say, young feller,' repeated Sam firmly. 'No
man serves him but me. And now we're upon it, I'll let you into
another secret besides that,' said Sam, as he paid for the beer.
'I never heerd, mind you, or read of in story-books, nor see in
picters, any angel in tights and gaiters--not even in spectacles, as
I remember, though that may ha' been done for anythin' I know
to the contrairey--but mark my vords, Job Trotter, he's a reg'lar
thoroughbred angel for all that; and let me see the man as
wenturs to tell me he knows a better vun.' With this defiance,
Mr. Weller buttoned up his change in a side pocket, and, with
many confirmatory nods and gestures by the way, proceeded in
search of the subject of discourse.
They found Mr. Pickwick, in company with Jingle, talking very
earnestly, and not bestowing a look on the groups who were
congregated on the racket-ground; they were very motley groups
too, and worth the looking at, if it were only in idle curiosity.
'Well,' said Mr. Pickwick, as Sam and his companion drew
nigh, 'you will see how your health becomes, and think about it
meanwhile. Make the statement out for me when you feel yourself
equal to the task, and I will discuss the subject with you when
I have considered it. Now, go to your room. You are tired, and
not strong enough to be out long.'
Mr. Alfred Jingle, without one spark of his old animation--
with nothing even of the dismal gaiety which he had assumed
when Mr. Pickwick first stumbled on him in his misery--bowed
low without speaking, and, motioning to Job not to follow him
just yet, crept slowly away.
'Curious scene this, is it not, Sam?' said Mr. Pickwick, looking
good-humouredly round.
'Wery much so, Sir,' replied Sam. 'Wonders 'ull never cease,'
added Sam, speaking to himself. 'I'm wery much mistaken if that
,ere Jingle worn't a-doin somethin' in the water-cart way!'
The area formed by the wall in that part of the Fleet in which
Mr. Pickwick stood was just wide enough to make a good
racket-court; one side being formed, of course, by the wall itself,
and the other by that portion of the prison which looked (or
rather would have looked, but for the wall) towards St. Paul's
Cathedral. Sauntering or sitting about, in every possible attitude
of listless idleness, were a great number of debtors, the major
part of whom were waiting in prison until their day of 'going up'
before the Insolvent Court should arrive; while others had been
remanded for various terms, which they were idling away as they
best could. Some were shabby, some were smart, many dirty, a
few clean; but there they all lounged, and loitered, and slunk
about with as little spirit or purpose as the beasts in a menagerie.
Lolling from the windows which commanded a view of this
promenade were a number of persons, some in noisy conversation
with their acquaintance below, others playing at ball with some
adventurous throwers outside, others looking on at the racketplayers,
or watching the boys as they cried the game. Dirty,
slipshod women passed and repassed, on their way to the cookinghouse
in one corner of the yard; children screamed, and fought,
and played together, in another; the tumbling of the skittles, and
the shouts of the players, mingled perpetually with these and a
hundred other sounds; and all was noise and tumult--save in a
little miserable shed a few yards off, where lay, all quiet and
ghastly, the body of the Chancery prisoner who had died the
night before, awaiting the mockery of an inquest. The body! It is
the lawyer's term for the restless, whirling mass of cares and
anxieties, affections, hopes, and griefs, that make up the living
man. The law had his body; and there it lay, clothed in graveclothes,
an awful witness to its tender mercy.
'Would you like to see a whistling-shop, Sir?' inquired Job Trotter.
'What do you mean?' was Mr. Pickwick's counter inquiry.
'A vistlin' shop, Sir,' interposed Mr. Weller.
'What is that, Sam?--A bird-fancier's?' inquired Mr. Pickwick.
'Bless your heart, no, Sir,' replied Job; 'a whistling-shop, Sir, is
where they sell spirits.' Mr. Job Trotter briefly explained here,
that all persons, being prohibited under heavy penalties from
conveying spirits into debtors' prisons, and such commodities
being highly prized by the ladies and gentlemen confined therein,
it had occurred to some speculative turnkey to connive, for
certain lucrative considerations, at two or three prisoners retailing
the favourite article of gin, for their own profit and advantage.
'This plan, you see, Sir, has been gradually introduced into all
the prisons for debt,' said Mr. Trotter.
'And it has this wery great advantage,' said Sam, 'that the
turnkeys takes wery good care to seize hold o' ev'rybody but
them as pays 'em, that attempts the willainy, and wen it gets in
the papers they're applauded for their wigilance; so it cuts two
ways--frightens other people from the trade, and elewates their
own characters.'
'Exactly so, Mr. Weller,' observed Job.
'Well, but are these rooms never searched to ascertain whether
any spirits are concealed in them?' said Mr. Pickwick.
'Cert'nly they are, Sir,' replied Sam; 'but the turnkeys knows
beforehand, and gives the word to the wistlers, and you may
wistle for it wen you go to look.'
By this time, Job had tapped at a door, which was opened by a
gentleman with an uncombed head, who bolted it after them
when they had walked in, and grinned; upon which Job grinned,
and Sam also; whereupon Mr. Pickwick, thinking it might be
expected of him, kept on smiling to the end of the interview.
The gentleman with the uncombed head appeared quite
satisfied with this mute announcement of their business, and,
producing a flat stone bottle, which might hold about a couple
of quarts, from beneath his bedstead, filled out three glasses of
gin, which Job Trotter and Sam disposed of in a most
workmanlike manner.
'Any more?' said the whistling gentleman.
'No more,' replied Job Trotter.
Mr. Pickwick paid, the door was unbolted, and out they came;
the uncombed gentleman bestowing a friendly nod upon Mr.
Roker, who happened to be passing at the moment.
From this spot, Mr. Pickwick wandered along all the galleries,
up and down all the staircases, and once again round the whole
area of the yard. The great body of the prison population
appeared to be Mivins, and Smangle, and the parson, and the
butcher, and the leg, over and over, and over again. There were
the same squalor, the same turmoil and noise, the same general
characteristics, in every corner; in the best and the worst alike.
The whole place seemed restless and troubled; and the people
were crowding and flitting to and fro, like the shadows in an
uneasy dream.
'I have seen enough,' said Mr. Pickwick, as he threw himself
into a chair in his little apartment. 'My head aches with these
scenes, and my heart too. Henceforth I will be a prisoner in my
own room.'
And Mr. Pickwick steadfastly adhered to this determination.
For three long months he remained shut up, all day; only
stealing out at night to breathe the air, when the greater part of his
fellow-prisoners were in bed or carousing in their rooms. His
health was beginning to suffer from the closeness of the confinement,
but neither the often-repeated entreaties of Perker and his
friends, nor the still more frequently-repeated warnings and
admonitions of Mr. Samuel Weller, could induce him to alter one
jot of his inflexible resolution.
CHAPTER XLVI
RECORDS A TOUCHING ACT OF DELICATE FEELING, NOT
UNMIXED WITH PLEASANTRY, ACHIEVED AND PERFORMED
BY Messrs. DODSON AND FOGG
It was within a week of the close of the month of July, that a
hackney cabriolet, number unrecorded, was seen to proceed at a
rapid pace up Goswell Street; three people were squeezed into
it besides the driver, who sat in his own particular little
dickey at the side; over the apron were hung two shawls, belonging
to two small vixenish-looking ladies under the apron; between
whom, compressed into a very small compass, was stowed away, a
gentleman of heavy and subdued demeanour, who, whenever he
ventured to make an observation, was snapped up short by one of
the vixenish ladies before-mentioned. Lastly, the two vixenish
ladies and the heavy gentleman were giving the driver contradictory
directions, all tending to the one point, that he should stop at
Mrs. Bardell's door; which the heavy gentleman, in direct
opposition to, and defiance of, the vixenish ladies, contended
was a green door and not a yellow one.
'Stop at the house with a green door, driver,' said the heavy
gentleman.
'Oh! You perwerse creetur!' exclaimed one of the vixenish
ladies. 'Drive to the 'ouse with the yellow door, cabmin.'
Upon this the cabman, who in a sudden effort to pull up at the
house with the green door, had pulled the horse up so high that
he nearly pulled him backward into the cabriolet, let the animal's
fore-legs down to the ground again, and paused.
'Now vere am I to pull up?' inquired the driver. 'Settle it
among yourselves. All I ask is, vere?'
Here the contest was renewed with increased violence; and the
horse being troubled with a fly on his nose, the cabman humanely
employed his leisure in lashing him about on the head, on the
counter-irritation principle.
'Most wotes carries the day!' said one of the vixenish ladies at
length. 'The 'ouse with the yellow door, cabman.'
But after the cabriolet had dashed up, in splendid style, to the
house with the yellow door, 'making,' as one of the vixenish
ladies triumphantly said, 'acterrally more noise than if one had
come in one's own carriage,' and after the driver had dismounted
to assist the ladies in getting out, the small round head of Master
Thomas Bardell was thrust out of the one-pair window of a
house with a red door, a few numbers off.
'Aggrawatin' thing!' said the vixenish lady last-mentioned,
darting a withering glance at the heavy gentleman.
'My dear, it's not my fault,' said the gentleman.
'Don't talk to me, you creetur, don't,' retorted the lady. 'The
house with the red door, cabmin. Oh! If ever a woman was
troubled with a ruffinly creetur, that takes a pride and a pleasure
in disgracing his wife on every possible occasion afore strangers,
I am that woman!'
'You ought to be ashamed of yourself, Raddle,' said the other
little woman, who was no other than Mrs. Cluppins.
'What have I been a-doing of?' asked Mr. Raddle.
'Don't talk to me, don't, you brute, for fear I should be
perwoked to forgit my sect and strike you!' said Mrs. Raddle.
While this dialogue was going on, the driver was most
ignominiously leading the horse, by the bridle, up to the house
with the red door, which Master Bardell had already opened.
Here was a mean and low way of arriving at a friend's house!
No dashing up, with all the fire and fury of the animal; no
jumping down of the driver; no loud knocking at the door; no
opening of the apron with a crash at the very last moment, for
fear of the ladies sitting in a draught; and then the man handing
the shawls out, afterwards, as if he were a private coachman!
The whole edge of the thing had been taken off--it was flatter
than walking.
'Well, Tommy,' said Mrs. Cluppins, 'how's your poor dear mother?'
'Oh, she's very well,' replied Master Bardell. 'She's in the front
parlour, all ready. I'm ready too, I am.' Here Master Bardell put
his hands in his pockets, and jumped off and on the bottom step
of the door.
'Is anybody else a-goin', Tommy?' said Mrs. Cluppins, arranging
her pelerine.
'Mrs. Sanders is going, she is,' replied Tommy; 'I'm going too,
I am.'
'Drat the boy,' said little Mrs. Cluppins. 'He thinks of nobody
but himself. Here, Tommy, dear.'
'Well,' said Master Bardell.
'Who else is a-goin', lovey?' said Mrs. Cluppins, in an
insinuating manner.
'Oh! Mrs. Rogers is a-goin',' replied Master Bardell, opening
his eyes very wide as he delivered the intelligence.
'What? The lady as has taken the lodgings!' ejaculated Mrs. Cluppins.
Master Bardell put his hands deeper down into his pockets,
and nodded exactly thirty-five times, to imply that it was the
lady-lodger, and no other.
'Bless us!' said Mrs. Cluppins. 'It's quite a party!'
'Ah, if you knew what was in the cupboard, you'd say so,'
replied Master Bardell.
'What is there, Tommy?' said Mrs. Cluppins coaxingly.
'You'll tell ME, Tommy, I know.'
'No, I won't,' replied Master Bardell, shaking his head, and
applying himself to the bottom step again.
'Drat the child!' muttered Mrs. Cluppins. 'What a prowokin'
little wretch it is! Come, Tommy, tell your dear Cluppy.'
'Mother said I wasn't to,' rejoined Master Bardell, 'I'm a-goin'
to have some, I am.' Cheered by this prospect, the precocious boy
applied himself to his infantile treadmill, with increased vigour.
The above examination of a child of tender years took place
while Mr. and Mrs. Raddle and the cab-driver were having an
altercation concerning the fare, which, terminating at this point
in favour of the cabman, Mrs. Raddle came up tottering.
'Lauk, Mary Ann! what's the matter?' said Mrs. Cluppins.
'It's put me all over in such a tremble, Betsy,' replied Mrs.
Raddle. 'Raddle ain't like a man; he leaves everythink to me.'
This was scarcely fair upon the unfortunate Mr. Raddle, who
had been thrust aside by his good lady in the commencement of
the dispute, and peremptorily commanded to hold his tongue.
He had no opportunity of defending himself, however, for Mrs.
Raddle gave unequivocal signs of fainting; which, being perceived
from the parlour window, Mrs. Bardell, Mrs. Sanders, the
lodger, and the lodger's servant, darted precipitately out, and
conveyed her into the house, all talking at the same time, and
giving utterance to various expressions of pity and condolence,
as if she were one of the most suffering mortals on earth. Being
conveyed into the front parlour, she was there deposited on a
sofa; and the lady from the first floor running up to the first floor,
returned with a bottle of sal-volatile, which, holding Mrs. Raddle
tight round the neck, she applied in all womanly kindness and
pity to her nose, until that lady with many plunges and struggles
was fain to declare herself decidedly better.
'Ah, poor thing!' said Mrs. Rogers, 'I know what her feelin's
is, too well.'
'Ah, poor thing! so do I,' said Mrs. Sanders; and then all the
ladies moaned in unison, and said they knew what it was, and
they pitied her from their hearts, they did. Even the lodger's little
servant, who was thirteen years old and three feet high, murmured
her sympathy.
'But what's been the matter?' said Mrs. Bardell.
'Ah, what has decomposed you, ma'am?' inquired Mrs. Rogers.
'I have been a good deal flurried,' replied Mrs. Raddle, in a
reproachful manner. Thereupon the ladies cast indignant glances
at Mr. Raddle.
'Why, the fact is,' said that unhappy gentleman, stepping
forward, 'when we alighted at this door, a dispute arose with the
driver of the cabrioily--' A loud scream from his wife, at the
mention of this word, rendered all further explanation inaudible.
'You'd better leave us to bring her round, Raddle,' said Mrs.
Cluppins. 'She'll never get better as long as you're here.'
All the ladies concurred in this opinion; so Mr. Raddle was
pushed out of the room, and requested to give himself an airing
in the back yard. Which he did for about a quarter of an hour,
when Mrs. Bardell announced to him with a solemn face that he
might come in now, but that he must be very careful how he
behaved towards his wife. She knew he didn't mean to be unkind;
but Mary Ann was very far from strong, and, if he didn't take
care, he might lose her when he least expected it, which would be
a very dreadful reflection for him afterwards; and so on. All this,
Mr. Raddle heard with great submission, and presently returned
to the parlour in a most lamb-like manner.
'Why, Mrs. Rogers, ma'am,' said Mrs. Bardell, 'you've never
been introduced, I declare! Mr. Raddle, ma'am; Mrs. Cluppins,
ma'am; Mrs. Raddle, ma'am.'
'Which is Mrs. Cluppins's sister,' suggested Mrs. Sanders.
'Oh, indeed!' said Mrs. Rogers graciously; for she was the
lodger, and her servant was in waiting, so she was more gracious
than intimate, in right of her position. 'Oh, indeed!'
Mrs. Raddle smiled sweetly, Mr. Raddle bowed, and Mrs.
Cluppins said, 'she was sure she was very happy to have an
opportunity of being known to a lady which she had heerd so
much in favour of, as Mrs. Rogers.' A compliment which the
last-named lady acknowledged with graceful condescension.
'Well, Mr. Raddle,' said Mrs. Bardell; 'I'm sure you ought to
feel very much honoured at you and Tommy being the only
gentlemen to escort so many ladies all the way to the Spaniards,
at Hampstead. Don't you think he ought, Mrs. Rogers, ma'am?'
'Oh, certainly, ma'am,' replied Mrs. Rogers; after whom all the
other ladies responded, 'Oh, certainly.'
'Of course I feel it, ma'am,' said Mr. Raddle, rubbing his
hands, and evincing a slight tendency to brighten up a little.
'Indeed, to tell you the truth, I said, as we was a-coming along in
the cabrioily--'
At the recapitulation of the word which awakened so many
painful recollections, Mrs. Raddle applied her handkerchief to her
eyes again, and uttered a half-suppressed scream; so that Mrs.
Bardell frowned upon Mr. Raddle, to intimate that he had better
not say anything more, and desired Mrs. Rogers's servant, with
an air, to 'put the wine on.'
This was the signal for displaying the hidden treasures of the
closet, which comprised sundry plates of oranges and biscuits,
and a bottle of old crusted port--that at one-and-nine--with
another of the celebrated East India sherry at fourteen-pence,
which were all produced in honour of the lodger, and afforded
unlimited satisfaction to everybody. After great consternation
had been excited in the mind of Mrs. Cluppins, by an attempt on
the part of Tommy to recount how he had been cross-examined
regarding the cupboard then in action (which was fortunately
nipped in the bud by his imbibing half a glass of the old crusted
'the wrong way,' and thereby endangering his life for some
seconds), the party walked forth in quest of a Hampstead stage.
This was soon found, and in a couple of hours they all arrived
safely in the Spaniards Tea-gardens, where the luckless Mr.
Raddle's very first act nearly occasioned his good lady a relapse;
it being neither more nor less than to order tea for seven, whereas
(as the ladies one and all remarked), what could have been easier
than for Tommy to have drank out of anybody's cup--or everybody's,
if that was all--when the waiter wasn't looking,
which would have saved one head of tea, and the tea just as good!
However, there was no help for it, and the tea-tray came, with
seven cups and saucers, and bread-and-butter on the same scale.
Mrs. Bardell was unanimously voted into the chair, and Mrs.
Rogers being stationed on her right hand, and Mrs. Raddle on
her left, the meal proceeded with great merriment and success.
'How sweet the country is, to be sure!' sighed Mrs. Rogers;
'I almost wish I lived in it always.'
'Oh, you wouldn't like that, ma'am,' replied Mrs. Bardell,
rather hastily; for it was not at all advisable, with reference to the
lodgings, to encourage such notions; 'you wouldn't like it, ma'am.'
'Oh! I should think you was a deal too lively and sought after,
to be content with the country, ma'am,' said little Mrs. Cluppins.
'Perhaps I am, ma'am. Perhaps I am,' sighed the first-floor lodger.
'For lone people as have got nobody to care for them, or take
care of them, or as have been hurt in their mind, or that kind of
thing,' observed Mr. Raddle, plucking up a little cheerfulness,
and looking round, 'the country is all very well. The country for
a wounded spirit, they say.'
Now, of all things in the world that the unfortunate man could
have said, any would have been preferable to this. Of course
Mrs. Bardell burst into tears, and requested to be led from the
table instantly; upon which the affectionate child began to cry
too, most dismally.
'Would anybody believe, ma'am,' exclaimed Mrs. Raddle,
turning fiercely to the first-floor lodger, 'that a woman could be
married to such a unmanly creetur, which can tamper with a
woman's feelings as he does, every hour in the day, ma'am?'
'My dear,' remonstrated Mr. Raddle, 'I didn't mean anything,
my dear.'
'You didn't mean!' repeated Mrs. Raddle, with great scorn and
contempt. 'Go away. I can't bear the sight on you, you brute.'
'You must not flurry yourself, Mary Ann,' interposed Mrs.
Cluppins. 'You really must consider yourself, my dear, which you
never do. Now go away, Raddle, there's a good soul, or you'll
only aggravate her.'
'You had better take your tea by yourself, Sir, indeed,' said
Mrs. Rogers, again applying the smelling-bottle.
Mrs. Sanders, who, according to custom, was very busy with
the bread-and-butter, expressed the same opinion, and Mr. Raddle
quietly retired.
After this, there was a great hoisting up of Master Bardell, who
was rather a large size for hugging, into his mother's arms, in
which operation he got his boots in the tea-board, and occasioned
some confusion among the cups and saucers. But that description
of fainting fits, which is contagious among ladies, seldom lasts
long; so when he had been well kissed, and a little cried over,
Mrs. Bardell recovered, set him down again, wondering how she
could have been so foolish, and poured out some more tea.
It was at this moment, that the sound of approaching wheels
was heard, and that the ladies, looking up, saw a hackney-coach
stop at the garden gate.
'More company!' said Mrs. Sanders.
'It's a gentleman,' said Mrs. Raddle.
'Well, if it ain't Mr. Jackson, the young man from Dodson and
Fogg's!' cried Mrs. Bardell. 'Why, gracious! Surely Mr. Pickwick
can't have paid the damages.'
'Or hoffered marriage!' said Mrs. Cluppins.
'Dear me, how slow the gentleman is,'exclaimed Mrs. Rogers.
'Why doesn't he make haste!'
As the lady spoke these words, Mr. Jackson turned from the
coach where he had been addressing some observations to a
shabby man in black leggings, who had just emerged from the
vehicle with a thick ash stick in his hand, and made his way to
the place where the ladies were seated; winding his hair round
the brim of his hat, as he came along.
'Is anything the matter? Has anything taken place, Mr.
Jackson?' said Mrs. Bardell eagerly.
'Nothing whatever, ma'am,' replied Mr. Jackson. 'How de do,
ladies? I have to ask pardon, ladies, for intruding--but the law,
ladies--the law.' With this apology Mr. Jackson smiled, made a
comprehensive bow, and gave his hair another wind. Mrs.
Rogers whispered Mrs. Raddle that he was really an elegant
young man.
'I called in Goswell Street,' resumed Mr. Jackson, 'and hearing
that you were here, from the slavey, took a coach and came on.
Our people want you down in the city directly, Mrs. Bardell.'
'Lor!' ejaculated that lady, starting at the sudden nature of
the communication.
'Yes,' said Mr. Jackson, biting his lip. 'It's very important and
pressing business, which can't be postponed on any account.
Indeed, Dodson expressly said so to me, and so did Fogg. I've
kept the coach on purpose for you to go back in.'
'How very strange!' exclaimed Mrs. Bardell.
The ladies agreed that it WAS very strange, but were
unanimously of opinion that it must be very important, or Dodson
& Fogg would never have sent; and further, that the business
being urgent, she ought to repair to Dodson & Fogg's without
any delay.
There was a certain degree of pride and importance about
being wanted by one's lawyers in such a monstrous hurry, that
was by no means displeasing to Mrs. Bardell, especially as it
might be reasonably supposed to enhance her consequence in the
eyes of the first-floor lodger. She simpered a little, affected
extreme vexation and hesitation, and at last arrived at the
conclusion that she supposed she must go.
'But won't you refresh yourself after your walk, Mr. Jackson?'
said Mrs. Bardell persuasively.
'Why, really there ain't much time to lose,' replied Jackson;
'and I've got a friend here,' he continued, looking towards the
man with the ash stick.
'Oh, ask your friend to come here, Sir,' said Mrs. Bardell.
'Pray ask your friend here, Sir.'
'Why, thank'ee, I'd rather not,' said Mr. Jackson, with some
embarrassment of manner. 'He's not much used to ladies' society,
and it makes him bashful. If you'll order the waiter to deliver him
anything short, he won't drink it off at once, won't he!--only
try him!' Mr. Jackson's fingers wandered playfully round his nose
at this portion of his discourse, to warn his hearers that he was
speaking ironically.
The waiter was at once despatched to the bashful gentleman,
and the bashful gentleman took something; Mr. Jackson also
took something, and the ladies took something, for hospitality's
sake. Mr. Jackson then said he was afraid it was time to go;
upon which, Mrs. Sanders, Mrs. Cluppins, and Tommy (who it
was arranged should accompany Mrs. Bardell, leaving the others
to Mr. Raddle's protection), got into the coach.
'Isaac,' said Jackson, as Mrs. Bardell prepared to get in,
looking up at the man with the ash stick, who was seated on the
box, smoking a cigar.
'Well?'
'This is Mrs. Bardell.'
'Oh, I know'd that long ago,' said the man.
Mrs. Bardell got in, Mr. Jackson got in after her, and away
they drove. Mrs. Bardell could not help ruminating on what
Mr. Jackson's friend had said. Shrewd creatures, those lawyers.
Lord bless us, how they find people out!
'Sad thing about these costs of our people's, ain't it,' said
Jackson, when Mrs. Cluppins and Mrs. Sanders had fallen
asleep; 'your bill of costs, I mean.'
'I'm very sorry they can't get them,' replied Mrs. Bardell. 'But
if you law gentlemen do these things on speculation, why you
must get a loss now and then, you know.'
'You gave them a COGNOVIT for the amount of your costs, after
the trial, I'm told!' said Jackson.
'Yes. Just as a matter of form,' replied Mrs. Bardell.
'Certainly,' replied Jackson drily. 'Quite a matter of form. Quite.'
On they drove, and Mrs. Bardell fell asleep. She was awakened,
after some time, by the stopping of the coach.
'Bless us!' said the lady .'Are we at Freeman's Court?'
'We're not going quite so far,' replied Jackson. 'Have the
goodness to step out.'
Mrs. Bardell, not yet thoroughly awake, complied. It was a
curious place: a large wall, with a gate in the middle, and a gaslight
burning inside.
'Now, ladies,' cried the man with the ash stick, looking into
the coach, and shaking Mrs. Sanders to wake her, 'Come!'
Rousing her friend, Mrs. Sanders alighted. Mrs. Bardell, leaning
on Jackson's arm, and leading Tommy by the hand, had already
entered the porch. They followed.
The room they turned into was even more odd-looking than
the porch. Such a number of men standing about! And they
stared so!
'What place is this?' inquired Mrs. Bardell, pausing.
'Only one of our public offices,' replied Jackson, hurrying her
through a door, and looking round to see that the other women
were following. 'Look sharp, Isaac!'
'Safe and sound,' replied the man with the ash stick. The door
swung heavily after them, and they descended a small flight of steps.
'Here we are at last. All right and tight, Mrs. Bardell!' said
Jackson, looking exultingly round.
'What do you mean?' said Mrs. Bardell, with a palpitating heart.
'Just this,' replied Jackson, drawing her a little on one side;
'don't be frightened, Mrs. Bardell. There never was a more
delicate man than Dodson, ma'am, or a more humane man than
Fogg. It was their duty in the way of business, to take you in
execution for them costs; but they were anxious to spare your
feelings as much as they could. What a comfort it must be, to
you, to think how it's been done! This is the Fleet, ma'am. Wish
you good-night, Mrs. Bardell. Good-night, Tommy!'
As Jackson hurried away in company with the man with the
ash stick another man, with a key in his hand, who had been
looking on, led the bewildered female to a second short flight of
steps leading to a doorway. Mrs. Bardell screamed violently;
Tommy roared; Mrs. Cluppins shrunk within herself; and Mrs.
Sanders made off, without more ado. For there stood the injured
Mr. Pickwick, taking his nightly allowance of air; and beside him
leant Samuel Weller, who, seeing Mrs. Bardell, took his hat off
with mock reverence, while his master turned indignantly on his heel.
'Don't bother the woman,' said the turnkey to Weller; 'she's
just come in.'
'A prisoner!' said Sam, quickly replacing his hat. 'Who's the
plaintives? What for? Speak up, old feller.'
'Dodson and Fogg,' replied the man; 'execution on COGNOVIT
for costs.'
'Here, Job, Job!' shouted Sam, dashing into the passage. 'Run
to Mr. Perker's, Job. I want him directly. I see some good in this.
Here's a game. Hooray! vere's the gov'nor?'
But there was no reply to these inquiries, for Job had started
furiously off, the instant he received his commission, and Mrs.
Bardell had fainted in real downright earnest.
CHAPTER XLVII
IS CHIEFLY DEVOTED TO MATTERS OF BUSINESS, AND
THE TEMPORAL ADVANTAGE OF DODSON AND FOGG--
Mr. WINKLE REAPPEARS UNDER EXTRAORDINARY
CIRCUMSTANCES--Mr. PICKWICK'S BENEVOLENCE PROVES
STRONGER THAN HIS OBSTINACY
Job Trotter, abating nothing of his speed, ran up Holborn,
sometimes in the middle of the road, sometimes on the
pavement, sometimes in the gutter, as the chances of getting along
varied with the press of men, women, children, and coaches, in
each division of the thoroughfare, and, regardless of all obstacles
stopped not for an instant until he reached the gate of Gray's
Inn. Notwithstanding all the expedition he had used, however,
the gate had been closed a good half-hour when he reached it, and
by the time he had discovered Mr. Perker's laundress, who lived
with a married daughter, who had bestowed her hand upon a
non-resident waiter, who occupied the one-pair of some number
in some street closely adjoining to some brewery somewhere
behind Gray's Inn Lane, it was within fifteen minutes of closing
the prison for the night. Mr. Lowten had still to be ferreted out
from the back parlour of the Magpie and Stump; and Job had
scarcely accomplished this object, and communicated Sam
Weller's message, when the clock struck ten.
'There,' said Lowten, 'it's too late now. You can't get in
to-night; you've got the key of the street, my friend.'
'Never mind me,' replied Job. 'I can sleep anywhere. But won't
it be better to see Mr. Perker to-night, so that we may be there,
the first thing in the morning?'
'Why,' responded Lowten, after a little consideration, 'if it was
in anybody else's case, Perker wouldn't be best pleased at my
going up to his house; but as it's Mr. Pickwick's, I think I may
venture to take a cab and charge it to the office.' Deciding on this
line of conduct, Mr. Lowten took up his hat, and begging the
assembled company to appoint a deputy-chairman during his
temporary absence, led the way to the nearest coach-stand.
Summoning the cab of most promising appearance, he directed
the driver to repair to Montague Place, Russell Square.
Mr. Perker had had a dinner-party that day, as was testified
by the appearance of lights in the drawing-room windows, the
sound of an improved grand piano, and an improvable cabinet
voice issuing therefrom, and a rather overpowering smell of meat
which pervaded the steps and entry. In fact, a couple of very good
country agencies happening to come up to town, at the same
time, an agreeable little party had been got together to meet them,
comprising Mr. Snicks, the Life Office Secretary, Mr. Prosee, the
eminent counsel, three solicitors, one commissioner of bankrupts,
a special pleader from the Temple, a small-eyed peremptory
young gentleman, his pupil, who had written a lively book about
the law of demises, with a vast quantity of marginal notes and
references; and several other eminent and distinguished personages.
From this society, little Mr. Perker detached himself, on his
clerk being announced in a whisper; and repairing to the diningroom,
there found Mr. Lowten and Job Trotter looking very dim
and shadowy by the light of a kitchen candle, which the gentleman
who condescended to appear in plush shorts and cottons
for a quarterly stipend, had, with a becoming contempt for the
clerk and all things appertaining to 'the office,' placed upon the table.
'Now, Lowten,' said little Mr. Perker, shutting the door,'what's
the matter? No important letter come in a parcel, is there?'
'No, Sir,' replied Lowten. 'This is a messenger from Mr.
Pickwick, Sir.'
'From Pickwick, eh?' said the little man, turning quickly to
Job. 'Well, what is it?'
'Dodson and Fogg have taken Mrs. Bardell in execution for
her costs, Sir,' said Job.
'No!' exclaimed Perker, putting his hands in his pockets, and
reclining against the sideboard.
'Yes,' said Job. 'It seems they got a cognovit out of her, for the
amount of 'em, directly after the trial.'
'By Jove!' said Perker, taking both hands out of his pockets,
and striking the knuckles of his right against the palm of his left,
emphatically, 'those are the cleverest scamps I ever had anything
to do with!'
'The sharpest practitioners I ever knew, Sir,' observed Lowten.
'Sharp!' echoed Perker. 'There's no knowing where to have them.'
'Very true, Sir, there is not,' replied Lowten; and then, both
master and man pondered for a few seconds, with animated
countenances, as if they were reflecting upon one of the most
beautiful and ingenious discoveries that the intellect of man had
ever made. When they had in some measure recovered from their
trance of admiration, Job Trotter discharged himself of the rest
of his commission. Perker nodded his head thoughtfully, and
pulled out his watch.
'At ten precisely, I will be there,' said the little man. 'Sam is
quite right. Tell him so. Will you take a glass of wine, Lowten?'
'No, thank you, Sir.'
'You mean yes, I think,' said the little man, turning to the
sideboard for a decanter and glasses.
As Lowten DID mean yes, he said no more on the subject, but
inquired of Job, in an audible whisper, whether the portrait of
Perker, which hung opposite the fireplace, wasn't a wonderful
likeness, to which Job of course replied that it was. The wine
being by this time poured out, Lowten drank to Mrs. Perker and
the children, and Job to Perker. The gentleman in the plush
shorts and cottons considering it no part of his duty to show the
people from the office out, consistently declined to answer the
bell, and they showed themselves out. The attorney betook himself
to his drawing-room, the clerk to the Magpie and Stump, and
Job to Covent Garden Market to spend the night in a vegetable basket.
Punctually at the appointed hour next morning, the goodhumoured
little attorney tapped at Mr. Pickwick's door, which
was opened with great alacrity by Sam Weller.
'Mr. Perker, sir,' said Sam, announcing the visitor to Mr.
Pickwick, who was sitting at the window in a thoughtful attitude.
'Wery glad you've looked in accidentally, Sir. I rather think the
gov'nor wants to have a word and a half with you, Sir.'
Perker bestowed a look of intelligence on Sam, intimating that
he understood he was not to say he had been sent for; and
beckoning him to approach, whispered briefly in his ear.
'You don't mean that 'ere, Sir?' said Sam, starting back in
excessive surprise.
Perker nodded and smiled.
Mr. Samuel Weller looked at the little lawyer, then at Mr.
Pickwick, then at the ceiling, then at Perker again; grinned,
laughed outright, and finally, catching up his hat from the carpet,
without further explanation, disappeared.
'What does this mean?' inquired Mr. Pickwick, looking at
Perker with astonishment. 'What has put Sam into this
extraordinary state?'
'Oh, nothing, nothing,' replied Perker. 'Come, my dear Sir,
draw up your chair to the table. I have a good deal to say to you.'
'What papers are those?' inquired Mr. Pickwick, as the little
man deposited on the table a small bundle of documents tied with
red tape.
'The papers in Bardell and Pickwick,' replied Perker, undoing
the knot with his teeth.
Mr. Pickwick grated the legs of his chair against the ground;
and throwing himself into it, folded his hands and looked sternly
--if Mr. Pickwick ever could look sternly--at his legal friend.
'You don't like to hear the name of the cause?' said the little
man, still busying himself with the knot.
'No, I do not indeed,' replied Mr. Pickwick.
'Sorry for that,' resumed Perker, 'because it will form the
subject of our conversation.'
'I would rather that the subject should be never mentioned
between us, Perker,' interposed Mr. Pickwick hastily.
'Pooh, pooh, my dear Sir,' said the little man, untying the
bundle, and glancing eagerly at Mr. Pickwick out of the corners
of his eyes. 'It must be mentioned. I have come here on purpose.
Now, are you ready to hear what I have to say, my dear Sir? No
hurry; if you are not, I can wait. I have this morning's paper
here. Your time shall be mine. There!' Hereupon, the little man
threw one leg over the other, and made a show of beginning to
read with great composure and application.
'Well, well,' said Mr. Pickwick, with a sigh, but softening into
a smile at the same time. 'Say what you have to say; it's the old
story, I suppose?'
'With a difference, my dear Sir; with a difference,' rejoined
Perker, deliberately folding up the paper and putting it into his
pocket again. 'Mrs. Bardell, the plaintiff in the action, is within
these walls, Sir.'
'I know it,' was Mr. Pickwick's reply,
'Very good,' retorted Perker. 'And you know how she comes
here, I suppose; I mean on what grounds, and at whose suit?'
'Yes; at least I have heard Sam's account of the matter,' said
Mr. Pickwick, with affected carelessness.
'Sam's account of the matter,' replied Perker, 'is, I will venture
to say, a perfectly correct one. Well now, my dear Sir, the first
question I have to ask, is, whether this woman is to remain here?'
'To remain here!' echoed Mr. Pickwick.
'To remain here, my dear Sir,' rejoined Perker, leaning back in
his chair and looking steadily at his client.
'How can you ask me?' said that gentleman. 'It rests with
Dodson and Fogg; you know that very well.'
'I know nothing of the kind,' retorted Perker firmly. 'It does
NOT rest with Dodson and Fogg; you know the men, my dear Sir,
as well as I do. It rests solely, wholly, and entirely with you.'
'With me!' ejaculated Mr. Pickwick, rising nervously from his
chair, and reseating himself directly afterwards.
The little man gave a double-knock on the lid of his snuff-box,
opened it, took a great pinch, shut it up again, and repeated the
words, 'With you.'
'I say, my dear Sir,' resumed the little man, who seemed to
gather confidence from the snuff--'I say, that her speedy liberation
or perpetual imprisonment rests with you, and with you alone.
Hear me out, my dear Sir, if you please, and do not be so
very energetic, for it will only put you into a perspiration and do
no good whatever. I say,' continued Perker, checking off each
position on a different finger, as he laid it down--'I say that
nobody but you can rescue her from this den of wretchedness;
and that you can only do that, by paying the costs of this suit--
both of plaintive and defendant--into the hands of these Freeman
Court sharks. Now pray be quiet, my dear sir.'
Mr. Pickwick, whose face had been undergoing most surprising
changes during this speech, and was evidently on the verge of a
strong burst of indignation, calmed his wrath as well as he could.
Perker, strengthening his argumentative powers with another
pinch of snuff, proceeded--
'I have seen the woman, this morning. By paying the costs, you
can obtain a full release and discharge from the damages; and
further--this I know is a far greater object of consideration with
you, my dear sir--a voluntary statement, under her hand, in the
form of a letter to me, that this business was, from the very first,
fomented, and encouraged, and brought about, by these men,
Dodson and Fogg; that she deeply regrets ever having been the
instrument of annoyance or injury to you; and that she entreats
me to intercede with you, and implore your pardon.'
'If I pay her costs for her,' said Mr. Pickwick indignantly. 'A
valuable document, indeed!'
'No "if" in the case, my dear Sir,' said Perker triumphantly.
'There is the very letter I speak of. Brought to my office by
another woman at nine o'clock this morning, before I had set
foot in this place, or held any communication with Mrs. Bardell,
upon my honour.' Selecting the letter from the bundle, the little
lawyer laid it at Mr. Pickwick's elbow, and took snuff for two
consecutive minutes, without winking.
'Is this all you have to say to me?' inquired Mr. Pickwick mildly.
'Not quite,' replied Perker. 'I cannot undertake to say, at this
moment, whether the wording of the cognovit, the nature of the
ostensible consideration, and the proof we can get together about
the whole conduct of the suit, will be sufficient to justify an
indictment for conspiracy. I fear not, my dear Sir; they are too
clever for that, I doubt. I do mean to say, however, that the
whole facts, taken together, will be sufficient to justify you, in the
minds of all reasonable men. And now, my dear Sir, I put it to
you. This one hundred and fifty pounds, or whatever it may be
--take it in round numbers--is nothing to you. A jury had
decided against you; well, their verdict is wrong, but still they
decided as they thought right, and it IS against you. You have
now an opportunity, on easy terms, of placing yourself in a much
higher position than you ever could, by remaining here; which
would only be imputed, by people who didn't know you, to sheer
dogged, wrongheaded, brutal obstinacy; nothing else, my dear
Sir, believe me. Can you hesitate to avail yourself of it, when it
restores you to your friends, your old pursuits, your health and
amusements; when it liberates your faithful and attached servant,
whom you otherwise doom to imprisonment for the whole of
your life; and above all, when it enables you to take the very
magnanimous revenge--which I know, my dear sir, is one after
your own heart--of releasing this woman from a scene of misery
and debauchery, to which no man should ever be consigned, if I
had my will, but the infliction of which on any woman, is even
more frightful and barbarous. Now I ask you, my dear sir, not
only as your legal adviser, but as your very true friend, will you
let slip the occasion of attaining all these objects, and doing all
this good, for the paltry consideration of a few pounds finding
their way into the pockets of a couple of rascals, to whom it
makes no manner of difference, except that the more they gain,
the more they'll seek, and so the sooner be led into some piece of
knavery that must end in a crash? I have put these considerations
to you, my dear Sir, very feebly and imperfectly, but I ask you to
think of them. Turn them over in your mind as long as you please.
I wait here most patiently for your answer.'
Before Mr. Pickwick could reply, before Mr. Perker had taken
one twentieth part of the snuff with which so unusually long an
address imperatively required to be followed up, there was a low
murmuring of voices outside, and then a hesitating knock at the door.
'Dear, dear,' exclaimed Mr. Pickwick, who had been evidently
roused by his friend's appeal; 'what an annoyance that door is!
Who is that?'
'Me, Sir,' replied Sam Weller, putting in his head.
'I can't speak to you just now, Sam,' said Mr. Pickwick. 'I am
engaged at this moment, Sam.'
'Beg your pardon, Sir,' rejoined Mr. Weller. 'But here's a lady
here, Sir, as says she's somethin' wery partickler to disclose.'
'I can't see any lady,' replied Mr. Pickwick, whose mind was
filled with visions of Mrs. Bardell.
'I wouldn't make too sure o' that, Sir,' urged Mr. Weller,
shaking his head. 'If you know'd who was near, sir, I rayther
think you'd change your note; as the hawk remarked to himself
vith a cheerful laugh, ven he heerd the robin-redbreast a-singin'
round the corner.'
'Who is it?' inquired Mr. Pickwick.
'Will you see her, Sir?' asked Mr. Weller, holding the door in
his hand as if he had some curious live animal on the other side.
'I suppose I must,' said Mr. Pickwick, looking at Perker.
'Well then, all in to begin!' cried Sam. 'Sound the gong, draw
up the curtain, and enter the two conspiraytors.'
As Sam Weller spoke, he threw the door open, and there
rushed tumultuously into the room, Mr. Nathaniel Winkle,
leading after him by the hand, the identical young lady who at
Dingley Dell had worn the boots with the fur round the tops, and
who, now a very pleasing compound of blushes and confusion,
and lilac silk, and a smart bonnet, and a rich lace veil, looked
prettier than ever.
'Miss Arabella Allen!' exclaimed Mr. Pickwick, rising from his chair.
'No,' replied Mr. Winkle, dropping on his knees. 'Mrs. Winkle.
Pardon, my dear friend, pardon!'
Mr. Pickwick could scarcely believe the evidence of his senses,
and perhaps would not have done so, but for the corroborative
testimony afforded by the smiling countenance of Perker, and the
bodily presence, in the background, of Sam and the pretty
housemaid; who appeared to contemplate the proceedings with
the liveliest satisfaction.
'Oh, Mr. Pickwick!' said Arabella, in a low voice, as if alarmed
at the silence. 'Can you forgive my imprudence?'
Mr. Pickwick returned no verbal response to this appeal; but
he took off his spectacles in great haste, and seizing both the
young lady's hands in his, kissed her a great number of times--
perhaps a greater number than was absolutely necessary--and
then, still retaining one of her hands, told Mr. Winkle he was an
audacious young dog, and bade him get up. This, Mr. Winkle,
who had been for some seconds scratching his nose with the brim
of his hat, in a penitent manner, did; whereupon Mr. Pickwick
slapped him on the back several times, and then shook hands
heartily with Perker, who, not to be behind-hand in the compliments
of the occasion, saluted both the bride and the pretty
housemaid with right good-will, and, having wrung Mr, Winkle's
hand most cordially, wound up his demonstrations of joy by
taking snuff enough to set any half-dozen men with ordinarilyconstructed
noses, a-sneezing for life.
'Why, my dear girl,' said Mr. Pickwick, 'how has all this come
about? Come! Sit down, and let me hear it all. How well she
looks, doesn't she, Perker?' added Mr. Pickwick, surveying
Arabella's face with a look of as much pride and exultation, as if
she had been his daughter.
'Delightful, my dear Sir,' replied the little man. 'If I were not a
married man myself, I should be disposed to envy you, you dog.'
Thus expressing himself, the little lawyer gave Mr. Winkle a poke
in the chest, which that gentleman reciprocated; after which they
both laughed very loudly, but not so loudly as Mr. Samuel
Weller, who had just relieved his feelings by kissing the pretty
housemaid under cover of the cupboard door.
'I can never be grateful enough to you, Sam, I am sure,' said
Arabella, with the sweetest smile imaginable. 'I shall not forget
your exertions in the garden at Clifton.'
'Don't say nothin' wotever about it, ma'am,' replied Sam. 'I
only assisted natur, ma'am; as the doctor said to the boy's
mother, after he'd bled him to death.'
'Mary, my dear, sit down,' said Mr. Pickwick, cutting short
these compliments. 'Now then; how long have you been married, eh?'
Arabella looked bashfully at her lord and master, who
replied, 'Only three days.'
'Only three days, eh?' said Mr. Pickwick. 'Why, what have you
been doing these three months?'
'Ah, to be sure!' interposed Perker; 'come, account for this
idleness. You see Mr. Pickwick's only astonishment is, that it
wasn't all over, months ago.'
'Why the fact is,' replied Mr. Winkle, looking at his blushing
young wife, 'that I could not persuade Bella to run away, for a
long time. And when I had persuaded her, it was a long time
more before we could find an opportunity. Mary had to give a
month's warning, too, before she could leave her place next door,
and we couldn't possibly have done it without her assistance.'
'Upon my word,' exclaimed Mr. Pickwick, who by this time
had resumed his spectacles, and was looking from Arabella to
Winkle, and from Winkle to Arabella, with as much delight
depicted in his countenance as warmheartedness and kindly
feeling can communicate to the human face--'upon my word!
you seem to have been very systematic in your proceedings. And
is your brother acquainted with all this, my dear?'
'Oh, no, no,' replied Arabella, changing colour. 'Dear Mr.
Pickwick, he must only know it from you--from your lips alone.
He is so violent, so prejudiced, and has been so--so anxious in
behalf of his friend, Mr, Sawyer,' added Arabella, looking down,
'that I fear the consequences dreadfully.'
'Ah, to be sure,' said Perker gravely. 'You must take this
matter in hand for them, my dear sir. These young men will
respect you, when they would listen to nobody else. You must
prevent mischief, my dear Sir. Hot blood, hot blood.' And the
little man took a warning pinch, and shook his head doubtfully.
'You forget, my love,' said Mr. Pickwick gently, 'you forget
that I am a prisoner.'
'No, indeed I do not, my dear Sir,' replied Arabella. 'I never
have forgotten it. I have never ceased to think how great your
sufferings must have been in this shocking place. But I hoped
that what no consideration for yourself would induce you to do,
a regard to our happiness might. If my brother hears of this, first,
from you, I feel certain we shall be reconciled. He is my only
relation in the world, Mr. Pickwick, and unless you plead for me,
I fear I have lost even him. I have done wrong, very, very wrong,
I know.'Here poor Arabella hid her face in her handkerchief, and
wept bitterly.
Mr. Pickwick's nature was a good deal worked upon, by these
same tears; but when Mrs. Winkle, drying her eyes, took to
coaxing and entreating in the sweetest tones of a very sweet voice,
he became particularly restless, and evidently undecided how to
act, as was evinced by sundry nervous rubbings of his spectacleglasses,
nose, tights, head, and gaiters.
Taking advantage of these symptoms of indecision, Mr. Perker
(to whom, it appeared, the young couple had driven straight that
morning) urged with legal point and shrewdness that Mr. Winkle,
senior, was still unacquainted with the important rise in life's
flight of steps which his son had taken; that the future expectations
of the said son depended entirely upon the said Winkle,
senior, continuing to regard him with undiminished feelings of
affection and attachment, which it was very unlikely he would, if
this great event were long kept a secret from him; that Mr. Pickwick,
repairing to Bristol to seek Mr. Allen, might, with equal
reason, repair to Birmingham to seek Mr. Winkle, senior; lastly,
that Mr. Winkle, senior, had good right and title to consider
Mr. Pickwick as in some degree the guardian and adviser of his
son, and that it consequently behoved that gentleman, and was
indeed due to his personal character, to acquaint the aforesaid
Winkle, senior, personally, and by word of mouth, with the
whole circumstances of the case, and with the share he had taken
in the transaction.
Mr. Tupman and Mr. Snodgrass arrived, most opportunely, in
this stage of the pleadings, and as it was necessary to explain to
them all that had occurred, together with the various reasons pro
and con, the whole of the arguments were gone over again, after
which everybody urged every argument in his own way, and at
his own length. And, at last, Mr. Pickwick, fairly argued and
remonstrated out of all his resolutions, and being in imminent
danger of being argued and remonstrated out of his wits, caught
Arabella in his arms, and declaring that she was a very amiable
creature, and that he didn't know how it was, but he had always
been very fond of her from the first, said he could never find it in
his heart to stand in the way of young people's happiness, and
they might do with him as they pleased.
Mr. Weller's first act, on hearing this concession, was to
despatch Job Trotter to the illustrious Mr. Pell, with an authority
to deliver to the bearer the formal discharge which his prudent
parent had had the foresight to leave in the hands of that learned
gentleman, in case it should be, at any time, required on an
emergency; his next proceeding was, to invest his whole stock of
ready-money in the purchase of five-and-twenty gallons of mild
porter, which he himself dispensed on the racket-ground to
everybody who would partake of it; this done, he hurra'd in
divers parts of the building until he lost his voice, and then
quietly relapsed into his usual collected and philosophical condition.
At three o'clock that afternoon, Mr. Pickwick took a last look
at his little room, and made his way, as well as he could, through
the throng of debtors who pressed eagerly forward to shake him
by the hand, until he reached the lodge steps. He turned here, to
look about him, and his eye lightened as he did so. In all the
crowd of wan, emaciated faces, he saw not one which was not
happier for his sympathy and charity.
'Perker,' said Mr. Pickwick, beckoning one young man
towards him, 'this is Mr. Jingle, whom I spoke to you about.'
'Very good, my dear Sir,' replied Perker, looking hard at
Jingle. 'You will see me again, young man, to-morrow. I hope
you may live to remember and feel deeply, what I shall have to
communicate, Sir.'
Jingle bowed respectfully, trembled very much as he took
Mr. Pickwick's proffered hand, and withdrew.
'Job you know, I think?' said Mr. Pickwick, presenting that
gentleman.
'I know the rascal,' replied Perker good-humouredly. 'See after
your friend, and be in the way to-morrow at one. Do you hear?
Now, is there anything more?'
'Nothing,' rejoined Mr. Pickwick. 'You have delivered the
little parcel I gave you for your old landlord, Sam?'
'I have, Sir,' replied Sam. 'He bust out a-cryin', Sir, and said
you wos wery gen'rous and thoughtful, and he only wished you
could have him innockilated for a gallopin' consumption, for his
old friend as had lived here so long wos dead, and he'd noweres
to look for another.'
'Poor fellow, poor fellow!' said Mr. Pickwick. 'God bless you,
my friends!'
As Mr. Pickwick uttered this adieu, the crowd raised a loud
shout. Many among them were pressing forward to shake him
by the hand again, when he drew his arm through Perker's, and
hurried from the prison, far more sad and melancholy, for the
moment, than when he had first entered it. Alas! how many sad
and unhappy beings had he left behind!
A happy evening was that for at least one party in the George
and Vulture; and light and cheerful were two of the hearts that
emerged from its hospitable door next morning. The owners
thereof were Mr. Pickwick and Sam Weller, the former of whom
was speedily deposited inside a comfortable post-coach, with a
little dickey behind, in which the latter mounted with great agility.
'Sir,' called out Mr. Weller to his master.
'Well, Sam,' replied Mr. Pickwick, thrusting his head out of
the window.
'I wish them horses had been three months and better in the
Fleet, Sir.'
'Why, Sam?' inquired Mr. Pickwick.
'Wy, Sir,' exclaimed Mr. Weller, rubbing his hands, 'how they
would go if they had been!'
CHAPTER XLVIII
RELATES HOW Mr. PICKWICK, WITH THE ASSISTANCE
OF SAMUEL WELLER, ESSAYED TO SOFTEN THE HEART
OF Mr. BENJAMIN ALLEN, AND TO MOLLIFY THE WRATH
OF Mr. ROBERT SAWYER
Mr. Ben Allen and Mr. Bob Sawyer sat together in the little
surgery behind the shop, discussing minced veal and future
prospects, when the discourse, not unnaturally, turned upon
the practice acquired by Bob the aforesaid, and his present chances
of deriving a competent independence from the honourable
profession to which he had devoted himself.
'Which, I think,' observed Mr. Bob Sawyer, pursuing the
thread of the subject--'which, I think, Ben, are rather dubious.'
'What's rather dubious?' inquired Mr. Ben Allen, at the same
time sharpening his intellect with a draught of beer. 'What's dubious?'
'Why, the chances,' responded Mr. Bob Sawyer.
'I forgot,' said Mr. Ben Allen. 'The beer has reminded me that
I forgot, Bob--yes; they ARE dubious.'
'It's wonderful how the poor people patronise me,' said Mr.
Bob Sawyer reflectively. 'They knock me up, at all hours of the
night; they take medicine to an extent which I should have
conceived impossible; they put on blisters and leeches with a
perseverance worthy of a better cause; they make additions to
their families, in a manner which is quite awful. Six of those
last-named little promissory notes, all due on the same day, Ben,
and all intrusted to me!'
'It's very gratifying, isn't it?' said Mr. Ben Allen, holding his
plate for some more minced veal.
'Oh, very,' replied Bob; 'only not quite so much so as the
confidence of patients with a shilling or two to spare would be.
This business was capitally described in the advertisement, Ben.
It is a practice, a very extensive practice--and that's all.'
'Bob,' said Mr. Ben Allen, laying down his knife and fork, and
fixing his eyes on the visage of his friend, 'Bob, I'll tell you
what it is.'
'What is it?' inquired Mr. Bob Sawyer.
'You must make yourself, with as little delay as possible,
master of Arabella's one thousand pounds.'
'Three per cent. consolidated bank annuities, now standing in
her name in the book or books of the governor and company of
the Bank of England,' added Bob Sawyer, in legal phraseology.
'Exactly so,' said Ben. 'She has it when she comes of age, or
marries. She wants a year of coming of age, and if you plucked
up a spirit she needn't want a month of being married.'
'She's a very charming and delightful creature,' quoth Mr.
Robert Sawyer, in reply; 'and has only one fault that I know of,
Ben. It happens, unfortunately, that that single blemish is a want
of taste. She don't like me.'
'It's my opinion that she don't know what she does like,' said
Mr. Ben Allen contemptuously.
'Perhaps not,' remarked Mr. Bob Sawyer. 'But it's my opinion
that she does know what she doesn't like, and that's of more importance.'
'I wish,' said Mr. Ben Allen, setting his teeth together, and
speaking more like a savage warrior who fed on raw wolf's flesh
which he carved with his fingers, than a peaceable young gentleman
who ate minced veal with a knife and fork--'I wish I knew
whether any rascal really has been tampering with her, and
attempting to engage her affections. I think I should assassinate
him, Bob.'
'I'd put a bullet in him, if I found him out,' said Mr. Sawyer,
stopping in the course of a long draught of beer, and looking
malignantly out of the porter pot. 'If that didn't do his business,
I'd extract it afterwards, and kill him that way.'
Mr. Benjamin Allen gazed abstractedly on his friend for some
minutes in silence, and then said--
'You have never proposed to her, point-blank, Bob?'
'No. Because I saw it would be of no use,' replied Mr. Robert
Sawyer.
'You shall do it, before you are twenty-four hours older,'
retorted Ben, with desperate calmness. 'She shall have you, or I'll
know the reason why. I'll exert my authority.'
'Well,' said Mr. Bob Sawyer, 'we shall see.'
'We shall see, my friend,' replied Mr. Ben Allen fiercely. He
paused for a few seconds, and added in a voice broken by
emotion, 'You have loved her from a child, my friend. You loved
her when we were boys at school together, and, even then, she
was wayward and slighted your young feelings. Do you recollect,
with all the eagerness of a child's love, one day pressing upon her
acceptance, two small caraway-seed biscuits and one sweet
apple, neatly folded into a circular parcel with the leaf of a
copy-book?'
'I do,' replied Bob Sawyer.
'She slighted that, I think?' said Ben Allen.
'She did,' rejoined Bob. 'She said I had kept the parcel so long
in the pockets of my corduroys, that the apple was unpleasantly warm.'
'I remember,' said Mr. Allen gloomily. 'Upon which we ate it
ourselves, in alternate bites.'
Bob Sawyer intimated his recollection of the circumstance last
alluded to, by a melancholy frown; and the two friends remained
for some time absorbed, each in his own meditations.
While these observations were being exchanged between Mr.
Bob Sawyer and Mr. Benjamin Allen; and while the boy in the
gray livery, marvelling at the unwonted prolongation of the
dinner, cast an anxious look, from time to time, towards the
glass door, distracted by inward misgivings regarding the amount
of minced veal which would be ultimately reserved for his
individual cravings; there rolled soberly on through the streets of
Bristol, a private fly, painted of a sad green colour, drawn by a
chubby sort of brown horse, and driven by a surly-looking man
with his legs dressed like the legs of a groom, and his body
attired in the coat of a coachman. Such appearances are common
to many vehicles belonging to, and maintained by, old ladies of
economic habits; and in this vehicle sat an old lady who was its
mistress and proprietor.
'Martin!' said the old lady, calling to the surly man, out of the
front window.
'Well?' said the surly man, touching his hat to the old lady.
'Mr. Sawyer's,' said the old lady.
'I was going there,' said the surly man.
The old lady nodded the satisfaction which this proof of the
surly man's foresight imparted to her feelings; and the surly man
giving a smart lash to the chubby horse, they all repaired to
Mr. Bob Sawyer's together.
'Martin!' said the old lady, when the fly stopped at the door of
Mr. Robert Sawyer, late Nockemorf.
'Well?' said Martin.
'Ask the lad to step out, and mind the horse.'
'I'm going to mind the horse myself,' said Martin, laying his
whip on the roof of the fly.