THE PICKWICK PAPERS by CHARLES DICKENS

'I can't permit it, on any account,' said the old lady; 'your
testimony will be very important, and I must take you into the
house with me. You must not stir from my side during the whole
interview. Do you hear?'
'I hear,' replied Martin.
'Well; what are you stopping for?'
'Nothing,' replied Martin. So saying, the surly man leisurely
descended from the wheel, on which he had been poising himself
on the tops of the toes of his right foot, and having summoned
the boy in the gray livery, opened the coach door, flung down the
steps, and thrusting in a hand enveloped in a dark wash-leather
glove, pulled out the old lady with as much unconcern in his
manner as if she were a bandbox.
'Dear me!' exclaimed the old lady. 'I am so flurried, now I have
got here, Martin, that I'm all in a tremble.'
Mr. Martin coughed behind the dark wash-leather gloves, but
expressed no sympathy; so the old lady, composing herself,
trotted up Mr. Bob Sawyer's steps, and Mr. Martin followed.
Immediately on the old lady's entering the shop, Mr. Benjamin
Allen and Mr. Bob Sawyer, who had been putting the spirits-andwater
out of sight, and upsetting nauseous drugs to take off the
smell of the tobacco smoke, issued hastily forth in a transport of
pleasure and affection.
'My dear aunt,' exclaimed Mr. Ben Allen, 'how kind of you to
look in upon us! Mr. Sawyer, aunt; my friend Mr. Bob Sawyer
whom I have spoken to you about, regarding--you know, aunt.'
And here Mr. Ben Allen, who was not at the moment extraordinarily
sober, added the word 'Arabella,' in what was meant to be
a whisper, but which was an especially audible and distinct
tone of speech which nobody could avoid hearing, if anybody
were so disposed.
'My dear Benjamin,' said the old lady, struggling with a great
shortness of breath, and trembling from head to foot, 'don't be
alarmed, my dear, but I think I had better speak to Mr. Sawyer,
alone, for a moment. Only for one moment.'
'Bob,' said Mr. Allen, 'will you take my aunt into the surgery?'
'Certainly,' responded Bob, in a most professional voice. 'Step
this way, my dear ma'am. Don't be frightened, ma'am. We shall
be able to set you to rights in a very short time, I have no doubt,
ma'am. Here, my dear ma'am. Now then!' With this, Mr. Bob
Sawyer having handed the old lady to a chair, shut the door,
drew another chair close to her, and waited to hear detailed the
symptoms of some disorder from which he saw in perspective a
long train of profits and advantages.
The first thing the old lady did, was to shake her head a great
many times, and began to cry.
'Nervous,' said Bob Sawyer complacently. 'Camphor-julep and
water three times a day, and composing draught at night.'
'I don't know how to begin, Mr. Sawyer,' said the old lady. 'It
is so very painful and distressing.'
'You need not begin, ma'am,' rejoined Mr. Bob Sawyer. 'I can
anticipate all you would say. The head is in fault.'
'I should be very sorry to think it was the heart,' said the old
lady, with a slight groan.
'Not the slightest danger of that, ma'am,' replied Bob Sawyer.
'The stomach is the primary cause.'
'Mr. Sawyer!' exclaimed the old lady, starting.
'Not the least doubt of it, ma'am,' rejoined Bob, looking
wondrous wise. 'Medicine, in time, my dear ma'am, would have
prevented it all.'
'Mr. Sawyer,' said the old lady, more flurried than before, 'this
conduct is either great impertinence to one in my situation, Sir,
or it arises from your not understanding the object of my visit.
If it had been in the power of medicine, or any foresight I could
have used, to prevent what has occurred, I should certainly have
done so. I had better see my nephew at once,' said the old lady,
twirling her reticule indignantly, and rising as she spoke.
'Stop a moment, ma'am,' said Bob Sawyer; 'I'm afraid I have
not understood you. What IS the matter, ma'am?'
'My niece, Mr. Sawyer,' said the old lady: 'your friend's sister.'
'Yes, ma'am,' said Bob, all impatience; for the old lady,
although much agitated, spoke with the most tantalising deliberation,
as old ladies often do. 'Yes, ma'am.'
'Left my home, Mr. Sawyer, three days ago, on a pretended
visit to my sister, another aunt of hers, who keeps the large
boarding-school, just beyond the third mile-stone, where there is
a very large laburnum-tree and an oak gate,' said the old lady,
stopping in this place to dry her eyes.
'Oh, devil take the laburnum-tree, ma'am!' said Bob, quite
forgetting his professional dignity in his anxiety. 'Get on a little
faster; put a little more steam on, ma'am, pray.'
'This morning,' said the old lady slowly--'this morning, she--'
'She came back, ma'am, I suppose,' said Bob, with great
animation. 'Did she come back?'
'No, she did not; she wrote,' replied the old lady.
'What did she say?' inquired Bob eagerly.
'She said, Mr. Sawyer,' replied the old lady--'and it is this I
want to prepare Benjamin's mind for, gently and by degrees; she
said that she was-- I have got the letter in my pocket, Mr.
Sawyer, but my glasses are in the carriage, and I should only
waste your time if I attempted to point out the passage to you,
without them; she said, in short, Mr. Sawyer, that she was married.'
'What!' said, or rather shouted, Mr. Bob Sawyer.
'Married,' repeated the old lady.
Mr. Bob Sawyer stopped to hear no more; but darting from
the surgery into the outer shop, cried in a stentorian voice,
'Ben, my boy, she's bolted!'
Mr. Ben Allen, who had been slumbering behind the counter,
with his head half a foot or so below his knees, no sooner heard
this appalling communication, than he made a precipitate rush
at Mr. Martin, and, twisting his hand in the neck-cloth of that
taciturn servitor, expressed an obliging intention of choking him
where he stood. This intention, with a promptitude often the
effect of desperation, he at once commenced carrying into
execution, with much vigour and surgical skill.
Mr. Martin, who was a man of few words and possessed but
little power of eloquence or persuasion, submitted to this
operation with a very calm and agreeable expression of countenance,
for some seconds; finding, however, that it threatened
speedily to lead to a result which would place it beyond his power
to claim any wages, board or otherwise, in all time to come, he
muttered an inarticulate remonstrance and felled Mr. Benjamin
Allen to the ground. As that gentleman had his hands entangled
in his cravat, he had no alternative but to follow him to the floor.
There they both lay struggling, when the shop door opened, and
the party was increased by the arrival of two most unexpected
visitors, to wit, Mr. Pickwick and Mr. Samuel Weller.
The impression at once produced on Mr. Weller's mind by
what he saw, was, that Mr. Martin was hired by the establishment
of Sawyer, late Nockemorf, to take strong medicine, or to go into
fits and be experimentalised upon, or to swallow poison now and
then with the view of testing the efficacy of some new antidotes,
or to do something or other to promote the great science of
medicine, and gratify the ardent spirit of inquiry burning in the
bosoms of its two young professors. So, without presuming to
interfere, Sam stood perfectly still, and looked on, as if he were
mightily interested in the result of the then pending experiment.
Not so, Mr. Pickwick. He at once threw himself on the astonished
combatants, with his accustomed energy, and loudly called upon
the bystanders to interpose.
This roused Mr. Bob Sawyer, who had been hitherto quite
paralysed by the frenzy of his companion. With that gentleman's
assistance, Mr. Pickwick raised Ben Allen to his feet. Mr. Martin
finding himself alone on the floor, got up, and looked about him.
'Mr. Allen,' said Mr. Pickwick, 'what is the matter, Sir?'
'Never mind, Sir!' replied Mr. Allen, with haughty defiance.
'What is it?' inquired Mr. Pickwick, looking at Bob Sawyer.
'Is he unwell?'
Before Bob could reply, Mr. Ben Allen seized Mr. Pickwick by
the hand, and murmured, in sorrowful accents, 'My sister, my
dear Sir; my sister.'
'Oh, is that all!' said Mr. Pickwick. 'We shall easily arrange
that matter, I hope. Your sister is safe and well, and I am here,
my dear Sir, to--'
'Sorry to do anythin' as may cause an interruption to such
wery pleasant proceedin's, as the king said wen he dissolved the
parliament,' interposed Mr. Weller, who had been peeping
through the glass door; 'but there's another experiment here, sir.
Here's a wenerable old lady a--lyin' on the carpet waitin' for
dissection, or galwinism, or some other rewivin' and scientific
inwention.'
'I forgot,' exclaimed Mr. Ben Allen. 'It is my aunt.'
'Dear me!' said Mr. Pickwick. 'Poor lady! Gently Sam, gently.'
'Strange sitivation for one o' the family,' observed Sam Weller,
hoisting the aunt into a chair. 'Now depitty sawbones, bring out
the wollatilly!'
The latter observation was addressed to the boy in gray, who,
having handed over the fly to the care of the street-keeper, had
come back to see what all the noise was about. Between the boy
in gray, and Mr. Bob Sawyer, and Mr. Benjamin Allen (who
having frightened his aunt into a fainting fit, was affectionately
solicitous for her recovery) the old lady was at length restored to
consciousness; then Mr. Ben Allen, turning with a puzzled
countenance to Mr. Pickwick, asked him what he was about to
say, when he had been so alarmingly interrupted.
'We are all friends here, I presume?' said Mr. Pickwick,
clearing his voice, and looking towards the man of few words
with the surly countenance, who drove the fly with the chubby horse.
This reminded Mr. Bob Sawyer that the boy in gray was looking
on, with eyes wide open, and greedy ears. The incipient
chemist having been lifted up by his coat collar, and dropped
outside the door, Bob Sawyer assured Mr. Pickwick that he
might speak without reserve.
'Your sister, my dear Sir,' said Mr. Pickwick, turning to
Benjamin Allen, 'is in London; well and happy.'
'Her happiness is no object to me, sir,' said Benjamin Allen,
with a flourish of the hand.
'Her husband IS an object to ME, Sir,' said Bob Sawyer. 'He
shall be an object to me, sir, at twelve paces, and a pretty object
I'll make of him, sir--a mean-spirited scoundrel!' This, as it
stood, was a very pretty denunciation, and magnanimous withal;
but Mr. Bob Sawyer rather weakened its effect, by winding up
with some general observations concerning the punching of
heads and knocking out of eyes, which were commonplace by comparison.
'Stay, sir,' said Mr. Pickwick; 'before you apply those epithets
to the gentleman in question, consider, dispassionately, the
extent of his fault, and above all remember that he is a friend of mine.'
'What!' said Mr. Bob Sawyer.
'His name!' cried Ben Allen. 'His name!'
'Mr. Nathaniel Winkle,' said Mr, Pickwick.
Mr. Benjamin Allen deliberately crushed his spectacles beneath
the heel of his boot, and having picked up the pieces, and put
them into three separate pockets, folded his arms, bit his lips, and
looked in a threatening manner at the bland features of Mr. Pickwick.
'Then it's you, is it, Sir, who have encouraged and brought
about this match?' inquired Mr. Benjamin Allen at length.
'And it's this gentleman's servant, I suppose,' interrupted the
old lady, 'who has been skulking about my house, and
endeavouring to entrap my servants to conspire against their
mistress.--Martin!'
'Well?' said the surly man, coming forward.
'Is that the young man you saw in the lane, whom you told me
about, this morning?'
Mr. Martin, who, as it has already appeared, was a man of few
words, looked at Sam Weller, nodded his head, and growled
forth, 'That's the man.' Mr. Weller, who was never proud, gave
a smile of friendly recognition as his eyes encountered those of
the surly groom, and admitted in courteous terms, that he had
'knowed him afore.'
'And this is the faithful creature,' exclaimed Mr. Ben Allen,
'whom I had nearly suffocated!--Mr. Pickwick, how dare you
allow your fellow to be employed in the abduction of my sister?
I demand that you explain this matter, sir.'
'Explain it, sir!' cried Bob Sawyer fiercely.
'It's a conspiracy,' said Ben Allen.
'A regular plant,' added Mr. Bob Sawyer.
'A disgraceful imposition,' observed the old lady.
'Nothing but a do,' remarked Martin.
'Pray hear me,' urged Mr. Pickwick, as Mr. Ben Allen fell into
a chair that patients were bled in, and gave way to his pockethandkerchief.
'I have rendered no assistance in this matter,
beyond being present at one interview between the young people
which I could not prevent, and from which I conceived my
presence would remove any slight colouring of impropriety that
it might otherwise have had; this is the whole share I have had in
the transaction, and I had no suspicion that an immediate
marriage was even contemplated. Though, mind,' added Mr.
Pickwick, hastily checking himself--'mind, I do not say I should
have prevented it, if I had known that it was intended.'
'You hear that, all of you; you hear that?' said Mr. Benjamin Allen.
'I hope they do,' mildly observed Mr. Pickwick, looking
round, 'and,' added that gentleman, his colour mounting as he
spoke, 'I hope they hear this, Sir, also. That from what has been
stated to me, sir, I assert that you were by no means justified
in attempting to force your sister's inclinations as you did, and
that you should rather have endeavoured by your kindness and
forbearance to have supplied the place of other nearer relations
whom she had never known, from a child. As regards my young
friend, I must beg to add, that in every point of worldly advantage
he is, at least, on an equal footing with yourself, if not on a
much better one, and that unless I hear this question discussed
with becoming temper and moderation, I decline hearing any
more said upon the subject.'
'I wish to make a wery few remarks in addition to wot has
been put for'ard by the honourable gen'l'm'n as has jist give over,'
said Mr. Weller, stepping forth, 'wich is this here: a indiwidual
in company has called me a feller.'
'That has nothing whatever to do with the matter, Sam,' interposed
Mr. Pickwick. 'Pray hold your tongue.'
'I ain't a-goin' to say nothin' on that 'ere pint, sir,' replied
Sam, 'but merely this here. P'raps that gen'l'm'n may think as
there wos a priory 'tachment; but there worn't nothin' o' the
sort, for the young lady said in the wery beginnin' o' the keepin'
company, that she couldn't abide him. Nobody's cut him out,
and it 'ud ha' been jist the wery same for him if the young lady
had never seen Mr. Vinkle. That's what I wished to say, sir, and
I hope I've now made that 'ere gen'l'm'n's mind easy.
A short pause followed these consolatory remarks of Mr.
Weller. Then Mr. Ben Allen rising from his chair, protested that
he would never see Arabella's face again; while Mr. Bob Sawyer,
despite Sam's flattering assurance, vowed dreadful vengeance on
the happy bridegroom.
But, just when matters were at their height, and threatening to
remain so, Mr. Pickwick found a powerful assistant in the old
lady, who, evidently much struck by the mode in which he had
advocated her niece's cause, ventured to approach Mr. Benjamin
Allen with a few comforting reflections, of which the chief were,
that after all, perhaps, it was well it was no worse; the least said
the soonest mended, and upon her word she did not know that
it was so very bad after all; what was over couldn't be begun, and
what couldn't be cured must be endured; with various other
assurances of the like novel and strengthening description. To all
of these, Mr. Benjamin Allen replied that he meant no disrespect
to his aunt, or anybody there, but if it were all the same to them,
and they would allow him to have his own way, he would rather
have the pleasure of hating his sister till death, and after it.
At length, when this determination had been announced half a
hundred times, the old lady suddenly bridling up and looking very
majestic, wished to know what she had done that no respect was
to be paid to her years or station, and that she should be obliged
to beg and pray, in that way, of her own nephew, whom she
remembered about five-and-twenty years before he was born,
and whom she had known, personally, when he hadn't a tooth
in his head; to say nothing of her presence on the first occasion
of his having his hair cut, and assistance at numerous other times
and ceremonies during his babyhood, of sufficient importance to
found a claim upon his affection, obedience, and sympathies, for ever.
While the good lady was bestowing this objurgation on
Mr. Ben Allen, Bob Sawyer and Mr. Pickwick had retired in
close conversation to the inner room, where Mr. Sawyer was
observed to apply himself several times to the mouth of a black
bottle, under the influence of which, his features gradually
assumed a cheerful and even jovial expression. And at last he
emerged from the room, bottle in hand, and, remarking that he
was very sorry to say he had been making a fool of himself,
begged to propose the health and happiness of Mr. and Mrs.
Winkle, whose felicity, so far from envying, he would be the first
to congratulate them upon. Hearing this, Mr. Ben Allen suddenly
arose from his chair, and, seizing the black bottle, drank the
toast so heartily, that, the liquor being strong, he became nearly
as black in the face as the bottle. Finally, the black bottle went
round till it was empty, and there was so much shaking of hands
and interchanging of compliments, that even the metal-visaged
Mr. Martin condescended to smile.
'And now,' said Bob Sawyer, rubbing his hands, 'we'll have a
jolly night.'
'I am sorry,' said Mr. Pickwick, 'that I must return to my inn.
I have not been accustomed to fatigue lately, and my journey has
tired me exceedingly.'
'You'll take some tea, Mr. Pickwick?' said the old lady, with
irresistible sweetness.
'Thank you, I would rather not,' replied that gentleman. The
truth is, that the old lady's evidently increasing admiration was
Mr. Pickwick's principal inducement for going away. He thought
of Mrs. Bardell; and every glance of the old lady's eyes threw him
into a cold perspiration.
As Mr. Pickwick could by no means be prevailed upon to stay,
it was arranged at once, on his own proposition, that Mr. Benjamin
Allen should accompany him on his journey to the elder
Mr. Winkle's, and that the coach should be at the door, at nine
o'clock next morning. He then took his leave, and, followed by
Samuel Weller, repaired to the Bush. It is worthy of remark, that
Mr. Martin's face was horribly convulsed as he shook hands with
Sam at parting, and that he gave vent to a smile and an oath
simultaneously; from which tokens it has been inferred by those
who were best acquainted with that gentleman's peculiarities,
that he expressed himself much pleased with Mr. Weller's
society, and requested the honour of his further acquaintance.
'Shall I order a private room, Sir?' inquired Sam, when they
reached the Bush.
'Why, no, Sam,' replied Mr. Pickwick; 'as I dined in the
coffee-room, and shall go to bed soon, it is hardly worth while.
See who there is in the travellers' room, Sam.'
Mr. Weller departed on his errand, and presently returned to
say that there was only a gentleman with one eye; and that he
and the landlord were drinking a bowl of bishop together.
'I will join them,' said Mr. Pickwick.
'He's a queer customer, the vun-eyed vun, sir,' observed Mr.
Weller, as he led the way. 'He's a-gammonin' that 'ere landlord,
he is, sir, till he don't rightly know wether he's a-standing on the
soles of his boots or the crown of his hat.'
The individual to whom this observation referred, was sitting
at the upper end of the room when Mr. Pickwick entered, and
was smoking a large Dutch pipe, with his eye intently fixed on the
round face of the landlord; a jolly-looking old personage, to
whom he had recently been relating some tale of wonder, as was
testified by sundry disjointed exclamations of, 'Well, I wouldn't
have believed it! The strangest thing I ever heard! Couldn't have
supposed it possible!' and other expressions of astonishment
which burst spontaneously from his lips, as he returned the fixed
gaze of the one-eyed man.
'Servant, sir,' said the one-eyed man to Mr. Pickwick. 'Fine
night, sir.'
'Very much so indeed,' replied Mr. Pickwick, as the waiter
placed a small decanter of brandy, and some hot water before him.
While Mr. Pickwick was mixing his brandy-and-water, the
one-eyed man looked round at him earnestly, from time to time,
and at length said--
'I think I've seen you before.'
'I don't recollect you,' rejoined Mr. Pickwick.
'I dare say not,' said the one-eyed man. 'You didn't know me,
but I knew two friends of yours that were stopping at the Peacock
at Eatanswill, at the time of the election.'
'Oh, indeed!' exclaimed Mr. Pickwick.
'Yes,' rejoined the one-eyed man. 'I mentioned a little circumstance
to them about a friend of mine of the name of Tom Smart.
Perhaps you've heard them speak of it.'
'Often,' rejoined Mr. Pickwick, smiling. 'He was your uncle, I think?'
'No, no; only a friend of my uncle's,' replied the one-eyed man.
'He was a wonderful man, that uncle of yours, though,'
remarked the landlord shaking his head.
'Well, I think he was; I think I may say he was,' answered the
one-eyed man. 'I could tell you a story about that same uncle,
gentlemen, that would rather surprise you.'
'Could you?' said Mr. Pickwick. 'Let us hear it, by all means.'
The one-eyed bagman ladled out a glass of negus from the
bowl, and drank it; smoked a long whiff out of the Dutch pipe;
and then, calling to Sam Weller who was lingering near the door,
that he needn't go away unless he wanted to, because the story
was no secret, fixed his eye upon the landlord's, and proceeded,
in the words of the next chapter.
CHAPTER XLIX
CONTAINING THE STORY OF THE BAGMAN'S UNCLE
'My uncle, gentlemen,' said the bagman, 'was one of the
merriest, pleasantest, cleverest fellows, that ever lived. I wish
you had known him, gentlemen. On second thoughts, gentlemen,
I don't wish you had known him, for if you had, you would have
been all, by this time, in the ordinary course of nature, if not dead,
at all events so near it, as to have taken to stopping at home and
giving up company, which would have deprived me of the
inestimable pleasure of addressing you at this moment. Gentlemen,
I wish your fathers and mothers had known my uncle.
They would have been amazingly fond of him, especially your
respectable mothers; I know they would. If any two of his
numerous virtues predominated over the many that adorned his
character, I should say they were his mixed punch and his aftersupper
song. Excuse my dwelling on these melancholy recollections
of departed worth; you won't see a man like my uncle
every day in the week.
'I have always considered it a great point in my uncle's
character, gentlemen, that he was the intimate friend and
companion of Tom Smart, of the great house of Bilson and Slum,
Cateaton Street, City. My uncle collected for Tiggin and Welps,
but for a long time he went pretty near the same journey as Tom;
and the very first night they met, my uncle took a fancy for Tom,
and Tom took a fancy for my uncle. They made a bet of a new
hat before they had known each other half an hour, who should
brew the best quart of punch and drink it the quickest. My uncle
was judged to have won the making, but Tom Smart beat him in
the drinking by about half a salt-spoonful. They took another
quart apiece to drink each other's health in, and were staunch
friends ever afterwards. There's a destiny in these things, gentlemen;
we can't help it.
'In personal appearance, my uncle was a trifle shorter than the
middle size; he was a thought stouter too, than the ordinary run
of people, and perhaps his face might be a shade redder. He had
the jolliest face you ever saw, gentleman: something like Punch,
with a handsome nose and chin; his eyes were always twinkling
and sparkling with good-humour; and a smile--not one of your
unmeaning wooden grins, but a real, merry, hearty, goodtempered
smile--was perpetually on his countenance. He was
pitched out of his gig once, and knocked, head first, against a
milestone. There he lay, stunned, and so cut about the face with
some gravel which had been heaped up alongside it, that, to use
my uncle's own strong expression, if his mother could have
revisited the earth, she wouldn't have known him. Indeed, when
I come to think of the matter, gentlemen, I feel pretty sure she
wouldn't. for she died when my uncle was two years and seven
months old, and I think it's very likely that, even without the
gravel, his top-boots would have puzzled the good lady not a
little; to say nothing of his jolly red face. However, there he lay,
and I have heard my uncle say, many a time, that the man said
who picked him up that he was smiling as merrily as if he had
tumbled out for a treat, and that after they had bled him, the
first faint glimmerings of returning animation, were his jumping
up in bed, bursting out into a loud laugh, kissing the young
woman who held the basin, and demanding a mutton chop and
a pickled walnut. He was very fond of pickled walnuts, gentlemen.
He said he always found that, taken without vinegar, they
relished the beer.
'My uncle's great journey was in the fall of the leaf, at which
time he collected debts, and took orders, in the north; going
from London to Edinburgh, from Edinburgh to Glasgow, from
Glasgow back to Edinburgh, and thence to London by the
smack. You are to understand that his second visit to Edinburgh
was for his own pleasure. He used to go back for a week, just to
look up his old friends; and what with breakfasting with this one,
lunching with that, dining with the third, and supping with
another, a pretty tight week he used to make of it. I don't know
whether any of you, gentlemen, ever partook of a real substantial
hospitable Scotch breakfast, and then went out to a slight lunch
of a bushel of oysters, a dozen or so of bottled ale, and a noggin
or two of whiskey to close up with. If you ever did, you will
agree with me that it requires a pretty strong head to go out to
dinner and supper afterwards.
'But bless your hearts and eyebrows, all this sort of thing was
nothing to my uncle! He was so well seasoned, that it was mere
child's play. I have heard him say that he could see the Dundee
people out, any day, and walk home afterwards without staggering;
and yet the Dundee people have as strong heads and as
strong punch, gentlemen, as you are likely to meet with, between
the poles. I have heard of a Glasgow man and a Dundee man
drinking against each other for fifteen hours at a sitting. They
were both suffocated, as nearly as could be ascertained, at the
same moment, but with this trifling exception, gentlemen, they
were not a bit the worse for it.
'One night, within four-and-twenty hours of the time when he
had settled to take shipping for London, my uncle supped at the
house of a very old friend of his, a Bailie Mac something and
four syllables after it, who lived in the old town of Edinburgh.
There were the bailie's wife, and the bailie's three daughters, and
the bailie's grown-up son, and three or four stout, bushy eyebrowed,
canny, old Scotch fellows, that the bailie had got
together to do honour to my uncle, and help to make merry. It
was a glorious supper. There was kippered salmon, and Finnan
haddocks, and a lamb's head, and a haggis--a celebrated Scotch
dish, gentlemen, which my uncle used to say always looked to
him, when it came to table, very much like a Cupid's stomach--
and a great many other things besides, that I forget the names
of, but very good things, notwithstanding. The lassies were
pretty and agreeable; the bailie's wife was one of the best
creatures that ever lived; and my uncle was in thoroughly good
cue. The consequence of which was, that the young ladies
tittered and giggled, and the old lady laughed out loud, and the
bailie and the other old fellows roared till they were red in the
face, the whole mortal time. I don't quite recollect how many
tumblers of whiskey-toddy each man drank after supper; but this
I know, that about one o'clock in the morning, the bailie's
grown-up son became insensible while attempting the first verse
of "Willie brewed a peck o' maut"; and he having been, for half
an hour before, the only other man visible above the mahogany,
it occurred to my uncle that it was almost time to think about
going, especially as drinking had set in at seven o'clock, in order
that he might get home at a decent hour. But, thinking it might
not be quite polite to go just then, my uncle voted himself into
the chair, mixed another glass, rose to propose his own health,
addressed himself in a neat and complimentary speech, and drank
the toast with great enthusiasm. Still nobody woke; so my uncle
took a little drop more--neat this time, to prevent the toddy from
disagreeing with him--and, laying violent hands on his hat,
sallied forth into the street.
'it was a wild, gusty night when my uncle closed the bailie's
door, and settling his hat firmly on his head to prevent the wind
from taking it, thrust his hands into his pockets, and looking
upward, took a short survey of the state of the weather. The
clouds were drifting over the moon at their giddiest speed; at one
time wholly obscuring her; at another, suffering her to burst
forth in full splendour and shed her light on all the objects
around; anon, driving over her again, with increased velocity,
and shrouding everything in darkness. "Really, this won't do,"
said my uncle, addressing himself to the weather, as if he felt
himself personally offended. "This is not at all the kind of thing
for my voyage. It will not do at any price," said my uncle, very
impressively. Having repeated this, several times, he recovered
his balance with some difficulty--for he was rather giddy with
looking up into the sky so long--and walked merrily on.
'The bailie's house was in the Canongate, and my uncle was
going to the other end of Leith Walk, rather better than a mile's
journey. On either side of him, there shot up against the dark sky,
tall, gaunt, straggling houses, with time-stained fronts, and
windows that seemed to have shared the lot of eyes in mortals,
and to have grown dim and sunken with age. Six, seven, eight
Storey high, were the houses; storey piled upon storey, as
children build with cards--throwing their dark shadows over
the roughly paved road, and making the dark night darker. A
few oil lamps were scattered at long distances, but they only
served to mark the dirty entrance to some narrow close, or to
show where a common stair communicated, by steep and intricate
windings, with the various flats above. Glancing at all these
things with the air of a man who had seen them too often before,
to think them worthy of much notice now, my uncle walked up
the middle of the street, with a thumb in each waistcoat pocket,
indulging from time to time in various snatches of song, chanted
forth with such good-will and spirit, that the quiet honest folk
started from their first sleep and lay trembling in bed till the
sound died away in the distance; when, satisfying themselves that
it was only some drunken ne'er-do-weel finding his way home,
they covered themselves up warm and fell asleep again.
'I am particular in describing how my uncle walked up the
middle of the street, with his thumbs in his waistcoat pockets,
gentlemen, because, as he often used to say (and with great
reason too) there is nothing at all extraordinary in this story,
unless you distinctly understand at the beginning, that he was not
by any means of a marvellous or romantic turn.
'Gentlemen, my uncle walked on with his thumbs in his
waistcoat pockets, taking the middle of the street to himself, and
singing, now a verse of a love song, and then a verse of a drinking
one, and when he was tired of both, whistling melodiously, until
he reached the North Bridge, which, at this point, connects the
old and new towns of Edinburgh. Here he stopped for a minute,
to look at the strange, irregular clusters of lights piled one above
the other, and twinkling afar off so high, that they looked like
stars, gleaming from the castle walls on the one side and the
Calton Hill on the other, as if they illuminated veritable castles in
the air; while the old picturesque town slept heavily on, in gloom
and darkness below: its palace and chapel of Holyrood, guarded
day and night, as a friend of my uncle's used to say, by old
Arthur's Seat, towering, surly and dark, like some gruff genius,
over the ancient city he has watched so long. I say, gentlemen,
my uncle stopped here, for a minute, to look about him; and
then, paying a compliment to the weather, which had a little
cleared up, though the moon was sinking, walked on again, as
royally as before; keeping the middle of the road with great
dignity, and looking as if he would very much like to meet with
somebody who would dispute possession of it with him. There
was nobody at all disposed to contest the point, as it happened;
and so, on he went, with his thumbs in his waistcoat pockets, like
a lamb.
'When my uncle reached the end of Leith Walk, he had to
cross a pretty large piece of waste ground which separated him
from a short street which he had to turn down to go direct to his
lodging. Now, in this piece of waste ground, there was, at that
time, an enclosure belonging to some wheelwright who contracted
with the Post Office for the purchase of old, worn-out mail
coaches; and my uncle, being very fond of coaches, old, young,
or middle-aged, all at once took it into his head to step out of his
road for no other purpose than to peep between the palings at
these mails--about a dozen of which he remembered to have seen,
crowded together in a very forlorn and dismantled state, inside.
My uncle was a very enthusiastic, emphatic sort of person,
gentlemen; so, finding that he could not obtain a good peep
between the palings he got over them, and sitting himself quietly
down on an old axle-tree, began to contemplate the mail coaches
with a deal of gravity.
'There might be a dozen of them, or there might be more--
my uncle was never quite certain on this point, and being a man
of very scrupulous veracity about numbers, didn't like to say--
but there they stood, all huddled together in the most desolate
condition imaginable. The doors had been torn from their hinges
and removed; the linings had been stripped off, only a shred
hanging here and there by a rusty nail; the lamps were gone, the
poles had long since vanished, the ironwork was rusty, the paint
was worn away; the wind whistled through the chinks in the bare
woodwork; and the rain, which had collected on the roofs, fell,
drop by drop, into the insides with a hollow and melancholy
sound. They were the decaying skeletons of departed mails, and in
that lonely place, at that time of night, they looked chill and dismal.
'My uncle rested his head upon his hands, and thought of the
busy, bustling people who had rattled about, years before, in the
old coaches, and were now as silent and changed; he thought of
the numbers of people to whom one of these crazy, mouldering
vehicles had borne, night after night, for many years, and through
all weathers, the anxiously expected intelligence, the eagerly
looked-for remittance, the promised assurance of health and
safety, the sudden announcement of sickness and death. The
merchant, the lover, the wife, the widow, the mother, the schoolboy,
the very child who tottered to the door at the postman's
knock--how had they all looked forward to the arrival of the old
coach. And where were they all now?
'Gentlemen, my uncle used to SAY that he thought all this at the
time, but I rather suspect he learned it out of some book afterwards,
for he distinctly stated that he fell into a kind of doze, as he
sat on the old axle-tree looking at the decayed mail coaches, and
that he was suddenly awakened by some deep church bell
striking two. Now, my uncle was never a fast thinker, and if he
had thought all these things, I am quite certain it would have
taken him till full half-past two o'clock at the very least. I am,
therefore, decidedly of opinion, gentlemen, that my uncle fell
into a kind of doze, without having thought about anything at all.
'Be this as it may, a church bell struck two. My uncle woke,
rubbed his eyes, and jumped up in astonishment.
'In one instant, after the clock struck two, the whole of this
deserted and quiet spot had become a scene of most extraordinary
life and animation. The mail coach doors were on their
hinges, the lining was replaced, the ironwork was as good as
new, the paint was restored, the lamps were alight; cushions and
greatcoats were on every coach-box, porters were thrusting
parcels into every boot, guards were stowing away letter-bags,
hostlers were dashing pails of water against the renovated wheels;
numbers of men were pushing about, fixing poles into every
coach; passengers arrived, portmanteaus were handed up,
horses were put to; in short, it was perfectly clear that every mail
there, was to be off directly. Gentlemen, my uncle opened his
eyes so wide at all this, that, to the very last moment of his life,
he used to wonder how it fell out that he had ever been able to
shut 'em again.
'"Now then!" said a voice, as my uncle felt a hand on his
shoulder, "you're booked for one inside. You'd better get in."
'"I booked!" said my uncle, turning round.
'"Yes, certainly."
'My uncle, gentlemen, could say nothing, he was so very much
astonished. The queerest thing of all was that although there was
such a crowd of persons, and although fresh faces were pouring
in, every moment, there was no telling where they came from.
They seemed to start up, in some strange manner, from the
ground, or the air, and disappear in the same way. When a
porter had put his luggage in the coach, and received his fare, he
turned round and was gone; and before my uncle had well begun
to wonder what had become of him, half a dozen fresh ones
started up, and staggered along under the weight of parcels,
which seemed big enough to crush them. The passengers were all
dressed so oddly too! Large, broad-skirted laced coats, with
great cuffs and no collars; and wigs, gentlemen--great formal
wigs with a tie behind. My uncle could make nothing of it.
'"Now, are you going to get in?" said the person who had
addressed my uncle before. He was dressed as a mail guard, with
a wig on his head and most enormous cuffs to his coat, and had
a lantern in one hand, and a huge blunderbuss in the other,
which he was going to stow away in his little arm-chest. "ARE you
going to get in, Jack Martin?" said the guard, holding the lantern
to my uncle's face.
'"Hollo!" said my uncle, falling back a step or two. "That's familiar!"
'"It's so on the way-bill," said the guard.
'"Isn't there a 'Mister' before it?" said my uncle. For he felt,
gentlemen, that for a guard he didn't know, to call him Jack
Martin, was a liberty which the Post Office wouldn't have
sanctioned if they had known it.
'"No, there is not," rejoined the guard coolly.
'"Is the fare paid?" inquired my uncle.
'"Of course it is," rejoined the guard.
'"it is, is it?" said my uncle. "Then here goes! Which coach?"
'"This," said the guard, pointing to an old-fashioned Edinburgh
and London mail, which had the steps down and the door open.
"Stop! Here are the other passengers. Let them get in first."
'As the guard spoke, there all at once appeared, right in front
of my uncle, a young gentleman in a powdered wig, and a skyblue
coat trimmed with silver, made very full and broad in the
skirts, which were lined with buckram. Tiggin and Welps were in
the printed calico and waistcoat piece line, gentlemen, so my
uncle knew all the materials at once. He wore knee breeches, and
a kind of leggings rolled up over his silk stockings, and shoes with
buckles; he had ruffles at his wrists, a three-cornered hat on his
head, and a long taper sword by his side. The flaps of his waistcoat
came half-way down his thighs, and the ends of his cravat
reached to his waist. He stalked gravely to the coach door, pulled
off his hat, and held it above his head at arm's length, cocking his
little finger in the air at the same time, as some affected people
do, when they take a cup of tea. Then he drew his feet together,
and made a low, grave bow, and then put out his left hand. My
uncle was just going to step forward, and shake it heartily, when
he perceived that these attentions were directed, not towards him,
but to a young lady who just then appeared at the foot of the
steps, attired in an old-fashioned green velvet dress with a long
waist and stomacher. She had no bonnet on her head, gentlemen,
which was muffled in a black silk hood, but she looked round for
an instant as she prepared to get into the coach, and such a
beautiful face as she disclosed, my uncle had never seen--not even
in a picture. She got into the coach, holding up her dress with one
hand; and as my uncle always said with a round oath, when he
told the story, he wouldn't have believed it possible that legs and
feet could have been brought to such a state of perfection unless
he had seen them with his own eyes.
'But, in this one glimpse of the beautiful face, my uncle saw
that the young lady cast an imploring look upon him, and that
she appeared terrified and distressed. He noticed, too, that the
young fellow in the powdered wig, notwithstanding his show of
gallantry, which was all very fine and grand, clasped her tight by
the wrist when she got in, and followed himself immediately
afterwards. An uncommonly ill-looking fellow, in a close brown
wig, and a plum-coloured suit, wearing a very large sword, and
boots up to his hips, belonged to the party; and when he sat
himself down next to the young lady, who shrank into a corner
at his approach, my uncle was confirmed in his original
impression that something dark and mysterious was going forward,
or, as he always said himself, that "there was a screw
loose somewhere." It's quite surprising how quickly he made
up his mind to help the lady at any peril, if she needed any help.
'"Death and lightning!" exclaimed the young gentleman,
laying his hand upon his sword as my uncle entered the coach.
'"Blood and thunder!" roared the other gentleman. With
this, he whipped his sword out, and made a lunge at my uncle
without further ceremony. My uncle had no weapon about him,
but with great dexterity he snatched the ill-looking gentleman's
three-cornered hat from his head, and, receiving the point of his
sword right through the crown, squeezed the sides together, and
held it tight.
'"Pink him behind!" cried the ill-looking gentleman to his
companion, as he struggled to regain his sword.
'"He had better not," cried my uncle, displaying the heel of
one of his shoes, in a threatening manner. "I'll kick his brains
out, if he has any--, or fracture his skull if he hasn't." Exerting all
his strength, at this moment, my uncle wrenched the ill-looking
man's sword from his grasp, and flung it clean out of the coach
window, upon which the younger gentleman vociferated, "Death
and lightning!" again, and laid his hand upon the hilt of his
sword, in a very fierce manner, but didn't draw it. Perhaps,
gentlemen, as my uncle used to say with a smile, perhaps he was
afraid of alarming the lady.
'"Now, gentlemen," said my uncle, taking his seat deliberately,
"I don't want to have any death, with or without lightning,
in a lady's presence, and we have had quite blood and
thundering enough for one journey; so, if you please, we'll sit in
our places like quiet insides. Here, guard, pick up that
gentleman's carving-knife."
'As quickly as my uncle said the words, the guard appeared at
the coach window, with the gentleman's sword in his hand. He
held up his lantern, and looked earnestly in my uncle's face, as
he handed it in, when, by its light, my uncle saw, to his great
surprise, that an immense crowd of mail-coach guards swarmed
round the window, every one of whom had his eyes earnestly
fixed upon him too. He had never seen such a sea of white faces,
red bodies, and earnest eyes, in all his born days.
'"This is the strangest sort of thing I ever had anything to do
with," thought my uncle; "allow me to return you your hat, sir."
'The ill-looking gentleman received his three-cornered hat in
silence, looked at the hole in the middle with an inquiring air,
and finally stuck it on the top of his wig with a solemnity the
effect of which was a trifle impaired by his sneezing violently at
the moment, and jerking it off again.
'"All right!" cried the guard with the lantern, mounting into
his little seat behind. Away they went. My uncle peeped out of
the coach window as they emerged from the yard, and observed
that the other mails, with coachmen, guards, horses, and
passengers, complete, were driving round and round in circles, at
a slow trot of about five miles an hour. My uncle burned with
indignation, gentlemen. As a commercial man, he felt that the
mail-bags were not to be trifled with, and he resolved to memorialise
the Post Office on the subject, the very instant he reached London.
'At present, however, his thoughts were occupied with the
young lady who sat in the farthest corner of the coach, with her
face muffled closely in her hood; the gentleman with the sky-blue
coat sitting opposite to her; the other man in the plum-coloured
suit, by her side; and both watching her intently. If she so much
as rustled the folds of her hood, he could hear the ill-looking man
clap his hand upon his sword, and could tell by the other's
breathing (it was so dark he couldn't see his face) that he was
looking as big as if he were going to devour her at a mouthful.
This roused my uncle more and more, and he resolved, come
what might, to see the end of it. He had a great admiration for
bright eyes, and sweet faces, and pretty legs and feet; in short, he
was fond of the whole sex. It runs in our family, gentleman--so
am I.
'Many were the devices which my uncle practised, to attract
the lady's attention, or at all events, to engage the mysterious
gentlemen in conversation. They were all in vain; the gentlemen
wouldn't talk, and the lady didn't dare. He thrust his head out of
the coach window at intervals, and bawled out to know why they
didn't go faster. But he called till he was hoarse; nobody paid the
least attention to him. He leaned back in the coach, and thought
of the beautiful face, and the feet and legs. This answered better;
it whiled away the time, and kept him from wondering where he
was going, and how it was that he found himself in such an odd
situation. Not that this would have worried him much, anyway
--he was a mighty free and easy, roving, devil-may-care sort of
person, was my uncle, gentlemen.
'All of a sudden the coach stopped. "Hollo!" said my uncle,
"what's in the wind now?"
'"Alight here," said the guard, letting down the steps.
'"Here!" cried my uncle.
'"Here," rejoined the guard.
'"I'll do nothing of the sort," said my uncle.
'"Very well, then stop where you are," said the guard.
'"I will," said my uncle.
'"Do," said the guard.
'The passengers had regarded this colloquy with great attention,
and, finding that my uncle was determined not to alight,
the younger man squeezed past him, to hand the lady out. At this
moment, the ill-looking man was inspecting the hole in the crown
of his three-cornered hat. As the young lady brushed past, she
dropped one of her gloves into my uncle's hand, and softly
whispered, with her lips so close to his face that he felt her warm
breath on his nose, the single word "Help!" Gentlemen, my
uncle leaped out of the coach at once, with such violence that it
rocked on the springs again.
'"Oh! you've thought better of it, have you?" said the guard,
when he saw my uncle standing on the ground.
'My uncle looked at the guard for a few seconds, in some
doubt whether it wouldn't be better to wrench his blunderbuss
from him, fire it in the face of the man with the big sword, knock
the rest of the company over the head with the stock, snatch up
the young lady, and go off in the smoke. On second thoughts,
however, he abandoned this plan, as being a shade too
melodramatic in the execution, and followed the two mysterious men,
who, keeping the lady between them, were now entering an old
house in front of which the coach had stopped. They turned into
the passage, and my uncle followed.
'Of all the ruinous and desolate places my uncle had ever
beheld, this was the most so. It looked as if it had once been a
large house of entertainment; but the roof had fallen in, in many
places, and the stairs were steep, rugged, and broken. There was
a huge fireplace in the room into which they walked, and the
chimney was blackened with smoke; but no warm blaze lighted
it up now. The white feathery dust of burned wood was still
strewed over the hearth, but the stove was cold, and all was dark
and gloomy.
'"Well," said my uncle, as he looked about him, "a mail
travelling at the rate of six miles and a half an hour, and stopping
for an indefinite time at such a hole as this, is rather an irregular
sort of proceeding, I fancy. This shall be made known. I'll write
to the papers."
'My uncle said this in a pretty loud voice, and in an open,
unreserved sort of manner, with the view of engaging the two
strangers in conversation if he could. But, neither of them took
any more notice of him than whispering to each other, and
scowling at him as they did so. The lady was at the farther end of
the room, and once she ventured to wave her hand, as if beseeching
my uncle's assistance.
'At length the two strangers advanced a little, and the
conversation began in earnest.
'"You don't know this is a private room, I suppose, fellow?"
said the gentleman in sky-blue.
'"No, I do not, fellow," rejoined my uncle. "Only, if this is a
private room specially ordered for the occasion, I should think
the public room must be a VERY comfortable one;" with this, my
uncle sat himself down in a high-backed chair, and took such an
accurate measure of the gentleman, with his eyes, that Tiggin and
Welps could have supplied him with printed calico for a suit, and
not an inch too much or too little, from that estimate alone.
'"Quit this room," said both men together, grasping their swords.
'"Eh?" said my uncle, not at all appearing to comprehend
their meaning.
'"Quit the room, or you are a dead man," said the ill-looking
fellow with the large sword, drawing it at the same time and
flourishing it in the air.
'"Down with him!" cried the gentleman in sky-blue, drawing
his sword also, and falling back two or three yards. "Down
with him!" The lady gave a loud scream.
'Now, my uncle was always remarkable for great boldness, and
great presence of mind. All the time that he had appeared so
indifferent to what was going on, he had been looking slily about for
some missile or weapon of defence, and at the very instant when
the swords were drawn, he espied, standing in the chimneycorner,
an old basket-hilted rapier in a rusty scabbard. At one
bound, my uncle caught it in his hand, drew it, flourished it
gallantly above his head, called aloud to the lady to keep out of
the way, hurled the chair at the man in sky-blue, and the scabbard
at the man in plum-colour, and taking advantage of the
confusion, fell upon them both, pell-mell.
'Gentlemen, there is an old story--none the worse for being
true--regarding a fine young Irish gentleman, who being asked if
he could play the fiddle, replied he had no doubt he could, but he
couldn't exactly say, for certain, because he had never tried. This
is not inapplicable to my uncle and his fencing. He had never had
a sword in his hand before, except once when he played Richard
the Third at a private theatre, upon which occasion it was
arranged with Richmond that he was to be run through, from
behind, without showing fight at all. But here he was, cutting and
slashing with two experienced swordsman, thrusting, and guarding,
and poking, and slicing, and acquitting himself in the most
manful and dexterous manner possible, although up to that time
he had never been aware that he had the least notion of the
science. It only shows how true the old saying is, that a man never
knows what he can do till he tries, gentlemen.
'The noise of the combat was terrific; each of the three
combatants swearing like troopers, and their swords clashing with as
much noise as if all the knives and steels in Newport market were
rattling together, at the same time. When it was at its very height,
the lady (to encourage my uncle most probably) withdrew
her hood entirely from her face, and disclosed a countenance of
such dazzling beauty, that he would have fought against fifty
men, to win one smile from it and die. He had done wonders
before, but now he began to powder away like a raving mad giant.
'At this very moment, the gentleman in sky-blue turning
round, and seeing the young lady with her face uncovered,
vented an exclamation of rage and jealousy, and, turning his
weapon against her beautiful bosom, pointed a thrust at her
heart, which caused my uncle to utter a cry of apprehension that
made the building ring. The lady stepped lightly aside, and
snatching the young man's sword from his hand, before he had
recovered his balance, drove him to the wall, and running it
through him, and the panelling, up to the very hilt, pinned him
there, hard and fast. It was a splendid example. My uncle, with a
loud shout of triumph, and a strength that was irresistible, made
his adversary retreat in the same direction, and plunging the old
rapier into the very centre of a large red flower in the pattern of
his waistcoat, nailed him beside his friend; there they both stood,
gentlemen, jerking their arms and legs about in agony, like the
toy-shop figures that are moved by a piece of pack-thread. My
uncle always said, afterwards, that this was one of the surest
means he knew of, for disposing of an enemy; but it was liable to
one objection on the ground of expense, inasmuch as it involved
the loss of a sword for every man disabled.
'"The mail, the mail!" cried the lady, running up to my uncle
and throwing her beautiful arms round his neck; "we may yet escape."
'"May!" cried my uncle; "why, my dear, there's nobody else
to kill, is there?" My uncle was rather disappointed, gentlemen,
for he thought a little quiet bit of love-making would be agreeable
after the slaughtering, if it were only to change the subject.
'"We have not an instant to lose here," said the young lady.
"He (pointing to the young gentleman in sky-blue) is the only
son of the powerful Marquess of Filletoville."
'"Well then, my dear, I'm afraid he'll never come to the
title," said my uncle, looking coolly at the young gentleman as he
stood fixed up against the wall, in the cockchafer fashion that I
have described. "You have cut off the entail, my love."
'"I have been torn from my home and my friends by these
villains," said the young lady, her features glowing with indignation.
"That wretch would have married me by violence in another hour."
'"Confound his impudence!" said my uncle, bestowing a very
contemptuous look on the dying heir of Filletoville.
' "As you may guess from what you have seen," said the
young lady, "the party were prepared to murder me if I appealed
to any one for assistance. If their accomplices find us here, we are
lost. Two minutes hence may be too late. The mail!" With these
words, overpowered by her feelings, and the exertion of sticking
the young Marquess of Filletoville, she sank into my uncle's
arms. My uncle caught her up, and bore her to the house door.
There stood the mail, with four long-tailed, flowing-maned, black
horses, ready harnessed; but no coachman, no guard, no hostler
even, at the horses' heads.
'Gentlemen, I hope I do no injustice to my uncle's memory,
when I express my opinion, that although he was a bachelor, he
had held some ladies in his arms before this time; I believe,
indeed, that he had rather a habit of kissing barmaids; and I
know, that in one or two instances, he had been seen by credible
witnesses, to hug a landlady in a very perceptible manner. I
mention the circumstance, to show what a very uncommon sort
of person this beautiful young lady must have been, to have
affected my uncle in the way she did; he used to say, that as her
long dark hair trailed over his arm, and her beautiful dark eyes
fixed themselves upon his face when she recovered, he felt so
strange and nervous that his legs trembled beneath him. But
who can look in a sweet, soft pair of dark eyes, without feeling
queer? I can't, gentlemen. I am afraid to look at some eyes I
know, and that's the truth of it.
'"You will never leave me," murmured the young lady.
'"Never," said my uncle. And he meant it too.
'"My dear preserver!" exclaimed the young lady. "My dear,
kind, brave preserver!"
'"Don't," said my uncle, interrupting her.
'"'Why?" inquired the young lady.
'"Because your mouth looks so beautiful when you speak,"
rejoined my uncle, "that I'm afraid I shall be rude enough to
kiss it."
'The young lady put up her hand as if to caution my uncle not
to do so, and said-- No, she didn't say anything--she smiled.
When you are looking at a pair of the most delicious lips in the
world, and see them gently break into a roguish smile--if you are
very near them, and nobody else by--you cannot better testify
your admiration of their beautiful form and colour than by
kissing them at once. My uncle did so, and I honour him for it.
'"Hark!" cried the young lady, starting. "The noise of wheels,
and horses!"
'"So it is," said my uncle, listening. He had a good ear for
wheels, and the trampling of hoofs; but there appeared to be so
many horses and carriages rattling towards them, from a distance,
that it was impossible to form a guess at their number. The sound
was like that of fifty brakes, with six blood cattle in each.
'"We are pursued!" cried the young lady, clasping her hands.
"We are pursued. I have no hope but in you!"
'There was such an expression of terror in her beautiful face,
that my uncle made up his mind at once. He lifted her into the
coach, told her not to be frightened, pressed his lips to hers once
more, and then advising her to draw up the window to keep the
cold air out, mounted to the box.
'"Stay, love," cried the young lady.
'"What's the matter?" said my uncle, from the coach-box.
'"I want to speak to you," said the young lady; "only a word.
Only one word, dearest."
'"Must I get down?" inquired my uncle. The lady made no
answer, but she smiled again. Such a smile, gentlemen! It beat
the other one, all to nothing. My uncle descended from his perch
in a twinkling.
'"What is it, my dear?" said my uncle, looking in at the coach
window. The lady happened to bend forward at the same time,
and my uncle thought she looked more beautiful than she had
done yet. He was very close to her just then, gentlemen, so he
really ought to know.
'"What is it, my dear?" said my uncle.
'"Will you never love any one but me--never marry any one
beside?" said the young lady.
'My uncle swore a great oath that he never would marry anybody
else, and the young lady drew in her head, and pulled up
the window. He jumped upon the box, squared his elbows,
adjusted the ribands, seized the whip which lay on the roof, gave
one flick to the off leader, and away went the four long-tailed,
flowing-maned black horses, at fifteen good English miles an
hour, with the old mail-coach behind them. Whew! How they
tore along!
'The noise behind grew louder. The faster the old mail went,
the faster came the pursuers--men, horses, dogs, were leagued
in the pursuit. The noise was frightful, but, above all, rose the
voice of the young lady, urging my uncle on, and shrieking,
"Faster! Faster!"
'They whirled past the dark trees, as feathers would be swept
before a hurricane. Houses, gates, churches, haystacks, objects of
every kind they shot by, with a velocity and noise like roaring
waters suddenly let loose. But still the noise of pursuit grew
louder, and still my uncle could hear the young lady wildly
screaming, "Faster! Faster!"
'My uncle plied whip and rein, and the horses flew onward till
they were white with foam; and yet the noise behind increased;
and yet the young lady cried, "Faster! Faster!" My uncle gave a
loud stamp on the boot in the energy of the moment, and--
found that it was gray morning, and he was sitting in the wheelwright's
yard, on the box of an old Edinburgh mail, shivering with
the cold and wet and stamping his feet to warm them! He got
down, and looked eagerly inside for the beautiful young lady.
Alas! There was neither door nor seat to the coach. It was a
mere shell.
'Of course, my uncle knew very well that there was some
mystery in the matter, and that everything had passed exactly as
he used to relate it. He remained staunch to the great oath he
had sworn to the beautiful young lady, refusing several eligible
landladies on her account, and dying a bachelor at last. He
always said what a curious thing it was that he should have
found out, by such a mere accident as his clambering over the
palings, that the ghosts of mail-coaches and horses, guards,
coachmen, and passengers, were in the habit of making journeys
regularly every night. He used to add, that he believed he was the
only living person who had ever been taken as a passenger on
one of these excursions. And I think he was right, gentlemen--
at least I never heard of any other.'
'I wonder what these ghosts of mail-coaches carry in their bags,'
said the landlord, who had listened to the whole story with
profound attention.
'The dead letters, of course,' said the bagman.
'Oh, ah! To be sure,' rejoined the landlord. 'I never thought
of that.'
CHAPTER L
HOW Mr. PICKWICK SPED UPON HIS MISSION, AND HOW
HE WAS REINFORCED IN THE OUTSET BY A MOST
UNEXPECTED AUXILIARY
The horses were put to, punctually at a quarter before nine
next morning, and Mr. Pickwick and Sam Weller having each taken
his seat, the one inside and the other out, the postillion
was duly directed to repair in the first instance to Mr. Bob
Sawyer's house, for the purpose of taking up Mr. Benjamin Allen.
It was with feelings of no small astonishment, when the
carriage drew up before the door with the red lamp, and the very
legible inscription of 'Sawyer, late Nockemorf,' that Mr. Pickwick
saw, on popping his head out of the coach window, the boy
in the gray livery very busily employed in putting up the shutters
--the which, being an unusual and an unbusinesslike proceeding
at that hour of the morning, at once suggested to his mind two
inferences: the one, that some good friend and patient of Mr.
Bob Sawyer's was dead; the other, that Mr. Bob Sawyer himself
was bankrupt.
'What is the matter?' said Mr. Pickwick to the boy.
'Nothing's the matter, Sir,' replied the boy, expanding his
mouth to the whole breadth of his countenance.
'All right, all right!' cried Bob Sawyer, suddenly appearing at
the door, with a small leathern knapsack, limp and dirty, in one
hand, and a rough coat and shawl thrown over the other arm.
'I'm going, old fellow.'
'You!' exclaimed Mr. Pickwick.
'Yes,' replied Bob Sawyer, 'and a regular expedition we'll make
of it. Here, Sam! Look out!' Thus briefly bespeaking Mr. Weller's
attention, Mr. Bob Sawyer jerked the leathern knapsack into
the dickey, where it was immediately stowed away, under the
seat, by Sam, who regarded the proceeding with great admiration.
This done, Mr. Bob Sawyer, with the assistance of the boy,
forcibly worked himself into the rough coat, which was a few
sizes too small for him, and then advancing to the coach window,
thrust in his head, and laughed boisterously.
'What a start it is, isn't it?' cried Bob, wiping the tears out of
his eyes, with one of the cuffs of the rough coat.
'My dear Sir,' said Mr. Pickwick, with some embarrassment,
'I had no idea of your accompanying us.'
'No, that's just the very thing,' replied Bob, seizing Mr. Pickwick
by the lappel of his coat. 'That's the joke.'
'Oh, that's the joke, is it?' said Mr. Pickwick.
'Of course,' replied Bob. 'It's the whole point of the thing, you
know--that, and leaving the business to take care of itself, as it
seems to have made up its mind not to take care of me.' With
this explanation of the phenomenon of the shutters, Mr. Bob
Sawyer pointed to the shop, and relapsed into an ecstasy of mirth.
'Bless me, you are surely not mad enough to think of leaving
your patients without anybody to attend them!' remonstrated
Mr. Pickwick in a very serious tone.
'Why not?' asked Bob, in reply. 'I shall save by it, you know.
None of them ever pay. Besides,' said Bob, lowering his voice to
a confidential whisper, 'they will be all the better for it; for,
being nearly out of drugs, and not able to increase my account
just now, I should have been obliged to give them calomel all
round, and it would have been certain to have disagreed with
some of them. So it's all for the best.'
There was a philosophy and a strength of reasoning about this
reply, which Mr. Pickwick was not prepared for. He paused a
few moments, and added, less firmly than before--
'But this chaise, my young friend, will only hold two; and I am
pledged to Mr. Allen.'
'Don't think of me for a minute,' replied Bob. 'I've arranged
it all; Sam and I will share the dickey between us. Look here.
This little bill is to be wafered on the shop door: "Sawyer, late
Nockemorf. Inquire of Mrs. Cripps over the way." Mrs. Cripps
is my boy's mother. "Mr. Sawyer's very sorry," says Mrs. Cripps,
"couldn't help it--fetched away early this morning to a
consultation of the very first surgeons in the country--couldn't do
without him--would have him at any price--tremendous
operation." The fact is,' said Bob, in conclusion, 'it'll do me more
good than otherwise, I expect. If it gets into one of the local
papers, it will be the making of me. Here's Ben; now then,
jump in!'
With these hurried words, Mr. Bob Sawyer pushed the postboy
on one side, jerked his friend into the vehicle, slammed the door,
put up the steps, wafered the bill on the street door, locked it,
put the key in his pocket, jumped into the dickey, gave the word
for starting, and did the whole with such extraordinary
precipitation, that before Mr. Pickwick had well begun to consider
whether Mr. Bob Sawyer ought to go or not, they were rolling
away, with Mr. Bob Sawyer thoroughly established as part and
parcel of the equipage.
So long as their progress was confined to the streets of Bristol,
the facetious Bob kept his professional green spectacles on, and
conducted himself with becoming steadiness and gravity of
demeanour; merely giving utterance to divers verbal witticisms
for the exclusive behoof and entertainment of Mr. Samuel Weller.
But when they emerged on the open road, he threw off his green
spectacles and his gravity together, and performed a great variety
of practical jokes, which were calculated to attract the attention
of the passersby, and to render the carriage and those it
contained objects of more than ordinary curiosity; the least
conspicuous among these feats being a most vociferous imitation of
a key-bugle, and the ostentatious display of a crimson silk
pocket-handkerchief attached to a walking-stick, which was
occasionally waved in the air with various gestures indicative of
supremacy and defiance.
'I wonder,' said Mr. Pickwick, stopping in the midst of a most
sedate conversation with Ben Allen, bearing reference to the
numerous good qualities of Mr. Winkle and his sister--'I wonder
what all the people we pass, can see in us to make them stare so.'
'It's a neat turn-out,' replied Ben Allen, with something of
pride in his tone. 'They're not used to see this sort of thing, every
day, I dare say.'
'Possibly,' replied Mr. Pickwick. 'It may be so. Perhaps it is.'
Mr. Pickwick might very probably have reasoned himself into
the belief that it really was, had he not, just then happening to
look out of the coach window, observed that the looks of the
passengers betokened anything but respectful astonishment, and
that various telegraphic communications appeared to be passing
between them and some persons outside the vehicle, whereupon
it occurred to him that these demonstrations might be, in some
remote degree, referable to the humorous deportment of Mr.
Robert Sawyer.
'I hope,' said Mr. Pickwick, 'that our volatile friend is
committing no absurdities in that dickey behind.'
'Oh dear, no,' replied Ben Allen. 'Except when he's elevated,
Bob's the quietest creature breathing.'
Here a prolonged imitation of a key-bugle broke upon the ear,
succeeded by cheers and screams, all of which evidently proceeded
from the throat and lungs of the quietest creature breathing,
or in plainer designation, of Mr. Bob Sawyer himself.
Mr. Pickwick and Mr. Ben Allen looked expressively at each
other, and the former gentleman taking off his hat, and leaning
out of the coach window until nearly the whole of his waistcoat
was outside it, was at length enabled to catch a glimpse of his
facetious friend.
Mr. Bob Sawyer was seated, not in the dickey, but on the roof
of the chaise, with his legs as far asunder as they would
conveniently go, wearing Mr. Samuel Weller's hat on one side of his
head, and bearing, in one hand, a most enormous sandwich,
while, in the other, he supported a goodly-sized case-bottle, to
both of which he applied himself with intense relish, varying the
monotony of the occupation by an occasional howl, or the
interchange of some lively badinage with any passing stranger.
The crimson flag was carefully tied in an erect position to the rail
of the dickey; and Mr. Samuel Weller, decorated with Bob
Sawyer's hat, was seated in the centre thereof, discussing a twin
sandwich, with an animated countenance, the expression of which
betokened his entire and perfect approval of the whole arrangement.
This was enough to irritate a gentleman with Mr. Pickwick's
sense of propriety, but it was not the whole extent of the aggravation,
for a stage-coach full, inside and out, was meeting them at
the moment, and the astonishment of the passengers was very
palpably evinced. The congratulations of an Irish family, too,
who were keeping up with the chaise, and begging all the time,
were of rather a boisterous description, especially those of its
male head, who appeared to consider the display as part and
parcel of some political or other procession of triumph.
'Mr. Sawyer!' cried Mr. Pickwick, in a state of great excitement,
'Mr. Sawyer, Sir!'
'Hollo!' responded that gentleman, looking over the side of the
chaise with all the coolness in life.
'Are you mad, sir?' demanded Mr. Pickwick.
'Not a bit of it,' replied Bob; 'only cheerful.'
'Cheerful, sir!' ejaculated Mr. Pickwick. 'Take down that
scandalous red handkerchief, I beg. I insist, Sir. Sam, take it down.'
Before Sam could interpose, Mr. Bob Sawyer gracefully struck
his colours, and having put them in his pocket, nodded in a
courteous manner to Mr. Pickwick, wiped the mouth of the casebottle,
and applied it to his own, thereby informing him, without
any unnecessary waste of words, that he devoted that draught
to wishing him all manner of happiness and prosperity. Having
done this, Bob replaced the cork with great care, and looking
benignantly down on Mr. Pickwick, took a large bite out of the
sandwich, and smiled.
'Come,' said Mr. Pickwick, whose momentary anger was not
quite proof against Bob's immovable self-possession, 'pray let us
have no more of this absurdity.'
'No, no,' replied Bob, once more exchanging hats with Mr.
Weller; 'I didn't mean to do it, only I got so enlivened with the
ride that I couldn't help it.'
'Think of the look of the thing,' expostulated Mr. Pickwick;
'have some regard to appearances.'
'Oh, certainly,' said Bob, 'it's not the sort of thing at all. All
over, governor.'
Satisfied with this assurance, Mr. Pickwick once more drew his
head into the chaise and pulled up the glass; but he had scarcely
resumed the conversation which Mr. Bob Sawyer had interrupted,
when he was somewhat startled by the apparition of a small dark
body, of an oblong form, on the outside of the window, which
gave sundry taps against it, as if impatient of admission.
'What's this?'exclaimed Mr. Pickwick.
'It looks like a case-bottle;' remarked Ben Allen, eyeing the
object in question through his spectacles with some interest; 'I
rather think it belongs to Bob.'
The impression was perfectly accurate; for Mr. Bob Sawyer,
having attached the case-bottle to the end of the walking-stick,
was battering the window with it, in token of his wish, that his
friends inside would partake of its contents, in all good-fellowship
and harmony.
'What's to be done?' said Mr. Pickwick, looking at the bottle.
'This proceeding is more absurd than the other.'
'I think it would be best to take it in,' replied Mr. Ben Allen;
'it would serve him right to take it in and keep it, wouldn't it?'
'It would,' said Mr. Pickwick; 'shall I?'
'I think it the most proper course we could possibly adopt,'
replied Ben.
This advice quite coinciding with his own opinion, Mr. Pickwick
gently let down the window and disengaged the bottle from
the stick; upon which the latter was drawn up, and Mr. Bob
Sawyer was heard to laugh heartily.
'What a merry dog it is!' said Mr. Pickwick, looking round at
his companion, with the bottle in his hand.
'He is,' said Mr. Allen.
'You cannot possibly be angry with him,' remarked Mr. Pickwick.
'Quite out of the question,' observed Benjamin Allen.
During this short interchange of sentiments, Mr. Pickwick
had, in an abstracted mood, uncorked the bottle.
'What is it?' inquired Ben Allen carelessly.
'I don't know,' replied Mr. Pickwick, with equal carelessness.
'It smells, I think, like milk-punch.'
'Oh, indeed?' said Ben.
'I THINK so,' rejoined Mr. Pickwick, very properly guarding
himself against the possibility of stating an untruth; 'mind, I
could not undertake to say certainly, without tasting it.'
'You had better do so,' said Ben; 'we may as well know what
it is.'
'Do you think so?' replied Mr. Pickwick. 'Well; if you are
curious to know, of course I have no objection.'
Ever willing to sacrifice his own feelings to the wishes of his
friend, Mr. Pickwick at once took a pretty long taste.
'What is it?' inquired Ben Allen, interrupting him with some
impatience.
'Curious,' said Mr. Pickwick, smacking his lips, 'I hardly
know, now. Oh, yes!' said Mr. Pickwick, after a second taste.
'It IS punch.'
Mr. Ben Allen looked at Mr. Pickwick; Mr. Pickwick looked
at Mr. Ben Allen; Mr. Ben Allen smiled; Mr. Pickwick did not.
'It would serve him right,' said the last-named gentleman, with
some severity--'it would serve him right to drink it every drop.'
'The very thing that occurred to me,' said Ben Allen.
'Is it, indeed?' rejoined Mr. Pickwick. 'Then here's his
health!' With these words, that excellent person took a most
energetic pull at the bottle, and handed it to Ben Allen, who was
not slow to imitate his example. The smiles became mutual, and
the milk-punch was gradually and cheerfully disposed of.
'After all,' said Mr. Pickwick, as he drained the last drop, 'his
pranks are really very amusing; very entertaining indeed.'
'You may say that,' rejoined Mr. Ben Allen. In proof of Bob
Sawyer's being one of the funniest fellows alive, he proceeded to
entertain Mr. Pickwick with a long and circumstantial account
how that gentleman once drank himself into a fever and got his
head shaved; the relation of which pleasant and agreeable
history was only stopped by the stoppage of the chaise at the
Bell at Berkeley Heath, to change horses.
'I say! We're going to dine here, aren't we?' said Bob, looking
in at the window.
'Dine!' said Mr. Pickwick. 'Why, we have only come nineteen
miles, and have eighty-seven and a half to go.'
'Just the reason why we should take something to enable us to
bear up against the fatigue,' remonstrated Mr. Bob Sawyer.
'Oh, it's quite impossible to dine at half-past eleven o'clock in
the day,' replied Mr. Pickwick, looking at his watch.
'So it is,' rejoined Bob, 'lunch is the very thing. Hollo, you sir!
Lunch for three, directly; and keep the horses back for a quarter
of an hour. Tell them to put everything they have cold, on the
table, and some bottled ale, and let us taste your very best
Madeira.' Issuing these orders with monstrous importance and
bustle, Mr. Bob Sawyer at once hurried into the house to superintend
the arrangements; in less than five minutes he returned
and declared them to be excellent.
The quality of the lunch fully justified the eulogium which
Bob had pronounced, and very great justice was done to it, not
only by that gentleman, but Mr. Ben Allen and Mr. Pickwick
also. Under the auspices of the three, the bottled ale and the
Madeira were promptly disposed of; and when (the horses being
once more put to) they resumed their seats, with the case-bottle
full of the best substitute for milk-punch that could be procured
on so short a notice, the key-bugle sounded, and the red flag
waved, without the slightest opposition on Mr. Pickwick's part.
At the Hop Pole at Tewkesbury, they stopped to dine; upon
which occasion there was more bottled ale, with some more
Madeira, and some port besides; and here the case-bottle was
replenished for the fourth time. Under the influence of these
combined stimulants, Mr. Pickwick and Mr. Ben Allen fell fast
asleep for thirty miles, while Bob and Mr. Weller sang duets in
the dickey.
It was quite dark when Mr. Pickwick roused himself sufficiently
to look out of the window. The straggling cottages by the roadside,
the dingy hue of every object visible, the murky atmosphere,
the paths of cinders and brick-dust, the deep-red glow of furnace
fires in the distance, the volumes of dense smoke issuing heavily
forth from high toppling chimneys, blackening and obscuring
everything around; the glare of distant lights, the ponderous
wagons which toiled along the road, laden with clashing rods of
iron, or piled with heavy goods--all betokened their rapid
approach to the great working town of Birmingham.
As they rattled through the narrow thoroughfares leading to
the heart of the turmoil, the sights and sounds of earnest occupation
struck more forcibly on the senses. The streets were thronged
with working people. The hum of labour resounded from every
house; lights gleamed from the long casement windows in the
attic storeys, and the whirl of wheels and noise of machinery
shook the trembling walls. The fires, whose lurid, sullen light had
been visible for miles, blazed fiercely up, in the great works and
factories of the town. The din of hammers, the rushing of steam,
and the dead heavy clanking of engines, was the harsh music
which arose from every quarter.
The postboy was driving briskly through the open streets, and
past the handsome and well-lighted shops that intervene between
the outskirts of the town and the Old Royal Hotel, before Mr.
Pickwick had begun to consider the very difficult and delicate
nature of the commission which had carried him thither.
The delicate nature of this commission, and the difficulty of
executing it in a satisfactory manner, were by no means lessened
by the voluntary companionship of Mr. Bob Sawyer. Truth to
tell, Mr. Pickwick felt that his presence on the occasion, however
considerate and gratifying, was by no means an honour he
would willingly have sought; in fact, he would cheerfully have
given a reasonable sum of money to have had Mr. Bob Sawyer
removed to any place at not less than fifty miles' distance,
without delay.
Mr. Pickwick had never held any personal communication
with Mr. Winkle, senior, although he had once or twice corresponded
with him by letter, and returned satisfactory answers to
his inquiries concerning the moral character and behaviour of
his son; he felt nervously sensible that to wait upon him, for the
first time, attended by Bob Sawyer and Ben Allen, both slightly
fuddled, was not the most ingenious and likely means that could
have been hit upon to prepossess him in his favour.
'However,' said Mr. Pickwick, endeavouring to reassure
himself, 'I must do the best I can. I must see him to-night, for I
faithfully promised to do so. If they persist in accompanying
me, I must make the interview as brief as possible, and be content
that, for their own sakes, they will not expose themselves.'
As he comforted himself with these reflections, the chaise
stopped at the door of the Old Royal. Ben Allen having been
partially awakened from a stupendous sleep, and dragged out by
the collar by Mr. Samuel Weller, Mr. Pickwick was enabled to
alight. They were shown to a comfortable apartment, and Mr.
Pickwick at once propounded a question to the waiter concerning
the whereabout of Mr. Winkle's residence.
'Close by, Sir,' said the waiter, 'not above five hundred yards,
Sir. Mr. Winkle is a wharfinger, Sir, at the canal, sir. Private
residence is not--oh dear, no, sir, not five hundred yards, sir.'
Here the waiter blew a candle out, and made a feint of lighting it
again, in order to afford Mr. Pickwick an opportunity of asking
any further questions, if he felt so disposed.
'Take anything now, Sir?' said the waiter, lighting the candle
in desperation at Mr. Pickwick's silence. 'Tea or coffee, Sir?
Dinner, sir?'
'Nothing now.'
'Very good, sir. Like to order supper, Sir?'
'Not just now.'
'Very good, Sir.' Here, he walked slowly to the door, and then
stopping short, turned round and said, with great suavity--
'Shall I send the chambermaid, gentlemen?'
'You may if you please,' replied Mr. Pickwick.
'If YOU please, sir.'
'And bring some soda-water,' said Bob Sawyer.
'Soda-water, Sir! Yes, Sir.' With his mind apparently relieved
from an overwhelming weight, by having at last got an order for
something, the waiter imperceptibly melted away. Waiters never
walk or run. They have a peculiar and mysterious power of
skimming out of rooms, which other mortals possess not.
Some slight symptoms of vitality having been awakened in
Mr. Ben Allen by the soda-water, he suffered himself to be
prevailed upon to wash his face and hands, and to submit to be
brushed by Sam. Mr. Pickwick and Bob Sawyer having also
repaired the disorder which the journey had made in their
apparel, the three started forth, arm in arm, to Mr. Winkle's;
Bob Sawyer impregnating the atmosphere with tobacco smoke as
he walked along.
About a quarter of a mile off, in a quiet, substantial-looking
street, stood an old red brick house with three steps before the
door, and a brass plate upon it, bearing, in fat Roman capitals,
the words, 'Mr. Winkle.'The steps were very white, and the bricks
were very red, and the house was very clean; and here stood
Mr. Pickwick, Mr. Benjamin Allen, and Mr. Bob Sawyer, as the
clock struck ten.
A smart servant-girl answered the knock, and started on
beholding the three strangers.
'Is Mr. Winkle at home, my dear?' inquired Mr. Pickwick.
'He is just going to supper, Sir,' replied the girl.
'Give him that card if you please,' rejoined Mr. Pickwick.
'Say I am sorry to trouble him at so late an hour; but I am
anxious to see him to-night, and have only just arrived.'
The girl looked timidly at Mr. Bob Sawyer, who was expressing
his admiration of her personal charms by a variety of wonderful
grimaces; and casting an eye at the hats and greatcoats which
hung in the passage, called another girl to mind the door while
she went upstairs. The sentinel was speedily relieved; for the girl
returned immediately, and begging pardon of the gentlemen for
leaving them in the street, ushered them into a floor-clothed back
parlour, half office and half dressing room, in which the principal
useful and ornamental articles of furniture were a desk, a washhand
stand and shaving-glass, a boot-rack and boot-jack, a high
stool, four chairs, a table, and an old eight-day clock. Over the
mantelpiece were the sunken doors of an iron safe, while a
couple of hanging shelves for books, an almanac, and several
files of dusty papers, decorated the walls.
'Very sorry to leave you standing at the door, Sir,' said the
girl, lighting a lamp, and addressing Mr. Pickwick with a winning
smile, 'but you was quite strangers to me; and we have such a
many trampers that only come to see what they can lay their
hands on, that really--'
'There is not the least occasion for any apology, my dear,' said
Mr. Pickwick good-humouredly.
'Not the slightest, my love,' said Bob Sawyer, playfully
stretching forth his arms, and skipping from side to side, as if to
prevent the young lady's leaving the room.
The young lady was not at all softened by these allurements,
for she at once expressed her opinion, that Mr. Bob Sawyer was
an 'odous creetur;' and, on his becoming rather more pressing in
his attentions, imprinted her fair fingers upon his face, and
bounced out of the room with many expressions of aversion and contempt.
Deprived of the young lady's society, Mr. Bob Sawyer proceeded
to divert himself by peeping into the desk, looking into all
the table drawers, feigning to pick the lock of the iron safe,
turning the almanac with its face to the wall, trying on the boots
of Mr. Winkle, senior, over his own, and making several other
humorous experiments upon the furniture, all of which afforded
Mr. Pickwick unspeakable horror and agony, and yielded Mr.
Bob Sawyer proportionate delight.
At length the door opened, and a little old gentleman in a
snuff-coloured suit, with a head and face the precise counterpart
of those belonging to Mr. Winkle, junior, excepting that he was
rather bald, trotted into the room with Mr. Pickwick's card in
one hand, and a silver candlestick in the other.
'Mr. Pickwick, sir, how do you do?' said Winkle the elder,
putting down the candlestick and proffering his hand. 'Hope I
see you well, sir. Glad to see you. Be seated, Mr. Pickwick, I beg,
Sir. This gentleman is--'
'My friend, Mr. Sawyer,' interposed Mr. Pickwick, 'your son's friend.'
'Oh,' said Mr. Winkle the elder, looking rather grimly at Bob.
'I hope you are well, sir.'
'Right as a trivet, sir,' replied Bob Sawyer.
'This other gentleman,' cried Mr. Pickwick, 'is, as you will see
when you have read the letter with which I am intrusted, a very
near relative, or I should rather say a very particular friend of
your son's. His name is Allen.'
'THAT gentleman?' inquired Mr. Winkle, pointing with the card
towards Ben Allen, who had fallen asleep in an attitude which
left nothing of him visible but his spine and his coat collar.
Mr. Pickwick was on the point of replying to the question, and
reciting Mr. Benjamin Allen's name and honourable distinctions
at full length, when the sprightly Mr. Bob Sawyer, with a view of
rousing his friend to a sense of his situation, inflicted a startling
pinch upon the fleshly part of his arm, which caused him to jump
up with a shriek. Suddenly aware that he was in the presence of
a stranger, Mr. Ben Allen advanced and, shaking Mr. Winkle
most affectionately by both hands for about five minutes,
murmured, in some half-intelligible fragments of sentences, the
great delight he felt in seeing him, and a hospitable inquiry
whether he felt disposed to take anything after his walk, or
would prefer waiting 'till dinner-time;' which done, he sat down
and gazed about him with a petrified stare, as if he had not the
remotest idea where he was, which indeed he had not.
All this was most embarrassing to Mr. Pickwick, the more
especially as Mr. Winkle, senior, evinced palpable astonishment
at the eccentric--not to say extraordinary--behaviour of his two
companions. To bring the matter to an issue at once, he drew a
letter from his pocket, and presenting it to Mr. Winkle, senior, said--
'This letter, Sir, is from your son. You will see, by its contents,
that on your favourable and fatherly consideration of it, depend
his future happiness and welfare. Will you oblige me by giving it
the calmest and coolest perusal, and by discussing the subject
afterwards with me, in the tone and spirit in which alone it ought
to be discussed? You may judge of the importance of your
decision to your son, and his intense anxiety upon the subject, by
my waiting upon you, without any previous warning, at so late
an hour; and,' added Mr. Pickwick, glancing slightly at his two
companions--'and under such unfavourable circumstances.'
With this prelude, Mr. Pickwick placed four closely-written
sides of extra superfine wire-wove penitence in the hands of the
astounded Mr. Winkle, senior. Then reseating himself in his chair,
he watched his looks and manner: anxiously, it is true, but with
the open front of a gentleman who feels he has taken no part
which he need excuse or palliate.
The old wharfinger turned the letter over, looked at the front,
back, and sides, made a microscopic examination of the fat little
boy on the seal, raised his eyes to Mr. Pickwick's face, and then,
seating himself on the high stool, and drawing the lamp closer to
him, broke the wax, unfolded the epistle, and lifting it to the
light, prepared to read.
Just at this moment, Mr. Bob Sawyer, whose wit had lain
dormant for some minutes, placed his hands on his knees, and
made a face after the portraits of the late Mr. Grimaldi, as clown.
It so happened that Mr. Winkle, senior, instead of being deeply
engaged in reading the letter, as Mr. Bob Sawyer thought,
chanced to be looking over the top of it at no less a person than
Mr. Bob Sawyer himself; rightly conjecturing that the face aforesaid
was made in ridicule and derision of his own person, he
fixed his eyes on Bob with such expressive sternness, that the late
Mr. Grimaldi's lineaments gradually resolved themselves into a
very fine expression of humility and confusion.
'Did you speak, Sir?' inquired Mr. Winkle, senior, after an
awful silence.
'No, sir,' replied Bob, With no remains of the clown about him,
save and except the extreme redness of his cheeks.
'You are sure you did not, sir?' said Mr. Winkle, senior.
'Oh dear, yes, sir, quite,' replied Bob.
'I thought you did, Sir,' replied the old gentleman, with
indignant emphasis. 'Perhaps you LOOKED at me, sir?'
'Oh, no! sir, not at all,' replied Bob, with extreme civility.
'I am very glad to hear it, sir,' said Mr. Winkle, senior. Having
frowned upon the abashed Bob with great magnificence, the old
gentleman again brought the letter to the light, and began to
read it seriously.
Mr. Pickwick eyed him intently as he turned from the bottom
line of the first page to the top line of the second, and from the
bottom of the second to the top of the third, and from the
bottom of the third to the top of the fourth; but not the slightest
alteration of countenance afforded a clue to the feelings with
which he received the announcement of his son's marriage, which
Mr. Pickwick knew was in the very first half-dozen lines.
He read the letter to the last word, folded it again with all the
carefulness and precision of a man of business, and, just when
Mr. Pickwick expected some great outbreak of feeling, dipped a
pen in the ink-stand, and said, as quietly as if he were speaking
on the most ordinary counting-house topic--
'What is Nathaniel's address, Mr. Pickwick?'
'The George and Vulture, at present,' replied that gentleman.
'George and Vulture. Where is that?'
'George Yard, Lombard Street.'
'In the city?'
'Yes.'
The old gentleman methodically indorsed the address on the
back of the letter; and then, placing it in the desk, which he
locked, said, as he got off the stool and put the bunch of keys in
his pocket--
'I suppose there is nothing else which need detain us, Mr. Pickwick?'
'Nothing else, my dear Sir!' observed that warm-hearted
person in indignant amazement. 'Nothing else! Have you no
opinion to express on this momentous event in our young friend's
life? No assurance to convey to him, through me, of the
continuance of your affection and protection? Nothing to say which
will cheer and sustain him, and the anxious girl who looks to him
for comfort and support? My dear Sir, consider.'
'I will consider,' replied the old gentleman. 'I have nothing to
say just now. I am a man of business, Mr. Pickwick. I never
commit myself hastily in any affair, and from what I see of this,
I by no means like the appearance of it. A thousand pounds is
not much, Mr. Pickwick.'
'You're very right, Sir,' interposed Ben Allen, just awake
enough to know that he had spent his thousand pounds without
the smallest difficulty. 'You're an intelligent man. Bob, he's a
very knowing fellow this.'
'I am very happy to find that you do me the justice to make the
admission, sir,' said Mr. Winkle, senior, looking contemptuously
at Ben Allen, who was shaking his head profoundly. 'The fact is,
Mr. Pickwick, that when I gave my son a roving license for a
year or so, to see something of men and manners (which he has
done under your auspices), so that he might not enter life a mere
boarding-school milk-sop to be gulled by everybody, I never
bargained for this. He knows that very well, so if I withdraw my
countenance from him on this account, he has no call to be
surprised. He shall hear from me, Mr. Pickwick. Good-night, sir.
--Margaret, open the door.'
All this time, Bob Sawyer had been nudging Mr. Ben Allen to
say something on the right side; Ben accordingly now burst,
without the slightest preliminary notice, into a brief but
impassioned piece of eloquence.
'Sir,' said Mr. Ben Allen, staring at the old gentleman, out of a
pair of very dim and languid eyes, and working his right arm
vehemently up and down, 'you--you ought to be ashamed of
yourself.'
'As the lady's brother, of course you are an excellent judge of
the question,' retorted Mr. Winkle, senior. 'There; that's
enough. Pray say no more, Mr. Pickwick. Good-night, gentlemen!'
With these words the old gentleman took up the candle-stick
and opening the room door, politely motioned towards the passage.
'You will regret this, Sir,' said Mr. Pickwick, setting his teeth
close together to keep down his choler; for he felt how
important the effect might prove to his young friend.
'I am at present of a different opinion,' calmly replied Mr.
Winkle, senior. 'Once again, gentlemen, I wish you a good-night.'
Mr. Pickwick walked with angry strides into the street. Mr.
Bob Sawyer, completely quelled by the decision of the old gentleman's
manner, took the same course. Mr. Ben Allen's hat rolled
down the steps immediately afterwards, and Mr. Ben Allen's
body followed it directly. The whole party went silent and supperless
to bed; and Mr. Pickwick thought, just before he fell asleep,
that if he had known Mr. Winkle, senior, had been quite so much
of a man of business, it was extremely probable he might never
have waited upon him, on such an errand.
CHAPTER LI
IN WHICH Mr. PICKWICK ENCOUNTERS AN OLD
ACQUAINTANCE--TO WHICH FORTUNATE CIRCUMSTANCE
THE READER IS MAINLY INDEBTED FOR MATTER OF
THRILLING INTEREST HEREIN SET DOWN, CONCERNING
TWO GREAT PUBLIC MEN OF MIGHT AND POWER
The morning which broke upon Mr. Pickwick's sight at eight
o'clock, was not at all calculated to elevate his spirits, or
to lessen the depression which the unlooked-for result of his
embassy inspired. The sky was dark and gloomy, the air was damp
and raw, the streets were wet and sloppy. The smoke hung sluggishly
above the chimney-tops as if it lacked the courage to rise, and
the rain came slowly and doggedly down, as if it had not even the
spirit to pour. A game-cock in the stableyard, deprived of every
spark of his accustomed animation, balanced himself dismally on
one leg in a corner; a donkey, moping with drooping head under the
narrow roof of an outhouse, appeared from his meditative and
miserable countenance to be contemplating suicide. In the
street, umbrellas were the only things to be seen, and the
clicking of pattens and splashing of rain-drops were the only
sounds to be heard.
The breakfast was interrupted by very little conversation; even
Mr. Bob Sawyer felt the influence of the weather, and the previous
day's excitement. In his own expressive language he was 'floored.'
So was Mr. Ben Allen. So was Mr. Pickwick.
In protracted expectation of the weather clearing up, the last
evening paper from London was read and re-read with an
intensity of interest only known in cases of extreme destitution;
every inch of the carpet was walked over with similar perseverance;
the windows were looked out of, often enough to justify
the imposition of an additional duty upon them; all kinds of
topics of conversation were started, and failed; and at length
Mr. Pickwick, when noon had arrived, without a change for the
better, rang the bell resolutely, and ordered out the chaise.
Although the roads were miry, and the drizzling rain came
down harder than it had done yet, and although the mud and wet
splashed in at the open windows of the carriage to such an
extent that the discomfort was almost as great to the pair of
insides as to the pair of outsides, still there was something in the
motion, and the sense of being up and doing, which was so
infinitely superior to being pent in a dull room, looking at the
dull rain dripping into a dull street, that they all agreed, on
starting, that the change was a great improvement, and wondered
how they could possibly have delayed making it as long as they
had done.
When they stopped to change at Coventry, the steam ascended
from the horses in such clouds as wholly to obscure the hostler,
whose voice was however heard to declare from the mist, that he
expected the first gold medal from the Humane Society on their
next distribution of rewards, for taking the postboy's hat off; the
water descending from the brim of which, the invisible gentleman
declared, must have drowned him (the postboy), but for his
great presence of mind in tearing it promptly from his head, and
drying the gasping man's countenance with a wisp of straw.
'This is pleasant,' said Bob Sawyer, turning up his coat collar,
and pulling the shawl over his mouth to concentrate the fumes of
a glass of brandy just swallowed.
'Wery,' replied Sam composedly.
'You don't seem to mind it,' observed Bob.
'Vy, I don't exactly see no good my mindin' on it 'ud do, sir,'
replied Sam.
'That's an unanswerable reason, anyhow,' said Bob.
'Yes, sir,' rejoined Mr. Weller. 'Wotever is, is right, as the
young nobleman sweetly remarked wen they put him down in the
pension list 'cos his mother's uncle's vife's grandfather vunce lit
the king's pipe vith a portable tinder-box.'
'Not a bad notion that, Sam,' said Mr. Bob Sawyer approvingly.
, Just wot the young nobleman said ev'ry quarter-day arterwards
for the rest of his life,' replied Mr. Weller.
'Wos you ever called in,' inquired Sam, glancing at the driver,
after a short silence, and lowering his voice to a mysterious
whisper--'wos you ever called in, when you wos 'prentice to a
sawbones, to wisit a postboy.'
'I don't remember that I ever was,' replied Bob Sawyer.
'You never see a postboy in that 'ere hospital as you WALKED
(as they says o' the ghosts), did you?' demanded Sam.
'No,' replied Bob Sawyer. 'I don't think I ever did.'
'Never know'd a churchyard were there wos a postboy's
tombstone, or see a dead postboy, did you?' inquired Sam,
pursuing his catechism.
'No,' rejoined Bob, 'I never did.'
'No!' rejoined Sam triumphantly. 'Nor never vill; and there's
another thing that no man never see, and that's a dead donkey.
No man never see a dead donkey 'cept the gen'l'm'n in the black
silk smalls as know'd the young 'ooman as kep' a goat; and that
wos a French donkey, so wery likely he warn't wun o' the reg'lar breed.'
'Well, what has that got to do with the postboys?' asked Bob Sawyer.
'This here,' replied Sam. 'Without goin' so far as to as-sert, as
some wery sensible people do, that postboys and donkeys is both
immortal, wot I say is this: that wenever they feels theirselves
gettin' stiff and past their work, they just rides off together, wun
postboy to a pair in the usual way; wot becomes on 'em nobody
knows, but it's wery probable as they starts avay to take their
pleasure in some other vorld, for there ain't a man alive as ever
see either a donkey or a postboy a-takin' his pleasure in this!'
Expatiating upon this learned and remarkable theory, and
citing many curious statistical and other facts in its support, Sam
Weller beguiled the time until they reached Dunchurch, where a
dry postboy and fresh horses were procured; the next stage was
Daventry, and the next Towcester; and at the end of each stage
it rained harder than it had done at the beginning.
'I say,' remonstrated Bob Sawyer, looking in at the coach
window, as they pulled up before the door of the Saracen's Head,
Towcester, 'this won't do, you know.'
'Bless me!' said Mr. Pickwick, just awakening from a nap, 'I'm
afraid you're wet.'
'Oh, you are, are you?' returned Bob. 'Yes, I am, a little that
way, Uncomfortably damp, perhaps.'
Bob did look dampish, inasmuch as the rain was streaming
from his neck, elbows, cuffs, skirts, and knees; and his whole
apparel shone so with the wet, that it might have been mistaken
for a full suit of prepared oilskin.
'I AM rather wet,' said Bob, giving himself a shake and casting
a little hydraulic shower around, like a Newfoundland dog just
emerged from the water.
'I think it's quite impossible to go on to-night,' interposed Ben.
'Out of the question, sir,' remarked Sam Weller, coming to
assist in the conference; 'it's a cruelty to animals, sir, to ask 'em
to do it. There's beds here, sir,' said Sam, addressing his master,
'everything clean and comfortable. Wery good little dinner, sir,
they can get ready in half an hour--pair of fowls, sir, and a weal
cutlet; French beans, 'taturs, tart, and tidiness. You'd better
stop vere you are, sir, if I might recommend. Take adwice, sir,
as the doctor said.'
The host of the Saracen's Head opportunely appeared at this
moment, to confirm Mr. Weller's statement relative to the
accommodations of the establishment, and to back his entreaties
with a variety of dismal conjectures regarding the state of the
roads, the doubt of fresh horses being to be had at the next stage,
the dead certainty of its raining all night, the equally mortal
certainty of its clearing up in the morning, and other topics of
inducement familiar to innkeepers.
'Well,' said Mr. Pickwick; 'but I must send a letter to London
by some conveyance, so that it may be delivered the very first
thing in the morning, or I must go forwards at all hazards.'
The landlord smiled his delight. Nothing could be easier than
for the gentleman to inclose a letter in a sheet of brown paper,
and send it on, either by the mail or the night coach from
Birmingham. If the gentleman were particularly anxious to have
it left as soon as possible, he might write outside, 'To be delivered
immediately,' which was sure to be attended to; or 'Pay the
bearer half-a-crown extra for instant delivery,' which was surer still.
'Very well,' said Mr. Pickwick, 'then we will stop here.'
'Lights in the Sun, John; make up the fire; the gentlemen are
wet!' cried the landlord. 'This way, gentlemen; don't trouble
yourselves about the postboy now, sir. I'll send him to you when
you ring for him, sir. Now, John, the candles.'
The candles were brought, the fire was stirred up, and a
fresh log of wood thrown on. In ten minutes' time, a waiter
was laying the cloth for dinner, the curtains were drawn, the fire
was blazing brightly, and everything looked (as everything
always does, in all decent English inns) as if the travellers had
been expected, and their comforts prepared, for days beforehand.
Mr. Pickwick sat down at a side table, and hastily indited a
note to Mr. Winkle, merely informing him that he was detained
by stress of weather, but would certainly be in London next day;
until when he deferred any account of his proceedings. This note
was hastily made into a parcel, and despatched to the bar per
Mr. Samuel Weller.
Sam left it with the landlady, and was returning to pull his
master's boots off, after drying himself by the kitchen fire, when
glancing casually through a half-opened door, he was arrested by
the sight of a gentleman with a sandy head who had a large
bundle of newspapers lying on the table before him, and was
perusing the leading article of one with a settled sneer which
curled up his nose and all other features into a majestic expression
of haughty contempt.
'Hollo!' said Sam, 'I ought to know that 'ere head and them
features; the eyeglass, too, and the broad-brimmed tile! Eatansvill
to vit, or I'm a Roman.'
Sam was taken with a troublesome cough, at once, for the
purpose of attracting the gentleman's attention; the gentleman
starting at the sound, raised his head and his eyeglass, and
disclosed to view the profound and thoughtful features of Mr.
Pott, of the Eatanswill GAZETTE.
'Beggin' your pardon, sir,' said Sam, advancing with a bow,
'my master's here, Mr. Pott.'
'Hush! hush!' cried Pott, drawing Sam into the room, and
closing the door, with a countenance of mysterious dread and
apprehension.
'Wot's the matter, Sir?' inquired Sam, looking vacantly about him.
'Not a whisper of my name,' replied Pott; 'this is a buff
neighbourhood. If the excited and irritable populace knew I was
here, I should be torn to pieces.'
'No! Vould you, sir?' inquired Sam.
'I should be the victim of their fury,' replied Pott. 'Now
young man, what of your master?'
'He's a-stopping here to-night on his vay to town, with a
couple of friends,' replied Sam.
'Is Mr. Winkle one of them?' inquired Pott, with a slight frown.
'No, Sir. Mr. Vinkle stops at home now,' rejoined Sam. 'He's
married.'
'Married!' exclaimed Pott, with frightful vehemence. He
stopped, smiled darkly, and added, in a low, vindictive tone, 'It
serves him right!'
Having given vent to this cruel ebullition of deadly malice and
cold-blooded triumph over a fallen enemy, Mr. Pott inquired
whether Mr. Pickwick's friends were 'blue?' Receiving a most
satisfactory answer in the affirmative from Sam, who knew as
much about the matter as Pott himself, he consented to accompany
him to Mr. Pickwick's room, where a hearty welcome
awaited him, and an agreement to club their dinners together was
at once made and ratified.
'And how are matters going on in Eatanswill?' inquired Mr.
Pickwick, when Pott had taken a seat near the fire, and the whole
party had got their wet boots off, and dry slippers on. 'Is the
INDEPENDENT still in being?'
'The INDEPENDENT, sir,' replied Pott, 'is still dragging on a wretched
and lingering career. Abhorred and despised by even the few
who are cognisant of its miserable and disgraceful existence, stifled
by the very filth it so profusely scatters, rendered deaf and blind
by the exhalations of its own slime, the obscene journal, happily
unconscious of its degraded state, is rapidly sinking beneath that
treacherous mud which, while it seems to give it a firm standing
with the low and debased classes of society, is nevertheless rising
above its detested head, and will speedily engulf it for ever.'
Having delivered this manifesto (which formed a portion of his
last week's leader) with vehement articulation, the editor paused
to take breath, and looked majestically at Bob Sawyer.
'You are a young man, sir,' said Pott.
Mr. Bob Sawyer nodded.
'So are you, sir,' said Pott, addressing Mr. Ben Allen.
Ben admitted the soft impeachment.
'And are both deeply imbued with those blue principles,
which, so long as I live, I have pledged myself to the people of
these kingdoms to support and to maintain?' suggested Pott.
'Why, I don't exactly know about that,' replied Bob Sawyer.
'I am--'
'Not buff, Mr. Pickwick,' interrupted Pott, drawing back his
chair, 'your friend is not buff, sir?'
'No, no,' rejoined Bob, 'I'm a kind of plaid at present; a
compound of all sorts of colours.'
'A waverer,' said Pott solemnly, 'a waverer. I should like to
show you a series of eight articles, Sir, that have appeared in the
Eatanswill GAZETTE. I think I may venture to say that you would
not be long in establishing your opinions on a firm and solid
blue basis, sir.'
'I dare say I should turn very blue, long before I got to the end
of them,' responded Bob.
Mr. Pott looked dubiously at Bob Sawyer for some seconds,
and, turning to Mr. Pickwick, said--
'You have seen the literary articles which have appeared at
intervals in the Eatanswill GAZETTE in the course of the last three
months, and which have excited such general--I may say such
universal--attention and admiration?'
'Why,' replied Mr. Pickwick, slightly embarrassed by the
question, 'the fact is, I have been so much engaged in other ways,
that I really have not had an opportunity of perusing them.'
'You should do so, Sir,' said Pott, with a severe countenance.
'I will,' said Mr. Pickwick.
'They appeared in the form of a copious review of a work on
Chinese metaphysics, Sir,' said Pott.
'Oh,' observed Mr. Pickwick; 'from your pen, I hope?'
'From the pen of my critic, Sir,' rejoined Pott, with dignity.
'An abstruse subject, I should conceive,' said Mr. Pickwick.
'Very, Sir,' responded Pott, looking intensely sage. 'He
CRAMMED for it, to use a technical but expressive term; he read up
for the subject, at my desire, in the "Encyclopaedia Britannica." '
'Indeed!' said Mr. Pickwick; 'I was not aware that that
valuable work contained any information respecting Chinese
metaphysics.'
'He read, Sir,' rejoined Pott, laying his hand on Mr. Pickwick's
knee, and looking round with a smile of intellectual superiority
--'he read for metaphysics under the letter M, and for China
under the letter C, and combined his information, Sir!'
Mr. Pott's features assumed so much additional grandeur at
the recollection of the power and research displayed in the
learned effusions in question, that some minutes elapsed before
Mr. Pickwick felt emboldened to renew the conversation; at
length, as the editor's countenance gradually relaxed into its
customary expression of moral supremacy, he ventured to
resume the discourse by asking--
'Is it fair to inquire what great object has brought you so far
from home?'
'That object which actuates and animates me in all my gigantic
labours, Sir,' replied Pott, with a calm smile: 'my country's good.'
'I supposed it was some public mission,' observed Mr. Pickwick.
'Yes, Sir,' resumed Pott, 'it is.' Here, bending towards Mr.
Pickwick, he whispered in a deep, hollow voice, 'A Buff ball, Sir,
will take place in Birmingham to-morrow evening.'
'God bless me!' exclaimed Mr. Pickwick.
'Yes, Sir, and supper,' added Pott.
'You don't say so!' ejaculated Mr. Pickwick.
Pott nodded portentously.
Now, although Mr. Pickwick feigned to stand aghast at this
disclosure, he was so little versed in local politics that he was
unable to form an adequate comprehension of the importance of
the dire conspiracy it referred to; observing which, Mr. Pott,
drawing forth the last number of the Eatanswill GAZETTE, and
referring to the same, delivered himself of the following paragraph:--
HOLE-AND-CORNER BUFFERY.
'A reptile contemporary has recently sweltered forth his black
venom in the vain and hopeless attempt of sullying the fair name
of our distinguished and excellent representative, the Honourable
Mr. Slumkey--that Slumkey whom we, long before he gained
his present noble and exalted position, predicted would one day
be, as he now is, at once his country's brightest honour, and her
proudest boast: alike her bold defender and her honest pride--
our reptile contemporary, we say, has made himself merry, at the
expense of a superbly embossed plated coal-scuttle, which has
been presented to that glorious man by his enraptured
constituents, and towards the purchase of which, the nameless
wretch insinuates, the Honourable Mr. Slumkey himself
contributed, through a confidential friend of his butler's, more than
three-fourths of the whole sum subscribed. Why, does not the
crawling creature see, that even if this be the fact, the Honourable
Mr. Slumkey only appears in a still more amiable and radiant
light than before, if that be possible? Does not even his obtuseness
perceive that this amiable and touching desire to carry out
the wishes of the constituent body, must for ever endear him to
the hearts and souls of such of his fellow townsmen as are not
worse than swine; or, in other words, who are not as debased as
our contemporary himself? But such is the wretched trickery of
hole-and-corner Buffery! These are not its only artifices. Treason
is abroad. We boldly state, now that we are goaded to the
disclosure, and we throw ourselves on the country and its constables
for protection--we boldly state that secret preparations are at
this moment in progress for a Buff ball; which is to be held in a
Buff town, in the very heart and centre of a Buff population;
which is to be conducted by a Buff master of the ceremonies;
which is to be attended by four ultra Buff members of Parliament,
and the admission to which, is to be by Buff tickets! Does our
fiendish contemporary wince? Let him writhe, in impotent
malice, as we pen the words, WE WILL BE THERE.'
'There, Sir,' said Pott, folding up the paper quite exhausted, 'that
is the state of the case!'
The landlord and waiter entering at the moment with dinner,
caused Mr. Pott to lay his finger on his lips, in token that he
considered his life in Mr. Pickwick's hands, and depended on his
secrecy. Messrs. Bob Sawyer and Benjamin Allen, who had
irreverently fallen asleep during the reading of the quotation
from the Eatanswill GAZETTE, and the discussion which followed
it, were roused by the mere whispering of the talismanic word
'Dinner' in their ears; and to dinner they went with good
digestion waiting on appetite, and health on both, and a waiter
on all three.
In the course of the dinner and the sitting which succeeded it,
Mr. Pott descending, for a few moments, to domestic topics,
informed Mr. Pickwick that the air of Eatanswill not agreeing
with his lady, she was then engaged in making a tour of different
fashionable watering-places with a view to the recovery of her
wonted health and spirits; this was a delicate veiling of the fact
that Mrs. Pott, acting upon her often-repeated threat of separation,
had, in virtue of an arrangement negotiated by her brother,
the lieutenant, and concluded by Mr. Pott, permanently retired
with the faithful bodyguard upon one moiety or half part of the
annual income and profits arising from the editorship and sale of
the Eatanswill GAZETTE.
While the great Mr. Pott was dwelling upon this and other
matters, enlivening the conversation from time to time with
various extracts from his own lucubrations, a stern stranger,
calling from the window of a stage-coach, outward bound,
which halted at the inn to deliver packages, requested to know
whether if he stopped short on his journey and remained there
for the night, he could be furnished with the necessary accommodation
of a bed and bedstead.
'Certainly, sir,' replied the landlord.
'I can, can I?' inquired the stranger, who seemed habitually
suspicious in look and manner.
'No doubt of it, Sir,' replied the landlord.
'Good,' said the stranger. 'Coachman, I get down here.
Guard, my carpet-bag!'
Bidding the other passengers good-night, in a rather snappish
manner, the stranger alighted. He was a shortish gentleman, with
very stiff black hair cut in the porcupine or blacking-brush style,
and standing stiff and straight all over his head; his aspect was
pompous and threatening; his manner was peremptory; his eyes
were sharp and restless; and his whole bearing bespoke a feeling
of great confidence in himself, and a consciousness of immeasurable
superiority over all other people.
This gentleman was shown into the room originally assigned
to the patriotic Mr. Pott; and the waiter remarked, in dumb
astonishment at the singular coincidence, that he had no sooner
lighted the candles than the gentleman, diving into his hat, drew
forth a newspaper, and began to read it with the very same
expression of indignant scorn, which, upon the majestic features
of Pott, had paralysed his energies an hour before. The man
observed too, that, whereas Mr. Pott's scorn had been roused by
a newspaper headed the Eatanswill INDEPENDENT, this gentleman's
withering contempt was awakened by a newspaper entitled the
Eatanswill GAZETTE.
'Send the landlord,' said the stranger.
'Yes, sir,' rejoined the waiter.
The landlord was sent, and came.
'Are you the landlord?' inquired the gentleman.
'I am sir,' replied the landlord.
'My name is Slurk,' said the gentleman.
The landlord slightly inclined his head.
'Slurk, sir,' repeated the gentleman haughtily. 'Do you know
me now, man?'
The landlord scratched his head, looked at the ceiling, and at
the stranger, and smiled feebly.
'Do you know me, man?' inquired the stranger angrily.
The landlord made a strong effort, and at length replied,
'Well, Sir, I do not know you.'
'Great Heaven!' said the stranger, dashing his clenched fist
upon the table. 'And this is popularity!'
The landlord took a step or two towards the door; the stranger
fixing his eyes upon him, resumed.
'This,' said the stranger--'this is gratitude for years of labour
and study in behalf of the masses. I alight wet and weary; no
enthusiastic crowds press forward to greet their champion; the
church bells are silent; the very name elicits no responsive
feeling in their torpid bosoms. It is enough,' said the agitated
Mr. Slurk, pacing to and fro, 'to curdle the ink in one's pen, and
induce one to abandon their cause for ever.'
'Did you say brandy-and-water, Sir?' said the landlord,
venturing a hint.
'Rum,' said Mr. Slurk, turning fiercely upon him. 'Have you
got a fire anywhere?'
'We can light one directly, Sir,' said the landlord.
'Which will throw out no heat until it is bed-time,' interrupted
Mr. Slurk. 'Is there anybody in the kitchen?'
Not a soul. There was a beautiful fire. Everybody had gone,
and the house door was closed for the night.
'I will drink my rum-and-water,' said Mr. Slurk, 'by the
kitchen fire.' So, gathering up his hat and newspaper, he stalked
solemnly behind the landlord to that humble apartment,
and throwing himself on a settle by the fireside, resumed his
countenance of scorn, and began to read and drink in silent dignity.
Now, some demon of discord, flying over the Saracen's
Head at that moment, on casting down his eyes in mere idle
curiosity, happened to behold Slurk established comfortably
by the kitchen fire, and Pott slightly elevated with wine
in another room; upon which the malicious demon, darting
down into the last-mentioned apartment with inconceivable
rapidity, passed at once into the head of Mr. Bob Sawyer, and
prompted him for his (the demon's) own evil purpose to speak
as follows:--
'I say, we've let the fire out. It's uncommonly cold after the
rain, isn't it?'
'It really is,' replied Mr. Pickwick, shivering.
'It wouldn't be a bad notion to have a cigar by the kitchen fire,
would it?' said Bob Sawyer, still prompted by the demon aforesaid.
'It would be particularly comfortable, I think,' replied Mr.
Pickwick. 'Mr. Pott, what do you say?'
Mr. Pott yielded a ready assent; and all four travellers, each
with his glass in his hand, at once betook themselves to the
kitchen, with Sam Weller heading the procession to show them
the way.
The stranger was still reading; he looked up and started.
Mr. Pott started.
'What's the matter?' whispered Mr. Pickwick.
'That reptile!' replied Pott.
'What reptile?' said Mr. Pickwick, looking about him for fear
he should tread on some overgrown black beetle, or dropsical spider.
'That reptile,' whispered Pott, catching Mr. Pickwick by the
arm, and pointing towards the stranger. 'That reptile Slurk, of
the INDEPENDENT!'
'Perhaps we had better retire,' whispered Mr. Pickwick.
'Never, Sir,' rejoined Pott, pot-valiant in a double sense--
'never.' With these words, Mr. Pott took up his position on an
opposite settle, and selecting one from a little bundle of newspapers,
began to read against his enemy.
Mr. Pott, of course read the INDEPENDENT, and Mr. Slurk, of
course, read the GAZETTE; and each gentleman audibly expressed
his contempt at the other's compositions by bitter laughs and
sarcastic sniffs; whence they proceeded to more open expressions
of opinion, such as 'absurd,' 'wretched,' 'atrocity,' 'humbug,'
'knavery', 'dirt,' 'filth,' 'slime,' 'ditch-water,' and other critical
remarks of the like nature.
Both Mr. Bob Sawyer and Mr. Ben Allen had beheld these
symptoms of rivalry and hatred, with a degree of delight which
imparted great additional relish to the cigars at which they were
puffing most vigorously. The moment they began to flag, the
mischievous Mr. Bob Sawyer, addressing Slurk with great
politeness, said--
'Will you allow me to look at your paper, Sir, when you have
quite done with it?'
'You will find very little to repay you for your trouble in this
contemptible THING, sir,' replied Slurk, bestowing a Satanic frown
on Pott.
'You shall have this presently,' said Pott, looking up, pale
with rage, and quivering in his speech, from the same cause.
'Ha! ha! you will be amused with this FELLOW'S audacity.'
Terrible emphasis was laid upon 'thing' and 'fellow'; and the
faces of both editors began to glow with defiance.
'The ribaldry of this miserable man is despicably disgusting,'
said Pott, pretending to address Bob Sawyer, and scowling upon Slurk.
Here, Mr. Slurk laughed very heartily, and folding up the
paper so as to get at a fresh column conveniently, said, that the
blockhead really amused him.
'What an impudent blunderer this fellow is,' said Pott, turning
from pink to crimson.
'Did you ever read any of this man's foolery, Sir?' inquired
Slurk of Bob Sawyer.
'Never,' replied Bob; 'is it very bad?'
'Oh, shocking! shocking!' rejoined Slurk.
'Really! Dear me, this is too atrocious!' exclaimed Pott, at this
juncture; still feigning to be absorbed in his reading.
'If you can wade through a few sentences of malice, meanness,
falsehood, perjury, treachery, and cant,' said Slurk, handing the
paper to Bob, 'you will, perhaps, be somewhat repaid by a laugh
at the style of this ungrammatical twaddler.'
'What's that you said, Sir?' inquired Mr. Pott, looking up,
trembling all over with passion.
'What's that to you, sir?' replied Slurk.
'Ungrammatical twaddler, was it, sir?' said Pott.
'Yes, sir, it was,' replied Slurk; 'and BLUE BORE, Sir, if you like
that better; ha! ha!'
Mr. Pott retorted not a word at this jocose insult, but deliberately
folded up his copy of the INDEPENDENT, flattened it carefully
down, crushed it beneath his boot, spat upon it with great
ceremony, and flung it into the fire.
'There, sir,' said Pott, retreating from the stove, 'and that's the
way I would serve the viper who produces it, if I were not,
fortunately for him, restrained by the laws of my country.'
'Serve him so, sir!' cried Slurk, starting up. 'Those laws shall
never be appealed to by him, sir, in such a case. Serve him so, sir!'
'Hear! hear!' said Bob Sawyer.
'Nothing can be fairer,' observed Mr. Ben Allen.
'Serve him so, sir!' reiterated Slurk, in a loud voice.
Mr. Pott darted a look of contempt, which might have
withered an anchor.
'Serve him so, sir!' reiterated Slurk, in a louder voice
than before.
'I will not, sir,' rejoined Pott.
'Oh, you won't, won't you, sir?' said Mr. Slurk, in a taunting
manner; 'you hear this, gentlemen! He won't; not that he's
afraid--, oh, no! he WON'T. Ha! ha!'
'I consider you, sir,' said Mr. Pott, moved by this sarcasm, 'I
consider you a viper. I look upon you, sir, as a man who has
placed himself beyond the pale of society, by his most audacious,
disgraceful, and abominable public conduct. I view you, sir,
personally and politically, in no other light than as a most
unparalleled and unmitigated viper.'
The indignant Independent did not wait to hear the end of this
personal denunciation; for, catching up his carpet-bag, which
was well stuffed with movables, he swung it in the air as Pott
turned away, and, letting it fall with a circular sweep on his head,
just at that particular angle of the bag where a good thick
hairbrush happened to be packed, caused a sharp crash to be
heard throughout the kitchen, and brought him at once to the ground.
'Gentlemen,' cried Mr. Pickwick, as Pott started up and seized
the fire-shovel--'gentlemen! Consider, for Heaven's sake--help
--Sam--here--pray, gentlemen--interfere, somebody.'
Uttering these incoherent exclamations, Mr. Pickwick rushed
between the infuriated combatants just in time to receive the
carpet-bag on one side of his body, and the fire-shovel on the
other. Whether the representatives of the public feeling of
Eatanswill were blinded by animosity, or (being both acute
reasoners) saw the advantage of having a third party between
them to bear all the blows, certain it is that they paid not the
slightest attention to Mr. Pickwick, but defying each other with
great spirit, plied the carpet-bag and the fire-shovel most
fearlessly. Mr. Pickwick would unquestionably have suffered severely
for his humane interference, if Mr. Weller, attracted by his
master's cries, had not rushed in at the moment, and, snatching
up a meal--sack, effectually stopped the conflict by drawing it over
the head and shoulders of the mighty Pott, and clasping him
tight round the shoulders.
'Take away that 'ere bag from the t'other madman,' said Sam
to Ben Allen and Bob Sawyer, who had done nothing but dodge
round the group, each with a tortoise-shell lancet in his hand,
ready to bleed the first man stunned. 'Give it up, you wretched
little creetur, or I'll smother you in it.'
Awed by these threats, and quite out of breath, the INDEPENDENT
suffered himself to be disarmed; and Mr. Weller, removing the
extinguisher from Pott, set him free with a caution.
'You take yourselves off to bed quietly,' said Sam, 'or I'll put
you both in it, and let you fight it out vith the mouth tied, as I
vould a dozen sich, if they played these games. And you have the
goodness to come this here way, sir, if you please.'
Thus addressing his master, Sam took him by the arm, and led
him off, while the rival editors were severally removed to their
beds by the landlord, under the inspection of Mr. Bob Sawyer and
Mr. Benjamin Allen; breathing, as they went away, many
sanguinary threats, and making vague appointments for mortal
combat next day. When they came to think it over, however, it
occurred to them that they could do it much better in print, so
they recommenced deadly hostilities without delay; and all
Eatanswill rung with their boldness--on paper.
They had taken themselves off in separate coaches, early next
morning, before the other travellers were stirring; and the weather
having now cleared up, the chaise companions once more turned
their faces to London.
CHAPTER LII
INVOLVING A SERIOUS CHANGE IN THE WELLER FAMILY,
AND THE UNTIMELY DOWNFALL OF Mr. STIGGINS
Considering it a matter of delicacy to abstain from introducing
either Bob Sawyer or Ben Allen to the young couple, until they
were fully prepared to expect them, and wishing to spare
Arabella's feelings as much as possible, Mr. Pickwick
proposed that he and Sam should alight in the neighbourhood of the
George and Vulture, and that the two young men should for
the present take up their quarters elsewhere. To this they very
readily agreed, and the proposition was accordingly acted
upon; Mr. Ben Allen and Mr. Bob Sawyer betaking themselves
to a sequestered pot-shop on the remotest confines of the
Borough, behind the bar door of which their names had in
other days very often appeared at the head of long and complex
calculations worked in white chalk.
'Dear me, Mr. Weller,' said the pretty housemaid, meeting
Sam at the door.
'Dear ME I vish it vos, my dear,' replied Sam, dropping
behind, to let his master get out of hearing. 'Wot a sweetlookin'
creetur you are, Mary!'
'Lot, Mr. Weller, what nonsense you do talk!' said Mary.
'Oh! don't, Mr. Weller."
'Don't what, my dear?' said Sam.
'Why, that,' replied the pretty housemaid. 'Lor, do get along
with you.' Thus admonishing him, the pretty housemaid pushed
Sam against the wall, declaring that he had tumbled her cap,
and put her hair quite out of curl.
'And prevented what I was going to say, besides,' added Mary.
'There's a letter been waiting here for you four days; you hadn't
gone away, half an hour, when it came; and more than that, it's
got "immediate," on the outside.'
'Vere is it, my love?' inquired Sam.
'I took care of it, for you, or I dare say it would have been
lost long before this,' replied Mary. 'There, take it; it's more
than you deserve.'
With these words, after many pretty little coquettish doubts
and fears, and wishes that she might not have lost it, Mary
produced the letter from behind the nicest little muslin tucker
possible, and handed it to Sam, who thereupon kissed it with
much gallantry and devotion.
'My goodness me!' said Mary, adjusting the tucker, and
feigning unconsciousness, 'you seem to have grown very fond of
it all at once.'
To this Mr. Weller only replied by a wink, the intense meaning
of which no description could convey the faintest idea of; and,
sitting himself down beside Mary on a window-seat, opened the
letter and glanced at the contents.
'Hollo!' exclaimed Sam, 'wot's all this?'
'Nothing the matter, I hope?' said Mary, peeping over his
shoulder.
'Bless them eyes o' yourn!' said Sam, looking up.
'Never mind my eyes; you had much better read your letter,'
said the pretty housemaid; and as she said so, she made the eyes
twinkle with such slyness and beauty that they were perfectly
irresistible.
Sam refreshed himself with a kiss, and read as follows:--
'MARKIS GRAN
'By DORKEN
'Wensdy.
'My DEAR SAMMLE,
'I am werry sorry to have the pleasure of being a Bear
of ill news your Mother in law cort cold consekens of imprudently
settin too long on the damp grass in the rain a hearing
of a shepherd who warnt able to leave off till late at night owen
to his having vound his-self up vith brandy and vater and not
being able to stop his-self till he got a little sober which took a
many hours to do the doctor says that if she'd svallo'd varm
brandy and vater artervards insted of afore she mightn't have
been no vus her veels wos immedetly greased and everythink
done to set her agoin as could be inwented your father had
hopes as she vould have vorked round as usual but just as she
wos a turnen the corner my boy she took the wrong road and
vent down hill vith a welocity you never see and notvithstandin
that the drag wos put on directly by the medikel man it wornt
of no use at all for she paid the last pike at twenty minutes afore
six o'clock yesterday evenin havin done the journey wery much
under the reglar time vich praps was partly owen to her haven
taken in wery little luggage by the vay your father says that
if you vill come and see me Sammy he vill take it as a wery
great favor for I am wery lonely Samivel n. b. he VILL have it
spelt that vay vich I say ant right and as there is sich a many
things to settle he is sure your guvner wont object of course
he vill not Sammy for I knows him better so he sends his dooty
in which I join and am Samivel infernally yours
'TONY VELLER.'
'Wot a incomprehensible letter,' said Sam; 'who's to know wot
it means, vith all this he-ing and I-ing! It ain't my father's
writin', 'cept this here signater in print letters; that's his.'
'Perhaps he got somebody to write it for him, and signed it
himself afterwards,' said the pretty housemaid.
'Stop a minit,' replied Sam, running over the letter again,
and pausing here and there, to reflect, as he did so. 'You've hit
it. The gen'l'm'n as wrote it wos a-tellin' all about the
misfortun' in a proper vay, and then my father comes a-lookin'
over him, and complicates the whole concern by puttin' his oar
in. That's just the wery sort o' thing he'd do. You're right,
Mary, my dear.'
Having satisfied himself on this point, Sam read the letter all
over, once more, and, appearing to form a clear notion of its
contents for the first time, ejaculated thoughtfully, as he folded
it up--
'And so the poor creetur's dead! I'm sorry for it. She warn't
a bad-disposed 'ooman, if them shepherds had let her alone.
I'm wery sorry for it.'
Mr. Weller uttered these words in so serious a manner, that
the pretty housemaid cast down her eyes and looked very grave.
'Hows'ever,' said Sam, putting the letter in his pocket with a
gentle sigh, 'it wos to be--and wos, as the old lady said arter
she'd married the footman. Can't be helped now, can it, Mary?'
Mary shook her head, and sighed too.
'I must apply to the hemperor for leave of absence,' said Sam.
Mary sighed again--the letter was so very affecting.
'Good-bye!' said Sam.
'Good-bye,' rejoined the pretty housemaid, turning her head away.
'Well, shake hands, won't you?' said Sam.
The pretty housemaid put out a hand which, although it was
a housemaid's, was a very small one, and rose to go.
'I shan't be wery long avay,' said Sam.
'You're always away,' said Mary, giving her head the slightest
possible toss in the air. 'You no sooner come, Mr. Weller, than
you go again.'
Mr. Weller drew the household beauty closer to him, and
entered upon a whispering conversation, which had not proceeded
far, when she turned her face round and condescended
to look at him again. When they parted, it was somehow or
other indispensably necessary for her to go to her room, and
arrange the cap and curls before she could think of presenting
herself to her mistress; which preparatory ceremony she went
off to perform, bestowing many nods and smiles on Sam over the
banisters as she tripped upstairs.
'I shan't be avay more than a day, or two, Sir, at the furthest,'
said Sam, when he had communicated to Mr. Pickwick the
intelligence of his father's loss.
'As long as may be necessary, Sam,' replied Mr. Pickwick,
'you have my full permission to remain.'
Sam bowed.
'You will tell your father, Sam, that if I can be of any assistance
to him in his present situation, I shall be most willing and ready
to lend him any aid in my power,' said Mr. Pickwick.
'Thank'ee, sir,' rejoined Sam. 'I'll mention it, sir.'
And with some expressions of mutual good-will and interest,
master and man separated.
It was just seven o'clock when Samuel Weller, alighting from
the box of a stage-coach which passed through Dorking, stood
within a few hundred yards of the Marquis of Granby. It was a
cold, dull evening; the little street looked dreary and dismal;
and the mahogany countenance of the noble and gallant marquis
seemed to wear a more sad and melancholy expression than it
was wont to do, as it swung to and fro, creaking mournfully in
the wind. The blinds were pulled down, and the shutters partly
closed; of the knot of loungers that usually collected about the
door, not one was to be seen; the place was silent and desolate.
Seeing nobody of whom he could ask any preliminary
questions, Sam walked softly in, and glancing round, he quickly
recognised his parent in the distance.
The widower was seated at a small round table in the little
room behind the bar, smoking a pipe, with his eyes intently
fixed upon the fire. The funeral had evidently taken place that
day, for attached to his hat, which he still retained on his head,
was a hatband measuring about a yard and a half in length,
which hung over the top rail of the chair and streamed negligently
down. Mr. Weller was in a very abstracted and contemplative
mood. Notwithstanding that Sam called him by name several
times, he still continued to smoke with the same fixed and quiet
countenance, and was only roused ultimately by his son's placing
the palm of his hand on his shoulder.
'Sammy,' said Mr. Weller, 'you're welcome.'
'I've been a-callin' to you half a dozen times,' said Sam,
hanging his hat on a peg, 'but you didn't hear me.'
'No, Sammy,' replied Mr. Weller, again looking thoughtfully
at the fire. 'I was in a referee, Sammy.'
'Wot about?' inquired Sam, drawing his chair up to the fire.
'In a referee, Sammy,' replied the elder Mr. Weller, 'regarding
HER, Samivel.' Here Mr. Weller jerked his head in the direction
of Dorking churchyard, in mute explanation that his words
referred to the late Mrs. Weller.
'I wos a-thinkin', Sammy,' said Mr. Weller, eyeing his son,
with great earnestness, over his pipe, as if to assure him that
however extraordinary and incredible the declaration might
appear, it was nevertheless calmly and deliberately uttered. 'I
wos a-thinkin', Sammy, that upon the whole I wos wery sorry
she wos gone.'
'Vell, and so you ought to be,' replied Sam.
Mr. Weller nodded his acquiescence in the sentiment, and
again fastening his eyes on the fire, shrouded himself in a cloud,
and mused deeply.
'Those wos wery sensible observations as she made, Sammy,'
said Mr. Weller, driving the smoke away with his hand, after a
long silence.
'Wot observations?' inquired Sam.
'Them as she made, arter she was took ill,' replied the old
gentleman.
'Wot was they?'
'Somethin' to this here effect. "Veller," she says, "I'm afeered
I've not done by you quite wot I ought to have done; you're a
wery kind-hearted man, and I might ha' made your home more
comfortabler. I begin to see now," she says, "ven it's too late,
that if a married 'ooman vishes to be religious, she should begin
vith dischargin' her dooties at home, and makin' them as is
about her cheerful and happy, and that vile she goes to church,
or chapel, or wot not, at all proper times, she should be wery
careful not to con-wert this sort o' thing into a excuse for idleness
or self-indulgence. I have done this," she says, "and I've vasted
time and substance on them as has done it more than me; but I
hope ven I'm gone, Veller, that you'll think on me as I wos
afore I know'd them people, and as I raly wos by natur."
'"Susan," says I--I wos took up wery short by this, Samivel; I
von't deny it, my boy--"Susan," I says, "you've been a wery
good vife to me, altogether; don't say nothin' at all about
it; keep a good heart, my dear; and you'll live to see me punch
that 'ere Stiggins's head yet." She smiled at this, Samivel,' said
the old gentleman, stifling a sigh with his pipe, 'but she died
arter all!'
'Vell,' said Sam, venturing to offer a little homely consolation,
after the lapse of three or four minutes, consumed by the old
gentleman in slowly shaking his head from side to side, and
solemnly smoking, 'vell, gov'nor, ve must all come to it, one day
or another.'
'So we must, Sammy,' said Mr. Weller the elder.
'There's a Providence in it all,' said Sam.
'O' course there is,' replied his father, with a nod of grave
approval. 'Wot 'ud become of the undertakers vithout it, Sammy?'
Lost in the immense field of conjecture opened by this reflection,
the elder Mr. Weller laid his pipe on the table, and stirred
the fire with a meditative visage.
While the old gentleman was thus engaged, a very buxomlooking
cook, dressed in mourning, who had been bustling
about, in the bar, glided into the room, and bestowing many
smirks of recognition upon Sam, silently stationed herself at the
back of his father's chair, and announced her presence by a slight
cough, the which, being disregarded, was followed by a louder one.
'Hollo!' said the elder Mr. Weller, dropping the poker as he
looked round, and hastily drew his chair away. 'Wot's the
matter now?'
'Have a cup of tea, there's a good soul,' replied the buxom
female coaxingly.
'I von't,' replied Mr. Weller, in a somewhat boisterous
manner. 'I'll see you--' Mr. Weller hastily checked himself,
and added in a low tone, 'furder fust.'
'Oh, dear, dear! How adwersity does change people!' said the
lady, looking upwards.
'It's the only thing 'twixt this and the doctor as shall change
my condition,' muttered Mr. Weller.
'I really never saw a man so cross,' said the buxom female.
'Never mind. It's all for my own good; vich is the reflection
vith vich the penitent school-boy comforted his feelin's ven they
flogged him,' rejoined the old gentleman.
The buxom female shook her head with a compassionate and
sympathising air; and, appealing to Sam, inquired whether his
father really ought not to make an effort to keep up, and not
give way to that lowness of spirits.
'You see, Mr. Samuel,' said the buxom female, 'as I was
telling him yesterday, he will feel lonely, he can't expect but
what he should, sir, but he should keep up a good heart, because,
dear me, I'm sure we all pity his loss, and are ready to do anything
for him; and there's no situation in life so bad, Mr.
Samuel, that it can't be mended. Which is what a very worthy
person said to me when my husband died.' Here the speaker,
putting her hand before her mouth, coughed again, and looked
affectionately at the elder Mr. Weller.
'As I don't rekvire any o' your conversation just now, mum,
vill you have the goodness to re-tire?' inquired Mr. Weller, in a
grave and steady voice.
'Well, Mr. Weller,' said the buxom female, 'I'm sure I only
spoke to you out of kindness.'
'Wery likely, mum,' replied Mr. Weller. 'Samivel, show the
lady out, and shut the door after her.'
This hint was not lost upon the buxom female; for she at once
left the room, and slammed the door behind her, upon which
Mr. Weller, senior, falling back in his chair in a violent
perspiration, said--
'Sammy, if I wos to stop here alone vun week--only vun week,
my boy--that 'ere 'ooman 'ud marry me by force and wiolence
afore it was over.'
'Wot! is she so wery fond on you?' inquired Sam.
'Fond!' replied his father. 'I can't keep her avay from me. If
I was locked up in a fireproof chest vith a patent Brahmin, she'd
find means to get at me, Sammy.'
'Wot a thing it is to be so sought arter!' observed Sam, smiling.
'I don't take no pride out on it, Sammy,' replied Mr. Weller,
poking the fire vehemently, 'it's a horrid sitiwation. I'm actiwally
drove out o' house and home by it. The breath was scarcely out
o' your poor mother-in-law's body, ven vun old 'ooman sends me
a pot o' jam, and another a pot o' jelly, and another brews a
blessed large jug o' camomile-tea, vich she brings in vith her own
hands.' Mr. Weller paused with an aspect of intense disgust,
and looking round, added in a whisper, 'They wos all widders,
Sammy, all on 'em, 'cept the camomile-tea vun, as wos a single
young lady o' fifty-three.'
Sam gave a comical look in reply, and the old gentleman
having broken an obstinate lump of coal, with a countenance
expressive of as much earnestness and malice as if it had been
the head of one of the widows last-mentioned, said:
'In short, Sammy, I feel that I ain't safe anyveres but on the box.'
'How are you safer there than anyveres else?' interrupted Sam.
"Cos a coachman's a privileged indiwidual,' replied Mr.
Weller, looking fixedly at his son. ''Cos a coachman may do
vithout suspicion wot other men may not; 'cos a coachman may
be on the wery amicablest terms with eighty mile o' females, and
yet nobody think that he ever means to marry any vun among
'em. And wot other man can say the same, Sammy?'
'Vell, there's somethin' in that,' said Sam.
'If your gov'nor had been a coachman,' reasoned Mr. Weller,
'do you s'pose as that 'ere jury 'ud ever ha' conwicted him,
s'posin' it possible as the matter could ha' gone to that extremity?
They dustn't ha' done it.'
'Wy not?' said Sam, rather disparagingly.
'Wy not!' rejoined Mr. Weller; ''cos it 'ud ha' gone agin their
consciences. A reg'lar coachman's a sort o' con-nectin' link
betwixt singleness and matrimony, and every practicable man
knows it.'
'Wot! You mean, they're gen'ral favorites, and nobody takes
adwantage on 'em, p'raps?' said Sam.
His father nodded.
'How it ever come to that 'ere pass,' resumed the parent
Weller, 'I can't say. Wy it is that long-stage coachmen possess
such insiniwations, and is alvays looked up to--a-dored I may
say--by ev'ry young 'ooman in ev'ry town he vurks through, I
don't know. I only know that so it is. It's a regulation of natur
--a dispensary, as your poor mother-in-law used to say.'
'A dispensation,' said Sam, correcting the old gentleman.
'Wery good, Samivel, a dispensation if you like it better,'
returned Mr. Weller; 'I call it a dispensary, and it's always writ
up so, at the places vere they gives you physic for nothin' in
your own bottles; that's all.'
With these words, Mr. Weller refilled and relighted his pipe,
and once more summoning up a meditative expression of
countenance, continued as follows--
'Therefore, my boy, as I do not see the adwisability o' stoppin
here to be married vether I vant to or not, and as at the same
time I do not vish to separate myself from them interestin'
members o' society altogether, I have come to the determination
o' driving the Safety, and puttin' up vunce more at the Bell
Savage, vich is my nat'ral born element, Sammy.'
'And wot's to become o' the bis'ness?' inquired Sam.
'The bis'ness, Samivel,' replied the old gentleman, 'good-vill,
stock, and fixters, vill be sold by private contract; and out o' the
money, two hundred pound, agreeable to a rekvest o' your
mother-in-law's to me, a little afore she died, vill be invested in
your name in--What do you call them things agin?'
'Wot things?' inquired Sam.
'Them things as is always a-goin' up and down, in the city.'
'Omnibuses?' suggested Sam.
'Nonsense,' replied Mr. Weller. 'Them things as is alvays
a-fluctooatin', and gettin' theirselves inwolved somehow or
another vith the national debt, and the chequers bill; and all that.'
'Oh! the funds,' said Sam.
'Ah!' rejoined Mr. Weller, 'the funs; two hundred pounds o'
the money is to be inwested for you, Samivel, in the funs; four
and a half per cent. reduced counsels, Sammy.'
'Wery kind o' the old lady to think o' me,' said Sam, 'and
I'm wery much obliged to her.'
'The rest will be inwested in my name,' continued the elder
Mr. Weller; 'and wen I'm took off the road, it'll come to you, so
take care you don't spend it all at vunst, my boy, and mind that
no widder gets a inklin' o' your fortun', or you're done.'
Having delivered this warning, Mr. Weller resumed his pipe
with a more serene countenance; the disclosure of these matters
appearing to have eased his mind considerably.
'Somebody's a-tappin' at the door,' said Sam.
'Let 'em tap,' replied his father, with dignity.
Sam acted upon the direction. There was another tap, and
another, and then a long row of taps; upon which Sam inquired
why the tapper was not admitted.
'Hush,' whispered Mr. Weller, with apprehensive looks, 'don't
take no notice on 'em, Sammy, it's vun o' the widders, p'raps.'
No notice being taken of the taps, the unseen visitor, after a
short lapse, ventured to open the door and peep in. It was no
female head that was thrust in at the partially-opened door, but
the long black locks and red face of Mr. Stiggins. Mr. Weller's
pipe fell from his hands.
The reverend gentleman gradually opened the door by almost
imperceptible degrees, until the aperture was just wide enough
to admit of the passage of his lank body, when he glided into the
room and closed it after him, with great care and gentleness.
Turning towards Sam, and raising his hands and eyes in token of
the unspeakable sorrow with which he regarded the calamity
that had befallen the family, he carried the high-backed chair to
his old corner by the fire, and, seating himself on the very edge,
drew forth a brown pocket-handkerchief, and applied the same
to his optics.
While this was going forward, the elder Mr. Weller sat back
in his chair, with his eyes wide open, his hands planted on his
knees, and his whole countenance expressive of absorbing and
overwhelming astonishment. Sam sat opposite him in perfect
silence, waiting, with eager curiosity, for the termination of the scene.
Mr. Stiggins kept the brown pocket-handkerchief before his
eyes for some minutes, moaning decently meanwhile, and then,
mastering his feelings by a strong effort, put it in his pocket and
buttoned it up. After this, he stirred the fire; after that, he rubbed
his hands and looked at Sam.
'Oh, my young friend,' said Mr. Stiggins, breaking the silence,
in a very low voice, 'here's a sorrowful affliction!'
Sam nodded very slightly.
'For the man of wrath, too!' added Mr. Stiggins; 'it makes a
vessel's heart bleed!'
Mr. Weller was overheard by his son to murmur something
relative to making a vessel's nose bleed; but Mr. Stiggins heard
him not.
'Do you know, young man,' whispered Mr. Stiggins, drawing
his chair closer to Sam, 'whether she has left Emanuel anything?'
'Who's he?' inquired Sam.
'The chapel,' replied Mr. Stiggins; 'our chapel; our fold,
Mr. Samuel.'
'She hasn't left the fold nothin', nor the shepherd nothin', nor
the animals nothin',' said Sam decisively; 'nor the dogs neither.'
Mr. Stiggins looked slily at Sam; glanced at the old gentleman,
who was sitting with his eyes closed, as if asleep; and drawing his
chair still nearer, said--
'Nothing for ME, Mr. Samuel?'
Sam shook his head.
'I think there's something,' said Stiggins, turning as pale as he
could turn. 'Consider, Mr. Samuel; no little token?'
'Not so much as the vorth o' that 'ere old umberella o' yourn,'
replied Sam.
'Perhaps,' said Mr. Stiggins hesitatingly, after a few moments'
deep thought, 'perhaps she recommended me to the care of the
man of wrath, Mr. Samuel?'
'I think that's wery likely, from what he said,' rejoined Sam;
'he wos a-speakin' about you, jist now.'
'Was he, though?' exclaimed Stiggins, brightening up. 'Ah!
He's changed, I dare say. We might live very comfortably
together now, Mr. Samuel, eh? I could take care of his property
when you are away--good care, you see.'
Heaving a long-drawn sigh, Mr. Stiggins paused for a response.
Sam nodded, and Mr. Weller the elder gave vent to an extraordinary
sound, which, being neither a groan, nor a grunt, nor a
gasp, nor a growl, seemed to partake in some degree of the
character of all four.
Mr. Stiggins, encouraged by this sound, which he understood
to betoken remorse or repentance, looked about him,
rubbed his hands, wept, smiled, wept again, and then, walking
softly across the room to a well-remembered shelf in one corner,
took down a tumbler, and with great deliberation put four
lumps of sugar in it. Having got thus far, he looked about
him again, and sighed grievously; with that, he walked softly into
the bar, and presently returning with the tumbler half full of
pine-apple rum, advanced to the kettle which was singing gaily
on the hob, mixed his grog, stirred it, sipped it, sat down, and
taking a long and hearty pull at the rum-and-water, stopped for breath.
The elder Mr. Weller, who still continued to make various
strange and uncouth attempts to appear asleep, offered not a
single word during these proceedings; but when Stiggins stopped
for breath, he darted upon him, and snatching the tumbler from
his hand, threw the remainder of the rum-and-water in his face,
and the glass itself into the grate. Then, seizing the reverend
gentleman firmly by the collar, he suddenly fell to kicking him
most furiously, accompanying every application of his top-boot
to Mr. Stiggins's person, with sundry violent and incoherent
anathemas upon his limbs, eyes, and body.
'Sammy,' said Mr. Weller, 'put my hat on tight for me.'
Sam dutifully adjusted the hat with the long hatband more
firmly on his father's head, and the old gentleman, resuming his
kicking with greater agility than before, tumbled with Mr.
Stiggins through the bar, and through the passage, out at the
front door, and so into the street--the kicking continuing the
whole way, and increasing in vehemence, rather than diminishing,
every time the top-boot was lifted.
It was a beautiful and exhilarating sight to see the red-nosed
man writhing in Mr. Weller's grasp, and his whole frame
quivering with anguish as kick followed kick in rapid succession;
it was a still more exciting spectacle to behold Mr. Weller, after
a powerful struggle, immersing Mr. Stiggins's head in a horsetrough
full of water, and holding it there, until he was half suffocated.
'There!' said Mr. Weller, throwing all his energy into one
most complicated kick, as he at length permitted Mr. Stiggins to
withdraw his head from the trough, 'send any vun o' them lazy
shepherds here, and I'll pound him to a jelly first, and drownd
him artervards! Sammy, help me in, and fill me a small glass of
brandy. I'm out o' breath, my boy.'
CHAPTER LIII
COMPRISING THE FINAL EXIT OF Mr. JINGLE AND JOB
TROTTER, WITH A GREAT MORNING OF BUSINESS IN
GRAY'S INN SQUARE--CONCLUDING WITH A DOUBLE
KNOCK AT Mr. PERKER'S DOOR
When Arabella, after some gentle preparation and many assurances
that there was not the least occasion for being low-spirited, was
at length made acquainted by Mr. Pickwick with the unsatisfactory
result of his visit to Birmingham, she burst into tears, and
sobbing aloud, lamented in moving terms that she should have been
the unhappy cause of any estrangement between a father and his son.
'My dear girl,' said Mr. Pickwick kindly, 'it is no fault of
yours. It was impossible to foresee that the old gentleman would
be so strongly prepossessed against his son's marriage, you know.
I am sure,' added Mr. Pickwick, glancing at her pretty face, 'he
can have very little idea of the pleasure he denies himself.'
'Oh, my dear Mr. Pickwick,' said Arabella, 'what shall we do,
if he continues to be angry with us?'
'Why, wait patiently, my dear, until he thinks better of it,'
replied Mr. Pickwick cheerfully.
'But, dear Mr. Pickwick, what is to become of Nathaniel if his
father withdraws his assistance?' urged Arabella.
'In that case, my love,' rejoined Mr. Pickwick, 'I will venture
to prophesy that he will find some other friend who will not be
backward in helping him to start in the world.'
The significance of this reply was not so well disguised by
Mr. Pickwick but that Arabella understood it. So, throwing her
arms round his neck, and kissing him affectionately, she sobbed
louder than before.
'Come, come,' said Mr. Pickwick taking her hand, 'we will
wait here a few days longer, and see whether he writes or takes
any other notice of your husband's communication. If not, I
have thought of half a dozen plans, any one of which would
make you happy at once. There, my dear, there!'
With these words, Mr. Pickwick gently pressed Arabella's
hand, and bade her dry her eyes, and not distress her husband.
Upon which, Arabella, who was one of the best little creatures
alive, put her handkerchief in her reticule, and by the time
Mr. Winkle joined them, exhibited in full lustre the same
beaming smiles and sparkling eyes that had originally captivated him.
'This is a distressing predicament for these young people,'
thought Mr. Pickwick, as he dressed himself next morning. 'I'll
walk up to Perker's, and consult him about the matter.'
As Mr. Pickwick was further prompted to betake himself to
Gray's Inn Square by an anxious desire to come to a pecuniary
settlement with the kind-hearted little attorney without further
delay, he made a hurried breakfast, and executed his intention
so speedily, that ten o'clock had not struck when he reached
Gray's Inn.
It still wanted ten minutes to the hour when he had ascended
the staircase on which Perker's chambers were. The clerks had
not arrived yet, and he beguiled the time by looking out of the
staircase window.
The healthy light of a fine October morning made even the
dingy old houses brighten up a little; some of the dusty windows
actually looking almost cheerful as the sun's rays gleamed upon
them. Clerk after clerk hastened into the square by one or other
of the entrances, and looking up at the Hall clock, accelerated
or decreased his rate of walking according to the time at which
his office hours nominally commenced; the half-past nine
o'clock people suddenly becoming very brisk, and the ten
o'clock gentlemen falling into a pace of most aristocratic slowness.
The clock struck ten, and clerks poured in faster than ever,
each one in a greater perspiration than his predecessor. The
noise of unlocking and opening doors echoed and re-echoed on
every side; heads appeared as if by magic in every window; the
porters took up their stations for the day; the slipshod laundresses
hurried off; the postman ran from house to house; and
the whole legal hive was in a bustle.
'You're early, Mr. Pickwick,' said a voice behind him.
'Ah, Mr. Lowten,' replied that gentleman, looking round, and
recognising his old acquaintance.
'Precious warm walking, isn't it?' said Lowten, drawing a
Bramah key from his pocket, with a small plug therein, to keep
the dust out.
'You appear to feel it so,' rejoined Mr. Pickwick, smiling at
the clerk, who was literally red-hot.
'I've come along, rather, I can tell you,' replied Lowten. 'It
went the half hour as I came through the Polygon. I'm here
before him, though, so I don't mind.'
Comforting himself with this reflection, Mr. Lowten extracted
the plug from the door-key; having opened the door, replugged
and repocketed his Bramah, and picked up the letters which the
postman had dropped through the box, he ushered Mr. Pickwick
into the office. Here, in the twinkling of an eye, he divested
himself of his coat, put on a threadbare garment, which he took
out of a desk, hung up his hat, pulled forth a few sheets of
cartridge and blotting-paper in alternate layers, and, sticking a
pen behind his ear, rubbed his hands with an air of great satisfaction.
'There, you see, Mr. Pickwick,' he said, 'now I'm complete.
I've got my office coat on, and my pad out, and let him come as
soon as he likes. You haven't got a pinch of snuff about you,
have you?'
'No, I have not,' replied Mr. Pickwick.
'I'm sorry for it,' said Lowten. 'Never mind. I'll run out
presently, and get a bottle of soda. Don't I look rather queer
about the eyes, Mr. Pickwick?'
The individual appealed to, surveyed Mr. Lowten's eyes from
a distance, and expressed his opinion that no unusual queerness
was perceptible in those features.
'I'm glad of it,' said Lowten. 'We were keeping it up pretty
tolerably at the Stump last night, and I'm rather out of sorts this
morning. Perker's been about that business of yours, by the bye.'
'What business?' inquired Mr. Pickwick. 'Mrs. Bardell's costs?'
'No, I don't mean that,' replied Mr. Lowten. 'About getting
that customer that we paid the ten shillings in the pound to the
bill-discounter for, on your account--to get him out of the
Fleet, you know--about getting him to Demerara.'
'Oh, Mr. Jingle,' said Mr. Pickwick hastily. 'Yes. Well?'
'Well, it's all arranged,' said Lowten, mending his pen. 'The
agent at Liverpool said he had been obliged to you many times
when you were in business, and he would be glad to take him on
your recommendation.'
'That's well,' said Mr. Pickwick. 'I am delighted to hear it.'
'But I say,' resumed Lowten, scraping the back of the pen
preparatory to making a fresh split, 'what a soft chap that other is!'
'Which other?'
'Why, that servant, or friend, or whatever he is; you know, Trotter.'
'Ah!' said Mr. Pickwick, with a smile. 'I always thought him
the reverse.'
'Well, and so did I, from what little I saw of him,' replied
Lowten, 'it only shows how one may be deceived. What do you
think of his going to Demerara, too?'
'What! And giving up what was offered him here!' exclaimed
Mr. Pickwick.
'Treating Perker's offer of eighteen bob a week, and a rise if
he behaved himself, like dirt,' replied Lowten. 'He said he must
go along with the other one, and so they persuaded Perker to
write again, and they've got him something on the same estate;
not near so good, Perker says, as a convict would get in New
South Wales, if he appeared at his trial in a new suit of clothes.'
'Foolish fellow,' said Mr. Pickwick, with glistening eyes.
'Foolish fellow.'
'Oh, it's worse than foolish; it's downright sneaking, you
know,' replied Lowten, nibbing the pen with a contemptuous
face. 'He says that he's the only friend he ever had, and he's
attached to him, and all that. Friendship's a very good thing in
its way--we are all very friendly and comfortable at the Stump,
for instance, over our grog, where every man pays for himself;
but damn hurting yourself for anybody else, you know! No man
should have more than two attachments--the first, to number
one, and the second to the ladies; that's what I say--ha! ha!'
Mr. Lowten concluded with a loud laugh, half in jocularity, and
half in derision, which was prematurely cut short by the sound
of Perker's footsteps on the stairs, at the first approach of which,
he vaulted on his stool with an agility most remarkable, and
wrote intensely.
The greeting between Mr. Pickwick and his professional
adviser was warm and cordial; the client was scarcely ensconced
in the attorney's arm-chair, however, when a knock was heard at
the door, and a voice inquired whether Mr. Perker was within.
'Hark!' said Perker, 'that's one of our vagabond friends--
Jingle himself, my dear Sir. Will you see him?'
'What do you think?' inquired Mr. Pickwick, hesitating.
'Yes, I think you had better. Here, you Sir, what's your name,
walk in, will you?'
In compliance with this unceremonious invitation, Jingle and
Job walked into the room, but, seeing Mr. Pickwick, stopped
short in some confusion.
'Well,' said Perker, 'don't you know that gentleman?'
'Good reason to,' replied Mr. Jingle, stepping forward. 'Mr.
Pickwick--deepest obligations--life preserver--made a man of
me--you shall never repent it, Sir.'
'I am happy to hear you say so,' said Mr. Pickwick. 'You look
much better.'
'Thanks to you, sir--great change--Majesty's Fleet--unwholesome
place--very,' said Jingle, shaking his head. He was
decently and cleanly dressed, and so was Job, who stood bolt
upright behind him, staring at Mr. Pickwick with a visage of iron.
'When do they go to Liverpool?' inquired Mr. Pickwick, half
aside to Perker.
'This evening, Sir, at seven o'clock,' said Job, taking one step
forward. 'By the heavy coach from the city, Sir.'
'Are your places taken?'
'They are, sir,' replied Job.
'You have fully made up your mind to go?'
'I have sir,' answered Job.
'With regard to such an outfit as was indispensable for Jingle,'
said Perker, addressing Mr. Pickwick aloud. 'I have taken upon
myself to make an arrangement for the deduction of a small sum
from his quarterly salary, which, being made only for one year,
and regularly remitted, will provide for that expense. I entirely
disapprove of your doing anything for him, my dear sir, which
is not dependent on his own exertions and good conduct.'
'Certainly,' interposed Jingle, with great firmness. 'Clear head
--man of the world--quite right--perfectly.'
'By compounding with his creditor, releasing his clothes from
the pawnbroker's, relieving him in prison, and paying for his
passage,' continued Perker, without noticing Jingle's observation,
'you have already lost upwards of fifty pounds.'
'Not lost,' said Jingle hastily, 'Pay it all--stick to business--
cash up--every farthing. Yellow fever, perhaps--can't help that
--if not--' Here Mr. Jingle paused, and striking the crown of
his hat with great violence, passed his hand over his eyes, and
sat down.
'He means to say,' said Job, advancing a few paces, 'that if he
is not carried off by the fever, he will pay the money back again.
If he lives, he will, Mr. Pickwick. I will see it done. I know he
will, Sir,' said Job, with energy. 'I could undertake to swear it.'
'Well, well,' said Mr. Pickwick, who had been bestowing a
score or two of frowns upon Perker, to stop his summary of
benefits conferred, which the little attorney obstinately
disregarded, 'you must be careful not to play any more desperate
cricket matches, Mr. Jingle, or to renew your acquaintance with
Sir Thomas Blazo, and I have little doubt of your preserving
your health.'
Mr. Jingle smiled at this sally, but looked rather foolish
notwithstanding; so Mr. Pickwick changed the subject by saying--
'You don't happen to know, do you, what has become of
another friend of yours--a more humble one, whom I saw at Rochester?'
'Dismal Jemmy?' inquired Jingle.
'Yes.'
Jingle shook his head.
'Clever rascal--queer fellow, hoaxing genius--Job's brother.'
'Job's brother!' exclaimed Mr. Pickwick. 'Well, now I look at
him closely, there IS a likeness.'
'We were always considered like each other, Sir,' said Job,
with a cunning look just lurking in the corners of his eyes, 'only
I was really of a serious nature, and he never was. He emigrated
to America, Sir, in consequence of being too much sought after
here, to be comfortable; and has never been heard of since.'
'That accounts for my not having received the "page from the
romance of real life," which he promised me one morning when
he appeared to be contemplating suicide on Rochester Bridge,
I suppose,' said Mr. Pickwick, smiling. 'I need not inquire
whether his dismal behaviour was natural or assumed.'
'He could assume anything, Sir,' said Job. 'You may consider
yourself very fortunate in having escaped him so easily. On
intimate terms he would have been even a more dangerous
acquaintance than--' Job looked at Jingle, hesitated, and
finally added, 'than--than-myself even.'
'A hopeful family yours, Mr. Trotter,' said Perker, sealing a
letter which he had just finished writing.
'Yes, Sir,' replied Job. 'Very much so.'
'Well,' said the little man, laughing, 'I hope you are going to
disgrace it. Deliver this letter to the agent when you reach
Liverpool, and let me advise you, gentlemen, not to be too
knowing in the West Indies. If you throw away this chance, you
will both richly deserve to be hanged, as I sincerely trust you
will be. And now you had better leave Mr. Pickwick and me
alone, for we have other matters to talk over, and time is
precious.' As Perker said this, he looked towards the door, with
an evident desire to render the leave-taking as brief as possible.
It was brief enough on Mr. Jingle's part. He thanked the little
attorney in a few hurried words for the kindness and promptitude
with which he had rendered his assistance, and, turning to his
benefactor, stood for a few seconds as if irresolute what to say
or how to act. Job Trotter relieved his perplexity; for, with a
humble and grateful bow to Mr. Pickwick, he took his friend
gently by the arm, and led him away.
'A worthy couple!' said Perker, as the door closed behind them.
'I hope they may become so,' replied Mr. Pickwick. 'What do
you think? Is there any chance of their permanent reformation?'
Perker shrugged his shoulders doubtfully, but observing Mr.
Pickwick's anxious and disappointed look, rejoined--
'Of course there is a chance. I hope it may prove a good one.
They are unquestionably penitent now; but then, you know, they
have the recollection of very recent suffering fresh upon them.
What they may become, when that fades away, is a problem that
neither you nor I can solve. However, my dear Sir,' added Perker,
laying his hand on Mr. Pickwick's shoulder, 'your object is
equally honourable, whatever the result is. Whether that species
of benevolence which is so very cautious and long-sighted that
it is seldom exercised at all, lest its owner should be imposed
upon, and so wounded in his self-love, be real charity or a
worldly counterfeit, I leave to wiser heads than mine to determine.
But if those two fellows were to commit a burglary to-morrow,
my opinion of this action would be equally high.'
With these remarks, which were delivered in a much more
animated and earnest manner than is usual in legal gentlemen,
Perker drew his chair to his desk, and listened to Mr. Pickwick's
recital of old Mr. Winkle's obstinacy.
'Give him a week,' said Perker, nodding his head prophetically.
'Do you think he will come round?' inquired Mr. Pickwick.
'I think he will,' rejoined Perker. 'If not, we must try the
young lady's persuasion; and that is what anybody but you
would have done at first.'
Mr. Perker was taking a pinch of snuff with various grotesque
contractions of countenance, eulogistic of the persuasive powers
appertaining unto young ladies, when the murmur of inquiry
and answer was heard in the outer office, and Lowten tapped at
the door.
'Come in!' cried the little man.
The clerk came in, and shut the door after him, with great mystery.
'What's the matter?' inquired Perker.
'You're wanted, Sir.'
'Who wants me?'
Lowten looked at Mr. Pickwick, and coughed.
'Who wants me? Can't you speak, Mr. Lowten?'
'Why, sir,' replied Lowten, 'it's Dodson; and Fogg is with him.'
'Bless my life!' said the little man, looking at his watch, 'I
appointed them to be here at half-past eleven, to settle that
matter of yours, Pickwick. I gave them an undertaking on which
they sent down your discharge; it's very awkward, my dear
Sir; what will you do? Would you like to step into the next room?'
The next room being the identical room in which Messrs.
Dodson & Fogg were, Mr. Pickwick replied that he would
remain where he was: the more especially as Messrs. Dodson &
Fogg ought to be ashamed to look him in the face, instead of his
being ashamed to see them. Which latter circumstance he begged
Mr. Perker to note, with a glowing countenance and many marks
of indignation.
'Very well, my dear Sir, very well,' replied Perker, 'I can only
say that if you expect either Dodson or Fogg to exhibit any
symptom of shame or confusion at having to look you, or
anybody else, in the face, you are the most sanguine man in your
expectations that I ever met with. Show them in, Mr. Lowten.'
Mr. Lowten disappeared with a grin, and immediately returned
ushering in the firm, in due form of precedence--Dodson first,
and Fogg afterwards.
'You have seen Mr. Pickwick, I believe?' said Perker to
Dodson, inclining his pen in the direction where that gentleman
was seated.
'How do you do, Mr. Pickwick?' said Dodson, in a loud voice.
'Dear me,'cried Fogg, 'how do you do, Mr. Pickwick? I hope
you are well, Sir. I thought I knew the face,' said Fogg, drawing
up a chair, and looking round him with a smile.
Mr. Pickwick bent his head very slightly, in answer to these
salutations, and, seeing Fogg pull a bundle of papers from his
coat pocket, rose and walked to the window.
'There's no occasion for Mr. Pickwick to move, Mr. Perker,'
said Fogg, untying the red tape which encircled the little bundle,
and smiling again more sweetly than before. 'Mr. Pickwick is
pretty well acquainted with these proceedings. There are no
secrets between us, I think. He! he! he!'
'Not many, I think,' said Dodson. 'Ha! ha! ha!' Then both
the partners laughed together--pleasantly and cheerfully, as men
who are going to receive money often do.
'We shall make Mr. Pickwick pay for peeping,' said Fogg, with
considerable native humour, as he unfolded his papers. 'The
amount of the taxed costs is one hundred and thirty-three, six,
four, Mr. Perker.'
There was a great comparing of papers, and turning over of
leaves, by Fogg and Perker, after this statement of profit and
loss. Meanwhile, Dodson said, in an affable manner, to Mr.
Pickwick--
'I don't think you are looking quite so stout as when I had the
pleasure of seeing you last, Mr. Pickwick.'
'Possibly not, Sir,' replied Mr. Pickwick, who had been
flashing forth looks of fierce indignation, without producing the
smallest effect on either of the sharp practitioners; 'I believe I am
not, Sir. I have been persecuted and annoyed by scoundrels of
late, Sir.'
Perker coughed violently, and asked Mr. Pickwick whether he
wouldn't like to look at the morning paper. To which inquiry
Mr. Pickwick returned a most decided negative.
'True,' said Dodson, 'I dare say you have been annoyed in the
Fleet; there are some odd gentry there. Whereabouts were your
apartments, Mr. Pickwick?'
'My one room,' replied that much-injured gentleman, 'was on
the coffee-room flight.'
'Oh, indeed!' said Dodson. 'I believe that is a very pleasant
part of the establishment.'
'Very,'replied Mr. Pickwick drily.
There was a coolness about all this, which, to a gentleman of
an excitable temperament, had, under the circumstances, rather
an exasperating tendency. Mr. Pickwick restrained his wrath by
gigantic efforts; but when Perker wrote a cheque for the whole
amount, and Fogg deposited it in a small pocket-book, with a
triumphant smile playing over his pimply features, which
communicated itself likewise to the stern countenance of Dodson,
he felt the blood in his cheeks tingling with indignation.
'Now, Mr. Dodson,' said Fogg, putting up the pocket-book
and drawing on his gloves, 'I am at your service.'
'Very good,' said Dodson, rising; 'I am quite ready.'
'I am very happy,' said Fogg, softened by the cheque, 'to have
had the pleasure of making Mr. Pickwick's acquaintance. I hope
you don't think quite so ill of us, Mr. Pickwick, as when we first
had the pleasure of seeing you.'
'I hope not,' said Dodson, with the high tone of calumniated
virtue. 'Mr. Pickwick now knows us better, I trust; whatever
your opinion of gentlemen of our profession may be, I beg to
assure you, sir, that I bear no ill-will or vindictive feeling towards
you for the sentiments you thought proper to express in our
office in Freeman's Court, Cornhill, on the occasion to which
my partner has referred.'
'Oh, no, no; nor I,' said Fogg, in a most forgiving manner.
'Our conduct, Sir,' said Dodson, 'will speak for itself, and
justify itself, I hope, upon every occasion. We have been in the
profession some years, Mr. Pickwick, and have been honoured
with the confidence of many excellent clients. I wish you goodmorning,
Sir.'
'Good-morning, Mr. Pickwick,' said Fogg. So saying, he put his
umbrella under his arm, drew off his right glove, and extended
the hand of reconciliation to that most indignant gentleman;
who, thereupon, thrust his hands beneath his coat tails, and
eyed the attorney with looks of scornful amazement.
'Lowten!' cried Perker, at this moment. 'Open the door.'
'Wait one instant,' said Mr. Pickwick. 'Perker, I WILL speak.'
'My dear Sir, pray let the matter rest where it is,' said the little
attorney, who had been in a state of nervous apprehension during
the whole interview; 'Mr. Pickwick, I beg--'
'I will not be put down, Sir,' replied Mr. Pickwick hastily.
'Mr. Dodson, you have addressed some remarks to me.'
Dodson turned round, bent his head meekly, and smiled.
'Some remarks to me,' repeated Mr. Pickwick, almost breathless;
'and your partner has tendered me his hand, and you have
both assumed a tone of forgiveness and high-mindedness, which
is an extent of impudence that I was not prepared for, even in you.'
'What, sir!' exclaimed Dodson.
'What, sir!' reiterated Fogg.
'Do you know that I have been the victim of your plots and
conspiracies?' continued Mr. Pickwick. 'Do you know that I
am the man whom you have been imprisoning and robbing?
Do you know that you were the attorneys for the plaintiff, in
Bardell and Pickwick?'
'Yes, sir, we do know it,' replied Dodson.
'Of course we know it, Sir,' rejoined Fogg, slapping his pocket
--perhaps by accident.
'I see that you recollect it with satisfaction,' said Mr. Pickwick,
attempting to call up a sneer for the first time in his life, and
failing most signally in so doing. 'Although I have long been
anxious to tell you, in plain terms, what my opinion of you is, I
should have let even this opportunity pass, in deference to my
friend Perker's wishes, but for the unwarrantable tone you have
assumed, and your insolent familiarity. I say insolent familiarity,
sir,' said Mr. Pickwick, turning upon Fogg with a fierceness of
gesture which caused that person to retreat towards the door with
great expedition.
'Take care, Sir,' said Dodson, who, though he was the biggest
man of the party, had prudently entrenched himself behind
Fogg, and was speaking over his head with a very pale face. 'Let
him assault you, Mr. Fogg; don't return it on any account.'
'No, no, I won't return it,' said Fogg, falling back a little
more as he spoke; to the evident relief of his partner, who by
these means was gradually getting into the outer office.
'You are,' continued Mr. Pickwick, resuming the thread of his
discourse--'you are a well-matched pair of mean, rascally,
pettifogging robbers.'
'Well,' interposed Perker, 'is that all?'
'It is all summed up in that,' rejoined Mr. Pickwick; 'they are
mean, rascally, pettifogging robbers.'
'There!' said Perker, in a most conciliatory tone. 'My dear sirs,
he has said all he has to say. Now pray go. Lowten, is that door
open?'
Mr. Lowten, with a distant giggle, replied in the affirmative.
'There, there--good-morning--good-morning--now pray, my
dear sirs--Mr. Lowten, the door!' cried the little man, pushing
Dodson & Fogg, nothing loath, out of the office; 'this way, my
dear sirs--now pray don't prolong this-- Dear me--Mr.
Lowten--the door, sir--why don't you attend?'
'If there's law in England, sir,' said Dodson, looking towards
Mr. Pickwick, as he put on his hat, 'you shall smart for this.'
'You are a couple of mean--'
'Remember, sir, you pay dearly for this,' said Fogg.
'--Rascally, pettifogging robbers!' continued Mr. Pickwick,
taking not the least notice of the threats that were addressed to him.
'Robbers!' cried Mr. Pickwick, running to the stair-head, as
the two attorneys descended.
'Robbers!' shouted Mr. Pickwick, breaking from Lowten and
Perker, and thrusting his head out of the staircase window.
When Mr. Pickwick drew in his head again, his countenance
was smiling and placid; and, walking quietly back into the office,
he declared that he had now removed a great weight from his
mind, and that he felt perfectly comfortable and happy.
Perker said nothing at all until he had emptied his snuff-box,
and sent Lowten out to fill it, when he was seized with a fit of
laughing, which lasted five minutes; at the expiration of which
time he said that he supposed he ought to be very angry, but he
couldn't think of the business seriously yet--when he could, he
would be.
'Well, now,' said Mr. Pickwick, 'let me have a settlement with you.'
'Of the same kind as the last?' inquired Perker, with another laugh.
'Not exactly,' rejoined Mr. Pickwick, drawing out his pocketbook,
and shaking the little man heartily by the hand, 'I only
mean a pecuniary settlement. You have done me many acts of
kindness that I can never repay, and have no wish to repay, for
I prefer continuing the obligation.'
With this preface, the two friends dived into some very complicated
accounts and vouchers, which, having been duly displayed and
gone through by Perker, were at once discharged by Mr. Pickwick
with many professions of esteem and friendship.
They had no sooner arrived at this point, than a most violent
and startling knocking was heard at the door; it was not an
ordinary double-knock, but a constant and uninterrupted
succession of the loudest single raps, as if the knocker were
endowed with the perpetual motion, or the person outside had
forgotten to leave off.
'Dear me, what's that?' exclaimed Perker, starting.
'I think it is a knock at the door,' said Mr. Pickwick, as if
there could be the smallest doubt of the fact.
The knocker made a more energetic reply than words could
have yielded, for it continued to hammer with surprising force
and noise, without a moment's cessation.
'Dear me!' said Perker, ringing his bell, 'we shall alarm the
inn. Mr. Lowten, don't you hear a knock?'
'I'll answer the door in one moment, Sir,' replied the clerk.
The knocker appeared to hear the response, and to assert that
it was quite impossible he could wait so long. It made a
stupendous uproar.
'It's quite dreadful,' said Mr. Pickwick, stopping his ears.
'Make haste, Mr. Lowten,' Perker called out; 'we shall have
the panels beaten in.'
Mr. Lowten, who was washing his hands in a dark closet,
hurried to the door, and turning the handle, beheld the appearance
which is described in the next chapter.
CHAPTER LIV
CONTAINING SOME PARTICULARS RELATIVE TO THE
DOUBLE KNOCK, AND OTHER MATTERS: AMONG WHICH
CERTAIN INTERESTING DISCLOSURES RELATIVE TO Mr.
SNODGRASS AND A YOUNG LADY ARE BY NO MEANS
IRRELEVANT TO THIS HISTORY
The object that presented itself to the eyes of the astonished
clerk, was a boy--a wonderfully fat boy--habited as a serving lad,
standing upright on the mat, with his eyes closed as if in sleep.
He had never seen such a fat boy, in or out of a travelling caravan;
and this, coupled with the calmness and repose of his appearance,
so very different from what was reasonably to have been expected
of the inflicter of such knocks, smote him with wonder.
'What's the matter?' inquired the clerk.
The extraordinary boy replied not a word; but he nodded
once, and seemed, to the clerk's imagination, to snore feebly.
'Where do you come from?' inquired the clerk.
The boy made no sign. He breathed heavily, but in all other
respects was motionless.
The clerk repeated the question thrice, and receiving no
answer, prepared to shut the door, when the boy suddenly
opened his eyes, winked several times, sneezed once, and raised
his hand as if to repeat the knocking. Finding the door open, he
stared about him with astonishment, and at length fixed his eyes
on Mr. Lowten's face.
'What the devil do you knock in that way for?' inquired the
clerk angrily.
'Which way?' said the boy, in a slow and sleepy voice.
'Why, like forty hackney-coachmen,' replied the clerk.
'Because master said, I wasn't to leave off knocking till they
opened the door, for fear I should go to sleep,' said the boy.
'Well,' said the clerk, 'what message have you brought?'
'He's downstairs,' rejoined the boy.
'Who?'
'Master. He wants to know whether you're at home.'
Mr. Lowten bethought himself, at this juncture, of looking
out of the window. Seeing an open carriage with a hearty old
gentleman in it, looking up very anxiously, he ventured to
beckon him; on which, the old gentleman jumped out directly.
'That's your master in the carriage, I suppose?' said Lowten.
The boy nodded.
All further inquiries were superseded by the appearance of old
Wardle, who, running upstairs and just recognising Lowten,
passed at once into Mr. Perker's room.
'Pickwick!' said the old gentleman. 'Your hand, my boy! Why
have I never heard until the day before yesterday of your suffering
yourself to be cooped up in jail? And why did you let him do
it, Perker?'
'I couldn't help it, my dear Sir,' replied Perker, with a smile
and a pinch of snuff; 'you know how obstinate he is?'
'Of course I do; of course I do,' replied the old gentleman. 'I
am heartily glad to see him, notwithstanding. I will not lose
sight of him again, in a hurry.'
With these words, Wardle shook Mr. Pickwick's hand once
more, and, having done the same by Perker, threw himself into
an arm-chair, his jolly red face shining again with smiles and health.
'Well!' said Wardle. 'Here are pretty goings on--a pinch of
your snuff, Perker, my boy--never were such times, eh?'
'What do you mean?' inquired Mr. Pickwick.
'Mean!' replied Wardle. 'Why, I think the girls are all running
mad; that's no news, you'll say? Perhaps it's not; but it's true,
for all that.'
'You have not come up to London, of all places in the world,
to tell us that, my dear Sir, have you?' inquired Perker.
'No, not altogether,' replied Wardle; 'though it was the main
cause of my coming. How's Arabella?'
'Very well,' replied Mr. Pickwick, 'and will be delighted to see
you, I am sure.'
'Black-eyed little jilt!' replied Wardle. 'I had a great idea of
marrying her myself, one of these odd days. But I am glad of it
too, very glad.'
'How did the intelligence reach you?' asked Mr. Pickwick.
'Oh, it came to my girls, of course,'replied Wardle. 'Arabella
wrote, the day before yesterday, to say she had made a stolen
match without her husband's father's consent, and so you had
gone down to get it when his refusing it couldn't prevent the
match, and all the rest of it. I thought it a very good time to say
something serious to my girls; so I said what a dreadful thing it
was that children should marry without their parents' consent,
and so forth; but, bless your hearts, I couldn't make the least
impression upon them. They thought it such a much more
dreadful thing that there should have been a wedding without
bridesmaids, that I might as well have preached to Joe himself.'
Here the old gentleman stopped to laugh; and having done so
to his heart's content, presently resumed--
'But this is not the best of it, it seems. This is only half the
love-making and plotting that have been going forward. We
have been walking on mines for the last six months, and they're
sprung at last.'
'What do you mean?' exclaimed Mr. Pickwick, turning pale;
'no other secret marriage, I hope?'
'No, no,' replied old Wardle; 'not so bad as that; no.'
'What then?' inquired Mr. Pickwick; 'am I interested in it?'
'Shall I answer that question, Perker?' said Wardle.
'If you don't commit yourself by doing so, my dear Sir.'
'Well then, you are,' said Wardle.
'How?' asked Mr. Pickwick anxiously. 'In what way?'
'Really,' replied Wardle, 'you're such a fiery sort of a young
fellow that I am almost afraid to tell you; but, however, if
Perker will sit between us to prevent mischief, I'll venture.'
Having closed the room door, and fortified himself with
another application to Perker's snuff-box, the old gentleman
proceeded with his great disclosure in these words--
'The fact is, that my daughter Bella--Bella, who married
young Trundle, you know.'
'Yes, yes, we know,' said Mr. Pickwick impatiently.
'Don't alarm me at the very beginning. My daughter Bella--
Emily having gone to bed with a headache after she had read
Arabella's letter to me--sat herself down by my side the other
evening, and began to talk over this marriage affair. "Well, pa,"
she says, "what do you think of it?" "Why, my dear," I said,
"I suppose it's all very well; I hope it's for the best." I answered
in this way because I was sitting before the fire at the time, drinking
my grog rather thoughtfully, and I knew my throwing in
an undecided word now and then, would induce her to continue talking.
Both my girls are pictures of their dear mother, and as I grow old
I like to sit with only them by me; for their voices and looks carry
me back to the happiest period of my life, and make me, for the
moment, as young as I used to be then, though not quite so light-hearted.
"It's quite a marriage of affection, pa," said Bella, after a short
silence. "Yes, my dear," said I, "but such marriages do not always turn
out the happiest."'
'I question that, mind!' interposed Mr. Pickwick warmly.
'Very good,' responded Wardle, 'question anything you like
when it's your turn to speak, but don't interrupt me.'
'I beg your pardon,' said Mr. Pickwick.
'Granted,' replied Wardle. '"I am sorry to hear you express
your opinion against marriages of affection, pa," said Bella,
colouring a little. "I was wrong; I ought not to have said so, my
dear, either," said I, patting her cheek as kindly as a rough old
fellow like me could pat it, "for your mother's was one, and so
was yours." "It's not that I meant, pa," said Bella. "The fact is,
pa, I wanted to speak to you about Emily."'
Mr. Pickwick started.
'What's the matter now?' inquired Wardle, stopping in his narrative.
'Nothing,'replied Mr. Pickwick. 'Pray go on.'
'I never could spin out a story,' said Wardle abruptly. 'It must
come out, sooner or later, and it'll save us all a great deal of time
if it comes at once. The long and the short of it is, then, that
Bella at last mustered up courage to tell me that Emily was very
unhappy; that she and your young friend Snodgrass had been in
constant correspondence and communication ever since last
Christmas; that she had very dutifully made up her mind to run
away with him, in laudable imitation of her old friend and
school-fellow; but that having some compunctions of conscience
on the subject, inasmuch as I had always been rather kindly
disposed to both of them, they had thought it better in the first
instance to pay me the compliment of asking whether I would
have any objection to their being married in the usual matter-offact
manner. There now, Mr. Pickwick, if you can make it
convenient to reduce your eyes to their usual size again, and
to let me hear what you think we ought to do, I shall feel rather
obliged to you!'
The testy manner in which the hearty old gentleman uttered
this last sentence was not wholly unwarranted; for Mr. Pickwick's
face had settled down into an expression of blank amazement
and perplexity, quite curious to behold.
'Snodgrass!-since last Christmas!' were the first broken
words that issued from the lips of the confounded gentleman.
'Since last Christmas,' replied Wardle; 'that's plain enough,
and very bad spectacles we must have worn, not to have discovered
it before.'
'I don't understand it,' said Mr. Pickwick, ruminating; 'I
cannot really understand it.'
'It's easy enough to understand it,' replied the choleric old
gentleman. 'If you had been a younger man, you would have
been in the secret long ago; and besides,' added Wardle, after a
moment's hesitation, 'the truth is, that, knowing nothing of this
matter, I have rather pressed Emily for four or five months past,
to receive favourably (if she could; I would never attempt to
force a girl's inclinations) the addresses of a young gentleman
down in our neighbourhood. I have no doubt that, girl-like, to
enhance her own value and increase the ardour of Mr. Snodgrass,
she has represented this matter in very glowing colours, and that
they have both arrived at the conclusion that they are a terriblypersecuted
pair of unfortunates, and have no resource but
clandestine matrimony, or charcoal. Now the question is, what's
to be done?'
'What have YOU done?' inquired Mr. Pickwick.
'I!'
'I mean what did you do when your married daughter told
you this?'
'Oh, I made a fool of myself of course,' rejoined Wardle.
'Just so,' interposed Perker, who had accompanied this
dialogue with sundry twitchings of his watch-chain, vindictive
rubbings of his nose, and other symptoms of impatience. 'That's
very natural; but how?'
'I went into a great passion and frightened my mother into a
fit,' said Wardle.
'That was judicious,' remarked Perker; 'and what else?'
'I fretted and fumed all next day, and raised a great disturbance,'
rejoined the old gentleman. 'At last I got tired of rendering myself
unpleasant and making everybody miserable; so I hired a carriage at
Muggleton, and, putting my own horses in it, came up to town, under
pretence of bringing Emily to see Arabella.'
'Miss Wardle is with you, then?' said Mr. Pickwick.
'To be sure she is,' replied Wardle. 'She is at Osborne's Hotel
in the Adelphi at this moment, unless your enterprising friend
has run away with her since I came out this morning.'
'You are reconciled then?' said Perker.
'Not a bit of it,' answered Wardle; 'she has been crying and
moping ever since, except last night, between tea and supper,
when she made a great parade of writing a letter that I pretended
to take no notice of.'
'You want my advice in this matter, I suppose?' said Perker,
looking from the musing face of Mr. Pickwick to the eager
countenance of Wardle, and taking several consecutive pinches
of his favourite stimulant.
'I suppose so,' said Wardle, looking at Mr. Pickwick.
'Certainly,' replied that gentleman.
'Well then,' said Perker, rising and pushing his chair back,
'my advice is, that you both walk away together, or ride away, or
get away by some means or other, for I'm tired of you, and just
talk this matter over between you. If you have not settled it by
the next time I see you, I'll tell you what to do.'
'This is satisfactory,' said Wardle, hardly knowing whether to
smile or be offended.
'Pooh, pooh, my dear Sir,' returned Perker. 'I know you both a
great deal better than you know yourselves. You have settled
it already, to all intents and purposes.'
Thus expressing himself, the little gentleman poked his snuffbox
first into the chest of Mr. Pickwick, and then into the
waistcoat of Mr. Wardle, upon which they all three laughed,
especially the two last-named gentlemen, who at once shook
hands again, without any obvious or particular reason.
'You dine with me to-day,' said Wardle to Perker, as he
showed them out.
'Can't promise, my dear Sir, can't promise,' replied Perker.
'I'll look in, in the evening, at all events.'
'I shall expect you at five,' said Wardle. 'Now, Joe!' And Joe
having been at length awakened, the two friends departed in
Mr. Wardle's carriage, which in common humanity had a dickey
behind for the fat boy, who, if there had been a footboard
instead, would have rolled off and killed himself in his very first nap.
Driving to the George and Vulture, they found that Arabella
and her maid had sent for a hackney-coach immediately on the
receipt of a short note from Emily announcing her arrival in
town, and had proceeded straight to the Adelphi. As Wardle had
business to transact in the city, they sent the carriage and the fat
boy to his hotel, with the information that he and Mr. Pickwick
would return together to dinner at five o'clock.
Charged with this message, the fat boy returned, slumbering as
peaceably in his dickey, over the stones, as if it had been a down
bed on watch springs. By some extraordinary miracle he awoke
of his own accord, when the coach stopped, and giving himself
a good shake to stir up his faculties, went upstairs to execute
his commission.
Now, whether the shake had jumbled the fat boy's faculties
together, instead of arranging them in proper order, or had
roused such a quantity of new ideas within him as to render him
oblivious of ordinary forms and ceremonies, or (which is also
possible) had proved unsuccessful in preventing his falling asleep
as he ascended the stairs, it is an undoubted fact that he walked
into the sitting-room without previously knocking at the door;
and so beheld a gentleman with his arms clasping his young
mistress's waist, sitting very lovingly by her side on a sofa, while
Arabella and her pretty handmaid feigned to be absorbed in
looking out of a window at the other end of the room. At the
sight of this phenomenon, the fat boy uttered an interjection,
the ladies a scream, and the gentleman an oath, almost simultaneously.
'Wretched creature, what do you want here?' said the gentleman,
who it is needless to say was Mr. Snodgrass.
To this the fat boy, considerably terrified, briefly responded, 'Missis.'
'What do you want me for,' inquired Emily, turning her head
aside, 'you stupid creature?'
'Master and Mr. Pickwick is a-going to dine here at five,'
replied the fat boy.
'Leave the room!' said Mr. Snodgrass, glaring upon the
bewildered youth.
'No, no, no,' added Emily hastily. 'Bella, dear, advise me.'
Upon this, Emily and Mr. Snodgrass, and Arabella and Mary,
crowded into a corner, and conversed earnestly in whispers for
some minutes, during which the fat boy dozed.
'Joe,' said Arabella, at length, looking round with a most
bewitching smile, 'how do you do, Joe?'
'Joe,' said Emily, 'you're a very good boy; I won't forget you, Joe.'
'Joe,' said Mr. Snodgrass, advancing to the astonished youth,
and seizing his hand, 'I didn't know you before. There's five
shillings for you, Joe!"
'I'll owe you five, Joe,' said Arabella, 'for old acquaintance
sake, you know;' and another most captivating smile was
bestowed upon the corpulent intruder.
The fat boy's perception being slow, he looked rather puzzled
at first to account for this sudden prepossession in his favour,
and stared about him in a very alarming manner. At length his
broad face began to show symptoms of a grin of proportionately
broad dimensions; and then, thrusting half-a-crown into each of
his pockets, and a hand and wrist after it, he burst into a horse
laugh: being for the first and only time in his existence.
'He understands us, I see,' said Arabella.
'He had better have something to eat, immediately,' remarked Emily.
The fat boy almost laughed again when he heard this suggestion.
Mary, after a little more whispering, tripped forth from the
group and said--
'I am going to dine with you to-day, sir, if you have no objection.'
'This way,' said the fat boy eagerly. 'There is such a jolly
meat-pie!'
With these words, the fat boy led the way downstairs; his
pretty companion captivating all the waiters and angering all the
chambermaids as she followed him to the eating-room.
There was the meat-pie of which the youth had spoken so
feelingly, and there were, moreover, a steak, and a dish of
potatoes, and a pot of porter.
'Sit down,' said the fat boy. 'Oh, my eye, how prime! I am SO hungry.'
Having apostrophised his eye, in a species of rapture, five or
six times, the youth took the head of the little table, and Mary
seated herself at the bottom.
'Will you have some of this?' said the fat boy, plunging into
the pie up to the very ferules of the knife and fork.
'A little, if you please,' replied Mary.
The fat boy assisted Mary to a little, and himself to a great
deal, and was just going to begin eating when he suddenly laid
down his knife and fork, leaned forward in his chair, and letting
his hands, with the knife and fork in them, fall on his knees, said,
very slowly--
'I say! How nice you look!'
This was said in an admiring manner, and was, so far, gratifying;
but still there was enough of the cannibal in the young
gentleman's eyes to render the compliment a double one.
'Dear me, Joseph,' said Mary, affecting to blush, 'what do you mean?'
The fat boy, gradually recovering his former position, replied
with a heavy sigh, and, remaining thoughtful for a few moments,
drank a long draught of the porter. Having achieved this feat, he
sighed again, and applied himself assiduously to the pie.
'What a nice young lady Miss Emily is!' said Mary, after a
long silence.
The fat boy had by this time finished the pie. He fixed his eyes
on Mary, and replied--
'I knows a nicerer.'
'Indeed!' said Mary.
'Yes, indeed!' replied the fat boy, with unwonted vivacity.
'What's her name?' inquired Mary.
'What's yours?'
'Mary.'
'So's hers,' said the fat boy. 'You're her.' The boy grinned to
add point to the compliment, and put his eyes into something
between a squint and a cast, which there is reason to believe he
intended for an ogle.
'You mustn't talk to me in that way,' said Mary; 'you don't
mean it.'
'Don't I, though?' replied the fat boy. 'I say?'
'Well?'
'Are you going to come here regular?'
'No,' rejoined Mary, shaking her head, 'I'm going away again
to-night. Why?'
'Oh,' said the fat boy, in a tone of strong feeling; 'how we
should have enjoyed ourselves at meals, if you had been!'
'I might come here sometimes, perhaps, to see you,' said
Mary, plaiting the table-cloth in assumed coyness, 'if you would
do me a favour.'
The fat boy looked from the pie-dish to the steak, as if he
thought a favour must be in a manner connected with something
to eat; and then took out one of the half-crowns and glanced at
it nervously.
'Don't you understand me?' said Mary, looking slily in his fat face.
Again he looked at the half-crown, and said faintly, 'No.'
'The ladies want you not to say anything to the old gentleman
about the young gentleman having been upstairs; and I want
you too.'
,is that all?' said the fat boy, evidently very much relieved, as
he pocketed the half-crown again. 'Of course I ain't a-going to.'
'You see,' said Mary, 'Mr. Snodgrass is very fond of Miss
Emily, and Miss Emily's very fond of him, and if you were to tell
about it, the old gentleman would carry you all away miles into
the country, where you'd see nobody.'
'No, no, I won't tell,' said the fat boy stoutly.
'That's a dear,' said Mary. 'Now it's time I went upstairs, and
got my lady ready for dinner.'
'Don't go yet,' urged the fat boy.
'I must,' replied Mary. 'Good-bye, for the present.'
The fat boy, with elephantine playfulness, stretched out his
arms to ravish a kiss; but as it required no great agility to elude
him, his fair enslaver had vanished before he closed them again;
upon which the apathetic youth ate a pound or so of steak with
a sentimental countenance, and fell fast asleep.
There was so much to say upstairs, and there were so many
plans to concert for elopement and matrimony in the event of old
Wardle continuing to be cruel, that it wanted only half an hour
of dinner when Mr. Snodgrass took his final adieu. The ladies ran
to Emily's bedroom to dress, and the lover, taking up his hat,
walked out of the room. He had scarcely got outside the door,
when he heard Wardle's voice talking loudly, and looking over
the banisters beheld him, followed by some other gentlemen,
coming straight upstairs. Knowing nothing of the house, Mr.
Snodgrass in his confusion stepped hastily back into the room he
had just quitted, and passing thence into an inner apartment
(Mr. Wardle's bedchamber), closed the door softly, just as the
persons he had caught a glimpse of entered the sitting-room.
These were Mr. Wardle, Mr. Pickwick, Mr. Nathaniel Winkle,
and Mr. Benjamin Allen, whom he had no difficulty in recognising
by their voices.
'Very lucky I had the presence of mind to avoid them,' thought
Mr. Snodgrass with a smile, and walking on tiptoe to another
door near the bedside; 'this opens into the same passage, and I
can walk quietly and comfortably away.'
There was only one obstacle to his walking quietly and comfortably
away, which was that the door was locked and the key gone.
'Let us have some of your best wine to-day, waiter,' said old
Wardle, rubbing his hands.
'You shall have some of the very best, sir,' replied the waiter.
'Let the ladies know we have come in.'
'Yes, Sir.'
Devoutly and ardently did Mr. Snodgrass wish that the ladies
could know he had come in. He ventured once to whisper,
'Waiter!' through the keyhole, but the probability of the wrong
waiter coming to his relief, flashed upon his mind, together with
a sense of the strong resemblance between his own situation and
that in which another gentleman had been recently found in a
neighbouring hotel (an account of whose misfortunes had
appeared under the head of 'Police' in that morning's paper), he
sat himself on a portmanteau, and trembled violently.
'We won't wait a minute for Perker,' said Wardle, looking at
his watch; 'he is always exact. He will be here, in time, if he
means to come; and if he does not, it's of no use waiting. Ha! Arabella!'
'My sister!' exclaimed Mr. Benjamin Allen, folding her in a
most romantic embrace.
'Oh, Ben, dear, how you do smell of tobacco,' said Arabella,
rather overcome by this mark of affection.
'Do I?' said Mr. Benjamin Allen. 'Do I, Bella? Well, perhaps
I do.'
Perhaps he did, having just left a pleasant little smoking-party
of twelve medical students, in a small back parlour with a large fire.
'But I am delighted to see you,' said Mr. Ben Allen. 'Bless you, Bella!'
'There,' said Arabella, bending forward to kiss her brother;
'don't take hold of me again, Ben, dear, because you tumble me so.'
At this point of the reconciliation, Mr. Ben Allen allowed his
feelings and the cigars and porter to overcome him, and looked
round upon the beholders with damp spectacles.
'is nothing to be said to me?' cried Wardle, with open arms.
'A great deal,' whispered Arabella, as she received the old
gentleman's hearty caress and congratulation. 'You are a hardhearted,
unfeeling, cruel monster.'
'You are a little rebel,' replied Wardle, in the same tone, 'and
I am afraid I shall be obliged to forbid you the house. People like
you, who get married in spite of everybody, ought not to be let
loose on society. But come!' added the old gentleman aloud,
'here's the dinner; you shall sit by me. Joe; why, damn the boy,
he's awake!'
To the great distress of his master, the fat boy was indeed in a
state of remarkable vigilance, his eyes being wide open, and
looking as if they intended to remain so. There was an alacrity in
his manner, too, which was equally unaccountable; every time
his eyes met those of Emily or Arabella, he smirked and grinned;
once, Wardle could have sworn, he saw him wink.
This alteration in the fat boy's demeanour originated in his
increased sense of his own importance, and the dignity he
acquired from having been taken into the confidence of the
young ladies; and the smirks, and grins, and winks were so many
condescending assurances that they might depend upon his
fidelity. As these tokens were rather calculated to awaken
suspicion than allay it, and were somewhat embarrassing besides,
they were occasionally answered by a frown or shake of the head
from Arabella, which the fat boy, considering as hints to be on
his guard, expressed his perfect understanding of, by smirking,
grinning, and winking, with redoubled assiduity.
'Joe,' said Mr. Wardle, after an unsuccessful search in all his
pockets, 'is my snuff-box on the sofa?'
'No, sir,' replied the fat boy.
'Oh, I recollect; I left it on my dressing-table this morning,'
said Wardle. 'Run into the next room and fetch it.'
The fat boy went into the next room; and, having been absent
about a minute, returned with the snuff-box, and the palest face
that ever a fat boy wore.
'What's the matter with the boy?' exclaimed Wardle.
'Nothen's the matter with me,' replied Joe nervously.
'Have you been seeing any spirits?' inquired the old gentleman.
'Or taking any?' added Ben Allen.
'I think you're right,' whispered Wardle across the table. 'He
is intoxicated, I'm sure.'
Ben Allen replied that he thought he was; and, as that gentleman
had seen a vast deal of the disease in question, Wardle was
confirmed in an impression which had been hovering about his
mind for half an hour, and at once arrived at the conclusion that
the fat boy was drunk.
'Just keep your eye upon him for a few minutes,' murmured
Wardle. 'We shall soon find out whether he is or not.'
The unfortunate youth had only interchanged a dozen words
with Mr. Snodgrass, that gentleman having implored him to
make a private appeal to some friend to release him, and then
pushed him out with the snuff-box, lest his prolonged absence
should lead to a discovery. He ruminated a little with a most
disturbed expression of face, and left the room in search of Mary.
But Mary had gone home after dressing her mistress, and the
fat boy came back again more disturbed than before.
Wardle and Mr. Ben Allen exchanged glances.
'Joe!' said Wardle.
'Yes, sir.'
'What did you go away for?'
The fat boy looked hopelessly in the face of everybody at
table, and stammered out that he didn't know.
'Oh,' said Wardle, 'you don't know, eh? Take this cheese to
Mr. Pickwick.'
Now, Mr. Pickwick being in the very best health and spirits,
had been making himself perfectly delightful all dinner-time, and
was at this moment engaged in an energetic conversation with
Emily and Mr. Winkle; bowing his head, courteously, in the
emphasis of his discourse, gently waving his left hand to lend
force to his observations, and all glowing with placid smiles. He
took a piece of cheese from the plate, and was on the point of
turning round to renew the conversation, when the fat boy,
stooping so as to bring his head on a level with that of Mr.
Pickwick, pointed with his thumb over his shoulder, and made
the most horrible and hideous face that was ever seen out of a
Christmas pantomime.
'Dear me!' said Mr. Pickwick, starting, 'what a very--Eh?'
He stopped, for the fat boy had drawn himself up, and was,
or pretended to be, fast asleep.
'What's the matter?' inquired Wardle.
'This is such an extremely singular lad!' replied Mr. Pickwick,
looking uneasily at the boy. 'It seems an odd thing to say, but
upon my word I am afraid that, at times, he is a little deranged.'
'Oh! Mr. Pickwick, pray don't say so,' cried Emily and
Arabella, both at once.
'I am not certain, of course,' said Mr. Pickwick, amidst
profound silence and looks of general dismay; 'but his manner
to me this moment really was very alarming. Oh!' ejaculated
Mr. Pickwick, suddenly jumping up with a short scream. 'I beg
your pardon, ladies, but at that moment he ran some sharp
instrument into my leg. Really, he is not safe.'
'He's drunk,' roared old Wardle passionately. 'Ring the bell!
Call the waiters! He's drunk.'
'I ain't,' said the fat boy, falling on his knees as his master
seized him by the collar. 'I ain't drunk.'
'Then you're mad; that's worse. Call the waiters,' said the old
gentleman.
'I ain't mad; I'm sensible,' rejoined the fat boy, beginning
to cry.
'Then, what the devil did you run sharp instruments into
Mr. Pickwick's legs for?' inquired Wardle angrily.
'He wouldn't look at me,' replied the boy. 'I wanted to speak
to him.'
'What did you want to say?' asked half a dozen voices at once.
The fat boy gasped, looked at the bedroom door, gasped
again, and wiped two tears away with the knuckle of each of his
forefingers.
'What did you want to say?' demanded Wardle, shaking him.
'Stop!' said Mr. Pickwick; 'allow me. What did you wish to
communicate to me, my poor boy?'
'I want to whisper to you,' replied the fat boy.
'You want to bite his ear off, I suppose,' said Wardle. 'Don't
come near him; he's vicious; ring the bell, and let him be taken
downstairs.'
Just as Mr. Winkle caught the bell-rope in his hand, it
was arrested by a general expression of astonishment; the
captive lover, his face burning with confusion, suddenly walked
in from the bedroom, and made a comprehensive bow to the company.
'Hollo!' cried Wardle, releasing the fat boy's collar, and
staggering back. 'What's this?'
'I have been concealed in the next room, sir, since you
returned,' explained Mr. Snodgrass.
'Emily, my girl,' said Wardle reproachfully, 'I detest meanness
and deceit; this is unjustifiable and indelicate in the highest
degree. I don't deserve this at your hands, Emily, indeed!'
'Dear papa,' said Emily, 'Arabella knows--everybody here
knows--Joe knows--that I was no party to this concealment.
Augustus, for Heaven's sake, explain it!'
Mr. Snodgrass, who had only waited for a hearing, at once
recounted how he had been placed in his then distressing
predicament; how the fear of giving rise to domestic dissensions
had alone prompted him to avoid Mr. Wardle on his entrance;
how he merely meant to depart by another door, but, finding it
locked, had been compelled to stay against his will. It was a
painful situation to be placed in; but he now regretted it the less,
inasmuch as it afforded him an opportunity of acknowledging,
before their mutual friends, that he loved Mr. Wardle's daughter
deeply and sincerely; that he was proud to avow that the feeling
was mutual; and that if thousands of miles were placed between
them, or oceans rolled their waters, he could never for an instant
forget those happy days, when first-- et cetera, et cetera.
Having delivered himself to this effect, Mr. Snodgrass bowed
again, looked into the crown of his hat, and stepped towards the door.
'Stop!' shouted Wardle. 'Why, in the name of all that's--'
'Inflammable,' mildly suggested Mr. Pickwick, who thought
something worse was coming.
'Well--that's inflammable,' said Wardle, adopting the substitute;
'couldn't you say all this to me in the first instance?'
'Or confide in me?' added Mr. Pickwick.
'Dear, dear,' said Arabella, taking up the defence, 'what is the
use of asking all that now, especially when you know you had
set your covetous old heart on a richer son-in-law, and are so
wild and fierce besides, that everybody is afraid of you, except
me? Shake hands with him, and order him some dinner, for
goodness gracious' sake, for he looks half starved; and pray have
your wine up at once, for you'll not be tolerable until you have
taken two bottles at least.'
The worthy old gentleman pulled Arabella's ear, kissed her
without the smallest scruple, kissed his daughter also with great
affection, and shook Mr. Snodgrass warmly by the hand.
'She is right on one point at all events,' said the old gentleman
cheerfully. 'Ring for the wine!'
The wine came, and Perker came upstairs at the same moment.
Mr. Snodgrass had dinner at a side table, and, when he had
despatched it, drew his chair next Emily, without the smallest
opposition on the old gentleman's part.
The evening was excellent. Little Mr. Perker came out wonderfully,
told various comic stories, and sang a serious song which
was almost as funny as the anecdotes. Arabella was very charming,
Mr. Wardle very jovial, Mr. Pickwick very harmonious,
Mr. Ben Allen very uproarious, the lovers very silent, Mr. Winkle
very talkative, and all of them very happy.
CHAPTER LV
Mr. SOLOMON PELL, ASSISTED BY A SELECT COMMITTEE
OF COACHMEN, ARRANGES THE AFFAIRS OF THE ELDER
Mr. WELLER
'Samivel,' said Mr. Weller, accosting his son on the morning after
the funeral, 'I've found it, Sammy. I thought it wos there.'
'Thought wot wos there?' inquired Sam.
'Your mother-in-law's vill, Sammy,' replied Mr. Weller. 'In
wirtue o' vich, them arrangements is to be made as I told you on,
last night, respectin' the funs.'
'Wot, didn't she tell you were it wos?' inquired Sam.
'Not a bit on it, Sammy,' replied Mr. Weller. 'We wos
a adjestin' our little differences, and I wos a-cheerin' her spirits
and bearin' her up, so that I forgot to ask anythin' about it. I
don't know as I should ha' done it, indeed, if I had remembered
it,' added Mr. Weller, 'for it's a rum sort o' thing, Sammy, to go
a-hankerin' arter anybody's property, ven you're assistin' 'em in
illness. It's like helping an outside passenger up, ven he's been
pitched off a coach, and puttin' your hand in his pocket, vile you
ask him, vith a sigh, how he finds his-self, Sammy.'
With this figurative illustration of his meaning, Mr. Weller
unclasped his pocket-book, and drew forth a dirty sheet of
letter-paper, on which were inscribed various characters crowded
together in remarkable confusion.
'This here is the dockyment, Sammy,' said Mr. Weller. 'I found
it in the little black tea-pot, on the top shelf o' the bar closet.
She used to keep bank-notes there, 'fore she vos married,
Samivel. I've seen her take the lid off, to pay a bill, many and
many a time. Poor creetur, she might ha' filled all the tea-pots in
the house vith vills, and not have inconwenienced herself neither,
for she took wery little of anythin' in that vay lately, 'cept on the
temperance nights, ven they just laid a foundation o' tea to put
the spirits atop on!'
'What does it say?' inquired Sam.
'Jist vot I told you, my boy,' rejoined his parent. 'Two hundred
pound vurth o' reduced counsels to my son-in-law, Samivel, and
all the rest o' my property, of ev'ry kind and description votsoever,
to my husband, Mr. Tony Veller, who I appint as my sole eggzekiter.'
'That's all, is it?' said Sam.
'That's all,' replied Mr. Weller. 'And I s'pose as it's all right
and satisfactory to you and me as is the only parties interested,
ve may as vell put this bit o' paper into the fire.'
'Wot are you a-doin' on, you lunatic?' said Sam, snatching the
paper away, as his parent, in all innocence, stirred the fire
preparatory to suiting the action to the word. 'You're a nice
eggzekiter, you are.'
'Vy not?' inquired Mr. Weller, looking sternly round, with the
poker in his hand.
'Vy not?' exclaimed Sam. ''Cos it must be proved, and probated,
and swore to, and all manner o' formalities.'
'You don't mean that?' said Mr. Weller, laying down the poker.
Sam buttoned the will carefully in a side pocket; intimating by
a look, meanwhile, that he did mean it, and very seriously too.
'Then I'll tell you wot it is,' said Mr. Weller, after a short
meditation, 'this is a case for that 'ere confidential pal o' the
Chancellorship's. Pell must look into this, Sammy. He's the man
for a difficult question at law. Ve'll have this here brought afore
the Solvent Court, directly, Samivel.'
'I never did see such a addle-headed old creetur!' exclaimed
Sam irritably; 'Old Baileys, and Solvent Courts, and alleybis,
and ev'ry species o' gammon alvays a-runnin' through his brain.
You'd better get your out o' door clothes on, and come to town
about this bisness, than stand a-preachin' there about wot you
don't understand nothin' on.'
'Wery good, Sammy,' replied Mr. Weller, 'I'm quite agreeable
to anythin' as vill hexpedite business, Sammy. But mind this here,
my boy, nobody but Pell--nobody but Pell as a legal adwiser.'
'I don't want anybody else,' replied Sam. 'Now, are you a-comin'?'
'Vait a minit, Sammy,' replied Mr. Weller, who, having tied
his shawl with the aid of a small glass that hung in the window,
was now, by dint of the most wonderful exertions, struggling into
his upper garments. 'Vait a minit' Sammy; ven you grow as old
as your father, you von't get into your veskit quite as easy as you
do now, my boy.'
'If I couldn't get into it easier than that, I'm blessed if I'd vear
vun at all,' rejoined his son.
'You think so now,' said Mr. Weller, with the gravity of age,
'but you'll find that as you get vider, you'll get viser. Vidth and
visdom, Sammy, alvays grows together.'
As Mr. Weller delivered this infallible maxim--the result of
many years' personal experience and observation--he contrived,
by a dexterous twist of his body, to get the bottom button of his
coat to perform its office. Having paused a few seconds to
recover breath, he brushed his hat with his elbow, and declared
himself ready.
'As four heads is better than two, Sammy,' said Mr. Weller,
as they drove along the London Road in the chaise-cart, 'and as
all this here property is a wery great temptation to a legal
gen'l'm'n, ve'll take a couple o' friends o' mine vith us, as'll be
wery soon down upon him if he comes anythin' irreg'lar; two o'
them as saw you to the Fleet that day. They're the wery best
judges,' added Mr. Weller, in a half-whisper--'the wery best
judges of a horse, you ever know'd.'
'And of a lawyer too?' inquired Sam.
'The man as can form a ackerate judgment of a animal, can
form a ackerate judgment of anythin',' replied his father, so
dogmatically, that Sam did not attempt to controvert the position.
In pursuance of this notable resolution, the services of the
mottled-faced gentleman and of two other very fat coachmen
--selected by Mr. Weller, probably, with a view to their width and
consequent wisdom--were put into requisition; and this
assistance having been secured, the party proceeded to the
public-house in Portugal Street, whence a messenger was
despatched to the Insolvent Court over the way, requiring Mr.
Solomon Pell's immediate attendance.
The messenger fortunately found Mr. Solomon Pell in court,
regaling himself, business being rather slack, with a cold collation
of an Abernethy biscuit and a saveloy. The message was no
sooner whispered in his ear than he thrust them in his pocket
among various professional documents, and hurried over the way
with such alacrity that he reached the parlour before the messenger
had even emancipated himself from the court.
'Gentlemen,' said Mr. Pell, touching his hat, 'my service to
you all. I don't say it to flatter you, gentlemen, but there are not
five other men in the world, that I'd have come out of that court
for, to-day.'
'So busy, eh?' said Sam.
'Busy!' replied Pell; 'I'm completely sewn up, as my friend the
late Lord Chancellor many a time used to say to me, gentlemen,
when he came out from hearing appeals in the House of Lords.
Poor fellow; he was very susceptible to fatigue; he used to feel
those appeals uncommonly. I actually thought more than once
that he'd have sunk under 'em; I did, indeed.'
Here Mr. Pell shook his head and paused; on which, the elder
Mr. Weller, nudging his neighbour, as begging him to mark the
attorney's high connections, asked whether the duties in question
produced any permanent ill effects on the constitution of his
noble friend.
'I don't think he ever quite recovered them,' replied Pell; 'in
fact I'm sure he never did. "Pell," he used to say to me many a
time, "how the blazes you can stand the head-work you do, is
a mystery to me."--"Well," I used to answer, "I hardly know
how I do it, upon my life."--"Pell," he'd add, sighing, and
looking at me with a little envy--friendly envy, you know,
gentlemen, mere friendly envy; I never minded it--"Pell, you're
a wonder; a wonder." Ah! you'd have liked him very much if
you had known him, gentlemen. Bring me three-penn'orth of
rum, my dear.'
Addressing this latter remark to the waitress, in a tone of
subdued grief, Mr. Pell sighed, looked at his shoes and the
ceiling; and, the rum having by that time arrived, drank it up.
'However,' said Pell, drawing a chair to the table, 'a professional
man has no right to think of his private friendships when
his legal assistance is wanted. By the bye, gentlemen, since I saw
you here before, we have had to weep over a very melancholy
occurrence.'
Mr. Pell drew out a pocket-handkerchief, when he came to the
word weep, but he made no further use of it than to wipe away
a slight tinge of rum which hung upon his upper lip.
'I saw it in the ADVERTISER, Mr. Weller,' continued Pell. 'Bless
my soul, not more than fifty-two! Dear me--only think.'
These indications of a musing spirit were addressed to the
mottled-faced man, whose eyes Mr. Pell had accidentally caught;
on which, the mottled-faced man, whose apprehension of matters
in general was of a foggy nature, moved uneasily in his seat, and
opined that, indeed, so far as that went, there was no saying how
things was brought about; which observation, involving one of
those subtle propositions which it is difficult to encounter in
argument, was controverted by nobody.
'I have heard it remarked that she was a very fine woman,
Mr. Weller,' said Pell, in a sympathising manner.
'Yes, sir, she wos,' replied the elder Mr. Weller, not much
relishing this mode of discussing the subject, and yet thinking
that the attorney, from his long intimacy with the late Lord
Chancellor, must know best on all matters of polite breeding.
'She wos a wery fine 'ooman, sir, ven I first know'd her. She wos
a widder, sir, at that time.'
'Now, it's curious,' said Pell, looking round with a sorrowful
smile; 'Mrs. Pell was a widow.'
'That's very extraordinary,' said the mottled-faced man.
'Well, it is a curious coincidence,' said Pell.
'Not at all,' gruffly remarked the elder Mr. Weller. 'More
widders is married than single wimin.'
'Very good, very good,' said Pell, 'you're quite right, Mr.
Weller. Mrs. Pell was a very elegant and accomplished woman;
her manners were the theme of universal admiration in our
neighbourhood. I was proud to see that woman dance; there was
something so firm and dignified, and yet natural, in her motion.
Her cutting, gentlemen, was simplicity itself. Ah! well, well!
Excuse my asking the question, Mr. Samuel,' continued the
attorney in a lower voice, 'was your mother-in-law tall?'
'Not wery,' replied Sam.
'Mrs. Pell was a tall figure,' said Pell, 'a splendid woman, with
a noble shape, and a nose, gentlemen, formed to command and
be majestic. She was very much attached to me--very much--
highly connected, too. Her mother's brother, gentlemen, failed
for eight hundred pounds, as a law stationer.'
'Vell,' said Mr. Weller, who had grown rather restless during
this discussion, 'vith regard to bis'ness.'
The word was music to Pell's ears. He had been revolving in
his mind whether any business was to be transacted, or whether
he had been merely invited to partake of a glass of brandy-andwater,
or a bowl of punch, or any similar professional compliment,
and now the doubt was set at rest without his appearing
at all eager for its solution. His eyes glistened as he laid his hat
on the table, and said--
'What is the business upon which--um? Either of these
gentlemen wish to go through the court? We require an arrest;
a friendly arrest will do, you know; we are all friends here, I suppose?'
'Give me the dockyment, Sammy,' said Mr. Weller, taking the
will from his son, who appeared to enjoy the interview amazingly.
'Wot we rekvire, sir, is a probe o' this here.'
'Probate, my dear Sir, probate,' said Pell.
'Well, sir,' replied Mr. Weller sharply, 'probe and probe it, is
wery much the same; if you don't understand wot I mean, sir,
I des-say I can find them as does.'
'No offence, I hope, Mr. Weller,' said Pell meekly. 'You are
the executor, I see,' he added, casting his eyes over the paper.
'I am, sir,' replied Mr. Weller.
'These other gentlemen, I presume, are legatees, are they?'
inquired Pell, with a congratulatory smile.
'Sammy is a leg-at-ease,' replied Mr. Weller; 'these other
gen'l'm'n is friends o' mine, just come to see fair; a kind of
umpires.'
'Oh!' said Pell, 'very good. I have no objections, I'm sure. I
shall want a matter of five pound of you before I begin, ha!
ha! ha!'
It being decided by the committee that the five pound might
be advanced, Mr. Weller produced that sum; after which, a long
consultation about nothing particular took place, in the course
whereof Mr. Pell demonstrated to the perfect satisfaction of the
gentlemen who saw fair, that unless the management of the
business had been intrusted to him, it must all have gone wrong,
for reasons not clearly made out, but no doubt sufficient. This
important point being despatched, Mr. Pell refreshed himself
with three chops, and liquids both malt and spirituous, at the
expense of the estate; and then they all went away to Doctors' Commons.
The next day there was another visit to Doctors' Commons,
and a great to-do with an attesting hostler, who, being inebriated,
declined swearing anything but profane oaths, to the great
scandal of a proctor and surrogate. Next week, there were more
visits to Doctors' Commons, and there was a visit to the Legacy
Duty Office besides, and there were treaties entered into, for the
disposal of the lease and business, and ratifications of the same,
and inventories to be made out, and lunches to be taken, and
dinners to be eaten, and so many profitable things to be done,
and such a mass of papers accumulated that Mr. Solomon Pell,
and the boy, and the blue bag to boot, all got so stout that
scarcely anybody would have known them for the same man,
boy, and bag, that had loitered about Portugal Street, a few days before.
At length all these weighty matters being arranged, a day was
fixed for selling out and transferring the stock, and of waiting
with that view upon Wilkins Flasher, Esquire, stock-broker, of
somewhere near the bank, who had been recommended by Mr.
Solomon Pell for the purpose.
It was a kind of festive occasion, and the parties were attired
accordingly. Mr. Weller's tops were newly cleaned, and his dress
was arranged with peculiar care; the mottled-faced gentleman
wore at his button-hole a full-sized dahlia with several leaves;
and the coats of his two friends were adorned with nosegays of
laurel and other evergreens. All three were habited in strict
holiday costume; that is to say, they were wrapped up to the
chins, and wore as many clothes as possible, which is, and has
been, a stage-coachman's idea of full dress ever since stagecoaches
were invented.
Mr. Pell was waiting at the usual place of meeting at the
appointed time; even he wore a pair of gloves and a clean shirt,
much frayed at the collar and wristbands by frequent washings.
'A quarter to two,' said Pell, looking at the parlour clock. 'If
we are with Mr. Flasher at a quarter past, we shall just hit the
best time.'
'What should you say to a drop o' beer, gen'l'm'n?' suggested
the mottled-faced man.
'And a little bit o' cold beef,' said the second coachman.
'Or a oyster,' added the third, who was a hoarse gentleman,
supported by very round legs.
'Hear, hear!' said Pell; 'to congratulate Mr. Weller, on his
coming into possession of his property, eh? Ha! ha!'
'I'm quite agreeable, gen'l'm'n,' answered Mr. Weller.
'Sammy, pull the bell.'
Sammy complied; and the porter, cold beef, and oysters being
promptly produced, the lunch was done ample justice to. Where
everybody took so active a part, it is almost invidious to make a
distinction; but if one individual evinced greater powers than
another, it was the coachman with the hoarse voice, who took an
imperial pint of vinegar with his oysters, without betraying the
least emotion.
'Mr. Pell, Sir,' said the elder Mr. Weller, stirring a glass of
brandy-and-water, of which one was placed before every gentleman
when the oyster shells were removed--'Mr. Pell, Sir, it wos
my intention to have proposed the funs on this occasion, but
Samivel has vispered to me--'
Here Mr. Samuel Weller, who had silently eaten his oysters
with tranquil smiles, cried, 'Hear!' in a very loud voice.
--'Has vispered to me,' resumed his father, 'that it vould be
better to dewote the liquor to vishin' you success and prosperity,
and thankin' you for the manner in which you've brought this
here business through. Here's your health, sir.'
'Hold hard there,' interposed the mottled-faced gentleman,
with sudden energy; 'your eyes on me, gen'l'm'n!'
Saying this, the mottled-faced gentleman rose, as did the other
gentlemen. The mottled-faced gentleman reviewed the company,
and slowly lifted his hand, upon which every man (including him
of the mottled countenance) drew a long breath, and lifted his
tumbler to his lips. In one instant, the mottled-faced gentleman
depressed his hand again, and every glass was set down empty.
It is impossible to describe the thrilling effect produced by this
striking ceremony. At once dignified, solemn, and impressive, it
combined every element of grandeur.
'Well, gentlemen,' said Mr. Pell, 'all I can say is, that such
marks of confidence must be very gratifying to a professional
man. I don't wish to say anything that might appear egotistical,
gentlemen, but I'm very glad, for your own sakes, that you came
to me; that's all. If you had gone to any low member of the
profession, it's my firm conviction, and I assure you of it as a
fact, that you would have found yourselves in Queer Street
before this. I could have wished my noble friend had been alive
to have seen my management of this case. I don't say it out of
pride, but I think-- However, gentlemen, I won't trouble you
with that. I'm generally to be found here, gentlemen, but if I'm
not here, or over the way, that's my address. You'll find my terms
very cheap and reasonable, and no man attends more to his
clients than I do, and I hope I know a little of my profession
besides. If you have any opportunity of recommending me to
any of your friends, gentlemen, I shall be very much obliged to
you, and so will they too, when they come to know me. Your
healths, gentlemen.'
With this expression of his feelings, Mr. Solomon Pell laid
three small written cards before Mr. Weller's friends, and,
looking at the clock again, feared it was time to be walking.
Upon this hint Mr. Weller settled the bill, and, issuing forth, the
executor, legatee, attorney, and umpires, directed their steps
towards the city.
The office of Wilkins Flasher, Esquire, of the Stock Exchange,
was in a first floor up a court behind the Bank of England; the
house of Wilkins Flasher, Esquire, was at Brixton, Surrey; the
horse and stanhope of Wilkins Flasher, Esquire, were at an
adjacent livery stable; the groom of Wilkins Flasher, Esquire,
was on his way to the West End to deliver some game; the clerk
of Wilkins Flasher, Esquire, had gone to his dinner; and
so Wilkins Flasher, Esquire, himself, cried, 'Come in,' when
Mr. Pell and his companions knocked at the counting-house door.
'Good-morning, Sir,' said Pell, bowing obsequiously. 'We want
to make a little transfer, if you please.'
'Oh, just come in, will you?' said Mr. Flasher. 'Sit down a
minute; I'll attend to you directly.'
'Thank you, Sir,' said Pell, 'there's no hurry. Take a chair,
Mr. Weller.'
Mr. Weller took a chair, and Sam took a box, and the umpires
took what they could get, and looked at the almanac and one or
two papers which were wafered against the wall, with as much
open-eyed reverence as if they had been the finest efforts of the
old masters.
'Well, I'll bet you half a dozen of claret on it; come!' said
Wilkins Flasher, Esquire, resuming the conversation to which
Mr. Pell's entrance had caused a momentary interruption.
This was addressed to a very smart young gentleman who wore
his hat on his right whisker, and was lounging over the desk,
killing flies with a ruler. Wilkins Flasher, Esquire, was balancing
himself on two legs of an office stool, spearing a wafer-box with
a penknife, which he dropped every now and then with great
dexterity into the very centre of a small red wafer that was stuck
outside. Both gentlemen had very open waistcoats and very
rolling collars, and very small boots, and very big rings, and very
little watches, and very large guard-chains, and symmetrical
inexpressibles, and scented pocket-handkerchiefs.
'I never bet half a dozen!' said the other gentleman. 'I'll take
a dozen.'
'Done, Simmery, done!' said Wilkins Flasher, Esquire.
'P. P., mind,' observed the other.
'Of course,' replied Wilkins Flasher, Esquire. Wilkins Flasher,
Esquire, entered it in a little book, with a gold pencil-case, and
the other gentleman entered it also, in another little book with
another gold pencil-case.
'I see there's a notice up this morning about Boffer,' observed
Mr. Simmery. 'Poor devil, he's expelled the house!'
'I'll bet you ten guineas to five, he cuts his throat,' said Wilkins
Flasher, Esquire.
'Done,' replied Mr. Simmery.
'Stop! I bar,' said Wilkins Flasher, Esquire, thoughtfully.
'Perhaps he may hang himself.'
'Very good,' rejoined Mr. Simmery, pulling out the gold
pencil-case again. 'I've no objection to take you that way. Say,
makes away with himself.'
'Kills himself, in fact,' said Wilkins Flasher, Esquire.
'Just so,' replied Mr. Simmery, putting it down. '"Flasher--
ten guineas to five, Boffer kills himself." Within what time shall
we say?'
'A fortnight?' suggested Wilkins Flasher, Esquire.
'Con-found it, no,' rejoined Mr. Simmery, stopping for an
instant to smash a fly with the ruler. 'Say a week.'
'Split the difference,' said Wilkins Flasher, Esquire. 'Make it
ten days.'
'Well; ten days,'rejoined Mr. Simmery.
So it was entered down on the little books that Boffer was to
kill himself within ten days, or Wilkins Flasher, Esquire, was to
hand over to Frank Simmery, Esquire, the sum of ten guineas;
and that if Boffer did kill himself within that time, Frank
Simmery, Esquire, would pay to Wilkins Flasher, Esquire, five
guineas, instead.
'I'm very sorry he has failed,' said Wilkins Flasher, Esquire.
'Capital dinners he gave.'
'Fine port he had too,' remarked Mr. Simmery. 'We are going
to send our butler to the sale to-morrow, to pick up some of that
sixty-four.'
'The devil you are!' said Wilkins Flasher, Esquire. 'My man's
going too. Five guineas my man outbids your man.'
'Done.'
Another entry was made in the little books, with the gold
pencil-cases; and Mr. Simmery, having by this time killed all the
flies and taken all the bets, strolled away to the Stock Exchange
to see what was going forward.
Wilkins Flasher, Esquire, now condescended to receive Mr.
Solomon Pell's instructions, and having filled up some printed
forms, requested the party to follow him to the bank, which
they did: Mr. Weller and his three friends staring at all they
beheld in unbounded astonishment, and Sam encountering
everything with a coolness which nothing could disturb.
Crossing a courtyard which was all noise and bustle, and
passing a couple of porters who seemed dressed to match the
red fire engine which was wheeled away into a corner, they
passed into an office where their business was to be transacted,
and where Pell and Mr. Flasher left them standing for a few
moments, while they went upstairs into the Will Office.
'Wot place is this here?' whispered the mottled-faced gentleman
to the elder Mr. Weller.
'Counsel's Office,' replied the executor in a whisper.
'Wot are them gen'l'men a-settin' behind the counters?' asked
the hoarse coachman.
'Reduced counsels, I s'pose,' replied Mr. Weller. 'Ain't they
the reduced counsels, Samivel?'
'Wy, you don't suppose the reduced counsels is alive, do you?'
inquired Sam, with some disdain.
'How should I know?' retorted Mr. Weller; 'I thought they
looked wery like it. Wot are they, then?'
'Clerks,' replied Sam.
'Wot are they all a-eatin' ham sangwidges for?' inquired his father.
''Cos it's in their dooty, I suppose,' replied Sam, 'it's a part o'
the system; they're alvays a-doin' it here, all day long!'
Mr. Weller and his friends had scarcely had a moment to
reflect upon this singular regulation as connected with the
monetary system of the country, when they were rejoined by Pell
and Wilkins Flasher, Esquire, who led them to a part of the
counter above which was a round blackboard with a large 'W.' on it.
'Wot's that for, Sir?' inquired Mr. Weller, directing Pell's
attention to the target in question.
'The first letter of the name of the deceased,' replied Pell.
'I say,' said Mr. Weller, turning round to the umpires, there's
somethin' wrong here. We's our letter--this won't do.'
The referees at once gave it as their decided opinion that the
business could not be legally proceeded with, under the letter
W., and in all probability it would have stood over for one day
at least, had it not been for the prompt, though, at first sight,
undutiful behaviour of Sam, who, seizing his father by the skirt
of the coat, dragged him to the counter, and pinned him there,
until he had affixed his signature to a couple of instruments;
which, from Mr. Weller's habit of printing, was a work of so
much labour and time, that the officiating clerk peeled and ate
three Ribstone pippins while it was performing.
As the elder Mr. Weller insisted on selling out his portion
forthwith, they proceeded from the bank to the gate of the Stock
Exchange, to which Wilkins Flasher, Esquire, after a short
absence, returned with a cheque on Smith, Payne, & Smith, for
five hundred and thirty pounds; that being the money to which
Mr. Weller, at the market price of the day, was entitled, in
consideration of the balance of the second Mrs. Weller's funded
savings. Sam's two hundred pounds stood transferred to his
name, and Wilkins Flasher, Esquire, having been paid his
commission, dropped the money carelessly into his coat pocket,
and lounged back to his office.
Mr. Weller was at first obstinately determined on cashing the
cheque in nothing but sovereigns; but it being represented by the
umpires that by so doing he must incur the expense of a small
sack to carry them home in, he consented to receive the amount
in five-pound notes.
'My son,' said Mr. Weller, as they came out of the bankinghouse--'
my son and me has a wery partickler engagement this
arternoon, and I should like to have this here bis'ness settled out
of hand, so let's jest go straight avay someveres, vere ve can
hordit the accounts.'
A quiet room was soon found, and the accounts were produced
and audited. Mr. Pell's bill was taxed by Sam, and some charges
were disallowed by the umpires; but, notwithstanding Mr. Pell's
declaration, accompanied with many solemn asseverations that
they were really too hard upon him, it was by very many degrees
the best professional job he had ever had, and one on which he
boarded, lodged, and washed, for six months afterwards.
The umpires having partaken of a dram, shook hands and
departed, as they had to drive out of town that night. Mr.
Solomon Pell, finding that nothing more was going forward,
either in the eating or drinking way, took a friendly leave, and
Sam and his father were left alone.
'There!' said Mr. Weller, thrusting his pocket-book in his side
pocket. 'Vith the bills for the lease, and that, there's eleven
hundred and eighty pound here. Now, Samivel, my boy, turn the
horses' heads to the George and Wulter!'
CHAPTER LVI
AN IMPORTANT CONFERENCE TAKES PLACE BETWEEN
Mr. PICKWICK AND SAMUEL WELLER, AT WHICH HIS
PARENT ASSISTS--AN OLD GENTLEMAN IN A SNUFFCOLOURED
SUIT ARRIVES UNEXPECTEDLY
Mr. Pickwick was sitting alone, musing over many things, and thinking
among other considerations how he could best provide for the young
couple whose present unsettled condition was matter of constant
regret and anxiety to him, when Mary stepped lightly into the room,
and, advancing to the table, said, rather hastily--
'Oh, if you please, Sir, Samuel is downstairs, and he says may
his father see you?'
'Surely,' replied Mr. Pickwick.
'Thank you, Sir,' said Mary, tripping towards the door again.
'Sam has not been here long, has he?' inquired Mr. Pickwick.
'Oh, no, Sir,' replied Mary eagerly. 'He has only just come
home. He is not going to ask you for any more leave, Sir, he says.'
Mary might have been conscious that she had communicated
this last intelligence with more warmth than seemed actually
necessary, or she might have observed the good-humoured smile
with which Mr. Pickwick regarded her, when she had finished
speaking. She certainly held down her head, and examined the
corner of a very smart little apron, with more closeness than
there appeared any absolute occasion for.
'Tell them they can come up at once, by all means,' said
Mr. Pickwick.
Mary, apparently much relieved, hurried away with her message.
Mr. Pickwick took two or three turns up and down the room;
and, rubbing his chin with his left hand as he did so, appeared
lost in thought.
'Well, well,' said Mr. Pickwick, at length in a kind but somewhat
melancholy tone, 'it is the best way in which I could reward
him for his attachment and fidelity; let it be so, in Heaven's
name. It is the fate of a lonely old man, that those about him
should form new and different attachments and leave him. I have
no right to expect that it should be otherwise with me. No, no,'
added Mr. Pickwick more cheerfully, 'it would be selfish and
ungrateful. I ought to be happy to have an opportunity of
providing for him so well. I am. Of course I am.'
Mr. Pickwick had been so absorbed in these reflections, that a
knock at the door was three or four times repeated before he
heard it. Hastily seating himself, and calling up his accustomed
pleasant looks, he gave the required permission, and Sam Weller
entered, followed by his father.
'Glad to see you back again, Sam,' said Mr. Pickwick. 'How
do you do, Mr. Weller?'
'Wery hearty, thank'ee, sir,' replied the widower; 'hope I see
you well, sir.'
'Quite, I thank you,' replied Mr. Pickwick.
'I wanted to have a little bit o' conwersation with you, sir,' said
Mr. Weller, 'if you could spare me five minits or so, sir.'
'Certainly,' replied Mr. Pickwick. 'Sam, give your father a chair.'
'Thank'ee, Samivel, I've got a cheer here,' said Mr. Weller,
bringing one forward as he spoke; 'uncommon fine day it's been,
sir,' added the old gentleman, laying his hat on the floor as he sat
himself down.
'Remarkably so, indeed,' replied Mr. Pickwick. 'Very seasonable.'
'Seasonablest veather I ever see, sir,' rejoined Mr. Weller.
Here, the old gentleman was seized with a violent fit of coughing,
which, being terminated, he nodded his head and winked and
made several supplicatory and threatening gestures to his son, all
of which Sam Weller steadily abstained from seeing.
Mr. Pickwick, perceiving that there was some embarrassment
on the old gentleman's part, affected to be engaged in cutting the
leaves of a book that lay beside him, and waited patiently until
Mr. Weller should arrive at the object of his visit.
'I never see sich a aggrawatin' boy as you are, Samivel,' said
Mr. Weller, looking indignantly at his son; 'never in all my born days.'
'What is he doing, Mr. Weller?' inquired Mr. Pickwick.
'He von't begin, sir,' rejoined Mr. Weller; 'he knows I ain't
ekal to ex-pressin' myself ven there's anythin' partickler to
be done, and yet he'll stand and see me a-settin' here taking
up your walable time, and makin' a reg'lar spectacle o' myself,
rayther than help me out vith a syllable. It ain't filial conduct,
Samivel,' said Mr. Weller, wiping his forehead; 'wery far from it.'
'You said you'd speak,' replied Sam; 'how should I know you
wos done up at the wery beginnin'?'
'You might ha' seen I warn't able to start,' rejoined his father;
'I'm on the wrong side of the road, and backin' into the palin's,
and all manner of unpleasantness, and yet you von't put out a
hand to help me. I'm ashamed on you, Samivel.'
'The fact is, Sir,' said Sam, with a slight bow, 'the gov'nor's
been a-drawin' his money.'
'Wery good, Samivel, wery good,' said Mr. Weller, nodding
his head with a satisfied air, 'I didn't mean to speak harsh to
you, Sammy. Wery good. That's the vay to begin. Come to the
pint at once. Wery good indeed, Samivel.'
Mr. Weller nodded his head an extraordinary number of
times, in the excess of his gratification, and waited in a listening
attitude for Sam to resume his statement.
'You may sit down, Sam,' said Mr. Pickwick, apprehending that
the interview was likely to prove rather longer than he had expected.
Sam bowed again and sat down; his father looking round, he
continued--
'The gov'nor, sir, has drawn out five hundred and thirty pound.'
'Reduced counsels,' interposed Mr. Weller, senior, in an undertone.
'It don't much matter vether it's reduced counsels, or wot not,'
said Sam; 'five hundred and thirty pounds is the sum, ain't it?'
'All right, Samivel,' replied Mr. Weller.
'To vich sum, he has added for the house and bisness--'
'Lease, good-vill, stock, and fixters,' interposed Mr. Weller.
'As much as makes it,' continued Sam, 'altogether, eleven
hundred and eighty pound.'
'Indeed!' said Mr. Pickwick. 'I am delighted to hear it. I
congratulate you, Mr. Weller, on having done so well.'
'Vait a minit, Sir,' said Mr. Weller, raising his hand in a
deprecatory manner. 'Get on, Samivel.'
'This here money,' said Sam, with a little hesitation, 'he's
anxious to put someveres, vere he knows it'll be safe, and I'm
wery anxious too, for if he keeps it, he'll go a-lendin' it to somebody,
or inwestin' property in horses, or droppin' his pocket-book
down an airy, or makin' a Egyptian mummy of his-self in
some vay or another.'
'Wery good, Samivel,' observed Mr. Weller, in as complacent
a manner as if Sam had been passing the highest eulogiums on
his prudence and foresight. 'Wery good.'
'For vich reasons,' continued Sam, plucking nervously at the
brim of his hat--'for vich reasons, he's drawn it out to-day, and
come here vith me to say, leastvays to offer, or in other vords--'
'To say this here,' said the elder Mr. Weller impatiently, 'that
it ain't o' no use to me. I'm a-goin' to vork a coach reg'lar, and
ha'n't got noveres to keep it in, unless I vos to pay the guard
for takin' care on it, or to put it in vun o' the coach pockets,
vich 'ud be a temptation to the insides. If you'll take care on
it for me, sir, I shall be wery much obliged to you. P'raps,' said
Mr. Weller, walking up to Mr. Pickwick and whispering in his
ear--'p'raps it'll go a little vay towards the expenses o' that
'ere conwiction. All I say is, just you keep it till I ask you for it
again.' With these words, Mr. Weller placed the pocket-book
in Mr. Pickwick's hands, caught up his hat, and ran out of the room
with a celerity scarcely to be expected from so corpulent a subject.
'Stop him, Sam!' exclaimed Mr. Pickwick earnestly. 'Overtake
him; bring him back instantly! Mr. Weller--here--come back!'
Sam saw that his master's injunctions were not to be disobeyed;
and, catching his father by the arm as he was descending the
stairs, dragged him back by main force.
'My good friend,' said Mr. Pickwick, taking the old man by
the hand, 'your honest confidence overpowers me.'
'I don't see no occasion for nothin' o' the kind, Sir,' replied
Mr. Weller obstinately.
'I assure you, my good friend, I have more money than I can
ever need; far more than a man at my age can ever live to spend,'
said Mr. Pickwick.
'No man knows how much he can spend, till he tries,' observed
Mr. Weller.
'Perhaps not,' replied Mr. Pickwick; 'but as I have no intention
of trying any such experiments, I am not likely to come to want.
I must beg you to take this back, Mr. Weller.'
'Wery well,' said Mr. Weller, with a discontented look. 'Mark
my vords, Sammy, I'll do somethin' desperate vith this here
property; somethin' desperate!'
'You'd better not,' replied Sam.
Mr. Weller reflected for a short time, and then, buttoning up
his coat with great determination, said--
'I'll keep a pike.'
'Wot!' exclaimed Sam.
'A pike!' rejoined Mr. Weller, through his set teeth; 'I'll keep
a pike. Say good-bye to your father, Samivel. I dewote the
remainder of my days to a pike.'
This threat was such an awful one, and Mr. Weller, besides
appearing fully resolved to carry it into execution, seemed so
deeply mortified by Mr. Pickwick's refusal, that that gentleman,
after a short reflection, said--
'Well, well, Mr. Weller, I will keep your money. I can do more
good with it, perhaps, than you can.'
'Just the wery thing, to be sure,' said Mr. Weller, brightening
up; 'o' course you can, sir.'
'Say no more about it,' said Mr. Pickwick, locking the pocketbook
in his desk; 'I am heartily obliged to you, my good friend.
Now sit down again. I want to ask your advice.'
The internal laughter occasioned by the triumphant success of
his visit, which had convulsed not only Mr. Weller's face, but
his arms, legs, and body also, during the locking up of the pocketbook,
suddenly gave place to the most dignified gravity as he
heard these words.
'Wait outside a few minutes, Sam, will you?' said Mr. Pickwick.
Sam immediately withdrew.
Mr. Weller looked uncommonly wise and very much amazed,
when Mr. Pickwick opened the discourse by saying--
'You are not an advocate for matrimony, I think, Mr. Weller?'
Mr. Weller shook his head. He was wholly unable to speak;
vague thoughts of some wicked widow having been successful in
her designs on Mr. Pickwick, choked his utterance.
'Did you happen to see a young girl downstairs when you came
in just now with your son?' inquired Mr. Pickwick.
'Yes. I see a young gal,' replied Mr. Weller shortly.
'What did you think of her, now? Candidly, Mr. Weller,
what did you think of her?'
'I thought she wos wery plump, and vell made,' said Mr.
Weller, with a critical air.
'So she is,' said Mr. Pickwick, 'so she is. What did you think
of her manners, from what you saw of her?'
'Wery pleasant,' rejoined Mr. Weller. 'Wery pleasant and
comformable.'
The precise meaning which Mr. Weller attached to this lastmentioned
adjective, did not appear; but, as it was evident from
the tone in which he used it that it was a favourable expression,
Mr. Pickwick was as well satisfied as if he had been thoroughly
enlightened on the subject.
'I take a great interest in her, Mr. Weller,' said Mr. Pickwick.
Mr. Weller coughed.
'I mean an interest in her doing well,' resumed Mr. Pickwick;
'a desire that she may be comfortable and prosperous. You understand?'
'Wery clearly,' replied Mr. Weller, who understood nothing yet.
'That young person,' said Mr. Pickwick, 'is attached to your son.'
'To Samivel Veller!' exclaimed the parent.
'Yes,' said Mr. Pickwick.
'It's nat'ral,' said Mr. Weller, after some consideration,
'nat'ral, but rayther alarmin'. Sammy must be careful.'
'How do you mean?' inquired Mr. Pickwick.
'Wery careful that he don't say nothin' to her,' responded
Mr. Weller. 'Wery careful that he ain't led avay, in a innocent
moment, to say anythin' as may lead to a conwiction for breach.
You're never safe vith 'em, Mr. Pickwick, ven they vunce has
designs on you; there's no knowin' vere to have 'em; and vile
you're a-considering of it, they have you. I wos married fust, that
vay myself, Sir, and Sammy wos the consekens o' the manoover.'
'You give me no great encouragement to conclude what I have
to say,' observed Mr. Pickwick, 'but I had better do so at once.
This young person is not only attached to your son, Mr. Weller,
but your son is attached to her.'
'Vell,' said Mr. Weller, 'this here's a pretty sort o' thing to
come to a father's ears, this is!'
'I have observed them on several occasions,' said Mr. Pickwick,
making no comment on Mr. Weller's last remark; 'and entertain
no doubt at all about it. Supposing I were desirous of establishing
them comfortably as man and wife in some little business or
situation, where they might hope to obtain a decent living, what
should you think of it, Mr. Weller?'
At first, Mr. Weller received with wry faces a proposition
involving the marriage of anybody in whom he took an interest;
but, as Mr. Pickwick argued the point with him, and laid great
stress on the fact that Mary was not a widow, he gradually became
more tractable. Mr. Pickwick had great influence over him, and
he had been much struck with Mary's appearance; having, in
fact, bestowed several very unfatherly winks upon her, already.
At length he said that it was not for him to oppose Mr. Pickwick's
inclination, and that he would be very happy to yield to his
advice; upon which, Mr. Pickwick joyfully took him at his word,
and called Sam back into the room.
'Sam,' said Mr. Pickwick, clearing his throat, 'your father and
I have been having some conversation about you.'
'About you, Samivel,' said Mr. Weller, in a patronising and
impressive voice.
'I am not so blind, Sam, as not to have seen, a long time since,
that you entertain something more than a friendly feeling
towards Mrs. Winkle's maid,' said Mr. Pickwick.
'You hear this, Samivel?' said Mr. Weller, in the same judicial
form of speech as before.
'I hope, Sir,' said Sam, addressing his master, 'I hope there's
no harm in a young man takin' notice of a young 'ooman as is
undeniably good-looking and well-conducted.'
'Certainly not,' said Mr. Pickwick.
'Not by no means,' acquiesced Mr. Weller, affably but magisterially.
'So far from thinking there is anything wrong in conduct so
natural,' resumed Mr. Pickwick, 'it is my wish to assist and
promote your wishes in this respect. With this view, I have had
a little conversation with your father; and finding that he is of
my opinion--'
'The lady not bein' a widder,' interposed Mr. Weller in explanation.
'The lady not being a widow,' said Mr. Pickwick, smiling. 'I
wish to free you from the restraint which your present position
imposes upon you, and to mark my sense of your fidelity and
many excellent qualities, by enabling you to marry this girl at
once, and to earn an independent livelihood for yourself and
family. I shall be proud, Sam,' said Mr. Pickwick, whose voice
had faltered a little hitherto, but now resumed its customary tone,
'proud and happy to make your future prospects in life my
grateful and peculiar care.'
There was a profound silence for a short time, and then Sam
said, in a low, husky sort of voice, but firmly withal--
'I'm very much obliged to you for your goodness, Sir, as is
only like yourself; but it can't be done.'
'Can't be done!' ejaculated Mr. Pickwick in astonishment.
'Samivel!' said Mr. Weller, with dignity.
'I say it can't be done,' repeated Sam in a louder key. 'Wot's
to become of you, Sir?'
'My good fellow,' replied Mr. Pickwick, 'the recent changes
among my friends will alter my mode of life in future, entirely;
besides, I am growing older, and want repose and quiet. My
rambles, Sam, are over.'
'How do I know that 'ere, sir?' argued Sam. 'You think so
now! S'pose you wos to change your mind, vich is not unlikely,
for you've the spirit o' five-and-twenty in you still, what 'ud
become on you vithout me? It can't be done, Sir, it can't be done.'
'Wery good, Samivel, there's a good deal in that,' said Mr.
Weller encouragingly.
'I speak after long deliberation, Sam, and with the certainty
that I shall keep my word,' said Mr. Pickwick, shaking his head.
'New scenes have closed upon me; my rambles are at an end.'
'Wery good,' rejoined Sam. 'Then, that's the wery best reason
wy you should alvays have somebody by you as understands you,
to keep you up and make you comfortable. If you vant a more
polished sort o' feller, vell and good, have him; but vages or no
vages, notice or no notice, board or no board, lodgin' or no
lodgin', Sam Veller, as you took from the old inn in the Borough,
sticks by you, come what may; and let ev'rythin' and ev'rybody
do their wery fiercest, nothin' shall ever perwent it!'
At the close of this declaration, which Sam made with great
emotion, the elder Mr. Weller rose from his chair, and, forgetting
all considerations of time, place, or propriety, waved his hat
above his head, and gave three vehement cheers.
'My good fellow,' said Mr. Pickwick, when Mr. Weller had
sat down again, rather abashed at his own enthusiasm, 'you are
bound to consider the young woman also.'
'I do consider the young 'ooman, Sir,' said Sam. 'I have
considered the young 'ooman. I've spoke to her. I've told her
how I'm sitivated; she's ready to vait till I'm ready, and I believe
she vill. If she don't, she's not the young 'ooman I take her for,
and I give her up vith readiness. You've know'd me afore, Sir.
My mind's made up, and nothin' can ever alter it.'
Who could combat this resolution? Not Mr. Pickwick. He
derived, at that moment, more pride and luxury of feeling from
the disinterested attachment of his humble friends, than ten
thousand protestations from the greatest men living could have
awakened in his heart.
While this conversation was passing in Mr. Pickwick's room,
a little old gentleman in a suit of snuff-coloured clothes, followed
by a porter carrying a small portmanteau, presented himself
below; and, after securing a bed for the night, inquired of the
waiter whether one Mrs. Winkle was staying there, to which
question the waiter of course responded in the affirmative.
'Is she alone?' inquired the old gentleman.
'I believe she is, Sir,' replied the waiter; 'I can call her own
maid, Sir, if you--'
'No, I don't want her,' said the old gentleman quickly. 'Show
me to her room without announcing me.'
'Eh, Sir?' said the waiter.
'Are you deaf?' inquired the little old gentleman.
'No, sir.'
'Then listen, if you please. Can you hear me now?'
'Yes, Sir.'
'That's well. Show me to Mrs. Winkle's room, without
announcing me.'
As the little old gentleman uttered this command, he slipped
five shillings into the waiter's hand, and looked steadily at him.
'Really, sir,' said the waiter, 'I don't know, sir, whether--'
'Ah! you'll do it, I see,' said the little old gentleman. 'You had
better do it at once. It will save time.'
There was something so very cool and collected in the gentleman's
manner, that the waiter put the five shillings in his pocket,
and led him upstairs without another word.
'This is the room, is it?' said the gentleman. 'You may go.'
The waiter complied, wondering much who the gentleman
could be, and what he wanted; the little old gentleman, waiting
till he was out of sight, tapped at the door.
'Come in,' said Arabella.
'Um, a pretty voice, at any rate,' murmured the little old
gentleman; 'but that's nothing.' As he said this, he opened the
door and walked in. Arabella, who was sitting at work, rose on
beholding a stranger--a little confused--but by no means
ungracefully so.
'Pray don't rise, ma'am,' said the unknown, walking in, and
closing the door after him. 'Mrs. Winkle, I believe?'
Arabella inclined her head.
'Mrs. Nathaniel Winkle, who married the son of the old man at
Birmingham?' said the stranger, eyeing Arabella with visible curiosity.
Again Arabella inclined her head, and looked uneasily round,
as if uncertain whether to call for assistance.
'I surprise you, I see, ma'am,' said the old gentleman.
'Rather, I confess,' replied Arabella, wondering more and more.
'I'll take a chair, if you'll allow me, ma'am,' said the stranger.
He took one; and drawing a spectacle-case from his pocket,
leisurely pulled out a pair of spectacles, which he adjusted on
his nose.
'You don't know me, ma'am?' he said, looking so intently at
Arabella that she began to feel alarmed.
'No, sir,' she replied timidly.
'No,' said the gentleman, nursing his left leg; 'I don't know
how you should. You know my name, though, ma'am.'
'Do I?' said Arabella, trembling, though she scarcely knew
why. 'May I ask what it is?'
'Presently, ma'am, presently,' said the stranger, not having yet
removed his eyes from her countenance. 'You have been recently
married, ma'am?'
'I have,' replied Arabella, in a scarcely audible tone, laying
aside her work, and becoming greatly agitated as a thought, that
had occurred to her before, struck more forcibly upon her mind.
'Without having represented to your husband the propriety of
first consulting his father, on whom he is dependent, I think?'
said the stranger.
Arabella applied her handkerchief to her eyes.
'Without an endeavour, even, to ascertain, by some indirect
appeal, what were the old man's sentiments on a point in which
he would naturally feel much interested?' said the stranger.
'I cannot deny it, Sir,' said Arabella.
'And without having sufficient property of your own to afford
your husband any permanent assistance in exchange for the
worldly advantages which you knew he would have gained if he
had married agreeably to his father's wishes?' said the old gentleman.
'This is what boys and girls call disinterested affection, till
they have boys and girls of their own, and then they see it in a
rougher and very different light!'
Arabella's tears flowed fast, as she pleaded in extenuation that
she was young and inexperienced; that her attachment had alone
induced her to take the step to which she had resorted; and that
she had been deprived of the counsel and guidance of her parents
almost from infancy.
'It was wrong,' said the old gentleman in a milder tone, 'very
wrong. It was romantic, unbusinesslike, foolish.'
'It was my fault; all my fault, Sir,' replied poor Arabella, weeping.
'Nonsense,' said the old gentleman; 'it was not your fault that
he fell in love with you, I suppose? Yes it was, though,' said the
old gentleman, looking rather slily at Arabella. 'It was your fault.
He couldn't help it.'
This little compliment, or the little gentleman's odd way of
paying it, or his altered manner--so much kinder than it was, at
first--or all three together, forced a smile from Arabella in the
midst of her tears.
'Where's your husband?' inquired the old gentleman, abruptly;
stopping a smile which was just coming over his own face.
'I expect him every instant, sir,' said Arabella. 'I persuaded
him to take a walk this morning. He is very low and wretched at
not having heard from his father.'
'Low, is he?' said the old gentlemen. 'Serve him right!'
'He feels it on my account, I am afraid,' said Arabella; 'and
indeed, Sir, I feel it deeply on his. I have been the sole means of
bringing him to his present condition.'
'Don't mind it on his account, my dear,' said the old gentleman.
'It serves him right. I am glad of it--actually glad of it, as
far as he is concerned.'
The words were scarcely out of the old gentleman's lips,
when footsteps were heard ascending the stairs, which he and
Arabella seemed both to recognise at the same moment. The
little gentleman turned pale; and, making a strong effort
to appear composed, stood up, as Mr. Winkle entered the room.
'Father!' cried Mr. Winkle, recoiling in amazement.
'Yes, sir,' replied the little old gentleman. 'Well, Sir, what have
you got to say to me?'
Mr. Winkle remained silent.
'You are ashamed of yourself, I hope, Sir?' said the old gentleman.
Still Mr. Winkle said nothing.
'Are you ashamed of yourself, Sir, or are you not?' inquired the
old gentleman.
'No, Sir,' replied Mr. Winkle, drawing Arabella's arm through
his. 'I am not ashamed of myself, or of my wife either.'
'Upon my word!' cried the old gentleman ironically.
'I am very sorry to have done anything which has lessened your
affection for me, Sir,' said Mr. Winkle; 'but I will say, at the same
time, that I have no reason to be ashamed of having this lady for
my wife, nor you of having her for a daughter.'
'Give me your hand, Nat,' said the old gentleman, in an
altered voice. 'Kiss me, my love. You are a very charming little
daughter-in-law after all!'
In a few minutes' time Mr. Winkle went in search of Mr.
Pickwick, and returning with that gentleman, presented him to
his father, whereupon they shook hands for five minutes incessantly.
'Mr. Pickwick, I thank you most heartily for all your kindness
to my son,' said old Mr. Winkle, in a bluff, straightforward way.
'I am a hasty fellow, and when I saw you last, I was vexed and
taken by surprise. I have judged for myself now, and am more
than satisfied. Shall I make any more apologies, Mr. Pickwick?'
'Not one,' replied that gentleman. 'You have done the only
thing wanting to complete my happiness.'
Hereupon there was another shaking of hands for five minutes
longer, accompanied by a great number of complimentary
speeches, which, besides being complimentary, had the additional
and very novel recommendation of being sincere.
Sam had dutifully seen his father to the Belle Sauvage, when,
on returning, he encountered the fat boy in the court, who had
been charged with the delivery of a note from Emily Wardle.
'I say,' said Joe, who was unusually loquacious, 'what a pretty
girl Mary is, isn't she? I am SO fond of her, I am!'
Mr. Weller made no verbal remark in reply; but eyeing the fat
boy for a moment, quite transfixed at his presumption, led him
by the collar to the corner, and dismissed him with a harmless
but ceremonious kick. After which, he walked home, whistling.
CHAPTER LVII
IN WHICH THE PICKWICK CLUB IS FINALLY DISSOLVED,
AND EVERYTHING CONCLUDED TO THE SATISFACTION
OF EVERYBODY
For a whole week after the happy arrival of Mr. Winkle from
Birmingham, Mr. Pickwick and Sam Weller were from home all day
long, only returning just in time for dinner, and then wearing
an air of mystery and importance quite foreign to their natures.
It was evident that very grave and eventful proceedings were on
foot; but various surmises were afloat, respecting their precise
character. Some (among whom was Mr. Tupman) were disposed to think
that Mr. Pickwick contemplated a matrimonial alliance; but this
idea the ladies most strenuously repudiated. Others rather inclined
to the belief that he had projected some distant tour, and was at
present occupied in effecting the preliminary arrangements; but
this again was stoutly denied by Sam himself, who had unequivocally
stated, when cross-examined by Mary, that no new journeys were
to be undertaken. At length, when the brains of the whole party had
been racked for six long days, by unavailing speculation, it was
unanimously resolved that Mr. Pickwick should be called upon to
explain his conduct, and to state distinctly why he had thus absented
himself from the society of his admiring friends.
With this view, Mr. Wardle invited the full circle to dinner at
the Adelphi; and the decanters having been thrice sent round,
opened the business.
'We are all anxious to know,' said the old gentleman, 'what
we have done to offend you, and to induce you to desert us and
devote yourself to these solitary walks.'
'Are you?' said Mr. Pickwick. 'It is singular enough that I had
intended to volunteer a full explanation this very day; so, if you
will give me another glass of wine, I will satisfy your curiosity.'
The decanters passed from hand to hand with unwonted
briskness, and Mr. Pickwick, looking round on the faces of his
friends with a cheerful smile, proceeded--
'All the changes that have taken place among us,' said Mr.
Pickwick, 'I mean the marriage that HAS taken place, and the
marriage that WILL take place, with the changes they involve,
rendered it necessary for me to think, soberly and at once, upon
my future plans. I determined on retiring to some quiet, pretty
neighbourhood in the vicinity of London; I saw a house which
exactly suited my fancy; I have taken it and furnished it. It is
fully prepared for my reception, and I intend entering upon it
at once, trusting that I may yet live to spend many quiet years in
peaceful retirement, cheered through life by the society of my
friends, and followed in death by their affectionate remembrance.'
Here Mr. Pickwick paused, and a low murmur ran round the table.
'The house I have taken,' said Mr. Pickwick, 'is at Dulwich.
It has a large garden, and is situated in one of the most pleasant
spots near London. It has been fitted up with every attention to
substantial comfort; perhaps to a little elegance besides; but of
that you shall judge for yourselves. Sam accompanies me there.
I have engaged, on Perker's representation, a housekeeper--a
very old one--and such other servants as she thinks I shall
require. I propose to consecrate this little retreat, by having a
ceremony in which I take a great interest, performed there. I
wish, if my friend Wardle entertains no objection, that his
daughter should be married from my new house, on the day I
take possession of it. The happiness of young people,' said
Mr. Pickwick, a little moved, 'has ever been the chief pleasure of
my life. It will warm my heart to witness the happiness of those
friends who are dearest to me, beneath my own roof.'
Mr. Pickwick paused again: Emily and Arabella sobbed audibly.
'I have communicated, both personally and by letter, with the
club,' resumed Mr. Pickwick, 'acquainting them with my intention.
During our long absence, it has suffered much from internal
dissentions; and the withdrawal of my name, coupled with this
and other circumstances, has occasioned its dissolution. The
Pickwick Club exists no longer.
'I shall never regret,' said Mr. Pickwick in a low voice, 'I shall
never regret having devoted the greater part of two years to
mixing with different varieties and shades of human character,
frivolous as my pursuit of novelty may have appeared to many.
Nearly the whole of my previous life having been devoted to
business and the pursuit of wealth, numerous scenes of which I
had no previous conception have dawned upon me--I hope to
the enlargement of my mind, and the improvement of my
understanding. If I have done but little good, I trust I have done
less harm, and that none of my adventures will be other than a
source of amusing and pleasant recollection to me in the decline
of life. God bless you all!'
With these words, Mr. Pickwick filled and drained a bumper
with a trembling hand; and his eyes moistened as his friends
rose with one accord, and pledged him from their hearts.
There were few preparatory arrangements to be made for the
marriage of Mr. Snodgrass. As he had neither father nor mother,
and had been in his minority a ward of Mr. Pickwick's, that
gentleman was perfectly well acquainted with his possessions and
prospects. His account of both was quite satisfactory to Wardle
--as almost any other account would have been, for the good old
gentleman was overflowing with Hilarity and kindness--and a
handsome portion having been bestowed upon Emily, the
marriage was fixed to take place on the fourth day from that time
--the suddenness of which preparations reduced three dressmakers
and a tailor to the extreme verge of insanity.
Getting post-horses to the carriage, old Wardle started off,
next day, to bring his mother back to town. Communicating his
intelligence to the old lady with characteristic impetuosity, she
instantly fainted away; but being promptly revived, ordered the
brocaded silk gown to be packed up forthwith, and proceeded
to relate some circumstances of a similar nature attending the
marriage of the eldest daughter of Lady Tollimglower, deceased,
which occupied three hours in the recital, and were not half
finished at last.
Mrs. Trundle had to be informed of all the mighty preparations
that were making in London; and, being in a delicate state of
health, was informed thereof through Mr. Trundle, lest the news
should be too much for her; but it was not too much for her,
inasmuch as she at once wrote off to Muggleton, to order a new
cap and a black satin gown, and moreover avowed her determination
of being present at the ceremony. Hereupon, Mr.
Trundle called in the doctor, and the doctor said Mrs. Trundle
ought to know best how she felt herself, to which Mrs. Trundle
replied that she felt herself quite equal to it, and that she had
made up her mind to go; upon which the doctor, who was a wise
and discreet doctor, and knew what was good for himself, as well
as for other people, said that perhaps if Mrs. Trundle stopped at
home, she might hurt herself more by fretting, than by going, so
perhaps she had better go. And she did go; the doctor with great
attention sending in half a dozen of medicine, to be drunk upon
the road.
In addition to these points of distraction, Wardle was
intrusted with two small letters to two small young ladies who
were to act as bridesmaids; upon the receipt of which, the two
young ladies were driven to despair by having no 'things' ready for so
important an occasion, and no time to make them in--a circumstance
which appeared to afford the two worthy papas of the
two small young ladies rather a feeling of satisfaction than
otherwise. However, old frocks were trimmed, and new bonnets
made, and the young ladies looked as well as could possibly
have been expected of them. And as they cried at the subsequent
ceremony in the proper places, and trembled at the right times,
they acquitted themselves to the admiration of all beholders.
How the two poor relations ever reached London--whether
they walked, or got behind coaches, or procured lifts in wagons,
or carried each other by turns--is uncertain; but there they were,
before Wardle; and the very first people that knocked at the door
of Mr. Pickwick's house, on the bridal morning, were the two
poor relations, all smiles and shirt collar.
They were welcomed heartily though, for riches or poverty had
no influence on Mr. Pickwick; the new servants were all alacrity
and readiness; Sam was in a most unrivalled state of high spirits
and excitement; Mary was glowing with beauty and smart ribands.
The bridegroom, who had been staying at the house for two or
three days previous, sallied forth gallantly to Dulwich Church to
meet the bride, attended by Mr. Pickwick, Ben Allen, Bob
Sawyer, and Mr. Tupman; with Sam Weller outside, having at
his button-hole a white favour, the gift of his lady-love, and clad
in a new and gorgeous suit of livery invented for the occasion.
They were met by the Wardles, and the Winkles, and the bride
and bridesmaids, and the Trundles; and the ceremony having
been performed, the coaches rattled back to Mr. Pickwick's to
breakfast, where little Mr. Perker already awaited them.
Here, all the light clouds of the more solemn part of the
proceedings passed away; every face shone forth joyously; and
nothing was to be heard but congratulations and commendations.
Everything was so beautiful! The lawn in front, the garden
behind, the miniature conservatory, the dining-room, the
drawing-room, the bedrooms, the smoking-room, and, above all,
the study, with its pictures and easy-chairs, and odd cabinets, and
queer tables, and books out of number, with a large cheerful
window opening upon a pleasant lawn and commanding a pretty
landscape, dotted here and there with little houses almost hidden
by the trees; and then the curtains, and the carpets, and the
chairs, and the sofas! Everything was so beautiful, so compact, so
neat, and in such exquisite taste, said everybody, that there really
was no deciding what to admire most.
And in the midst of all this, stood Mr. Pickwick, his countenance
lighted up with smiles, which the heart of no man, woman,
or child, could resist: himself the happiest of the group: shaking
hands, over and over again, with the same people, and when
his own hands were not so employed, rubbing them with
pleasure: turning round in a different direction at every fresh
expression of gratification or curiosity, and inspiring everybody
with his looks of gladness and delight.
Breakfast is announced. Mr. Pickwick leads the old lady (who
has been very eloquent on the subject of Lady Tollimglower) to
the top of a long table; Wardle takes the bottom; the friends
arrange themselves on either side; Sam takes his station behind
his master's chair; the laughter and talking cease; Mr. Pickwick,
having said grace, pauses for an instant and looks round him.
As he does so, the tears roll down his cheeks, in the fullness of
his joy.
Let us leave our old friend in one of those moments of unmixed
happiness, of which, if we seek them, there are ever some,
to cheer our transitory existence here. There are dark shadows
on the earth, but its lights are stronger in the contrast. Some men,
like bats or owls, have better eyes for the darkness than for the
light. We, who have no such optical powers, are better pleased
to take our last parting look at the visionary companions of many
solitary hours, when the brief sunshine of the world is blazing
full upon them.
It is the fate of most men who mingle with the world, and
attain even the prime of life, to make many real friends, and lose
them in the course of nature. It is the fate of all authors or
chroniclers to create imaginary friends, and lose them in the
course of art. Nor is this the full extent of their misfortunes; for
they are required to furnish an account of them besides.
In compliance with this custom--unquestionably a bad one
--we subjoin a few biographical words, in relation to the party
at Mr. Pickwick's assembled.
Mr. and Mrs. Winkle, being fully received into favour by the
old gentleman, were shortly afterwards installed in a newlybuilt
house, not half a mile from Mr. Pickwick's. Mr. Winkle,
being engaged in the city as agent or town correspondent of his
father, exchanged his old costume for the ordinary dress of
Englishmen, and presented all the external appearance of a
civilised Christian ever afterwards.
Mr. and Mrs. Snodgrass settled at Dingley Dell, where they
purchased and cultivated a small farm, more for occupation than
profit. Mr. Snodgrass, being occasionally abstracted and melancholy,
is to this day reputed a great poet among his friends and
acquaintance, although we do not find that he has ever written
anything to encourage the belief. There are many celebrated
characters, literary, philosophical, and otherwise, who hold a
high reputation on a similar tenure.
Mr. Tupman, when his friends married, and Mr. Pickwick
settled, took lodgings at Richmond, where he has ever since
resided. He walks constantly on the terrace during the summer
months, with a youthful and jaunty air, which has rendered him
the admiration of the numerous elderly ladies of single condition,
who reside in the vicinity. He has never proposed again.
Mr. Bob Sawyer, having previously passed through the
GAZETTE, passed over to Bengal, accompanied by Mr. Benjamin
Allen; both gentlemen having received surgical appointments
from the East India Company. They each had the yellow fever
fourteen times, and then resolved to try a little abstinence; since
which period, they have been doing well.
Mrs. Bardell let lodgings to many conversable single gentlemen,
with great profit, but never brought any more actions for breach
of promise of marriage. Her attorneys, Messrs. Dodson & Fogg,
continue in business, from which they realise a large income, and
in which they are universally considered among the sharpest of
the sharp.
Sam Weller kept his word, and remained unmarried, for two
years. The old housekeeper dying at the end of that time, Mr.
Pickwick promoted Mary to the situation, on condition of her
marrying Mr. Weller at once, which she did without a murmur.
From the circumstance of two sturdy little boys having been
repeatedly seen at the gate of the back garden, there is reason to
suppose that Sam has some family.
The elder Mr. Weller drove a coach for twelve months, but
being afflicted with the gout, was compelled to retire. The contents
of the pocket-book had been so well invested for him,
however, by Mr. Pickwick, that he had a handsome independence
to retire on, upon which he still lives at an excellent public-house
near Shooter's Hill, where he is quite reverenced as an oracle,
boasting very much of his intimacy with Mr. Pickwick, and
retaining a most unconquerable aversion to widows.
Mr. Pickwick himself continued to reside in his new house,
employing his leisure hours in arranging the memoranda which
he afterwards presented to the secretary of the once famous club,
or in hearing Sam Weller read aloud, with such remarks as
suggested themselves to his mind, which never failed to afford
Mr. Pickwick great amusement. He was much troubled at first,
by the numerous applications made to him by Mr. Snodgrass,
Mr. Winkle, and Mr. Trundle, to act as godfather to their
offspring; but he has become used to it now, and officiates as a
matter of course. He never had occasion to regret his bounty to
Mr. Jingle; for both that person and Job Trotter became, in time,
worthy members of society, although they have always steadily
objected to return to the scenes of their old haunts and temptations.
Mr. Pickwick is somewhat infirm now; but he retains all his
former juvenility of spirit, and may still be frequently seen,
contemplating the pictures in the Dulwich Gallery, or enjoying a
walk about the pleasant neighbourhood on a fine day. He is
known by all the poor people about, who never fail to take their
hats off, as he passes, with great respect. The children idolise him,
and so indeed does the whole neighbourhood. Every year he
repairs to a large family merry-making at Mr. Wardle's; on this,
as on all other occasions, he is invariably attended by the faithful
Sam, between whom and his master there exists a steady and
reciprocal attachment which nothing but death will terminate.