The Posthumous Papers of the Pickwick Club, v. 2 (of 2)
by Charles Dickens · English · Gutenberg #47535 · 920,908 chars · public domain (US)
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Title: The Posthumous Papers of the Pickwick Club, v. 2 (of 2)
Author: Charles Dickens
Illustrator: Cecil Aldin
Release date: December 4, 2014 [eBook #47535]
Most recently updated: October 24, 2024
Language: English
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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE POSTHUMOUS PAPERS OF THE PICKWICK CLUB, V. 2 (OF 2) ***
THE POSTHUMOUS PAPERS OF
THE PICKWICK CLUB
[Illustration: "_Gentlemen, what does this mean? 'Chops and Tomato
sauce. Yours, Pickwick.'_"]
THE POSTHUMOUS PAPERS
OF THE
PICKWICK CLUB
BY
CHARLES DICKENS
ILLUSTRATED BY
CECIL ALDIN
VOLUME THE SECOND
[Illustration]
NEW YORK
E. P. DUTTON & COMPANY
31 West Twenty-Third Street
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I PAGE
+The Story of the Goblins who Stole a Sexton+ 1
CHAPTER II
+How the Pickwickians made and cultivated the
Acquaintance of a couple of Nice Young Men belonging
to one of the Liberal Professions; how they Disported
themselves on the Ice; and how their First Visit came
to a Conclusion+ 12
CHAPTER III
+Which is all about the Law, and sundry great Authorities
learned therein+ 26
CHAPTER IV
+Describes, far more fully than the Court Newsman ever
did, a Bachelor's Party, given by Mr. Bob Sawyer at his
Lodgings in the Borough+ 43
CHAPTER V
+Mr. Weller the Elder delivers some Critical Sentiments
respecting Literary Composition; and, assisted by his
son Samuel, pays a small Instalment of Retaliation to
the Account of the Reverend Gentleman with the Red
Nose+ 59
CHAPTER VI
+Is wholly devoted to a Full and Faithful Report of the
Memorable Trial of Bardell against Pickwick+ 78
CHAPTER VII
+In which Mr. Pickwick thinks he had better go to Bath;
and goes accordingly+ 105
CHAPTER VIII
+The Chief Features of which, will be found to be an
Authentic Version of the Legend of Prince Bladud, and
a most extraordinary Calamity that befell Mr. Winkle+ 123
CHAPTER IX
+Honourably accounts for Mr. Weller's Absence, by
describing a Soiree to which he was Invited and went;
also relates how he was entrusted by Mr. Pickwick with
a Private Mission of Delicacy and Importance+ 136
CHAPTER X
+How Mr. Winkle, when he stepped out of the Frying-pan,
walked gently and comfortably into the Fire+ 151
CHAPTER XI
+Mr. Samuel Weller, being entrusted with a Mission of
Love, proceeds to Execute it; with what Success will
hereinafter appear+ 167
CHAPTER XII
+Introduces Mr. Pickwick to a New and not uninteresting
Scene in the great Drama of Life+ 184
CHAPTER XIII
+What befell Mr. Pickwick when he got into the Fleet;
what Prisoners he Saw there; and how he Passed the
Night+ 199
CHAPTER XIV
+Illustrative, like the preceding one, of the old
Proverb, That Adversity brings a Man acquainted with
Strange Bed-fellows. Likewise containing Mr. Pickwick's
extraordinary and startling Announcement to Mr. Samuel
Weller+ 214
CHAPTER XV
+Showing how Mr. Samuel Weller got into Difficulties+ 230
CHAPTER XVI
+Treats of divers little Matters which occurred in the
Fleet, and of Mr. Winkle's Mysterious Behaviour; and
shows how the poor Chancery Prisoner obtained his
Release at last+ 246
CHAPTER XVII
+Descriptive of an Affecting Interview between Mr. Samuel
Weller and a Family Party. Mr. Pickwick makes a Tour of
the Diminutive World he inhabits, and resolves to mix
with it, in future, as little as possible+ 261
CHAPTER XVIII
+Records a touching Act of delicate Feeling, not unmixed
With Pleasantry, achieved and performed by Messrs.
Dodson and Fogg+ 280
CHAPTER XIX
+Is chiefly devoted to Matters of Business, and the
Temporal Advantage of Dodson and Fogg. Mr. Winkle
reappears under Extraordinary Circumstances. Mr.
Pickwick's Benevolence proves stronger than his
Obstinacy+ 292
CHAPTER XX
+Relates how Mr. Pickwick, with the assistance of Samuel
Weller, essayed to soften the Heart of Mr. Benjamin
Allen, and to mollify the Wrath of Mr. Robert Sawyer+ 305
CHAPTER XXI
+Containing the Story of the Bagman's Uncle+ 320
CHAPTER XXII
+How Mr. Pickwick sped upon his Mission, and how he
was Reinforced in the Outset by a most unexpected
Auxiliary+ 340
CHAPTER XXIII
+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+ 357
CHAPTER XXIV
+Involving a serious Change in the Weller Family, and the
untimely Downfall of the Red-nosed Mr. Stiggins+ 374
CHAPTER XXV
+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+ 387
CHAPTER XXVI
+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+ 402
CHAPTER XXVII
+Mr. Solomon Pell, assisted by a Select Committee of
Coachmen, arranges the Affairs of the Elder Mr. Weller+ 420
CHAPTER XXVIII
+An important Conference takes place between Mr. Pickwick
and Samuel Weller, at which his Parent assists.
An old Gentleman in a Snuff-coloured Suit arrives
unexpectedly+ 434
CHAPTER XXIX
+In which the Pickwick Club is finally Dissolved, and
Everything Concluded to the Satisfaction of Everybody+ 449
ILLUSTRATIONS
IN COLOUR
_"Gentlemen, what does this mean? 'Chops and Tomato
sauce. Yours, Pickwick'"_ _Frontispiece_
_A face, head, and shoulders, emerged from beneath the
water, and disclosed the features and spectacles of Mr.
Pickwick_ _Facing page_ 22
_"A what!" asked Mr. Weller, apparently horror-stricken
by the word. "A Walentine," replied Sam_ " 64
_Mr. Winkle took to his heels and tore round the
Crescent_ " 134
_And here, to the great horror of Mr. John Smauker, Sam
Weller began to whistle_ " 138
_"Lor', do adun, Mr. Weller!"_ " 170
_The cavalcade gave three tremendous cheers_ " 244
_"I drove the old piebald"_ " 264
_He felled Mr. Benjamin Allen to the ground_ " 310
_It was a beautiful and exhilarating sight to see the
red-nosed man writhing in Mr. Weller's grasp_ " 386
_The admiration of numerous elderly ladies of single
condition_ " 454
IN TEXT
PAGE
_Heading to Chapter I_ 1
_Heading to Chapter II_ 12
_"Now then, sir," said Sam, "off vith you, and show 'em
how to do it"_ 18
_Went slowly and gravely down the slide_ 21
_Heading to Chapter III_ 26
_Heading to Chapter IV_ 43
_"If you'll have the kindness to settle that little bill
of mine I'll thank you"_ 46
_Heading to Chapter V_ 59
_"Is there anybody here, named Sam?"_ 60
_Heading to Chapter VI_ 78
_Heading to Chapter VII_ 105
_"Do you do anything in this way, sir?" inquired the tall
footman_ 117
_Heading to Chapter VIII_ 123
_Heading to Chapter IX_ 136
_Heading to Chapter X_ 151
_"You've been stopping to over all the posts in Bristol"_ 156
_Heading to Chapter XI_ 167
_Heading to Chapter XII_ 184
_"Take your hat off"_ 187
_Heading to Chapter XIII_ 199
_"Come on--both of you"_ 209
_Heading to Chapter XIV_ 214
_Heading to Chapter XV_ 230
_After a violent struggle, released his head and face_ 236
_Heading to Chapter XVI_ 246
_Heading to Chapter XVII_ 261
_Heading to Chapter XVIII_ 280
_A shabby man in black leggings_ 287
_Heading to Chapter XIX_ 292
_Heading to Chapter XX_ 305
_Heading to Chapter XXI_ 320
_"My uncle gave a loud stamp on the boot in the energy of
the moment"_ 338
_Heading to Chapter XXII_ 340
_Mr. Winkle senior_ 352
_Heading to Chapter XXIII_ 357
_Heading to Chapter XXIV_ 374
_Heading to Chapter XXV_ 387
_Heading to Chapter XXVI_ 402
_His jolly red face shining with smiles and health_ 404
_Pointed with his thumb over his shoulder_ 416
_Heading to Chapter XXVII_ 420
_A cold collation of an Abernethy biscuit and a saveloy_ 423
_Heading to Chapter XXVIII_ 434
_A little old gentleman in a suit of snuff-coloured
clothes_ 444
_Dismissed him with a harmless but ceremonious kick_ 448
_Heading to Chapter XXIX_ 449
_"The happiness of young people," said Mr. Pickwick, a
little moved, "has ever been the chief pleasure of my
life"_ 451
_Exchanged his old costume for the ordinary dress of
Englishmen_ 455
_Tailpiece to Chapter XXIX_ 457
CHAPTER I
_The Story of the Goblins who stole a Sexton_
[Illustration]
"In an old abbey town, down in this part of the country, a long, long
while ago--so long, that the story must be a true one, because our
great-grandfathers implicitly believed it--there officiated as sexton
and grave-digger in the churchyard, one Gabriel Grub. It by no means
follows that because a man is a sexton, and constantly surrounded
by the emblems of mortality, therefore he should be a morose and
melancholy man; your undertakers are the merriest fellows in the world;
and I once had the honour of being on intimate terms with a mute, who
in private life, and off duty, was as comical and jocose a little
fellow as ever chirped out a devil-may-care song, without a hitch in
his memory, or drained off the contents of a good stiff glass without
stopping for breath. But, notwithstanding these precedents to the
contrary, Gabriel Grub was an ill-conditioned, cross-grained, surly
fellow--a morose and lonely man, who consorted with nobody but himself,
and an old wicker bottle which fitted into his large deep waistcoat
pocket--and who eyed each merry face, as it passed him by, with such
a deep scowl of malice and ill-humour, as it was difficult to meet,
without feeling something the worse for.
"A little before twilight, one Christmas Eve, Gabriel shouldered
his spade, lighted his lantern, and betook himself towards the old
churchyard; for he had got a grave to finish by next morning, and,
feeling very low, he thought it might raise his spirits, perhaps, if
he went on with his work at once. As he went his way, up the ancient
street, he saw the cheerful light of blazing fires gleam through
the old casements, and heard the loud laugh and the cheerful shouts
of those who were assembled around them; he marked the bustling
preparations for next day's cheer, and smelt the numerous savoury
odours consequent thereupon, as they steamed up from the kitchen
windows in clouds. All this was gall and wormwood to the heart of
Gabriel Grub: and when groups of children bounded out of the houses,
tripped across the road, and were met, before they could knock at the
opposite door, by half a dozen curly-headed little rascals who crowded
round them as they flocked up-stairs to spend the evening in their
Christmas games, Gabriel smiled grimly, and clutched the handle of his
spade with a firmer grasp, as he thought of measles, scarlet-fever,
thrush, hooping-cough, and a good many other sources of consolation
besides.
"In this happy frame of mind, Gabriel strode along: returning a short,
sullen growl to the good-humoured greetings of such of his neighbours
as now and then passed him: until he turned into the dark lane which
led to the churchyard. Now, Gabriel had been looking forward to
reaching the dark lane, because it was, generally speaking, a nice,
gloomy, mournful place, into which the townspeople did not much
care to go, except in broad daylight, and when the sun was shining;
consequently, he was not a little indignant to hear a young urchin
roaring out some jolly song about a merry Christmas, in this very
sanctuary, which had been called Coffin Lane ever since the days of the
old abbey, and the time of the shaven-headed monks. As Gabriel walked
on, and the voice drew nearer, he found it proceeded from a small boy,
who was hurrying along, to join one of the little parties in the old
street, and who, partly to keep himself company, and partly to prepare
himself for the occasion, was shouting out the song at the highest
pitch of his lungs. So Gabriel waited until the boy came up, and then
dodged him into a corner, and rapped him over the head with his lantern
five or six times, to teach him to modulate his voice. And as the boy
hurried away with his hand to his head, singing quite a different sort
of tune, Gabriel Grub chuckled very heartily to himself, and entered
the churchyard: locking the gate behind him.
"He took off his coat, put down his lantern, and getting into the
unfinished grave, worked at it for an hour or so, with right good
will. But the earth was hardened with the frost, and it was no very
easy matter to break it up, and shovel it out; and although there
was a moon, it was a very young one, and shed little light upon the
grave, which was in the shadow of the church. At any other time, these
obstacles would have made Gabriel Grub very moody and miserable, but
he was so well pleased with having stopped the small boy's singing,
that he took little heed of the scanty progress he had made, and looked
down into the grave, when he had finished work for the night, with grim
satisfaction: murmuring as he gathered up his things:
'Brave lodgings for one, brave lodgings for one,
A few feet of cold earth, when life is done;
A stone at the head, a stone at the feet,
A rich, juicy meal for the worms to eat;
Rank grass over head, and damp clay around,
Brave lodgings for one, these, in holy ground!'
"'Ho! ho!' laughed Gabriel Grub, as he sat himself down on a flat
tombstone which was a favourite resting-place of his; and drew forth
his wicker bottle. 'A coffin at Christmas! A Christmas Box. Ho! ho! ho!'
"'Ho! ho! ho!' repeated a voice which sounded close behind him.
"Gabriel paused, in some alarm, in the act of raising the wicker bottle
to his lips: and looked round. The bottom of the oldest grave about him
was not more still and quiet than the churchyard in the pale moonlight.
The cold hoar-frost glistened on the tombstones, and sparkled like rows
of gems, among the stone carvings of the old church. The snow lay hard
and crisp upon the ground; and spread over the thickly-strewn mounds of
earth, so white and smooth a cover, that it seemed as if corpses lay
there, hidden only by their winding-sheets. Not the faintest rustle
broke the profound tranquillity of the solemn scene. Sound itself
appeared to be frozen up, all was so cold and still.
"'It was the echoes,' said Gabriel Grub, raising the bottle to his lips
again.
"'It was _not_,' said a deep voice.
"Gabriel started up, and stood rooted to the spot with astonishment and
terror; for his eyes rested on a form that made his blood run cold.
"Seated on an upright tombstone, close to him, was a strange unearthly
figure, whom Gabriel felt at once, was no being of this world. His long
fantastic legs, which might have reached the ground, were cocked up,
and crossed after a quaint, fantastic fashion; his sinewy arms were
bare; and his hands rested on his knees. On his short round body, he
wore a close covering, ornamented with small slashes; a short cloak
dangled at his back; the collar was cut into curious peaks, which
served the goblin in lieu of ruff or neckerchief; and his shoes curled
up at his toes into long points. On his head he wore a broad-brimmed
sugar-loaf hat, garnished with a single feather. The hat was covered
with the white frost; and the goblin looked as if he had sat on the
same tombstone, very comfortably, for two or three hundred years. He
was sitting perfectly still; his tongue was put out, as if in derision;
and he was grinning at Gabriel Grub with such a grin as only a goblin
could call up.
"'It was _not_ the echoes,' said the goblin.
"Gabriel Grub was paralysed, and could make no reply.
"'What do you do here on Christmas Eve?' said the goblin, sternly.
"'I came to dig a grave, sir,' stammered Gabriel Grub.
"'What man wanders among graves and churchyards on such a night as
this?' cried the goblin.
"'Gabriel Grub! Gabriel Grub!' screamed a wild chorus of voices that
seemed to fill the churchyard. Gabriel looked fearfully round--nothing
was to be seen.
"'What have you got in that bottle?' said the goblin.
"'Hollands, sir,' replied the sexton, trembling more than ever; for
he had bought it of the smugglers, and he thought that perhaps his
questioner might be in the excise department of the goblins.
"'Who drinks Hollands alone, and in the churchyard, on such a night as
this?' said the goblin.
"'Gabriel Grub! Gabriel Grub!' exclaimed the wild voices again.
"The goblin leered maliciously at the terrified sexton, and then
raising his voice exclaimed:
"'And who, then, is our fair and lawful prize?'
"To this inquiry the invisible chorus replied, in a strain that sounded
like the voices of many choristers singing to the mighty swell of the
old church organ--a strain that seemed borne to the sexton's ears upon
a wild wind, and to die away as it passed onward; but the burden of the
reply was still the same, 'Gabriel Grub! Gabriel Grub!'
"The goblin grinned a broader grin than before, as he said, 'Well,
Gabriel, what do you say to this?'
"The sexton gasped for breath.
"'What do you think of this, Gabriel?' said the goblin, kicking up
his feet in the air on either side of the tombstone, and looking
at the turned-up points with as much complacency as if he had been
contemplating the most fashionable pair of Wellingtons in all Bond
Street.
"'It's--it's--very curious, sir,' replied the sexton, half dead with
fright; 'very curious, and very pretty, but I think I'll go back and
finish my work, sir, if you please.'
"'Work!' said the goblin, 'what work?'
"'The grave, sir; making the grave,' stammered the sexton.
"'Oh, the grave, eh?' said the goblin; 'who makes graves at a time when
all other men are merry, and takes a pleasure in it?'
"Again the mysterious voices replied, 'Gabriel Grub! Gabriel Grub!'
"'I'm afraid my friends want you, Gabriel,' said the goblin, thrusting
his tongue further into his cheek than ever--and a most astonishing
tongue it was--'I'm afraid my friends want you, Gabriel,' said the
goblin.
"'Under favour, sir,' replied the horror-stricken sexton, 'I don't
think they can, sir; they don't know me, sir; I don't think the
gentlemen have ever seen me, sir.'
"'Oh yes, they have,' replied the goblin; 'we know the man with the
sulky face and grim scowl, that came down the street to-night, throwing
his evil looks at the children, and grasping his burying-spade the
tighter. We know the man who struck the boy in the envious malice of
his heart, because the boy could be merry, and he could not. We know
him, we know him.'
"Here the goblin gave a loud shrill laugh, which the echoes returned
twenty-fold: and throwing his legs up in the air, stood upon his head,
or rather upon the very point of his sugar-loaf hat, on the narrow
edge of the tombstone: whence he threw a somerset with extraordinary
agility, right to the sexton's feet, at which he planted himself in the
attitude in which tailors generally sit upon the shop-board.
"'I--I--am afraid I must leave you, sir,' said the sexton, making an
effort to move.
"'Leave us!' said the goblin, 'Gabriel Grub going to leave us. Ho! ho!
ho!'
"As the goblin laughed, the sexton observed, for one instant, a
brilliant illumination within the windows of the church, as if the
whole building were lighted up; it disappeared, the organ pealed forth
a lively air, and whole troops of goblins, the very counterpart of the
first one, poured into the churchyard, and began playing at leap-frog
with the tombstones: never stopping for an instant to take breath, but
'overing' the highest among them, one after the other, with the utmost
marvellous dexterity. The first goblin was a most astonishing leaper,
and none of the others could come near him; even in the extremity of
his terror the sexton could not help observing, that while his friends
were content to leap over the common-sized gravestones, the first one
took the family vaults, iron railings and all, with as much ease as if
they had been so many street posts.
"At last the game reached to a most exciting pitch; the organ played
quicker and quicker; and the goblins leaped faster and faster: coiling
themselves up, rolling head over heels upon the ground, and bounding
over the tombstones like footballs. The sexton's brain whirled round
with the rapidity of the motion he beheld, and his legs reeled beneath
him, as the spirits flew before his eyes: when the goblin king,
suddenly darting towards him, laid his hand upon his collar, and sank
with him through the earth.
"When Gabriel Grub had had time to fetch his breath, which the rapidity
of his descent had for the moment taken away, he found himself in what
appeared to be a huge cavern, surrounded on all sides by crowds of
goblins, ugly and grim; in the centre of the room, on an elevated seat,
was stationed his friend of the churchyard; and close beside him stood
Gabriel Grub himself, without power of motion.
"'Cold to-night,' said the king of the goblins, 'very cold. A glass of
something warm, here!'
"At this command, half a dozen officious goblins, with a perpetual
smile upon their faces, whom Gabriel Grub imagined to be courtiers, on
that account, hastily disappeared, and presently returned with a goblet
of liquid fire, which they presented to the king.
"'Ah!' cried the goblin, whose cheeks and throat were transparent, as
he tossed down the flame, 'this warms one, indeed! Bring a bumper of
the same for Mr. Grub.'
"It was in vain for the unfortunate sexton to protest that he was not
in the habit of taking anything warm at night; one of the goblins held
him while another poured the blazing liquid down his throat; the whole
assembly screeched with laughter as he coughed and choked, and wiped
away the tears which gushed plentifully from his eyes, after swallowing
the burning draught.
"'And now,' said the king, fantastically poking the taper corner of his
sugar-loaf hat into the sexton's eye, and thereby occasioning him the
most exquisite pain: 'And now, show the man of misery and gloom, a few
of the pictures from our own great storehouse!'
"As the goblin said this, a thick cloud which obscured the remoter
end of the cavern rolled gradually away, and disclosed, apparently at
a great distance, a small and scantily furnished, but neat and clean
apartment. A crowd of little children were gathered round a bright
fire, clinging to their mother's gown, and gambolling around her chair.
The mother occasionally rose, and drew aside the window-curtain, as if
to look for some expected object; a frugal meal was ready spread upon
the table; and an elbow chair was placed near the fire. A knock was
heard at the door: the mother opened it, and the children crowded round
her, and clapped their hands for joy, as their father entered. He was
wet and weary, and shook the snow from his garments, as the children
crowded round him, and seizing his cloak, hat, stick, and gloves,
with busy zeal, ran with them from the room. Then, as he sat down to
his meal before the fire, the children climbed about his knee, and the
mother sat by his side, and all seemed happiness and comfort.
"But a change came upon the view, almost imperceptibly. The scene was
altered to a small bed-room, where the fairest and youngest child lay
dying; the roses had fled from his cheek, and the light from his eye;
and even as the sexton looked upon him with an interest he had never
felt or known before, he died. His young brothers and sisters crowded
round his little bed, and seized his tiny hand, so cold and heavy; but
they shrunk back from its touch, and looked with awe on his infant
face; for calm and tranquil as it was, and sleeping in rest and peace
as the beautiful child seemed to be, they saw that he was dead, and
they knew that he was an Angel looking down upon, and blessing them,
from a bright and happy Heaven.
"Again the light cloud passed across the picture, and again the subject
changed. The father and mother were old and helpless now, and the
number of those about them was diminished more than half; but content
and cheerfulness sat on every face, and beamed in every eye, as they
crowded round the fireside, and told and listened to old stories of
earlier and bygone days. Slowly and peacefully the father sank into
the grave, and, soon after, the sharer of all his cares and troubles
followed him to a place of rest. The few, who yet survived them, knelt
by their tomb, and watered the green turf which covered it, with their
tears; then rose, and turned away: sadly and mournfully, but not with
bitter cries, or despairing lamentations, for they knew that they
should one day meet again; and once more they mixed with the busy
world, and their content and cheerfulness were restored. The cloud
settled upon the picture, and concealed it from the sexton's view.
"'What do you think of _that_?' said the goblin, turning his large face
towards Gabriel Grub.
"Gabriel murmured out something about its being very pretty, and looked
somewhat ashamed, as the goblin bent his fiery eyes upon him.
"'_You_ a miserable man!' said the goblin, in a tone of excessive
contempt. 'You!' He appeared disposed to add more, but indignation
choked his utterance, so he lifted up one of his very pliable legs, and
flourishing it above his head a little, to insure his aim, administered
a good sound kick to Gabriel Grub; immediately after which, all the
goblins in waiting crowded round the wretched sexton, and kicked him
without mercy: according to the established and invariable custom of
courtiers upon earth, who kick whom royalty kicks, and hug whom royalty
hugs.
"'Show him some more!' said the king of the goblins.
"At these words, the cloud was dispelled, and a rich and beautiful
landscape was disclosed to view--there is just such another to this
day, within half a mile of the old abbey town. The sun shone from
out the clear blue sky, the water sparkled beneath his rays, and the
trees looked greener, and the flowers more gay, beneath his cheering
influence. The water rippled on, with a pleasant sound; the trees
rustled in the light wind that murmured among their leaves; the birds
sang upon the boughs; and the lark carolled on high, her welcome to the
morning. Yes, it was morning: the bright, balmy morning of summer; the
minutest leaf, the smallest blade of grass, was instinct with life.
The ant crept forth to her daily toil, the butterfly fluttered and
basked in the warm rays of the sun; myriads of insects spread their
transparent wings, and revelled in their brief but happy existence.
Man walked forth, elated with the scene; and all was brightness and
splendour.
"'_You_ a miserable man!' said the king of the goblins, in a more
contemptuous tone than before. And again the king of the goblins gave
his leg a flourish; again it descended on the shoulders of the sexton;
and again the attendant goblins imitated the example of their chief.
"Many a time the cloud went and came, and many a lesson it taught to
Gabriel Grub, who, although his shoulders smarted with pain from the
frequent applications of the goblins' feet, looked on with an interest
that nothing could diminish. He saw that men who worked hard, and
earned their scanty bread with lives of labour, were cheerful and
happy; and that to the most ignorant, the sweet face of nature was a
never-failing source of cheerfulness and joy. He saw those who had
been delicately nurtured, and tenderly brought up, cheerful under
privations, and superior to suffering, that would have crushed many
of a rougher grain, because they bore within their own bosoms the
materials of happiness, contentment, and peace. He saw that women, the
tenderest and most fragile of all God's creatures, were the oftenest
superior to sorrow, adversity, and distress; and he saw that it was
because they bore in their own hearts, an inexhaustible well-spring of
affection and devotion. Above all, he saw that men like himself, who
snarled at the mirth and cheerfulness of others, were the foulest weeds
on the fair face of the earth; and setting all the good of the world
against the evil, he came to the conclusion that it was a very decent
and respectable sort of world after all. No sooner had he formed it,
than the cloud which closed over the last picture, seemed to settle on
his senses, and lull him to repose. One by one the goblins faded from
his sight; and as the last one disappeared, he sunk to sleep.
"The day had broken when Gabriel Grub awoke, and found himself lying,
at full length, on the flat grave-stone in the churchyard with the
wicker bottle lying empty by his side, and his coat, spade, and
lantern, all well whitened by the last night's frost, scattered on
the ground. The stone on which he had first seen the goblin seated,
stood bolt upright before him, and the grave at which he had worked,
the night before, was not far off. At first, he began to doubt the
reality of his adventures, but the acute pain in his shoulders when
he attempted to rise, assured him that the kicking of the goblins was
certainly not ideal. He was staggered again, by observing no traces of
footsteps in the snow, on which the goblins had played at leap-frog
with the grave-stones, but he speedily accounted for this circumstance
when he remembered that, being spirits, they would leave no visible
impression behind them. So, Gabriel Grub got on his feet as well as he
could, for the pain in his back; and brushing the frost off his coat,
put it on, and turned his face towards the town.
"But he was an altered man, and he could not bear the thought of
returning to a place where his repentance would be scoffed at, and his
reformation disbelieved. He hesitated for a few moments; and then
turned away to wander where he might, and seek his bread elsewhere.
"The lantern, the spade, and the wicker bottle, were found, that day,
in the churchyard. There were a great many speculations about the
sexton's fate, at first, but it was speedily determined that he had
been carried away by the goblins; and there were not wanting some
very credible witnesses who had distinctly seen him whisked through
the air on the back of a chestnut horse blind of one eye, with the
hind-quarters of a lion, and the tail of a bear. At length all this was
devoutly believed; and the new sexton used to exhibit to the curious,
for a trifling emolument, a good-sized piece of the church weathercock
which had been accidentally kicked off by the aforesaid horse in his
aërial flight, and picked up by himself in the churchyard, a year or
two afterwards.
"Unfortunately, these stories were somewhat disturbed by the
unlooked-for reappearance of Gabriel Grub himself, some ten years
afterwards, a ragged, contented, rheumatic old man. He told his story
to the clergyman, and also to the mayor; and in course of time it began
to be received as a matter of history, in which form it has continued
down to this very day. The believers in the weathercock tale, having
misplaced their confidence once, were not easily prevailed upon to
part with it again, so they looked as wise as they could, shrugged
their shoulders, touched their foreheads, and murmured something about
Gabriel Grub having drunk all the Hollands, and then fallen asleep
on the flat tombstone; and they affected to explain what he supposed
he had witnessed in the goblins' cavern, by saying that he had seen
the world, and grown wiser. But this opinion, which was by no means a
popular one at any time, gradually died off; and be the matter how it
may, as Gabriel Grub was afflicted with rheumatism to the end of his
days, this story has at least one moral, if it teach no better one--and
that is, that if a man turn sulky and drink by himself at Christmas
time, he may make up his mind to be not a bit the better for it: let
the spirits be never so good, or let them be even as many degrees
beyond proof, as those which Gabriel Grub saw in the goblins' cavern."
CHAPTER II
[Illustration]
_How the Pickwickians made and cultivated the Acquaintance of
a couple of Nice Young Men belonging to one of the Liberal
Professions; how they Disported themselves on the Ice; and how
their First Visit came to a Conclusion_
"Well, Sam," said Mr. Pickwick as that favoured servitor entered his
bed-chamber with his warm water, on the morning of Christmas Day,
"still frosty?"
"Water in the wash-hand basin's a mask o' ice, sir," responded Sam.
"Severe weather, Sam," observed Mr. Pickwick.
"Fine time for them as is well wropped up, as the Polar Bear said to
himself, ven he was practising his skating," replied Mr. Weller.
"I shall be down in a quarter of an hour, Sam," said Mr. Pickwick,
untying his nightcap.
"Wery good, sir," replied Sam. "There's a couple o' Sawbones
downstairs."
"A couple of what!" exclaimed Mr. Pickwick, sitting up in bed.
"A couple o' Sawbones," said Sam.
"What's a Sawbones?" inquired Mr. Pickwick, not quite certain whether
it was a live animal, or something to eat.
"What! Don't you know what a Sawbones is, sir?" inquired Mr. Weller.
"I thought everybody know'd as a Sawbones was a surgeon."
"Oh, a surgeon, eh?" said Mr. Pickwick, with a smile.
"Just that, sir," replied Sam. "These here ones as is below, though,
ain't reg'lar thorough-bred Sawbones; they're only in trainin'."
"In other words they're medical students, I suppose?" said Mr. Pickwick.
Sam Weller nodded assent.
"I am glad of it," said Mr. Pickwick, casting his nightcap energetically
on the counterpane. "They are fine fellows; very fine fellows; with
judgments matured by observation and reflection; tastes refined by
reading and study. I am very glad of it."
"They're a smokin' cigars by the kitchen fire," said Sam.
"Ah!" observed Mr. Pickwick, rubbing his hands, "overflowing with
kindly feelings and animal spirits. Just what I like to see."
"And one on 'em," said Sam, not noticing his master's interruption,
"one on 'em's got his legs on the table, and is a drinkin' brandy
neat, vile the tother one--him in the barnacles--has got a barrel o'
oysters atween his knees, wich he's a openin' like steam, and as fast
as he eats 'em, he takes a aim vith the shells at young dropsy, who's a
sittin' down fast asleep, in the chimbley corner."
"Eccentricities of genius, Sam," said Mr. Pickwick. "You may retire."
Sam did retire accordingly; Mr. Pickwick, at the expiration of the
quarter of an hour, went down to breakfast.
"Here he is at last!" said old Mr. Wardle. "Pickwick, this is Miss
Allen's brother, Mr. Benjamin Allen. Ben we call him, and so may you if
you like. This gentleman is his very particular friend, Mr. ----"
"Mr. Bob Sawyer," interposed Mr. Benjamin Allen; whereupon Mr. Bob
Sawyer and Mr. Benjamin Allen laughed in concert.
Mr. Pickwick bowed to Bob Sawyer, and Bob Sawyer bowed to Mr. Pickwick;
Bob and his very particular friend then applied themselves most
assiduously to the eatables before them, and Mr. Pickwick had an
opportunity of glancing at them both.
Mr. Benjamin Allen was a coarse, stout, thickset young man, with
black hair cut rather short, and a white face cut rather long. He was
embellished with spectacles, and wore a white neckerchief. Below his
single-breasted black surtout, which was buttoned up to his chin,
appeared the usual number of pepper-and-salt coloured legs, terminating
in a pair of imperfectly polished boots. Although his coat was short in
the sleeves, it disclosed no vestige of a linen wristband; and although
there was quite enough of his face to admit of the encroachment of
a shirt collar, it was not graced by the smallest approach to that
appendage. He presented, altogether, rather a mildewy appearance, and
emitted a fragrant odour of full-flavoured Cubas.
Mr. Bob Sawyer, who was habited in a coarse blue coat, which, without
being either a great-coat or a surtout, partook of the nature and
qualities of both, had about him that sort of slovenly smartness, and
swaggering gait, which is peculiar to young gentlemen who smoke in the
streets by day, shout and scream in the same by night, call waiters
by their Christian names, and do various other acts and deeds of an
equally facetious description. He wore a pair of plaid trousers, and a
large rough double-breasted waistcoat; out of doors, he carried a thick
stick with a big top. He eschewed gloves, and looked, upon the whole,
something like a dissipated Robinson Crusoe.
Such were the two worthies to whom Mr. Pickwick was introduced, as he
took his seat at the breakfast table on Christmas morning.
"Splendid morning, gentlemen," said Mr. Pickwick.
Mr. Bob Sawyer slightly nodded his assent to the proposition, and asked
Mr. Benjamin Allen for the mustard.
"Have you come far this morning, gentlemen?" inquired Mr. Pickwick.
"Blue Lion at Muggleton," briefly responded Mr. Allen.
"You should have joined us last night," said Mr. Pickwick.
"So we should," replied Bob Sawyer, "but the brandy was too good to
leave in a hurry: wasn't it, Ben?"
"Certainly," said Mr. Benjamin Allen; "and the cigars were not bad, or
the pork chops either: were they, Bob?"
"Decidedly not," said Bob. The particular friends resumed their attack
upon the breakfast, more freely than before, as if the recollection of
last night's supper had imparted a new relish to the meal.
"Peg away, Bob," said Mr. Allen to his companion, encouragingly.
"So I do," replied Bob Sawyer. And so, to do him justice, he did.
"Nothing like dissecting, to give one an appetite," said Mr. Bob
Sawyer, looking round the table.
Mr. Pickwick slightly shuddered.
"By-the-bye, Bob," said Mr. Allen, "have you finished that leg yet?"
"Nearly," replied Sawyer, helping himself to half a fowl as he spoke.
"It's a very muscular one for a child's."
"Is it?" inquired Mr. Allen, carelessly.
"Very," said Bob Sawyer, with his mouth full.
"I've put my name down for an arm, at our place," said Mr. Allen.
"We're clubbing for a subject, and the list is nearly full, only we
can't get hold of any fellow that wants a head. I wish you'd take it."
"No," replied Bob Sawyer; "can't afford expensive luxuries."
"Nonsense!" said Allen.
"Can't indeed," rejoined Bob Sawyer. "I wouldn't mind a brain, but I
couldn't stand a whole head."
"Hush, hush, gentlemen, pray," said Mr. Pickwick. "I hear the ladies."
As Mr. Pickwick spoke, the ladies, gallantly escorted by Messrs.
Snodgrass, Winkle, and Tupman, returned from an early walk.
"Why, Ben!" said Arabella, in a tone which expressed more surprise than
pleasure at the sight of her brother.
"Come to take you home to-morrow," replied Benjamin.
Mr. Winkle turned pale.
"Don't you see Bob Sawyer, Arabella?" inquired Mr. Benjamin Allen,
somewhat reproachfully. Arabella gracefully held out her hand, in
acknowledgment of Bob Sawyer's presence. A thrill of hatred struck to
Mr. Winkle's heart, as Bob Sawyer inflicted on the proffered hand a
perceptible squeeze.
"Ben, dear!" said Arabella, blushing; "have--have--you been introduced
to Mr. Winkle?"
"I have not been, but I shall be very happy to be, Arabella," replied
her brother, gravely. Here Mr. Allen bowed grimly to Mr. Winkle, while
Mr. Winkle and Mr. Bob Sawyer glanced mutual distrust out of the
corners of their eyes.
The arrival of the two new visitors, and the consequent check upon Mr.
Winkle and the young lady with the fur round her boots, would in all
probability have proved a very unpleasant interruption to the hilarity
of the party, had not the cheerfulness of Mr. Pickwick, and the good
humour of the host, been exerted to the very utmost for the common
weal. Mr. Winkle gradually insinuated himself into the good graces of
Mr. Benjamin Allen, and even joined in a friendly conversation with
Mr. Bob Sawyer; who, enlivened with the brandy, and the breakfast, and
the talking, gradually ripened into a state of extreme facetiousness,
and related with much glee an agreeable anecdote, about the removal of
a tumour on some gentleman's head: which he illustrated by means of
an oyster-knife and a half-quartern loaf, to the great edification of
the assembled company. Then, the whole train went to church, where Mr.
Benjamin Allen fell fast asleep; while Mr. Bob Sawyer abstracted his
thoughts from worldly matters, by the ingenious process of carving his
name on the seat of the pew, in corpulent letters of four inches long.
"Now," said Wardle, after a substantial lunch, with the agreeable items
of strong beer and cherry-brandy, had been done ample justice to; "what
say you to an hour on the ice? We shall have plenty of time."
"Capital!" said Mr. Benjamin Allen.
"Prime!" ejaculated Mr. Bob Sawyer.
"You skate, of course, Winkle?" said Wardle.
"Ye-yes, oh yes," replied Mr. Winkle. "I--I--am _rather_ out of
practice."
"Oh, _do_ skate, Mr. Winkle," said Arabella. "I like to see it so
much."
"Oh, it is _so_ graceful," said another young lady.
A third young lady said it was elegant, and a fourth expressed her
opinion that it was "swan-like."
"I should be very happy, I'm sure," said Mr. Winkle, reddening; "but I
have no skates."
This objection was at once overruled. Trundle had a couple of pair, and
the fat boy announced that there were half a dozen more down-stairs:
whereat Mr. Winkle expressed exquisite delight, and looked exquisitely
uncomfortable.
Old Wardle led the way to a pretty large sheet of ice; and the fat
boy and Mr. Weller having shovelled and swept away the snow which had
fallen on it during the night, Mr. Bob Sawyer adjusted his skates
with a dexterity which to Mr. Winkle was perfectly marvellous, and
described circles with his left leg, and cut figures of eight, and
inscribed upon the ice, without once stopping for breath, a great many
other pleasant and astonishing devices, to the excessive satisfaction
of Mr. Pickwick, Mr. Tupman, and the ladies: which reached a pitch of
positive enthusiasm, when old Wardle and Benjamin Allen, assisted by
the aforesaid Bob Sawyer, performed some mystic evolutions, which they
called a reel.
All this time, Mr. Winkle, with his face and hands blue with the cold,
had been forcing a gimlet into the soles of his feet, and putting his
skates on, with the points behind, and getting the straps into a very
complicated and entangled state, with the assistance of Mr. Snodgrass,
who knew rather less about skates than a Hindoo. At length, however,
with the assistance of Mr. Weller, the unfortunate skates were firmly
screwed and buckled on, and Mr. Winkle was raised to his feet.
"Now then, sir," said Sam, in an encouraging tone; "off vith you, and
show 'em how to do it."
"Stop, Sam, stop!" said Mr. Winkle, trembling violently, and clutching
hold of Sam's arms with the grasp of a drowning man. "How slippery it
is, Sam!"
"Not an uncommon thing upon ice, sir," replied Mr. Weller. "Hold up,
sir!"
This last observation of Mr. Weller's bore reference to a demonstration
Mr. Winkle made at the instant, of a frantic desire to throw his feet
in the air, and dash the back of his head on the ice.
"These--these--are very awkward skates; ain't they, Sam?" inquired Mr.
Winkle, staggering.
[Illustration: _"Now then, sir," said Sam, "off vith you, and show 'em
how to do it"_]
"I'm afeerd there's a orkard gen'l'm'n in 'em, sir," replied Sam.
"Now, Winkle," cried Mr. Pickwick, quite unconscious that there was
anything the matter. "Come; the ladies are all anxiety."
"Yes, yes," replied Mr. Winkle, with a ghastly smile. "I'm coming."
"Just a goin' to begin," said Sam, endeavouring to disengage himself.
"Now, sir, start off!"
"Stop an instant, Sam," gasped Mr. Winkle, clinging most affectionately
to Mr. Weller. "I find I've got a couple of coats at home I don't want,
Sam. You may have them, Sam."
"Thank'ee, sir," replied Mr. Weller.
"Never mind touching your hat, Sam," said Mr. Winkle, hastily. "You
needn't take your hand away to do that. I meant to have given you five
shillings this morning for a Christmas-box, Sam. I'll give it you this
afternoon, Sam."
"You're wery good, sir," replied Mr. Weller.
"Just hold me at first, Sam; will you?" said Mr. Winkle. "There--that's
right. I shall soon get in the way of it, Sam. Not too fast, Sam; not
too fast."
Mr. Winkle stooping forward, with his body half doubled up, was
being assisted over the ice by Mr. Weller, in a most singular and
un-swan-like manner, when Mr. Pickwick most innocently shouted from the
opposite bank:
"Sam!"
"Sir?"
"Here. I want you."
"Let go, sir," said Sam. "Don't you hear the governor a callin'? Let
go, sir."
With a violent effort, Mr. Weller disengaged himself from the grasp of
the agonised Pickwickian, and, in so doing, administered a considerable
impetus to the unhappy Mr. Winkle. With an accuracy which no degree of
dexterity or practice could have insured, that unfortunate gentleman
bore swiftly down into the centre of the reel, at the very moment when
Mr. Bob Sawyer was performing a flourish of unparalleled beauty. Mr.
Winkle struck wildly against him, and with a loud crash they both fell
heavily down. Mr. Pickwick ran to the spot. Bob Sawyer had risen to his
feet, but Mr. Winkle was far too wise to do anything of the kind, in
skates. He was seated on the ice, making spasmodic efforts to smile;
but anguish was depicted on every lineament of his countenance.
"Are you hurt?" inquired Mr. Benjamin Allen, with great anxiety.
"Not much," said Mr. Winkle, rubbing his back very hard.
"I wish you'd let me bleed you," said Mr. Benjamin with great eagerness.
"No, thank you," replied Mr. Winkle, hurriedly.
"I really think you had better," said Allen.
"Thank you," replied Mr. Winkle; "I'd rather not."
"What do _you_ think, Mr. Pickwick?" inquired Bob Sawyer. Mr. Pickwick
was excited and indignant. He beckoned to Mr. Weller, and said in a
stern voice, "Take his skates off."
"No; but really I had scarcely begun," remonstrated Mr. Winkle.
"Take his skates off," repeated Mr. Pickwick, firmly.
The command was not to be resisted. Mr. Winkle allowed Sam to obey it
in silence.
"Lift him up," said Mr. Pickwick. Sam assisted him to rise. Mr.
Pickwick retired a few paces apart from the bystanders; and, beckoning
his friend to approach, fixed a searching look upon him, and uttered in
a low, but distinct and emphatic tone, these remarkable words:
"You're a humbug, sir."
"A what?" said Mr. Winkle, starting.
"A humbug, sir. I will speak plainer, if you wish it. An impostor, sir."
With these words, Mr. Pickwick turned slowly on his heel, and rejoined
his friends.
While Mr. Pickwick was delivering himself of the sentiment just
recorded, Mr. Weller and the fat boy, having by their joint endeavours
cut out a slide, were exercising themselves thereupon, in a very
masterly and brilliant manner. Sam Weller, in particular, was
displaying that beautiful feat of fancy sliding which is currently
denominated "knocking at the cobbler's door," and which is achieved by
skimming over the ice on one foot, and occasionally giving a postman's
knock upon it with the other. It was a good long slide, and there was
something in the motion which Mr. Pickwick, who was very cold with
standing still, could not help envying.
"It looks a nice warm exercise that, doesn't it?" he inquired of
Wardle, when that gentleman was thoroughly out of breath, by reason of
the indefatigable manner in which he had converted his legs into a pair
of compasses, and drawn complicated problems on the ice.
"Ah, it does indeed," replied Wardle. "Do you slide?"
"I used to do so, on the gutters, when I was a boy," replied Mr.
Pickwick.
[Illustration: _Went slowly and gravely down the slide_]
"Try it now," said Wardle.
"Oh do, please, Mr. Pickwick!" cried all the ladies.
"I should be very happy to afford you any amusement," replied Mr.
Pickwick, "but I haven't done such a thing these thirty years."
"Pooh! pooh! Nonsense!" said Wardle, dragging off his skates with the
impetuosity which characterised all his proceedings. "Here; I'll keep
you company; come along!" And away went the good-tempered old fellow
down the slide, with a rapidity which came very close upon Mr. Weller,
and beat the fat boy all to nothing.
Mr. Pickwick paused, considered, pulled off his gloves and put them in
his hat: took two or three short runs, baulked himself as often, and at
last took another run, and went slowly and gravely down the slide, with
his feet about a yard and a quarter apart, amidst the gratified shouts
of all the spectators.
"Keep the pot a bilin', sir!" said Sam; and down went Wardle again, and
then Mr. Pickwick, and then Sam, and then Mr. Winkle, and then Mr. Bob
Sawyer, and then the fat boy, and then Mr. Snodgrass, following closely
upon each other's heels, and running after each other with as much
eagerness as if all their future prospects in life depended on their
expedition.
It was the most intensely interesting thing, to observe the manner in
which Mr. Pickwick performed his share in the ceremony; to watch the
torture of anxiety with which he viewed the person behind, gaining upon
him at the imminent hazard of tripping him up; to see him gradually
expend the painful force he had put on at first, and turn slowly
round on the slide, with his face towards the point from which he had
started; to contemplate the playful smile which mantled on his face
when he had accomplished the distance, and the eagerness with which
he turned round when he had done so, and ran after his predecessor:
his black gaiters tripping pleasantly through the snow, and his eyes
beaming cheerfulness and gladness through his spectacles. And when he
was knocked down (which happened upon the average every third round),
it was the most invigorating sight that can possibly be imagined, to
behold him gather up his hat, gloves, and handkerchief, with a glowing
countenance, and resume his station in the rank, with an ardour and
enthusiasm that nothing could abate.
The sport was at its height, the sliding was at the quickest, the
laughter was at the loudest, when a sharp smart crack was heard. There
was a quick rush towards the bank, a wild scream from the ladies, and
a shout from Mr. Tupman. A large mass of ice disappeared; the water
bubbled up over it; Mr. Pickwick's hat, gloves, and handkerchief were
floating on the surface; and this was all of Mr. Pickwick that anybody
could see.
Dismay and anguish were depicted on every countenance, the males turned
pale, and the females fainted, Mr. Snodgrass and Mr. Winkle grasped
each other by the hand, and gazed at the spot where their leader
had gone down, with frenzied eagerness; while Mr. Tupman, by way of
rendering the promptest assistance, and at the same time conveying to
any persons who might be within hearing, the clearest possible notion
of the catastrophe, ran off across the country at his utmost speed,
screaming "Fire!" with all his might.
It was at this moment, when old Wardle and Sam Weller were approaching
the hole with cautious steps, and Mr. Benjamin Allen was holding a
hurried consultation with Bob Sawyer, on the advisability of bleeding
the company generally, as an improving little bit of professional
practice--it was at this very moment, that a face, head, and shoulders,
emerged from beneath the water, and disclosed the features and
spectacles of Mr. Pickwick.
[Illustration: _A face, head, and shoulders, emerged from beneath the
water, and disclosed the features and spectacles of Mr. Pickwick._]
"Keep yourself up for an instant--for only one instant;" bawled Mr.
Snodgrass.
"Yes, do; let me implore you--for my sake!" roared Mr. Winkle, deeply
affected. The adjuration was rather unnecessary: the probability being,
that if Mr. Pickwick; had declined to keep himself up for anybody
else's sake, it would have occurred to him that he might as well do so
for his own.
"Do you feel the bottom there, old fellow?" said Wardle.
"Yes, certainly," replied Mr. Pickwick, wringing the water from his
head and face, and gasping for breath. "I fell upon my back. I couldn't
get on my feet at first."
The clay upon so much of Mr. Pickwick's coat as was yet visible, bore
testimony to the accuracy of this statement; and as the fears of the
spectators were still further relieved by the fat boy's suddenly
recollecting that the water was nowhere more than five feet deep,
prodigies of valour were performed to get him out. After a vast
quantity of splashing, and cracking, and struggling, Mr. Pickwick was
at length fairly extricated from his unpleasant position, and once more
stood on dry land.
"Oh, he'll catch his death of cold," said Emily.
"Dear old thing!" said Arabella. "Let me wrap this shawl round you, Mr.
Pickwick."
"Ah, that's the best thing you can do," said Wardle; "and when you've
got it on, run home as fast as your legs can carry you, and jump into
bed directly."
A dozen shawls were offered on the instant. Three or four of the
thickest having been selected, Mr. Pickwick was wrapped up, and
started off, under the guidance of Mr. Weller: presenting the singular
phenomenon of an elderly gentleman, dripping wet, and without a hat,
with his arms bound down to his sides, skimming over the ground,
without any clearly defined purpose, at the rate of six good English
miles an hour.
But Mr. Pickwick cared not for appearances in such an extreme case, and
urged on by Sam Weller, he kept at the very top of his speed until he
reached the door of Manor Farm, where Mr. Tupman had arrived some five
minutes before, and had frightened the old lady into palpitations of
the heart by impressing her with the unalterable conviction that the
kitchen chimney was on fire--a calamity which always presented itself
in glowing colours to the old lady's mind, when anybody about her
evinced the smallest agitation.
Mr. Pickwick paused not an instant until he was snug in bed. Sam Weller
lighted a blazing fire in the room and took up his dinner; a bowl of
punch was carried up afterwards, and a grand carouse held in honour of
his safety. Old Wardle would not hear of his rising, so they made the
bed the chair, and Mr. Pickwick presided. A second and a third bowl
were ordered in; and when Mr. Pickwick awoke next morning, there was
not a symptom of rheumatism about him: which proves, as Mr. Bob Sawyer
very justly observed, that there is nothing like hot punch in such
cases: and that if ever hot punch did fail to act as a preventive, it
was merely because the patient fell into the vulgar error of not taking
enough of it.
The jovial party broke up next morning. Breakings up are capital things
in our school days, but in after life they are painful enough. Death,
self-interest, and fortune's changes, are every day breaking up many a
happy group, and scattering them far and wide; and the boys and girls
never come back again. We do not mean to say that it was exactly the
case in this particular instance; all we wish to inform the reader is,
that the different members of the party dispersed to their several
homes; that Mr. Pickwick and his friends once more took their seats on
the top of the Muggleton coach; and that Arabella Allen repaired to
her place of destination, wherever it might have been--we dare say Mr.
Winkle knew, but we confess we don't--under the care and guardianship
of her brother Benjamin, and his most intimate friend, Mr. Bob Sawyer.
Before they separated, however, that gentleman and Mr. Benjamin Allen
drew Mr. Pickwick aside with an air of some mystery: and Mr. Bob
Sawyer, thrusting his forefinger between two of Mr. Pickwick's ribs,
and thereby displaying his native drollery, and his knowledge of the
anatomy of the human frame, at one and the same time, inquired:
"I say, old boy, where do you hang out?"
Mr. Pickwick replied that he was at present suspended at the George and
Vulture.
"I wish you'd come and see me," said Bob Sawyer.
"Nothing would give me greater pleasure," replied Mr. Pickwick.
"There's my lodgings," said Mr. Bob Sawyer, producing a card. "Lant
Street, Borough; it's near Guy's, and handy for me, you know. Little
distance after you've passed St. George's Church--turns out of the High
Street on the right-hand side the way."
"I shall find it," said Mr. Pickwick.
"Come on Thursday fortnight, and bring the other chaps with you," said
Mr. Bob Sawyer. "I'm going to have a few medical fellows that night."
Mr. Pickwick expressed the pleasure it would afford him to meet the
medical fellows; and after Mr. Bob Sawyer had informed him that he
meant to be very cosy, and that his friend Ben was to be one of the
party, they shook hands and separated.
We feel that in this place we lay ourselves open to inquiry whether
Mr. Winkle was whispering, during this brief conversation, to Arabella
Allen; and if so, what he said; and furthermore, whether Mr. Snodgrass
was conversing apart with Emily Wardle; and if so, what _he_ said. To
this, we reply, that whatever they might have said to the ladies, they
said nothing at all to Mr. Pickwick or Mr. Tupman for eight-and-twenty
miles, and that they sighed very often, refused ale and brandy,
and looked gloomy. If our observant lady readers can deduce any
satisfactory inferences from these facts, we beg them by all means to
do so.
CHAPTER III
[Illustration]
_Which is all about the Law, and sundry great Authorities learned
therein_
Scattered about, in various holes and corners of the Temple, are
certain dark and dirty chambers, in and out of which, all the morning
in Vacation, and half the evening too in Term times, there may be
seen constantly hurrying with bundles of papers under their arms, and
protruding from their pockets, an almost uninterrupted succession of
Lawyers' Clerks. There are several grades of Lawyers' Clerks. There
is the Articled Clerk, who has paid a premium, and is an attorney in
perspective, who runs a tailor's bill, receives invitations to parties,
knows a family in Gower Street, and another in Tavistock Square; who
goes out of town every Long Vacation to see his father, who keeps
live horses innumerable; and who is, in short, the very aristocrat
of clerks. There is the salaried clerk--out of door or in door, as
the case may be--who devotes the major part of his thirty shillings a
week to his personal pleasure and adornment, repairs half-price to the
Adelphi Theatre at least three times a week, dissipates majestically at
the cider cellars afterwards, and is a dirty caricature of the fashion
which expired six months ago. There is the middle-aged copying clerk,
with a large family, who is always shabby, and often drunk. And there
are the office lads in their first surtouts, who feel a befitting
contempt for boys at day-schools; club, as they go home at night, for
saveloys and porter; and think there's nothing like "life." There are
varieties of the genus, too numerous to recapitulate, but however
numerous they may be, they are all to be seen, at certain regulated
business hours, hurrying to and from the places we have just mentioned.
These sequestered nooks are the public offices of the legal profession,
where writs are issued, judgments signed, declarations filed, and
numerous other ingenious machines put in motion for the torture
and torment of His Majesty's liege subjects, and the comfort and
emolument of the practitioners of the law. They are, for the most part,
low-roofed, mouldy rooms, where innumerable rolls of parchment, which
have been perspiring in secret for the last century, send forth an
agreeable odour, which is mingled by day with the scent of the dry rot,
and by night with the various exhalations which arise from damp cloaks,
festering umbrellas, and the coarsest tallow candles.
About half-past seven o'clock in the evening, some ten days or a
fortnight after Mr. Pickwick and his friends returned to London, there
hurried into one of these offices, an individual in a brown coat and
brass buttons, whose long hair was scrupulously twisted round the rim
of his napless hat, and whose soiled drab trousers were so tightly
strapped over his Blucher boots, that his knees threatened every moment
to start from their concealment. He produced from his coat pocket a
long and narrow strip of parchment, on which the presiding functionary
impressed an illegible black stamp. He then drew forth four scraps of
paper, of similar dimensions, each containing a printed copy of the
strip of parchment with blanks for a name; and having filled up the
blanks, put all the five documents in his pocket, and hurried away.
The man in the brown coat, with the cabalistic documents in his pocket,
was no other than our old acquaintance Mr. Jackson, of the house of
Dodson and Fogg, Freeman's Court, Cornhill. Instead of returning to the
office from whence he came, however, he bent his steps direct to Sun
Court, and walking straight into the George and Vulture, demanded to
know whether one Mr. Pickwick was within.
"Call Mr. Pickwick's servant, Tom," said the barmaid of the George and
Vulture.
"Don't trouble yourself," said Mr. Jackson, "I've come on business. If
you'll show me Mr. Pickwick's room I'll step up myself."
"What name, sir?" said the waiter.
"Jackson," replied the clerk.
The waiter stepped up-stairs to announce Mr. Jackson; but Mr. Jackson
saved him the trouble by following close at his heels, and walking into
the apartment before he could articulate a syllable.
Mr. Pickwick had, that day, invited his three friends to dinner; they
were all seated round the fire, drinking their wine, when Mr. Jackson
presented himself, as above described.
"How de do, sir?" said Mr. Jackson, nodding to Mr. Pickwick.
That gentleman bowed, and looked somewhat surprised, for the
physiognomy of Mr. Jackson dwelt not on his recollection.
"I have called from Dodson and Fogg's," said Mr. Jackson, in an
explanatory tone.
Mr. Pickwick roused at the name. "I refer you to my attorney, sir: Mr.
Perker, of Gray's Inn," said he. "Waiter, show this gentleman out."
"Beg your pardon, Mr. Pickwick," said Jackson, deliberately depositing
his hat on the floor, and drawing from his pocket the strip of
parchment. "But personal service, by clerk or agent, in these cases,
you know, Mr. Pickwick--nothing like caution, sir, in all legal forms."
Here Mr. Jackson cast his eye on the parchment; and resting his hands
on the table, and looking round with a winning and persuasive smile,
said: "Now, come; don't let's have no words about such a little matter
as this. Which of you gentlemen's name's Snodgrass?"
At this inquiry Mr. Snodgrass gave such a very undisguised and palpable
start, that no further reply was needed.
"Ah! I thought so," said Mr. Jackson, more affably than before. "I've
got a little something to trouble you with, sir."
"Me!" exclaimed Mr. Snodgrass.
"It's only a _subpoena_ in Bardell and Pickwick on behalf of the
plaintiff," replied Mr. Jackson, singling out one of the slips of
paper, and producing a shilling from his waistcoat pocket. "It'll come
on, in the settens after Term; fourteenth of Febooary, we expect; we've
marked it a special jury cause, and it's only ten down the paper.
That's yours, Mr. Snodgrass." As Jackson said this he presented the
parchment before the eyes of Mr. Snodgrass, and slipped the paper and
the shilling into his hand.
Mr. Tupman had witnessed this process in silent astonishment, when
Jackson, turning sharply upon him, said:
"I think I ain't mistaken when I say your name's Tupman, am I?"
Mr. Tupman looked at Mr. Pickwick; but, perceiving no encouragement in
that gentleman's widely opened eyes to deny his name, said:
"Yes, my name _is_ Tupman, sir."
"And that other gentleman's Mr. Winkle, I think?" said Jackson.
Mr. Winkle faltered out a reply in the affirmative; and both gentlemen
were forthwith invested with a slip of paper, and a shilling each, by
the dexterous Mr. Jackson.
"Now," said Jackson, "I'm afraid you'll think me rather troublesome,
but I want somebody else, if it ain't inconvenient. I _have_ Samuel
Weller's name here, Mr. Pickwick."
"Send my servant here, waiter," said Mr. Pickwick. The waiter retired,
considerably astonished, and Mr. Pickwick motioned Jackson to a seat.
There was a painful pause, which was at length broken by the innocent
defendant.
"I suppose, sir," said Mr. Pickwick, his indignation rising while he
spoke; "I suppose, sir, that it is the intention of your employers to
seek to criminate me upon the testimony of my own friends?"
Mr. Jackson struck his forefinger several times against the left side
of his nose, to intimate that he was not there to disclose the secrets
of the prison-house, and playfully rejoined:
"Not knowin', can't say."
"For what other reason, sir," pursued Mr. Pickwick, "are these
subpoenas served upon them, if not for this?"
"Very good plant, Mr. Pickwick," replied Jackson, slowly shaking his
head. "But it won't do. No harm in trying, but there's little to be got
out of me."
Here Mr. Jackson smiled once more upon the company, and, applying his
left thumb to the tip of his nose, worked a visionary coffee-mill with
his right hand: thereby performing a very graceful piece of pantomime
(then much in vogue, but now, unhappily, almost obsolete) which was
familiarly denominated "taking a grinder."
"No, no, Mr. Pickwick," said Jackson, in conclusion; "Perker's people
must guess what we've served these subpoenas for. If they can't, they
must wait till the action comes on, and then they'll find out."
Mr. Pickwick bestowed a look of excessive disgust on his unwelcome
visitor, and would probably have hurled some tremendous anathema at the
heads of Messrs. Dodson and Fogg, had not Sam's entrance at the instant
interrupted him.
"Samuel Weller?" said Mr. Jackson, inquiringly.
"Vun o' the truest things as you've said for many a long year," replied
Sam, in a most composed manner.
"Here's a subpoena for you, Mr. Weller," said Jackson.
"What's that in English?" inquired Sam.
"Here's the original," said Jackson, declining the required explanation.
"Which?" said Sam.
"This," replied Jackson, shaking the parchment.
"Oh, that's the 'rig'nal, is it?" said Sam. "Well, I'm wery glad I've
seen the 'rig'nal, 'cos it's a gratifyin' sort o' thing, and eases
vun's mind so much."
"And here's the shilling," said Jackson. "It's from Dodson and Fogg's."
"And it's uncommon handsome o' Dodson and Fogg, as knows so little of
me, to come down vith a present," said Sam. "I feel it as a wery high
compliment, sir; it's a wery hon'rable thing to them, as they knows how
to reward merit werever they meets it. Besides wich, it's affectin' to
one's feelin's."
As Mr. Weller said this, he inflicted a little friction on his right
eyelid, with the sleeve of his coat, after the most approved manner of
actors when they are in domestic pathetics.
Mr. Jackson seemed rather puzzled by Sam's proceedings; but, as he had
served the subpoenas, and had nothing more to say, he made a feint of
putting on the one glove which he usually carried in his hand for the
sake of appearances; and returned to the office to report progress.
Mr. Pickwick slept little that night; his memory had received a very
disagreeable refresher on the subject of Mrs. Bardell's action. He
breakfasted betimes next morning, and, desiring Sam to accompany him,
set forth towards Gray's Inn Square.
"Sam!" said Mr. Pickwick, looking round, when they got to the end of
Cheapside.
"Sir?" said Sam, stepping up to his master.
"Which way?"
"Up Newgate Street."
Mr. Pickwick did not turn round immediately, but looked vacantly in
Sam's face for a few seconds, and heaved a deep sigh.
"What's the matter, sir?" inquired Sam.
"This action, Sam," said Mr. Pickwick, "is expected to come on on the
fourteenth of next month."
"Remarkable coin_ci_dence that 'ere, sir," replied Sam.
"Why remarkable, Sam?" inquired Mr. Pickwick.
"Walentine's day, sir," responded Sam; "reg'lar good day for a breach
o' promise trial."
Mr. Weller's smile awakened no gleam of mirth in his master's
countenance. Mr. Pickwick turned abruptly round, and led the way in
silence.
They had walked some distance: Mr. Pickwick trotting on before, plunged
in profound meditation, and Sam following behind, with a countenance
expressive of the most enviable and easy defiance of everything and
everybody: when the latter, who was always especially anxious to impart
to his master any exclusive information he possessed, quickened his
pace until he was close at Mr. Pickwick's heels; and, pointing up at a
house they were passing, said:
"Wery nice pork-shop that 'ere, sir."
"Yes, it seems so," said Mr. Pickwick.
"Celebrated sassage factory," said Sam.
"Is it?" said Mr. Pickwick.
"Is it!" reiterated Sam, with some indignation: "I should rayther
think it was. Why, sir, bless your innocent eyebrows, that's where the
mysterious disappearance of a 'spectable tradesman took place four year
ago."
"You don't mean to say he was burked, Sam?" said Mr. Pickwick, looking
hastily round.
"No, I don't indeed, sir," replied Mr. Weller, "I wish I did; far worse
than that. He was the master o' that 'ere shop, sir, and the inwenter
o' the patent never-leavin'-off sassage steam ingine, as 'ud swaller up
a pavin' stone if you put it too near, and grind it into sassages as
easy as if it was a tender young baby. Wery proud o' that machine he
was, as it was nat'ral he should be, and he'd stand down in the cellar
a lookin' at it wen it was in full play, till he got quite melancholy
with joy. A wery happy man he'd ha' been, sir, in the procession o'
that 'ere ingine and two more lovely hinfants besides, if it hadn't
been for his wife, who was a most ow-dacious wixin. She was always a
follerin' him about and dinnin' in his ears, till at last he couldn't
stand it no longer. 'I'll tell you what it is, my dear,' he says one
day; 'if you persewere in this here sort of amusement,' he says, 'I'm
blessed if I don't go away to 'Merriker; and that's all about it.'
'You're a idle willin,' says she, 'and I wish the 'Merrikins joy of
their bargain.' Arter wich she keeps on abusin' of him for half an
hour, and then runs into the little parlour behind the shop, sets to a
screamin', says he'll be the death on her, and falls in a fit, which
lasts for three good hours--one o' them fits wich is all screamin' and
kickin'. Well, next mornin', the husband was missin'. He hadn't taken
nothin' from the till--hadn't even put on his great-coat--so it was
quite clear he warn't gone to 'Merriker. Didn't come back next day;
didn't come back next week; Missis had bills printed, sayin' that,
if he'd come back, he should be forgiven everythin' (which was very
liberal, seein' that he hadn't done nothin' at all); the canals was
dragged, and for two months artervards, wenever a body turned up, it
was carried, as a reg'lar thing, straight off to the sassage shop.
Hows'ever, none on 'em answered; so they gave out that he'd run avay,
and she kep' on the bis'ness. One Saturday night, a little thin old
gen'l'm'n comes into the shop in a great passion and says, 'Are you
the missis o' this here shop?' 'Yes, I am,' says she. 'Well, ma'am,'
says he, 'then I've just looked in to say that me and my family ain't
a goin' to be choked for nothin'; and more than that, ma'am,' he says,
'you'll allow me to observe, that as you don't use the primest parts of
the meat in the manafacter o' sassages, I think you'd find beef come
nearly as cheap as buttons.' 'As buttons, sir!' says she. 'Buttons,
ma'am,' says the little old gen'l'm'n, unfolding a bit of paper,
and showing twenty or thirty halves o' buttons. 'Nice seasonin' for
sassages, is trousers buttons, ma'am.' 'They're my husband's buttons!'
says the widder, beginnin' to faint. 'What!' screams the little old
gen'l'm'n, turnin' wery pale. 'I see it all,' says the widder; 'in a
fit of temporary insanity he rashly converted his-self into sassages!'
And so he had, sir," said Mr. Weller, looking steadily into Mr.
Pickwick's horror-stricken countenance, "or else he'd been draw'd into
the ingine; but however that might ha' been, the little old gen'l'm'n,
who had been remarkably partial to sassages all his life, rushed out o'
the shop in a wild state, and was never heard on artervards!"
The relation of this affecting incident of private life brought master
and man to Mr. Perker's chambers. Lowten, holding the door half open,
was in conversation with a rustily-clad, miserable-looking man, in
boots without toes and gloves without fingers. There were traces of
privation and suffering--almost of despair--in his lank and careworn
countenance; he felt his poverty, for he shrunk to the dark side of the
staircase as Mr. Pickwick approached.
"It's very unfortunate," said the stranger, with a sigh.
"Very," said Lowten, scribbling his name on the door-post with his pen,
and rubbing it out again with the feather. "Will you leave a message
for him?"
"When do you think he'll be back?" inquired the stranger.
"Quite uncertain," replied Lowten, winking at Mr. Pickwick, as the
stranger cast his eyes towards the ground.
"You don't think it would be of any use my waiting for him?" said the
stranger, looking wistfully into the office.
"Oh no, I'm sure it wouldn't," replied the clerk, moving a little more
into the centre of the doorway. "He's certain not to be back this week,
and it's a chance whether he will be next; for when Perker once gets
out of town, he's never in a hurry to come back again."
"Out of town!" said Mr. Pickwick; "dear me, how unfortunate!"
"Don't go away, Mr. Pickwick," said Lowten, "I've got a letter for
you." The stranger seeming to hesitate, once more looked towards the
ground, and the clerk winked slily at Mr. Pickwick, as if to intimate
that some exquisite piece of humour was going forward, though what it
was Mr. Pickwick could not for the life of him divine.
"Step in, Mr. Pickwick," said Lowten. "Well, will you leave a message,
Mr. Watty, or will you call again?"
"Ask him to be so kind as to leave out word what has been done in my
business," said the man; "for God's sake don't neglect it, Mr. Lowten."
"No, no; I won't forget it," replied the clerk. "Walk in, Mr. Pickwick.
Good morning, Mr. Watty; it's a fine day for walking, isn't it?" Seeing
that the stranger still lingered, he beckoned Sam Weller to follow his
master in, and shut the door in his face.
"There never was such a pestering bankrupt as that since the world
began, I do believe!" said Lowten, throwing down his pen with the air
of an injured man. "His affairs haven't been in Chancery quite four
years yet, and I'm d--d if he don't come worrying here twice a week.
Step this way, Mr. Pickwick. Perker _is_ in, and he'll see you, I know.
Devilish cold," he added, pettishly, "standing at that door, wasting
one's time with such seedy vagabonds!" Having very vehemently stirred a
particularly large fire with a particularly small poker, the clerk led
the way to his principal's private room, and announced Mr. Pickwick.
"Ah, my dear sir," said little Mr. Perker, bustling up from his chair.
"Well, my dear sir, and what's the news about your matter, eh? Anything
more about our friends in Freeman's Court? They've not been sleeping,
_I_ know that. Ah, they're smart fellows; very smart indeed."
As the little man concluded, he took an emphatic pinch of snuff, as a
tribute to the smartness of Messrs. Dodson and Fogg.
"They are great scoundrels," said Mr. Pickwick.
"Aye, aye," said the little man; "that's a matter of opinion, you
know, and we won't dispute about terms; because of course you can't be
expected to view these subjects with a professional eye. Well, we've
done everything that's necessary. I have retained Serjeant Snubbin."
"Is he a good man?" inquired Mr. Pickwick.
"Good man!" replied Perker; "bless your heart and soul, my dear sir,
Serjeant Snubbin is at the very top of his profession. Gets treble
the business of any man in court--engaged in every case. You needn't
mention it abroad; but we say--we of the profession--that Serjeant
Snubbin leads the court by the nose."
The little man took another pinch of snuff as he made this
communication, and nodded mysteriously to Mr. Pickwick.
"They have subpoena'd my three friends," said Mr. Pickwick.
"Ah! of course they would," replied Perker. "Important witnesses; saw
you in a delicate situation."
"But she fainted of her own accord," said Mr. Pickwick. "She threw
herself into my arms."
"Very likely, my dear sir," replied Perker; "very likely and very
natural. Nothing more so, my dear sir, nothing. But who's to prove it?"
"They have subpoena'd my servant too," said Mr. Pickwick, quitting
the other point; for there Mr. Perker's question had somewhat staggered
him.
"Sam?" said Perker.
Mr. Pickwick replied in the affirmative.
"Of course, my dear sir; of course. I knew they would. I could have
told you that a month ago. You know, my dear sir, if you _will_ take
the management of your affairs into your own hands after intrusting
them to your solicitor, you must also take the consequences." Here Mr.
Perker drew himself up with conscious dignity, and brushed some stray
grains of snuff from his shirt frill.
"And what do they want him to prove?" asked Mr. Pickwick, after two or
three minutes' silence.
"That you sent him up to the plaintiff's to make some offer of a
compromise, I suppose," replied Perker. "It don't matter much, though;
I don't think many counsel could get a great deal out of _him_."
"I don't think they could," said Mr. Pickwick; smiling, despite his
vexation, at the idea of Sam's appearance as a witness. "What course do
we pursue?"
"We have only one to adopt, my dear sir," replied Perker; "cross-examine
the witnesses; trust to Snubbin's eloquence; throw dust in the eyes of
the judge; throw ourselves on the jury."
"And suppose the verdict is against me?" said Mr. Pickwick.
Mr. Perker smiled, took a very long pinch of snuff, stirred the fire,
shrugged his shoulders, and remained expressively silent.
"You mean that in that case I must pay the damages?" said Mr. Pickwick,
who had watched this telegraphic answer with considerable sternness.
Perker gave the fire another very unnecessary poke, and said, "I am
afraid so."
"Then I beg to announce to you, my unalterable determination to pay
no damages whatever," said Mr. Pickwick, most emphatically. "None,
Perker. Not a pound, not a penny, of my money, shall find its way into
the pockets of Dodson and Fogg. That is my deliberate and irrevocable
determination." Mr. Pickwick gave a heavy blow on the table before him,
in confirmation of the irrevocability of his intention.
"Very well, my dear sir, very well," said Perker. "You know best, of
course."
"Of course," replied Mr. Pickwick, hastily. "Where does Serjeant
Snubbin live?"
"In Lincoln's Inn Old Square," replied Perker.
"I should like to see him," said Mr. Pickwick.
"See Serjeant Snubbin, my dear sir!" rejoined Perker, in utter
amazement. "Pooh, pooh, my dear sir, impossible. See Serjeant Snubbin!
Bless you, my dear sir, such a thing was never heard of, without a
consultation fee being previously paid, and a consultation fixed. It
couldn't be done, my dear sir; it couldn't be done."
Mr. Pickwick, however, had made up his mind not only that it could be
done, but that it should be done; and the consequence was, that within
ten minutes after he had received the assurance that the thing was
impossible, he was conducted by his solicitor into the outer office of
the great Serjeant Snubbin himself.
It was an uncarpeted room of tolerable dimensions, with a large
writing-table drawn up near the fire: the baize top of which had long
since lost all claim to its original hue of green, and had gradually
grown grey with dust and age, except where all traces of its natural
colour were obliterated by ink-stains. Upon the table were numerous
little bundles of papers tied with red tape; and behind it sat an
elderly clerk, whose sleek appearance, and heavy gold watch-chain,
presented imposing indications of the extensive and lucrative practice
of Mr. Serjeant Snubbin.
"Is the Serjeant in his room, Mr. Mallard?" inquired Perker, offering
his box with all imaginable courtesy.
"Yes, he is," was the reply, "but he's very busy. Look here; not an
opinion given yet, on any one of these cases; and an expedition fee
paid with all of 'em." The clerk smiled as he said this, and inhaled a
pinch of snuff with a zest which seemed to be compounded of a fondness
for snuff and a relish for fees.
"Something like practice that," said Perker.
"Yes," said the barrister's clerk, producing his own box, and offering
it with the greatest cordiality; "and the best of it is, that as nobody
alive except myself can read the Serjeant's writing, they are obliged
to wait for the opinions, when he has given them, till I have copied
'em, ha--ha--ha!"
"Which makes good for we know who, besides the Serjeant, and draws a
little more out of the clients, eh?" said Perker; "Ha, ha, ha!" At this
the Serjeant's clerk laughed again; not a noisy boisterous laugh, but a
silent, internal chuckle, which Mr. Pickwick disliked to hear. When a
man bleeds inwardly, it is a dangerous thing for himself; but when he
laughs inwardly, it bodes no good to other people.
"You haven't made me out that little list of the fees that I'm in your
debt, have you?" said Perker.
"No, I have not," replied the clerk.
"I wish you would," said Perker. "Let me have them, and I'll send you
a cheque. But I suppose you're too busy pocketing the ready money,
to think of the debtors, eh? ha, ha, ha!" This sally seemed to tickle
the clerk amazingly, and he once more enjoyed a little quiet laugh to
himself.
"But, Mr. Mallard, my dear friend," said Perker, suddenly recovering
his gravity, and drawing the great man's great man into a corner, by
the lappel of his coat; "you must persuade the Serjeant to see me and
my client here."
"Come, come," said the clerk, "that's not bad either. See the Serjeant!
come, that's too absurd." Notwithstanding the absurdity of the
proposal, however, the clerk allowed himself to be gently drawn beyond
the hearing of Mr. Pickwick; and after a short conversation conducted
in whispers, walked softly down a little dark passage and disappeared
into the legal luminary's sanctum: whence he shortly returned on
tiptoe, and informed Mr. Perker and Mr. Pickwick that the Serjeant had
been prevailed upon, in violation of all established rules and customs,
to admit them at once.
Mr. Serjeant Snubbin was a lantern-faced, sallow-complexioned man,
of about five-and-forty, or--as the novels say--he might be fifty.
He had that dull-looking boiled eye which is often to be seen in
the heads of people who have applied themselves during many years
to a weary and laborious course of study; and which would have been
sufficient, without the additional eye-glass which dangled from a
broad black riband round his neck, to warn a stranger that he was very
near-sighted. His hair was thin and weak, which was partly attributable
to his having never devoted much time to its arrangement, and partly to
his having worn for five-and-twenty years the forensic wig which hung
on a block beside him. The marks of hair-powder on his coat-collar,
and the ill-washed and worse-tied white neckerchief round his throat,
showed that he had not found leisure since he left the court to make
any alteration in his dress: while the slovenly style of the remainder
of his costume warranted the inference that his personal appearance
would not have been very much improved if he had. Books of practice,
heaps of papers, and opened letters, were scattered over the table,
without any attempt at order or arrangement; the furniture of the room
was old and rickety; the doors of the bookcase were rotting in their
hinges; the dust flew out from the carpet in little clouds at every
step; the blinds were yellow with age and dirt; the state of everything
in the room showed, with a clearness not to be mistaken, that Mr.
Serjeant Snubbin was far too much occupied with his professional
pursuits to take any great heed or regard of his personal comforts.
The Serjeant was writing when his clients entered; he bowed abstractedly
when Mr. Pickwick was introduced by his solicitor; and then, motioning
them to a seat, put his pen carefully in the inkstand, nursed his left
leg, and waited to be spoken to.
"Mr. Pickwick is the defendant in Bardell and Pickwick, Serjeant
Snubbin," said Perker.
"I am retained in that, am I?" said the Serjeant.
"You are, sir," replied Perker.
The Serjeant nodded his head, and waited for something else.
"Mr. Pickwick was anxious to call upon you, Serjeant Snubbin," said
Perker, "to state to you, before you entered upon the case, that he
denies there being any ground or pretence whatever for the action
against him; and that unless he came into court with clean hands,
and without the most conscientious conviction that he was right in
resisting the plaintiff's demand, he would not be there at all. I
believe I state your views correctly; do not, my dear sir?" said the
little man, turning to Mr. Pickwick.
"Quite so," replied that gentleman.
Mr. Serjeant Snubbin unfolded his glasses, raised them to his eyes;
and, after looking at Mr. Pickwick for a few seconds with great
curiosity, turned to Mr. Perker, and said, smiling slightly as he spoke:
"Has Mr. Pickwick a strong case?"
The attorney shrugged his shoulders.
"Do you propose calling witnesses?"
"No."
The smile on the Serjeant's countenance became more defined; he rocked
his leg with increased violence; and, throwing himself back in his
easy-chair, coughed dubiously.
These tokens of the Serjeant's presentiments on the subject, slight as
they were, were not lost on Mr. Pickwick. He settled the spectacles,
through which he had attentively regarded such demonstrations of the
barrister's feelings as he had permitted himself to exhibit, more
firmly on his nose; and said with great energy, and in utter disregard
of all Mr. Perker's admonitory winkings and frownings:
"My wishing to wait upon you, for such a purpose as this, sir, appears,
I have no doubt, to a gentleman who sees so much of these matters as
you must necessarily do, a very extraordinary circumstance."
The Serjeant tried to look gravely at the fire, but the smile came back
again.
"Gentlemen of your profession, sir," continued Mr. Pickwick, "see the
worst side of human nature. All its disputes, all its ill-will and bad
blood, rise up before you. You know from your experience of juries (I
mean no disparagement to you, or them) how much depends upon _effect_:
and you are apt to attribute to others, a desire to use, for purposes
of deception and self-interest, the very instruments which you, in
pure honesty and honour of purpose, and with a laudable desire to do
your utmost for your client, know the temper and worth of so well,
from constantly employing them yourselves. I really believe that to
this circumstance may be attributed the vulgar but very general notion
of your being, as a body, suspicious, distrustful, and over-cautious.
Conscious as I am, sir, of the disadvantage of making such a
declaration to you, under such circumstances, I have come here, because
I wish you distinctly to understand, as my friend Mr. Perker has said,
that I am innocent of the falsehood laid to my charge; and although I
am very well aware of the inestimable value of your assistance, sir, I
must beg to add, that unless you sincerely believe this, I would rather
be deprived of the aid of your talents than have the advantage of them."
Long before the close of this address, which we are bound to say was
of a very prosy character for Mr. Pickwick, the Serjeant had relapsed
into a state of abstraction. After some minutes, however, during which
he had reassumed his pen, he appeared to be again aware of the presence
of his clients; raising his head from the paper, he said, rather
snappishly,
"Who is with me in this case?"
"Mr. Phunky, Serjeant Snubbin," replied the attorney.
"Phunky, Phunky," said the Serjeant, "I never heard the name before. He
must be a very young man."
"Yes, he is a very young man," replied the attorney. "He was only
called the other day. Let me see--he has not been at the Bar eight
years yet."
"Ah, I thought not," said the Serjeant, in that sort of pitying tone in
which ordinary folks would speak of a very helpless little child. "Mr.
Mallard, send round to Mr.--Mr.----"
"Phunky's--Holborn Court, Gray's Inn," interposed Perker. (Holborn
Court, by-the-bye, is South Square now). "Mr. Phunky, and say I should
be glad if he'd step here, a moment."
Mr. Mallard departed to execute his commission; and Serjeant Snubbin
relapsed into abstraction until Mr. Phunky himself was introduced.
Although an infant barrister, he was a full-grown man. He had a
very nervous manner, and a painful hesitation in his speech; it did
not appear to be a natural defect, but seemed rather the result of
timidity, arising from the consciousness of being "kept down" by want
of means, or interests, or connection, or impudence, as the case might
be. He was overawed by the Serjeant, and profoundly courteous to the
attorney.
"I have not had the pleasure of seeing you before, Mr. Phunky," said
Serjeant Snubbin, with a haughty condescension.
Mr. Phunky bowed. He _had_ had the pleasure of seeing the Serjeant, and
of envying him too, with all a poor man's envy, for eight years and a
quarter.
"You are with me in this case, I understand?" said the Serjeant.
If Mr. Phunky had been a rich man, he would have instantly sent for his
clerk to remind him; if he had been a wise one, he would have applied
his forefinger to his forehead, and endeavoured to recollect, whether,
in the multiplicity of his engagements, he had undertaken this one, or
not; but as he was neither rich nor wise (in this sense at all events)
he turned red, and bowed.
"Have you read the papers, Mr. Phunky?" inquired the Serjeant.
Here again, Mr. Phunky should have professed to have forgotten all
about the merits of the case; but as he had read such papers as had
been laid before him in the course of the action, and had thought of
nothing else, waking, or sleeping, throughout the two months during
which he had been retained as Mr. Serjeant Snubbin's junior, he turned
a deeper red, and bowed again.
"This is Mr. Pickwick," said the Serjeant, waving his pen in the
direction in which that gentleman was standing.
Mr. Phunky bowed to Mr. Pickwick with a reverence which a first client
must ever awaken; and again inclined his head towards his leader.
"Perhaps you will take Mr. Pickwick away," said the Serjeant,
"and--and--and--hear anything Mr. Pickwick may wish to communicate.
We shall have a consultation, of course." With this hint that he had
been interrupted quite long enough, Mr. Serjeant Snubbin, who had been
gradually growing more and more abstracted, applied his glass to his
eyes for an instant, bowed slightly round, and was once more deeply
immersed in the case before him: which arose out of an interminable
lawsuit, originating in the act of an individual, deceased a century
or so ago, who had stopped up a pathway leading from some place which
nobody ever came from, to some other place which nobody ever went to.
Mr. Phunky would not hear of passing through any door until Mr.
Pickwick and his solicitor had passed through before him, so it was
some time before they got into the Square; and when they did reach it,
they walked up and down, and held a long conference, the result of
which was, that it was a very difficult matter to say how the verdict
would go; that nobody could presume to calculate on the issue of an
action; that it was very lucky they had prevented the other party from
getting Serjeant Snubbin; and other topics of doubt and consolation,
common in such a position of affairs.
Mr. Weller was then roused by his master from a sweet sleep of an
hour's duration; and, bidding adieu to Lowten, they returned to the
City.
CHAPTER IV
[Illustration]
_Describes, far more fully than the Court Newsman ever did, a
Bachelor's Party, given by Mr. Bob Sawyer at his Lodgings in the
Borough_
There is a repose about Lant Street, in the Borough, which sheds a
gentle melancholy upon the soul. There are always a good many houses to
let in the street: it is a by-street too, and its dulness is soothing.
A house in Lant Street would not come within the denomination of a
first-rate residence, in the strict acceptation of the term; but it
is a most desirable spot nevertheless. If a man wished to abstract
himself from the world--to remove himself from within the reach of
temptation--to place himself beyond the possibility of any inducement
to look out of the window--he should by all means go to Lant Street.
In this happy retreat are colonised a few clear-starchers, a sprinkling
of journeymen bookbinders, one or two prison agents for the Insolvent
Court, several small housekeepers who are employed in the docks, a
handful of mantua-makers, and a seasoning of jobbing tailors. The
majority of the inhabitants either direct their energies to the letting
of furnished apartments, or devote themselves to the healthful and
invigorating pursuit of mangling. The chief features in the still life
of the street are green shutters, lodging-bills, brass door-plates,
and bell-handles; the principal specimens of animated nature, the
pot-boy, the muffin youth, and the baked-potato man. The population
is migratory, usually disappearing on the verge of quarter-day, and
generally by night. His Majesty's revenues are seldom collected in this
happy valley; the rents are dubious; and the water communication is
very frequently cut off.
Mr. Bob Sawyer embellished one side of the fire, in his first-floor
front, early in the evening for which he had invited Mr. Pickwick; and
Mr. Ben Allen the other. The preparations for the reception of visitors
appeared to be completed. The umbrellas in the passage had been heaped
into the little corner outside the back-parlour door; the bonnet and
shawl of the landlady's servant had been removed from the banisters;
there were not more than two pairs of pattens on the street-door mat,
and the kitchen candle, with a very long snuff, burnt cheerfully on the
ledge of the staircase window. Mr. Bob Sawyer had himself purchased
the spirits at a wine vaults in High Street, and had returned home
preceding the bearer thereof, to preclude the possibility of their
delivery at the wrong house. The punch was ready-made in a red pan in
the bedroom; a little table, covered with a green baize cloth, had
been borrowed from the parlour, to play cards on; and the glasses of
the establishment, together with those which had been borrowed for the
occasion from the public-house, were all drawn up in a tray, which was
deposited on the landing outside the door.
Notwithstanding the highly satisfactory nature of all these
arrangements, there was a cloud on the countenance of Mr. Bob Sawyer,
as he sat by the fireside. There was a sympathising expression, too, in
the features of Mr. Ben Allen, as he gazed intently on the coals; and a
tone of melancholy in his voice, as he said, after a long silence:
"Well, it _is_ unlucky she should have taken it in her head to turn
sour, just on this occasion. She might at least have waited till
to-morrow."
"That's her malevolence, that's her malevolence," returned Mr. Bob
Sawyer, vehemently. "She says that if I can afford to give a party I
ought to be able to pay her confounded 'little bill.'"
"How long has it been running?" inquired Mr. Ben Allen. A bill,
by-the-bye, is the most extraordinary locomotive engine that the genius
of man ever produced. It would keep on running during the longest
lifetime, without ever once stopping of its own accord.
"Only a quarter, and a month or so," replied Mr. Bob Sawyer.
Ben Allen coughed hopelessly, and directed a searching look between the
two top bars of the stove.
"It'll be a deuced unpleasant thing if she takes it into her head to
let out, when those fellows are here, won't it?" said Mr. Ben Allen at
length.
"Horrible," replied Bob Sawyer, "horrible."
A low tap was heard at the room door. Mr. Bob Sawyer looked expressively
at his friend, and bade the tapper come in; whereupon a dirty slipshod
girl in black cotton stockings, who might have passed for the neglected
daughter of a superannuated dustman in very reduced circumstances,
thrust in her head, and said,
"Please, Mister Sawyer, Missis Raddle wants to speak to _you_."
Before Mr. Bob Sawyer could return any answer, the girl suddenly
disappeared with a jerk, as if somebody had given her a violent pull
behind; this mysterious exit was no sooner accomplished, than there
was another tap at the door--a smart pointed tap, which seemed to say,
"Here I am, and in I'm coming."
Mr. Bob Sawyer glanced at his friend with a look of abject apprehension,
and once more cried "Come in."
The permission was not at all necessary, for, before Mr. Bob Sawyer had
uttered the words, a little fierce woman bounced into the room, all in
a tremble with passion, and pale with rage.
"Now, Mr. Sawyer," said the little fierce woman, trying to appear very
calm, "if you'll have the kindness to settle that little bill of mine
I'll thank you, because I've got my rent to pay this afternoon, and
my landlord's a waiting below now." Here the little woman rubbed her
hands, and looked steadily over Mr. Bob Sawyer's head, at the wall
behind him.
"I am very sorry to put you to any inconvenience, Mrs. Raddle," said
Bob Sawyer, deferentially, "but----"
"Oh, it isn't any inconvenience," replied the little woman, with a
shrill titter. "I didn't want it particular before to-day; leastways,
as it has to go to my landlord directly, it was as well for you to
keep it as me. You promised me this afternoon, Mr. Sawyer, and every
gentleman as has ever lived here, has kept his word, sir, as of course
anybody as calls himself a gentleman, does." Mrs. Raddle tossed her
head, bit her lips, rubbed her hands harder, and looked at the wall
more steadily than ever. It was plain to see, as Mr. Bob Sawyer
remarked in a style of eastern allegory on a subsequent occasion, that
she was "getting the steam up."
[Illustration: _"If you'll have the kindness to settle that little bill
of mine I'll thank you"_]
"I am very sorry, Mrs. Raddle," said Bob Sawyer with all imaginable
humility, "but the fact is that I have been disappointed in the City
to-day."--Extraordinary place, that City. An astonishing number of men
always _are_ getting disappointed there.
"Well, Mr. Sawyer," said Mrs. Raddle, planting herself firmly on a
purple cauliflower in the Kidderminster carpet, "and what's that to me,
sir?"
"I--I have no doubt, Mrs. Raddle," said Bob Sawyer, blinking this last
question, "that before the middle of next week we shall be able to set
ourselves quite square, and go on, on a better system afterwards."
This was all Mrs. Raddle wanted. She had bustled up to the apartment of
the unlucky Bob Sawyer, so bent upon going into a passion, that in all
probability payment would have rather disappointed her than otherwise.
She was in excellent order for a little relaxation of the kind: having
just exchanged a few introductory compliments with Mr. R. in the front
kitchen.
"Do you suppose, Mr. Sawyer," said Mrs. Raddle, elevating her voice for
the information of the neighbours, "do you suppose that I'm a-going
day after day to let a fellar occupy my lodgings as never thinks of
paying his rent, nor even the very money laid out for the fresh butter
and lump sugar that's bought for his breakfast, and the very milk
that's took in, at the street door? Do you suppose a hard-working and
industrious woman as has lived in this street for twenty year (ten year
over the way, and nine year and three-quarter in this very house) has
nothing else to do but to work herself to death after a parcel of lazy
idle fellars, that are always smoking and drinking, and lounging, when
they ought to be glad to turn their hands to anything that would help
them to pay their bills? Do you----"
"My good soul," interposed Mr. Benjamin Allen, soothingly.
"Have the goodness to keep your observashuns to yourself, sir, I beg,"
said Mrs. Raddle, suddenly arresting the rapid torrent of her speech,
and addressing the third party with impressive slowness and solemnity.
"I am not aweer, sir, that you have any right to address your
conversation to me. I don't think I let these apartments to you, sir."
"No, you certainly did not," said Mr. Benjamin Allen.
"Very good, sir," responded Mrs. Raddle, with lofty politeness. "Then
p'raps, sir, you'll confine yourself to breaking the arms and legs of
the poor people in the hospitals, and keep yourself _to_ yourself, sir,
or there may be some persons here as will make you, sir."
"But you are such an unreasonable woman," remonstrated Mr. Benjamin
Allen.
"I beg your parding, young man," said Mrs. Raddle, in a cold
perspiration of anger. "But will you have the goodness just to call me
that again, sir?"
"I didn't make use of the word in any invidious sense, ma'am," replied
Mr. Benjamin Allen, growing somewhat uneasy on his own account.
"I beg your parding, young man," demanded Mrs. Raddle in a louder and
more imperative tone. "But who do you call a woman? Did you make that
remark to me, sir?"
"Why, bless my heart!" said Mr. Benjamin Allen.
"Did you apply that name to me, I ask of you, sir?" interrupted Mrs.
Raddle, with intense fierceness, throwing the door wide open.
"Why, of course I did," replied Mr. Benjamin Allen.
"Yes, of course you did," said Mrs. Raddle, backing gradually to the
door, and raising her voice to its loudest pitch, for the special
behoof of Mr. Raddle in the kitchen. "Yes, of course you did! And
everybody knows that they may safely insult me in my own 'ouse while my
husband sits sleeping down-stairs, and taking no more notice than if I
was a dog in the streets. He ought to be ashamed of himself (here Mrs.
Raddle sobbed) to allow his wife to be treated in this way by a parcel
of young cutters and carvers of live people's bodies, that disgraces
the lodgings (another sob), and leaving her exposed to all manner of
abuse; a base, faint-hearted, timorous wretch, that's afraid to come
up-stairs, and face the ruffinly creatures--that's afraid--that's
afraid to come!" Mrs. Raddle paused to listen whether the repetition of
the taunt had roused her better half; and, finding that it had not been
successful, proceeded to descend the stairs with sobs innumerable: when
there came a loud double knock at the street door: whereupon she burst
into an hysterical fit of weeping, accompanied with dismal moans, which
was prolonged until the knock had been repeated six times, when, in an
uncontrollable burst of mental agony, she threw down all the umbrellas,
and disappeared into the back parlour, closing the door after her with
an awful crash.
"Does Mr. Sawyer live here?" said Mr. Pickwick, when the door was
opened.
"Yes," said the girl, "first floor. It's the door straight afore you
when you gets to the top of the stairs." Having given this instruction,
the handmaid, who had been brought up among the aboriginal inhabitants
of Southwark, disappeared, with the candle in her hand, down the
kitchen stairs: perfectly satisfied that she had done everything that
could possibly be required of her under the circumstances.
Mr. Snodgrass, who entered last, secured the street door, after several
ineffectual efforts, by putting up the chain; and the friends stumbled
up-stairs, where they were received by Mr. Bob Sawyer, who had been
afraid to go down, lest he should be waylaid by Mrs. Raddle.
"How are you?" said the discomfited student. "Glad to see you,--take
care of the glasses." This caution was addressed to Mr. Pickwick, who
had put his hat in the tray.
"Dear me," said Mr. Pickwick, "I beg your pardon."
"Don't mention it, don't mention it," said Bob Sawyer. "I'm rather
confined for room here, but you must put up with all that, when you
come to see a young bachelor. Walk in. You've seen this gentleman
before, I think?" Mr. Pickwick shook hands with Mr. Benjamin Allen, and
his friends followed his example. They had scarcely taken their seats
when there was another double knock.
"I hope that's Jack Hopkins!" said Mr. Bob Sawyer. "Hush! Yes, it is.
Come up, Jack; come up."
A heavy footstep was heard upon the stairs, and Jack Hopkins presented
himself. He wore a black velvet waistcoat, with thunder-and-lightning
buttons; and a blue striped shirt, with a white false collar.
"You're late, Jack," said Mr. Benjamin Allen.
"Been detained at Bartholomew's," replied Hopkins.
"Anything new?"
"No, nothing particular. Rather a good accident brought into the
casualty ward."
"What was that, sir?" inquired Mr. Pickwick.
"Only a man fallen out of a four pair of stairs' window;--but it's a
very fair case--very fair case indeed."
"Do you mean that the patient is in a fair way to recover?" inquired
Mr. Pickwick.
"No," replied Hopkins, carelessly. "No, I should rather say he wouldn't.
There must be a splendid operation though, to-morrow--magnificent sight
if Slasher does it."
"You consider Mr. Slasher a good operator?" said Mr. Pickwick.
"Best alive," replied Hopkins. "Took a boy's leg out of the socket last
week--boy ate five apples and a gingerbread cake--exactly two minutes
after it was all over, boy said he wouldn't lie there to be made game
of, and he'd tell his mother if they didn't begin."
"Dear me!" said Mr. Pickwick, astonished.
"Pooh! That's nothing, that ain't," said Jack Hopkins. "Is it, Bob?"
"Nothing at all," replied Mr. Bob Sawyer.
"By-the-bye, Bob," said Hopkins, with a scarcely perceptible glance at
Mr. Pickwick's attentive face, "we had a curious accident last night. A
child was brought in, who had swallowed a necklace."
"Swallowed what, sir?" interrupted Mr. Pickwick.
"A necklace," replied Jack Hopkins. "Not all at once, you know, that
would be too much--_you_ couldn't swallow that, if the child did--eh,
Mr. Pickwick, ha! ha!" Mr. Hopkins appeared highly gratified with his
own pleasantry; and continued. "No, the way was this. Child's parents
were poor people who lived in a court. Child's eldest sister bought a
necklace; common necklace, made of large black wooden beads. Child,
being fond of toys, cribbed the necklace, hid it, played with it, cut
the string, and swallowed a bead. Child thought it capital fun, went
back next day, and swallowed another bead."
"Bless my heart," said Mr. Pickwick, "what a dreadful thing! I beg your
pardon, sir. Go on."
"Next day child swallowed two beads; the day after that, he treated
himself to three, and so on, till in a week's time he had got through
the necklace--five-and-twenty beads in all. The sister, who was an
industrious girl, and seldom treated herself to a bit of finery, cried
her eyes out, at the loss of the necklace; looked high and low for it;
but, I needn't say, didn't find it. A few days afterwards the family
were at dinner--baked shoulder of mutton, and potatoes under it--the
child, who wasn't hungry, was playing about the room, when suddenly
there was heard a devil of a noise, like a small hailstorm. 'Don't do
that, my boy,' said the father. 'I ain't a doin' nothing,' said the
child. 'Well, don't do it again,' said the father. There was a short
silence, and then the noise again began, worse than ever. 'If you don't
mind what I say, my boy,' said the father, 'you'll find yourself in
bed, in something less than a pig's whisper.' He gave the child a shake
to make him obedient, and such a rattling ensued as nobody ever heard
before. 'Why, damme, it's _in_ the child!' said the father, 'he's got
the croup in the wrong place!' 'No I haven't, father,' said the child,
beginning to cry, 'it's the necklace; I swallowed it, father.' The
father caught the child up, and ran with him to the hospital: the beads
in the boy's stomach rattling all the way with the jolting; and the
people looking up in the air, and down in the cellars to see where the
unusual sound came from. He's in the hospital now," said Jack Hopkins,
"and he makes such a devil of a noise when he walks about, that they're
obliged to muffle him in a watchman's coat, for fear he should wake the
patients!"
"That's the most extraordinary case I ever heard of," said Mr.
Pickwick, with an emphatic blow on the table.
"Oh, that's nothing," said Jack Hopkins; "is it, Bob?"
"Certainly not," replied Mr. Bob Sawyer.
"Very singular things occur in our profession, I can assure you, sir,"
said Hopkins.
"So I should be disposed to imagine," replied Mr. Pickwick.
Another knock at the door, announced a large-headed young man in a
black wig, who brought with him a scorbutic youth in a long stock. The
next comer was a gentleman in a shirt emblazoned with pink anchors,
who was closely followed by a pale youth with a plated watchguard. The
arrival of a prim personage in clean linen and cloth boots rendered
the party complete. The little table with the green baize cover was
wheeled out; the first instalment of punch was brought in, in a white
jug; and the succeeding three hours were devoted to _vingt-et-un_ at
sixpence a dozen, which was only once interrupted by a slight dispute
between the scorbutic youth and the gentleman with the pink anchors; in
the course of which, the scorbutic youth intimated a burning desire to
pull the nose of the gentleman with the emblems of hope; in reply to
which, that individual expressed his decided unwillingness to accept
of any "sauce" on gratuitous terms, either from the irascible young
gentleman with the scorbutic countenance, or any other person who was
ornamented with a head.
When the last "natural" had been declared, and the profit and loss
account of fish and sixpences adjusted, to the satisfaction of all
parties, Mr. Bob Sawyer rang for supper, and the visitors squeezed
themselves into corners while it was getting ready.
It was not so easily got ready as some people may imagine. First of
all, it was necessary to awaken the girl, who had fallen asleep with
her face on the kitchen table; this took a little time, and, even when
she did answer the bell, another quarter of an hour was consumed in
fruitless endeavours to impart to her a faint and distant glimmering
of reason. The man to whom the order for the oysters had been sent,
had not been told to open them; it is a very difficult thing to open
an oyster with a limp knife or a two-pronged fork; and very little was
done in this way. Very little of the beef was done either; and the ham
(which was also from the German-sausage shop round the corner) was in a
similar predicament. However, there was plenty of porter in a tin can;
and the cheese went a great way, for it was very strong. So upon the
whole, perhaps, the supper was quite as good as such matters usually
are.
After supper, another jug of punch was put upon the table, together
with a paper of cigars, and a couple of bottles of spirits. Then there
was an awful pause; and this awful pause was occasioned by a very
common occurrence in this sort of place, but a very embarrassing one
notwithstanding.
The fact is, the girl was washing the glasses. The establishment
boasted four; we do not record the circumstance as at all derogatory
to Mrs. Raddle, for there never was a lodging-house yet, that was not
short of glasses. The landlady's glasses were little thin blown glass
tumblers, and those which had been borrowed from the public-house were
great, dropsical, bloated articles, each supported on a huge gouty
leg. This would have been in itself sufficient to have possessed the
company with the real state of affairs; but the young woman of all work
had prevented the possibility of any misconception arising in the mind
of any gentleman upon the subject, by forcibly dragging every man's
glass away, long before he had finished his beer, and audibly stating,
despite the winks and interruptions of Mr. Bob Sawyer, that it was to
be conveyed down-stairs, and washed forthwith.
It is a very ill wind that blows nobody any good. The prim man in the
cloth boots, who had been unsuccessfully attempting to make a joke
during the whole time the round game lasted, saw his opportunity,
and availed himself of it. The instant the glasses disappeared, he
commenced a long story about a great public character, whose name he
had forgotten, making a particularly happy reply to another eminent
and illustrious individual whom he had never been able to identify.
He enlarged at some length and with great minuteness upon divers
collateral circumstances, distantly connected with the anecdote in
hand, but for the life of him he couldn't recollect at that precise
moment what the anecdote was, although he had been in the habit of
telling the story with great applause for the last ten years.
"Dear me," said the prim man in the cloth boots, "it is a very
extraordinary circumstance."
"I am sorry you have forgotten it," said Mr. Bob Sawyer, glancing
eagerly at the door, as he thought he heard the noise of glasses
jingling; "very sorry."
"So am I," responded the prim man, "because I know it would have
afforded so much amusement. Never mind; I dare say I shall manage to
recollect it, in the course of half an hour or so."
The prim man arrived at this point, just as the glasses came back, when
Mr. Bob Sawyer, who had been absorbed in attention during the whole
time, said he should very much like to hear the end of it, for, so far
as it went, it was, without exception, the very best story he had ever
heard.
The sight of the tumblers restored Bob Sawyer to a degree of equanimity
which he had not possessed since his interview with his landlady. His
face brightened up, and he began to feel quite convivial.
"Now, Betsy," said Mr. Bob Sawyer, with great suavity, and dispersing,
at the same time, the tumultuous little mob of glasses the girl had
collected in the centre of the table: "now, Betsy, the warm water: be
brisk, there's a good girl."
"You can't have no warm water," replied Betsy.
"No warm water!" exclaimed Mr. Bob Sawyer.
"No," said the girl, with a shake of the head which expressed a more
decided negative than the most copious language could have conveyed.
"Missis Raddle said you warn't to have none."
The surprise depicted on the countenances of his guests imparted new
courage to the host.
"Bring up the warm water instantly--instantly!" said Mr. Bob Sawyer,
with desperate sternness.
"No. I can't," replied the girl; "Missis Raddle raked out the kitchen
fire afore she went to bed, and locked up the kittle."
"Oh, never mind; never mind. Pray don't disturb yourself about such
a trifle," said Mr. Pickwick, observing the conflict of Bob Sawyer's
passions, as depicted in his countenance, "cold water will do very
well."
"Oh, admirably," said Mr. Benjamin Allen.
"My landlady is subject to some slight attacks of mental derangement,"
remarked Bob Sawyer with a ghastly smile; "and I fear I must give her
warning."
"No, don't," said Ben Allen.
"I fear I must," said Bob, with heroic firmness. "I'll pay her what
I owe her, and give her warning to-morrow morning." Poor fellow! how
devoutly he wished he could!
Mr. Bob Sawyer's heart-sickening attempts to rally under this last
blow, communicated a dispiriting influence on the company, the greater
part of whom, with the view of raising their spirits, attached
themselves with extra cordiality to the cold brandy and water, the
first perceptible effects of which were displayed in a renewal of
hostilities between the scorbutic youth and the gentleman in the
shirt. The belligerents vented their feelings of mutual contempt, for
some time, in a variety of frownings and snortings, until at last
the scorbutic youth felt it necessary to come to a more explicit
understanding on the matter, when the following clear understanding
took place.
"Sawyer," said the scorbutic youth, in a loud voice.
"Well, Noddy," replied Mr. Bob Sawyer.
"I should be very sorry, Sawyer," said Mr. Noddy, "to create any
unpleasantness at any friend's table, and much less at yours,
Sawyer--very; but I must take this opportunity of informing Mr. Gunter
that he is no gentleman."
"And _I_ should be very sorry, Sawyer, to create any disturbance in
the street in which you reside," said Mr. Gunter, "but I'm afraid I
shall be under the necessity of alarming the neighbours by throwing the
person who has just spoken, out o' window."
"What do you mean by that, sir?" inquired Mr. Noddy.
"What I say, sir," replied Mr. Gunter.
"I should like to see you do it, sir," said Mr. Noddy.
"You shall feel me do it in half a minute, sir," replied Mr. Gunter.
"I request that you'll favour me with your card, sir," said Mr. Noddy.
"I'll do nothing of the kind, sir," replied Mr. Gunter.
"Why not, sir?" inquired Mr. Noddy.
"Because you'll stick it up over your chimney-piece, and delude your
visitors into the false belief that a gentleman has been to see you,
sir," replied Mr. Gunter.
"Sir, a friend of mine shall wait on you in the morning," said Mr.
Noddy.
"Sir, I'm very much obliged to you for the caution, and I'll leave
particular directions with the servant to lock up the spoons," replied
Mr. Gunter.
At this point the remainder of the guests interposed, and remonstrated
with both parties on the impropriety of their conduct; on which Mr.
Noddy begged to state that his father was quite as respectable as Mr.
Gunter's father; to which Mr. Gunter replied that his father was to
the full as respectable as Mr. Noddy's father, and that his father's
son was as good a man as Mr. Noddy, any day in the week. As this
announcement seemed the prelude to a recommencement of the dispute,
there was another interference on the part of the company; and a vast
quantity of talking and clamouring ensued, in the course of which Mr.
Noddy gradually allowed his feelings to overpower him, and professed
that he had ever entertained a devoted personal attachment towards Mr.
Gunter. To this Mr. Gunter replied that, upon the whole, he rather
preferred Mr. Noddy to his own brother; on hearing which admission, Mr.
Noddy magnanimously rose from his seat, and proffered his hand to Mr.
Gunter. Mr. Gunter grasped it with affecting fervour; and everybody
said that the whole dispute had been conducted in a manner which was
highly honourable to both parties concerned.
"Now," said Jack Hopkins, "just to set us going again, Bob, I don't
mind singing a song." And Hopkins, incited thereto by tumultuous
applause, plunged himself at once into "The King, God bless him," which
he sang as loud as he could, to a novel air, compounded of the "Bay of
Biscay," and "A Frog he would." The chorus was the essence of the song;
and, as each gentleman sang it to the tune he knew best, the effect was
very striking indeed.
It was at the end of the chorus to the first verse, that Mr. Pickwick
held up his hand in a listening attitude, and said, as soon as silence
was restored:
"Hush! I beg your pardon. I thought I heard somebody calling from
up-stairs."
A profound silence immediately ensued; and Mr. Bob Sawyer was observed
to turn pale.
"I think I hear it now," said Mr. Pickwick. "Have the goodness to open
the door."
The door was no sooner opened than all doubt on the subject was removed.
"Mr. Sawyer! Mr. Sawyer!" screamed a voice from the two-pair landing.
"It's my landlady," said Bob Sawyer, looking round him with great
dismay. "Yes, Mrs. Raddle."
"What do you mean by this, Mr. Sawyer?" replied the voice, with great
shrillness and rapidity of utterance. "Ain't it enough to be swindled
out of one's rent, and money lent out of pocket besides, and abused and
insulted by your friends that dares to call themselves men: without
having the house turned out of window, and noise enough made to bring
the fire-engines here, at two o'clock in the morning? Turn them
wretches away."
"You ought to be ashamed of yourselves," said the voice of Mr. Raddle,
which appeared to proceed from beneath some distant bed-clothes.
"Ashamed of themselves!" said Mrs. Raddle. "Why don't you go down and
knock 'em every one down-stairs? You would if you was a man."
"I should if I was a dozen men, my dear," replied Mr. Raddle,
pacifically, "but they've the advantage of me in numbers, my dear."
"Ugh, you coward!" replied Mrs. Raddle, with supreme contempt. "_Do_
you mean to turn them wretches out, or not, Mr. Sawyer?"
"They're going, Mrs. Raddle, they're going," said the miserable Bob.
"I am afraid you'd better go," said Mr. Bob Sawyer to his friends. "I
_thought_ you were making too much noise."
"It's a very unfortunate thing," said the prim man. "Just as we were
getting so comfortable too!" The prim man was just beginning to have a
dawning recollection of the story he had forgotten.
"It's hardly to be borne," said the prim man, looking round. "Hardly to
be borne, is it?"
"Not to be endured," replied Jack Hopkins; "let's have the other verse,
Bob. Come, here goes!"
"No, no, Jack, don't," interrupted Bob Sawyer; "it's a capital song,
but I am afraid we had better not have the other verse. They are very
violent people, the people of the house."
"Shall I step up-stairs and pitch into the landlord?" inquired Hopkins,
"or keep on ringing the bell, or go and groan on the staircase? You may
command me, Bob."
"I am very much indebted to you for your friendship and good nature,
Hopkins," said the wretched Mr. Bob Sawyer, "but I think, the best plan
to avoid any further dispute is for us to break up at once."
"Now Mr. Sawyer!" screamed the shrill voice of Mrs. Raddle, "_are_ them
brutes going?"
"They're only looking for their hats, Mrs. Raddle," said Bob; "they are
going directly."
"Going!" said Mrs. Raddle, thrusting her night-cap over the banisters
just as Mr. Pickwick, followed by Mr. Tupman, emerged from the
sitting-room. "Going! what did they ever come for?"
"My dear ma'am," remonstrated Mr. Pickwick, looking up.
"Get along with you, you old wretch!" replied Mrs. Raddle, hastily
withdrawing the night-cap. "Old enough to be his grandfather, you
willin! You're worse than any of 'em."
Mr. Pickwick found it in vain to protest his innocence, so hurried
down-stairs into the street, whither he was closely followed by Mr.
Tupman, Mr. Winkle, and Mr. Snodgrass. Mr. Ben Allen, who was dismally
depressed with spirits and agitation, accompanied them as far as
London Bridge, and in the course of the walk confided to Mr. Winkle,
as an especially eligible person to entrust the secret to, that he was
resolved to cut the throat of any gentleman except Mr. Bob Sawyer,
who should aspire to the affections of his sister Arabella. Having
expressed his determination to perform this painful duty of a brother
with proper firmness, he burst into tears, knocked his hat over his
eyes, and, making the best of his way back, knocked double knocks at
the door of the Borough Market office, and took short naps on the steps
alternately, until daybreak, under the firm impression that he lived
there, and had forgotten the key.
The visitors having all departed, in compliance with the rather
pressing request of Mrs. Raddle, the luckless Mr. Bob Sawyer was
left alone to meditate on the probable events of to-morrow, and the
pleasures of the evening.
CHAPTER V
[Illustration]
_Mr. Weller the Elder delivers some Critical Sentiments respecting
Literary Composition; and, assisted by his son Samuel, pays a
small Instalment of Retaliation to the Account of the Reverend
Gentleman with the Red Nose_
The morning of the thirteenth of February, which the readers of this
authentic narrative know, as well as we do, to have been the day
immediately preceding that which was appointed for the trial of Mrs.
Bardell's action, was a busy time for Mr. Samuel Weller, who was
perpetually engaged in travelling from the George and Vulture to Mr.
Perker's chambers and back again, from and between the hours of nine
o'clock in the morning and two in the afternoon, both inclusive. Not
that there was anything whatever to be done, for the consultation had
taken place, and the course of proceeding to be adopted, had been
finally determined on; but Mr. Pickwick being in a most extreme state
of excitement, persevered in constantly sending small notes to his
attorney, merely containing the inquiry, "Dear Perker. Is all going
on well?" to which Mr. Perker invariably forwarded the reply, "Dear
Pickwick. As well as possible;" the fact being, as we have already
hinted, that there was nothing whatever to go on, either well or ill,
until the sitting of the court on the following morning.
But people who go voluntarily to law, or are taken forcibly there,
for the first time, may be allowed to labour under some temporary
irritation and anxiety: and Sam, with a due allowance for the
frailties of human nature, obeyed all his master's behests with that
imperturbable good humour and unruffable composure which formed one of
his most striking and amiable characteristics.
Sam had solaced himself with a most agreeable little dinner, and was
waiting at the bar for the glass of warm mixture in which Mr. Pickwick
had requested him to drown the fatigues of his morning's walks, when a
young boy of about three feet high, or thereabouts, in a hairy cap and
fustian over-alls, whose garb bespoke a laudable ambition to attain in
time the elevation of an hostler, entered the passage of the George and
Vulture, and looked first up the stairs, and then along the passage,
and then into the bar, as if in search of somebody to whom he bore a
commission; whereupon the barmaid, conceiving it not improbable that
the said commission might be directed to the tea or table spoons of the
establishment, accosted the boy with:
"Now, young man, what do _you_ want?"
"Is there anybody here, named Sam?" inquired the youth, in a loud voice
of treble quality.
[Illustration: "_Is there anybody here, named Sam?_"]
"What's the t'other name?" said Sam Weller, looking round.
"How should I know?" briskly replied the young gentleman below the
hairy cap.
"You're a sharp boy, you are," said Mr. Weller; "only I wouldn't show
that wery fine edge too much, if I was you, in case anybody took it
off. What do you mean by comin' to a hot-el and asking arter Sam, vith
as much politeness as a vild Indian?"
"'Cos an old gen'l'm'n told me to," replied the boy.
"What old gen'l'm'n?" inquired Sam, with deep disdain.
"Him as drives a Ipswich coach, and uses our parlour," rejoined the
boy. "He told me yesterday mornin' to come to the George and Wultur
this arternoon, and ask for Sam."
"It's my father, my dear," said Mr. Weller, turning with an explanatory
air to the young lady in the bar; "blessed if I think he hardly knows
wot my other name is. Vell, young brockiley sprout, wot then?"
"Why, then," said the boy, "you was to come to him at six o'clock to
our 'ouse, 'cos he wants to see you--Blue Boar, Leaden'all Markit.
Shall I say you're comin'?"
"You _may_ wenture on that 'ere statement, sir," replied Sam. And thus
empowered, the young gentleman walked away, awakening all the echoes in
George Yard, as he did so, with several chaste and extremely correct
imitations of a drover's whistle, delivered in a tone of peculiar
richness and volume.
Mr. Weller having obtained leave of absence from Mr. Pickwick, who,
in his then state of excitement and worry was by no means displeased
at being left alone, set forth, long before the appointed hour, and
having plenty of time at his disposal, sauntered down as far as the
Mansion House, where he paused and contemplated, with a face of great
calmness and philosophy, the numerous cads and drivers of short stages
who assemble near that famous place of resort, to the great terror and
confusion of the old-lady population of these realms. Having loitered
here, for half an hour or so, Mr. Weller turned, and began wending his
way towards Leadenhall Market, through a variety of by-streets and
courts. As he was sauntering away his spare time, and stopped to look
at almost every object that met his gaze, it is by no means surprising
that Mr. Weller should have paused before a small stationer's and
print-seller's window; but without further explanation it does appear
surprising that his eyes should have no sooner rested on certain
pictures which were exposed for sale therein, than he gave a sudden
start, smote his right leg with great vehemence, and exclaimed with
energy, "If it hadn't been for this, I should ha' forgot all about it,
till it was too late!"
The particular picture on which Sam Weller's eyes were fixed, as he
said this, was a highly coloured representation of a couple of human
hearts, skewered together with an arrow, cooking before a cheerful
fire, while a male and female cannibal in modern attire: the gentleman
being clad in a blue coat and white trousers, and the lady in a deep
red pelisse with a parasol of the same: were approaching the meal with
hungry eyes, up a serpentine gravel path leading thereunto. A decidedly
indelicate young gentleman, in a pair of wings and nothing else, was
depicted as superintending the cooking; a representation of the spire
of the church in Langham Place, London, appeared in the distance; and
the whole formed a "valentine," of which, as a written inscription in
the window testified, there was a large assortment within, which the
shopkeeper pledged himself to dispose of, to his countrymen generally,
at the reduced rate of one and sixpence each.
"I should ha' forgot it; I should certainly ha' forgot it!" said Sam;
so saying, he at once stepped into the stationer's shop, and requested
to be served with a sheet of the best gilt-edged letter-paper, and
a hard-nibbed pen which could be warranted not to splutter. These
articles having been promptly supplied, he walked on direct towards
Leadenhall Market at a good round pace, very different from his recent
lingering one. Looking round him, he there beheld a sign-board on
which the painter's art had delineated something remotely resembling
a cerulean elephant with an aquiline nose in lieu of trunk. Rightly
conjecturing that this was the Blue Boar himself, he stepped into the
house, and inquired concerning his parent.
"He won't be here this three-quarters of an hour or more," said the
young lady who superintended the domestic arrangements of the Blue Boar.
"Wery good, my dear," replied Sam. "Let me have nine penn'orth o'
brandy and water luke, and the inkstand, will you, miss?"
The brandy and water luke, and the inkstand, having been carried into
the little parlour, and the young lady having carefully flattened down
the coals to prevent their blazing, and carried away the poker to
preclude the possibility of the fire being stirred, without the full
privity and concurrence of the Blue Boar being first had and obtained,
Sam Weller sat himself down in a box near the stove, and pulled out the
sheet of gilt-edged letter-paper, and the hard-nibbed pen. Then looking
carefully at the pen to see that there were no hairs in it, and dusting
down the table, so that there might be no crumbs of bread under the
paper, Sam tucked up the cuffs of his coat, squared his elbows, and
composed himself to write.
To ladies and gentlemen who are not in the habit of devoting themselves
practically to the science of penmanship, writing a letter is no very
easy task; it being always considered necessary in such cases for
the writer to recline his head on his left arm, so as to place his
eyes as nearly as possible on a level with the paper, while glancing
sideways at the letters he is constructing, and to form with his
tongue imaginary characters to correspond. These motions, although
unquestionably of the greatest assistance to original composition,
retard in some degree the progress of the writer; and Sam had
unconsciously been a full hour and a half writing words in small text,
smearing out wrong letters with his little finger, and putting in new
ones which required going over often to render them visible through
the old blots, when he was roused by the opening of the door and the
entrance of his parent.
"Vell, Sammy," said the father.
"Vell, my Prooshan Blue," responded the son, laying down his pen.
"What's the last bulletin about mother-in-law?"
"'Mrs. Weller passed a very good night, but is uncommon perwerse and
unpleasant this mornin'. Signed upon oath, S. Veller, Esquire, Senior.'
That's the last vun as was issued, Sammy," replied Mr. Weller, untying
his shawl.
"No better yet?" inquired Sam.
"All the symptoms aggerawated," replied Mr. Weller, shaking his
head. "But wot's that, you're a doin' of? Pursuit of knowledge under
difficulties, Sammy?"
"I've done now," said Sam, with slight embarrassment; "I've been a
writin'."
"So I see," replied Mr. Weller. "Not to any young 'ooman, I hope,
Sammy?"
"Why it's no use a sayin' it ain't," replied Sam. "It's a walentine."
"A what!" exclaimed Mr. Weller, apparently horror-stricken by the word.
[Illustration: _"A what!" asked Mr. Weller, apparently horror-stricken
by the word. "A walentine," replied Sam._]
"A walentine," replied Sam.
"Samivel, Samivel," said Mr. Weller, in reproachful accents, "I didn't
think you'd ha' done it. Arter the warnin' you've had o' your father's
wicious propensities; arter all I've said to you upon this here wery
subject; arter actiwally seein' and bein' in the company o' your own
mother-in-law, vich I should ha' thought wos a moral lesson as no man
could never ha' forgotten to his dyin' day! I didn't think you'd ha'
done it, Sammy, I didn't think you'd ha' done it!" These reflections
were too much for the good old man. He raised Sam's tumbler to his lips
and drank off its contents.
"Wot's the matter now?" said Sam.
"Nev'r mind, Sammy," replied Mr. Weller, "it'll be a wery agonizin'
trial to me at my time of life, but I'm pretty tough, that's vun
consolation, as the wery old turkey remarked ven the farmer said he wos
afeerd he should be obliged to kill him for the London market."
"Wot'll be a trial?" inquired Sam.
"To see you married, Sammy--to see you a dilluded wictim, and thinkin'
in your innocence that it's all wery capital," replied Mr. Weller.
"It's a dreadful trial to a father's feelin's, that 'ere, Sammy."
"Nonsense," said Sam. "I ain't a goin' to get married, don't you fret
yourself about that; I know you're a judge of these things. Order in
your pipe, and I'll read you the letter. There!"
We cannot distinctly say whether it was the prospect of the pipe, or
the consolatory reflection that a fatal disposition to get married
ran in the family and couldn't be helped, which calmed Mr. Weller's
feelings, and caused his grief to subside. We should be rather disposed
to say that the result was attained by combining the two sources of
consolation, for he repeated the second in a low tone, very frequently;
ringing the bell meanwhile, to order in the first. He then divested
himself of his upper coat; and lighting the pipe and placing himself in
front of the fire with his back towards it, so that he could feel its
full heat, and recline against the mantelpiece at the same time, turned
towards Sam, and, with a countenance greatly mollified by the softening
influence of tobacco, requested him to "fire away."
Sam dipped his pen into the ink to be ready for any corrections, and
began with a very theatrical air:
"'Lovely----'"
"Stop," said Mr. Weller, ringing the bell. "A double glass o' the
inwariable, my dear."
"Very well, sir," replied the girl; who with great quickness appeared,
vanished, returned, and disappeared.
"They seem to know your ways here," observed Sam.
"Yes," replied his father, "I've been here before, in my time. Go on,
Sammy."
"'Lovely creetur,'" repeated Sam.
"'Tain't in poetry, is it?" interposed his father.
"No, no," replied Sam.
"Wery glad to hear it," said Mr. Weller. "Poetry's unnat'ral; no man
ever talked poetry 'cept a beadle on boxin' day, or Warren's blackin',
or Rowland's oil, or some o' them low fellows; never you let yourself
down to talk poetry, my boy. Begin agin, Sammy."
Mr. Weller resumed his pipe with critical solemnity, and Sam once more
commenced, and read as follows:
"'Lovely creetur i feel myself a damned----'"
"That ain't proper," said Mr. Weller, taking his pipe from his mouth.
"No; it ain't 'damned,'" observed Sam, holding the letter up to the
light, "it's 'shamed,' there's a blot there--'I feel myself ashamed.'"
"Wery good," said Mr. Weller. "Go on."
"'Feel myself ashamed, and completely cir--' I forget what this here
word is," said Sam, scratching his head with the pen, in vain attempts
to remember.
"Why don't you look at it, then?" inquired Mr. Weller.
"So I _am_ a lookin' at it," replied Sam, "but there's another blot.
Here's a 'c,' and a 'i,' and a 'd.'"
"Circumwented, p'raps," suggested Mr. Weller.
"No, it ain't that," said Sam, "circumscribed; that's it."
"That ain't as good a word as circumwented, Sammy," said Mr. Weller,
gravely.
"Think not?" said Sam.
"Nothin' like it," replied his father.
"But don't you think it means more?" inquired Sam.
"Vell, p'raps it is a more tenderer word," said Mr. Weller, after a
moment's reflection. "Go on, Sammy."
"'Feel myself ashamed and completely circumscribed in a dressin' of
you, for you _are_ a nice gal and nothin' but it.'"
"That's a wery pretty sentiment," said the elder Mr. Weller, removing
his pipe to make way for the remark.
"Yes, I think it is rayther good," observed Sam, highly flattered.
"Wot I like in that 'ere style of writin'," said the elder Mr. Weller,
"is that there ain't no callin' names in it--no Wenuses, nor nothin' o'
that kind. Wot's the good o' callin' a young 'ooman a Wenus or a angel,
Sammy?"
"Ah! what, indeed?" replied Sam.
"You might jist as well call her a griffin, or a unicorn, or a king's
arms at once, which is wery well known to be a col-lection o' fabulous
animals," added Mr. Weller.
"Just as well," replied Sam.
"Drive on, Sammy," said Mr. Weller.
Sam complied with the request, and proceeded as follows: his father
continuing to smoke, with a mixed expression of wisdom and complacency,
which was particularly edifying,
"'Afore I see you, I thought all women was alike.'"
"So they are," observed the elder Mr. Weller, parenthetically.
"'But now,' continued Sam, 'now I find what a reg'lar soft-headed,
inkred'lous turnip I must ha' been; for there ain't nobody like you,
though _I_ like you better than nothin' at all.' I thought it best to
make that rayther strong," said Sam, looking up.
Mr. Weller nodded approvingly, and Sam resumed.
"'So I take the privilidge of the day, Mary my dear--as the gen'l'm'n
in difficulties did, ven he walked out of a Sunday--to tell you that
the first and only time I see you, your likeness was took on my hart
in much quicker time and brighter colours than ever a likeness was
took by the profeel macheen (vich p'raps you may have heerd on Mary my
dear) altho it _does_ finish a portrait and put the frame and glass
on complete, with a hook at the end to hang it up by, and all in two
minutes and a quarter.'"
"I am afeerd that werges on the poetical, Sammy," said Mr. Weller,
dubiously.
"No it don't," replied Sam, reading on very quickly, to avoid
contesting the point.
"'Except of me Mary my dear as your walentine and think over what I've
said.--My dear Mary I will now conclude.' That's all," said Sam.
"That's rather a sudden pull up, ain't it, Sammy?" inquired Mr. Weller.
"Not a bit on it," said Sam; "she'll vish there wos more, and that's
the great art o' letter writin'."
"Well," said Mr. Weller, "there's somethin' in that; and I wish your
mother-in-law 'ud only conduct her conwersation on the same gen-teel
principle. Ain't you a goin' to sign it?"
"That's the difficulty," said Sam; "I don't know what _to_ sign it."
"Sign it, Veller," said the oldest surviving proprietor of that name.
"Won't do," said Sam. "Never sign a walentine with your own name."
"Sign it 'Pickvick,' then," said Mr. Weller; "it's a wery good name and
an easy one to spell."
"The wery thing," said Sam. "I _could_ end with a werse; what do you
think?"
"I don't like it, Sam," rejoined Mr. Weller. "I never know'd a
respectable coachman as wrote poetry, 'cept one, as made an affectin'
copy o' werses the night afore he wos hung for a highway robbery; and
_he_ wos only a Cambervell man, so even that's no rule."
But Sam was not to be dissuaded from the poetical idea that had
occurred to him, so he signed the letter,
"Your love-sick
Pickwick."
And having folded it in a very intricate manner, squeezed a down-hill
direction in one corner: "To Mary, Housemaid, at Mr. Nupkins's Mayor's,
Ipswich, Suffolk;" and put it into his pocket, wafered, and ready for
the general post. This important business having been transacted, Mr.
Weller the elder proceeded to open that on which he had summoned his
son.
"The first matter relates to your governor, Sammy," said Mr. Weller.
"He's a goin' to be tried to-morrow, ain't he?"
"The trial's a comin' on," replied Sam.
"Vell," said Mr. Weller, "now I s'pose he'll want to call some
witnesses to speak to his character, or p'raps to prove a alleybi. I've
been a turnin' the business over in my mind, and he may make his-self
easy, Sammy. I've got some friends as'll do either for him, but my
adwice 'ud be this here--never mind the character, and stick to the
alleybi. Nothing like a alleybi, Sammy, nothing." Mr. Weller looked
very profound as he delivered this legal opinion; and burying his nose
in his tumbler, winked over the top thereof, at his astonished son.
"Why, what do you mean?" said Sam; "you don't think he's a goin' to be
tried at the Old Bailey, do you?"
"That ain't no part of the present con-sideration, Sammy," replied Mr.
Weller. "Verever he's a goin' to be tried, my boy, a alleybi's the
thing to get him off. Ve got Tom Vildspark off that 'ere manslaughter,
with a alleybi, ven all the big vigs to a man said as nothin' couldn't
save him. And my 'pinion is, Sammy, that if your governor don't prove
a alleybi, he'll be what the Italians call reg'larly flummoxed, and
that's all about it."
As the elder Mr. Weller entertained a firm and unalterable conviction
that the Old Bailey was the supreme court of judicature in this
country, and that its rules and forms of proceeding regulated and
controlled the practice of all other courts of justice whatsoever, he
totally disregarded the assurances and arguments of his son, tending
to show that the alibi was inadmissible; and vehemently protested that
Mr. Pickwick was being "wictimised." Finding that it was of no use to
discuss the matter further, Sam changed the subject, and inquired what
the second topic was, on which his revered parent wished to consult him.
"That's a pint o' domestic policy, Sammy," said Mr. Weller. "This here
Stiggins----"
"Red-nosed man?" inquired Sam.
"The wery same," replied Mr. Weller. "This here red-nosed man, Sammy,
wisits your mother-in-law vith a kindness and constancy as I never see
equalled. He's sitch a friend o' the family, Sammy, that ven he's avay
from us, he can't be comfortable unless he has somethin' to remember us
by."
"And I'd give him somethin' as 'ud turpentine and bees'-vax his memory
for the next ten year or so, if I wos you," interposed Sam.
"Stop a minute," said Mr. Weller; "I wos a going to say, he always
brings now, a flat bottle as holds about a pint and a half and fills it
vith the pine-apple rum afore he goes avay."
"And empties it afore he comes back, I s'pose?" said Sam.
"Clean!" replied Mr. Weller; "never leaves nothin' in it but the cork
and the smell; trust him for that, Sammy. Now, these here fellows,
my boy, are a goin' to-night to get up the monthly meetin' o' the
Brick Lane Branch o' the United Grand Junction Ebenezer Temperance
Association. Your mother-in-law _wos_ a goin', Sammy, but she's got
the rheumatics, and can't; and I, Sammy--I've got the two tickets as
wos sent her." Mr. Weller communicated his secret with great glee, and
winked so indefatigably after doing so, that Sam began to think he must
have got the _tic doloureux_ in his right eye-lid.
"Well?" said that young gentleman.
"Well," continued his progenitor, looking round him very cautiously,
"you and I'll go, punctival to the time. The deputy shepherd won't,
Sammy; the deputy shepherd won't." Here Mr. Weller was seized with a
paroxysm of chuckles, which gradually terminated in as near an approach
to a choke as an elderly gentleman can, with safety, sustain.
"Well, I never see sitch an old ghost in all my born days," exclaimed
Sam, rubbing the old gentleman's back, hard enough to set him on fire
with friction. "What are you a laughin' at, corpilence?"
"Hush! Sammy," said Mr. Weller, looking round him with increased
caution, and speaking in a whisper: "Two friends o' mine, as works
the Oxford Road, and is up to all kinds o' games, has got the deputy
shepherd safe in tow, Sammy; and ven he does come to the Ebenezer
Junction (vich he's sure to do: for they'll see him to the door,
and shove him in if necessary), he'll be as far gone in rum and
water, as ever he wos at the Markis o' Granby, Dorkin', and that's
not sayin' a little neither." And with this, Mr. Weller once more
laughed immoderately, and once more relapsed into a state of partial
suffocation, in consequence.
Nothing could have been more in accordance with Sam Weller's feelings,
than the projected exposure of the real propensities and qualities
of the red-nosed man; and it being very near the appointed hour of
meeting, the father and son took their way at once to Brick Lane: Sam
not forgetting to drop his letter into a general post-office as they
walked along.
The monthly meetings of the Brick Lane Branch of the United Grand
Junction Ebenezer Temperance Association were held in a large room,
pleasantly and airily situated at the top of a safe and commodious
ladder. The president was the straight-walking Mr. Anthony Humm, a
converted fireman, now a schoolmaster, and occasionally an itinerant
preacher; and the secretary was Mr. Jonas Mudge, chandler's-shop
keeper, an enthusiastic and disinterested vessel, who sold tea to the
members. Previous to the commencement of business, the ladies sat upon
forms, and drank tea, till such time as they considered it expedient to
leave off; and a large wooden money-box was conspicuously placed upon
the green baize cloth of the business table, behind which the secretary
stood, and acknowledged, with a gracious smile, every addition to the
rich vein of copper which lay concealed within.
On this particular occasion the women drank tea to a most alarming
extent; greatly to the horror of Mr. Weller senior, who, utterly
regardless of all Sam's admonitory nudgings, stared about him in every
direction with the most undisguised astonishment.
"Sammy," whispered Mr. Weller, "if some o' these here people don't want
tappin' to-morrow mornin', I ain't your father, and that's wot it is.
Why, this here old lady next me is a drowndin' herself in tea."
"Be quiet, can't you?" murmured Sam.
"Sam," whispered Mr. Weller, a moment afterwards, in a tone of deep
agitation, "mark my words, my boy. If that 'ere secretary fellow keeps
on for only five minutes more, he'll blow hisself up with toast and
water."
"Well, let him, if he likes," replied Sam; "it ain't no bis'ness o'
yourn."
"If this here lasts much longer, Sammy," said Mr. Weller, in the same
low voice, "I shall feel it my duty, as a human bein', to rise and
address the cheer. There's a young 'ooman on the next form but two, as
has drunk nine breakfast cups and a half; and she's a swellin' wisibly
before my wery eyes."
There is little doubt that Mr. Weller would have carried his benevolent
intention into immediate execution, if a great noise, occasioned by
putting up the cups and saucers, had not very fortunately announced
that the tea-drinking was over. The crockery having been removed, the
table with the green baize cover was carried out into the centre of
the room, and the business of the evening was commenced by a little
emphatic man, with a bald head, and drab shorts, who suddenly rushed
up the ladder, at the imminent peril of snapping the two little legs
encased in the drab shorts, and said:
"Ladies and gentlemen, I move our excellent brother, Mr. Anthony Humm,
into the chair."
The ladies waved a choice collection of pocket-handkerchiefs at this
proposition; and the impetuous little man literally moved Mr. Humm
into the chair, by taking him by the shoulders and thrusting him into
a mahogany frame which had once represented that article of furniture.
The waving of handkerchiefs was renewed; and Mr. Humm, who was a sleek,
white-faced man, in a perpetual perspiration, bowed meekly, to the
great admiration of the females, and formally took his seat. Silence
was then proclaimed by the little man in the drab shorts, and Mr. Humm
rose and said--That, with the permission of his Brick Lane Branch
brothers and sisters, then and there present, the secretary would read
the report of the Brick Lane Branch committee; a proposition which was
again received with a demonstration of pocket-handkerchiefs.
The secretary having sneezed in a very impressive manner, and the cough
which always seizes an assembly, when anything particular is going to
be done, having been duly performed, the following document was read:
"+Report of the Committee of the Brick Lane Branch of the United Grand
Junction Ebenezer Temperance Association+
"Your committee have pursued their grateful labours during the past
month, and have the unspeakable pleasure of reporting the following
additional cases of converts to Temperance.
"H. Walker, tailor, wife, and two children. When in better
circumstances, owns to having been in the constant habit of drinking
ale and beer; says he is not certain whether he did not twice a
week for twenty years taste 'dog's nose,' which your committee find
upon inquiry to be compounded of warm porter, moist sugar, gin, and
nutmeg (a groan, and 'So it is!' from an elderly female). Is now out
of work and penniless; thinks it must be the porter (cheers) or the
loss of the use of his right hand; is not certain which, but thinks
it very likely that, if he had drunk nothing but water all his life,
his fellow-workman would never have stuck a rusty needle in him, and
thereby occasioned his accident (tremendous cheering). Has nothing but
cold water to drink, and never feels thirsty (great applause).
"Betsy Martin, widow, one child and one eye. Goes out charing and
washing, by the day; never had more than one eye, but knows her mother
drank bottled stout, and shouldn't wonder if that caused it (immense
cheering). Thinks it not impossible that if she had always abstained
from spirits, she might have had two eyes by this time (tremendous
applause). Used, at every place she went to, to have eighteenpence a
day, a pint of porter, and a glass of spirits; but since she became a
member of the Brick Lane Branch, has always demanded three and sixpence
instead (the announcement of this most interesting fact was received
with deafening enthusiasm).
"Henry Beller was for many years toast-master at various corporation
dinners, during which time he drank a great deal of foreign wine; may
sometimes have carried a bottle or two home with him; is not quite
certain of that, but is sure if he did, that he drank the contents.
Feels very low and melancholy, is very feverish, and has a constant
thirst upon him; thinks it must be the wine he used to drink (cheers).
Is out of employ now: and never touches a drop of foreign wine by any
chance (tremendous plaudits).
"Thomas Burton is a purveyor of cats' meat to the Lord Mayor and
Sheriffs, and several members of the Common Council (the announcement
of this gentleman's name was received with breathless interest). Has
a wooden leg; finds a wooden leg expensive, going over the stones;
used to wear second-hand wooden legs, and drink a glass of hot gin and
water regularly every night--sometimes two (deep sighs). Found the
second-hand wooden legs split and rot very quickly; is firmly persuaded
that their constitution was undermined by the gin and water (prolonged
cheering). Buys new wooden legs now, and drinks nothing but water and
weak tea. The new legs last twice as long as the others used to do, and
he attributes this solely to his temperate habits" (triumphant cheers).
Anthony Humm now moved that the assembly do regale itself with a song.
With a view to their rational and moral enjoyment, Brother Mordlin
had adapted the beautiful words of "Who hasn't heard of a Jolly Young
Waterman?" to the tune of the Old Hundredth which he would request them
to join him in singing (great applause). He might take that opportunity
of expressing his firm persuasion that the late Mr. Dibdin, seeing the
errors of his former life, had written that song to show the advantages
of abstinence. It was a temperance song (whirlwinds of cheers). The
neatness of the young man's attire, the dexterity of his feathering,
the enviable state of mind which enabled him in the beautiful words of
the poet, to
"Row along, thinking of nothing at all,"
all combined to prove that he must have been a water-drinker (cheers).
Oh, what a state of virtuous jollity! (rapturous cheering). And what
was the young man's reward? Let all young men present mark this:
"The maidens all flock'd to his boat so readily."
(Loud cheers, in which the ladies joined.) What a bright example! The
sisterhood, the maidens, flocking round the young waterman, and urging
him along the stream of duty and of temperance. But, was it the maidens
of humble life only, who soothed, consoled, and supported him? No!
"He was always first oars with the fine city ladies."
(Immense cheering.) The soft sex to a man--he begged pardon, to a
female--rallied round the young waterman, and turned with disgust from
the drinker of spirits (cheers). The Brick Lane Branch brothers were
watermen (cheers and laughter). That room was their boat; that audience
were the maidens; and he (Mr. Anthony Humm), however unworthily, was
"first oars" (unbounded applause).
"Wot does he mean by the soft sex, Sammy?" inquired Mr. Weller, in a
whisper.
"The womin," said Sam, in the same tone.
"He ain't far out there, Sammy," replied Mr. Weller; "they _must_ be a
soft sex,--a wery soft sex, indeed--if they let themselves be gammoned
by such fellers as him."
Any further observations from the indignant old gentleman were cut
short by the announcement of the song, which Mr. Anthony Humm gave out,
two lines at a time, for the information of such of his hearers as
were unacquainted with the legend. While it was being sung, the little
man with the drab shorts disappeared; he returned immediately on its
conclusion, and whispered Mr. Anthony Humm, with a face of the deepest
importance.
"My friends," said Mr. Humm, holding up his hand in a deprecatory
manner, to bespeak the silence of such of the stout old ladies as were
yet a line or two behind; "my friends, a delegate from the Dorking
Branch of our Society, Brother Stiggins, attends below."
Out came the pocket-handkerchiefs again, in greater force than ever;
for Mr. Stiggins was excessively popular among the female constituency
of Brick Lane.
"He may approach, I think," said Mr. Humm, looking round him, with a
fat smile. "Brother Tadger, let him come forth and greet us."
The little man in drab shorts who answered to the name of Brother
Tadger, bustled down the ladder with great speed, and was immediately
afterwards heard tumbling up with the Reverend Mr. Stiggins.
"He's a comin', Sammy," whispered Mr. Weller, purple in the countenance
with suppressed laughter.
"Don't say nothin' to me," replied Sam, "for I can't bear it. He's
close to the door. I hear him a-knockin' his head again the lath and
plaster now."
As Sam Weller spoke, the little door flew open, and Brother Tadger
appeared, closely followed by the Reverend Mr. Stiggins, who no sooner
entered, than there was a great clapping of hands, and stamping of
feet, and flourishing of handkerchiefs; to all of which manifestations
of delight, Brother Stiggins returned no other acknowledgment than
staring with a wild eye, and a fixed smile, at the extreme top of
the wick of the candle on the table: swaying his body to and fro,
meanwhile, in a very unsteady and uncertain manner.
"Are you unwell, Brother Stiggins?" whispered Mr. Anthony Humm.
"I am all right, sir," replied Mr. Stiggins, in a tone in which
ferocity was blended with an extreme thickness of utterance; "I am all
right, sir."
"Oh, very well," rejoined Mr. Anthony Humm, retreating a few paces.
"I believe no man here has ventured to say that I am _not_ all right,
sir?" said Mr. Stiggins.
"Oh, certainly not," said Mr. Humm.
"I should advise him not to, sir; I should advise him not," said Mr.
Stiggins.
By this time the audience were perfectly silent, and waited with some
anxiety for the resumption of business.
"Will you address the meeting, brother?" said Mr. Humm, with a smile of
invitation.
"No, sir," rejoined Mr. Stiggins; "no, sir. I will not, sir."
The meeting looked at each other with raised eyelids; and a murmur of
astonishment ran through the room.
"It's my opinion, sir," said Mr. Stiggins, unbuttoning his coat,
and speaking very loudly; "it's my opinion, sir, that this meeting
is drunk, sir. Brother Tadger, sir!" said Mr. Stiggins, suddenly
increasing in ferocity, and turning sharp round on the little man in
the drab shorts, "_you_ are drunk, sir!" With this, Mr. Stiggins,
entertaining a praiseworthy desire to promote the sobriety of the
meeting, and to exclude therefrom all improper characters, hit Brother
Tadger on the summit of the nose with such unerring aim, that the drab
shorts disappeared like a flash of lightning. Brother Tadger had been
knocked, head first, down the ladder.
Upon this, the women set up a loud and dismal screaming; and rushing in
small parties before their favourite brothers, flung their arms around
them to preserve them from danger. An instance of affection which had
nearly proved fatal to Humm, who, being extremely popular, was all but
suffocated, by the crowd of female devotees that hung about his neck,
and heaped caresses upon him. The greater part of the lights were
quickly put out, and nothing but noise and confusion resounded on all
sides.
"Now, Sammy," said Mr. Weller, taking off his great-coat with much
deliberation, "just you step out, and fetch in a watchman."
"And wot are you a goin' to do, the while?" inquired Sam.
"Never you mind me, Sammy," replied the old gentleman; "I shall ockipy
myself in havin' a small settlement with that 'ere Stiggins." Before
Sam could interfere to prevent it, his heroic parent had penetrated
into a remote corner of the room, and attacked the Reverend Mr.
Stiggins with manual dexterity.
"Come off!" said Sam.
"Come on!" cried Mr. Weller; and without further invitation he gave the
Reverend Mr. Stiggins a preliminary tap on the head, and began dancing
round him in a buoyant and cork-like manner, which in a gentleman at
his time of life was a perfect marvel to behold.
Finding all remonstrance unavailing, Sam pulled his hat firmly on,
threw his father's coat over his arm, and taking the old man round the
waist, forcibly dragged him down the ladder, and into the street; never
releasing his hold, or permitting him to stop, until they reached the
corner. As they gained it, they could hear the shouts of the populace,
who were witnessing the removal of the Reverend Mr. Stiggins to strong
lodgings for the night: and could hear the noise occasioned by the
dispersion in various directions of the members of the Brick Lane
Branch of the United Grand Junction Ebenezer Temperance Association.
CHAPTER VI
[Illustration]
_Is wholly devoted to a Full and Faithful Report of the Memorable
Trial of Bardell against Pickwick_
"I wonder what the foreman of the jury, whoever he'll be, has got for
breakfast," said Mr. Snodgrass, by way of keeping up a conversation on
the eventful morning of the fourteenth of February.
"Ah!" said Perker, "I hope he's got a good one."
"Why so?" inquired Mr. Pickwick.
"Highly important; very important, my dear sir," replied Perker. "A
good, contented, well-breakfasted juryman, is a capital thing to get
hold of. Discontented or hungry jurymen, my dear sir, always find for
the plaintiff."
"Bless my heart," said Mr. Pickwick, looking very blank; "what do they
do that for?"
"Why, I don't know," replied the little man, coolly; "saves time,
I suppose. If it's near the dinner-time, the foreman takes out his
watch when the jury has retired, and says, 'Dear me, gentlemen, ten
minutes to five, I declare! I dine at five, gentlemen.' So do I,'
says everybody else, except two men who ought to have dined at three,
and seem more than half disposed to stand out in consequence. The
foreman smiles, and puts up his watch:--'Well, gentlemen, what do we
say, plaintiff or defendant, gentlemen? I rather think, so far as I
am concerned, gentlemen,--I say, I rather think,--but don't let that
influence you--I _rather_ think the plaintiff's the man.' Upon this,
two or three other men are sure to say that they think so too--as of
course they do; and then they get on very unanimously and comfortably.
Ten minutes past nine!" said the little man, looking at his watch.
"Time we were off, my dear sir; breach of promise trial--court is
generally full in such cases. You had better ring for a coach, my dear
sir, or we shall be rather late."
Mr. Pickwick immediately rang the bell; and a coach having been
procured, the four Pickwickians and Mr. Perker ensconced themselves
therein, and drove to Guildhall; Sam Weller, Mr. Lowten, and the blue
bag, following in a cab.
"Lowten," said Perker, when they reached the outer hall of the court,
"put Mr. Pickwick's friends in the students' box; Mr. Pickwick himself
had better sit by me. This way, my dear sir, this way." Taking Mr.
Pickwick by the coat-sleeve, the little man led him to the low seat
just beneath the desks of the King's Counsel, which is constructed for
the convenience of attorneys, who from that spot can whisper into the
ear of the leading counsel in the case, any instructions that may be
necessary during the progress of the trial. The occupants of this seat
are invisible to the great body of spectators, inasmuch as they sit on
a much lower level than either the barristers or the audience, whose
seats are raised above the floor. Of course they have their backs to
both, and their faces towards the judge.
"That's the witness-box, I suppose?" said Mr. Pickwick, pointing to a
kind of pulpit, with a brass rail, on his left hand.
"That's the witness-box, my dear sir," replied Perker, disinterring a
quantity of papers from the blue bag, which Lowten had just deposited
at his feet.
"And that," said Mr. Pickwick, pointing to a couple of enclosed seats
on his right, "that's where the jurymen sit, is it not?"
"The identical place, my dear sir," replied Perker, tapping the lid of
his snuff-box.
Mr. Pickwick stood up in a state of great agitation, and took a
glance at the court. There were already a pretty large sprinkling
of spectators in the gallery, and a numerous muster of gentlemen in
wigs, in the barristers' seats: who presented, as a body, all that
pleasing and extensive variety of nose and whisker for which the bar
of England is so justly celebrated. Such of the gentlemen as had a
brief to carry, carried it in as conspicuous a manner as possible, and
occasionally scratched their noses therewith, to impress the fact more
strongly on the observation of the spectators. Other gentlemen, who
had no briefs to show, carried under their arms goodly octavos with a
red label behind, and that under-done-pie-crust-coloured cover, which
is technically known as "law calf." Others, who had neither briefs nor
books, thrust their hands into their pockets, and looked as wise as
they conveniently could; others, again, moved here and there with great
restlessness and earnestness of manner, content to awaken thereby the
admiration and astonishment of the uninitiated strangers. The whole, to
the great wonderment of Mr. Pickwick, were divided into little groups,
who were chatting and discussing the news of the day in the most
unfeeling manner possible,--just as if no trial at all were coming on.
A bow from Mr. Phunky, as he entered, and took his seat behind the row
appropriated to the King's Counsel, attracted Mr. Pickwick's attention;
and he had scarcely returned it, when Mr. Serjeant Snubbin appeared,
followed by Mr. Mallard, who half hid the Serjeant behind a large
crimson bag, which he placed on the table, and after shaking hands
with Perker, withdrew. Then there entered two or three more Serjeants;
and among them, one with a fat body and a red face, who nodded in a
friendly manner to Mr. Serjeant Snubbin, and said it was a fine morning.
"Who's that red-faced man, who said it was a fine morning, and nodded
to our counsel?" whispered Mr. Pickwick.
"Mr. Serjeant Buzfuz," replied Perker. "He's opposed to us; he leads on
the other side. That gentleman behind him is Mr. Skimpin, his junior."
Mr. Pickwick was on the point of inquiring, with great abhorrence of
the man's cold-blooded villainy, how Mr. Serjeant Buzfuz, who was
counsel for the opposite party, dared to presume to tell Mr. Serjeant
Snubbin, who was counsel for him, that it was a fine morning, when he
was interrupted by a general rising of the barristers, and a loud cry
of "Silence!" from the officers of the court. Looking round, he found
that this was caused by the entrance of the judge.
Mr. Justice Stareleigh (who sat in the absence of the Chief Justice,
occasioned by indisposition), was a most particularly short man, and
so fat, that he seemed all face and waistcoat. He rolled in, upon two
little turned legs, and having bobbed gravely to the bar, who bobbed
gravely to him, put his little legs underneath his table, and his
little three-cornered hat upon it; and when Mr. Justice Stareleigh
had done this, all you could see of him was two queer little eyes,
one broad pink face, and somewhere about half of a big and very
comical-looking wig.
The judge had no sooner taken his seat, than the officer on the floor
of the court called out "Silence!" in a commanding tone, upon which
another officer in the gallery cried "Silence!" in an angry manner,
whereupon three or four more ushers shouted "Silence!" in a voice of
indignant remonstrance. This being done, a gentleman in black, who sat
below the judge, proceeded to call over the names of the jury; and
after a great deal of bawling, it was discovered that only ten special
jurymen were present. Upon this, Mr. Serjeant Buzfuz prayed a _tales_;
the gentleman in black then proceeded to press into the special jury,
two of the common jurymen; and a greengrocer and a chemist were caught
directly.
"Answer to your names, gentlemen, that you may be sworn," said the
gentleman in black. "Richard Upwitch."
"Here," said the greengrocer.
"Thomas Groffin."
"Here," said the chemist.
"Take the book, gentlemen. You shall well and truly try----"
"I beg this court's pardon," said the chemist, who was a tall, thin,
yellow-visaged man, "but I hope this court will excuse my attendance."
"On what grounds, sir?" said Mr. Justice Stareleigh.
"I have no assistant, my Lord," said the chemist.
"I can't help that, sir," replied Mr. Justice Stareleigh. "You should
hire one."
"I can't afford it, my Lord," rejoined the chemist.
"Then you ought to be able to afford it, sir," said the judge,
reddening; for Mr. Justice Stareleigh's temper bordered on the
irritable, and brooked no contradiction.
"I know I _ought_ to do, if I got on as well as I deserved, but I
don't, my Lord," answered the chemist.
"Swear the gentleman," said the judge, peremptorily.
The officer had got no further than the "You shall well and truly try,"
when he was again interrupted by the chemist.
"I am to be sworn, my Lord, am I?" said the chemist.
"Certainly, sir," said the testy little judge.
"Very well, my Lord," replied the chemist, in a resigned manner. "Then
there'll be murder before this trial's over; that's all. Swear me, if
you please, sir;" and sworn the chemist was, before the judge could
find words to utter.
"I merely wanted to observe, my Lord," said the chemist, taking his
seat with great deliberation, "that I've left nobody but an errand-boy
in my shop. He is a very nice boy, my Lord, but he is not acquainted
with drugs; and I know that the prevailing impression on his mind,
is that Epsom salts means oxalic acid; and syrup of senna, laudanum.
That's all, my Lord." With this, the tall chemist composed himself
into a comfortable attitude, and, assuming a pleasant expression of
countenance, appeared to have prepared himself for the worst.
Mr. Pickwick was regarding the chemist with feelings of the deepest
horror, when a slight sensation was perceptible in the body of the
court; and immediately afterwards Mrs. Bardell, supported by Mrs.
Cluppins, was led in, and placed, in a drooping state, at the other
end of the seat on which Mr. Pickwick sat. An extra-sized umbrella
was then handed in by Mr. Dodson, and a pair of pattens by Mr. Fogg,
each of whom had prepared a most sympathising and melancholy face for
the occasion. Mrs. Sanders then appeared, leading in Master Bardell.
At sight of her child, Mrs. Bardell started; suddenly recollecting
herself, she kissed him in a frantic manner; then relapsing into a
state of hysterical imbecility, the good lady requested to be informed
where she was. In reply to this, Mrs. Cluppins and Mrs. Sanders turned
their heads away and wept, while Messrs. Dodson and Fogg entreated the
plaintiff to compose herself. Serjeant Buzfuz rubbed his eyes very hard
with a large white handkerchief, and gave an appealing look towards
the jury, while the judge was visibly affected, and several of the
beholders tried to cough down their emotions.
"Very good notion that, indeed," whispered Perker to Mr. Pickwick.
"Capital fellows those Dodson and Fogg; excellent ideas of effect, my
dear sir, excellent."
As Perker spoke, Mrs. Bardell began to recover by slow degrees, while
Mrs. Cluppins, after a careful survey of Master Bardell's buttons and
the button-holes to which they severally belonged, placed him on the
floor of the court in front of his mother,--a commanding position in
which he could not fail to awaken the full commiseration and sympathy
of both judge and jury. This was not done without considerable
opposition, and many tears, on the part of the young gentleman himself,
who had certain inward misgivings that the placing him within the
full glare of the judge's eye was only a formal prelude to his being
immediately ordered away for instant execution, or for transportation
beyond the seas, during the whole term of his natural life, at the very
least.
"Bardell and Pickwick," cried the gentleman in black, calling on the
case, which stood first on the list.
"I am for the plaintiff, my Lord," said Mr. Serjeant Buzfuz.
"Who is with you, brother Buzfuz?" said the judge. Mr. Skimpin bowed,
to intimate that he was.
"I appear for the defendant, my Lord," said Mr. Serjeant Snubbin.
"Anybody with you, brother Snubbin?" inquired the court.
"Mr. Phunky, my Lord," replied Serjeant Snubbin.
"Serjeant Buzfuz and Mr. Skimpin for the plaintiff," said the judge,
writing down the names in his note-book, and reading as he wrote; "for
the defendant, Serjeant Snubbin and Mr. Monkey."
"Beg your Lordship's pardon, Phunky."
"Oh, very good," said the judge; "I never had the pleasure of hearing
the gentleman's name before." Here Mr. Phunky bowed and smiled and the
judge bowed and smiled too, and then Mr. Phunky, blushing into the very
whites of his eyes, tried to look as if he didn't know that everybody
was gazing at him: a thing which no man ever succeeded in doing yet,
or, in all reasonable probability, ever will.
"Go on," said the judge.
The ushers again called silence, and Mr. Skimpin proceeded to "open
the case;" and the case appeared to have very little inside it when he
had opened it, for he kept such particulars as he knew, completely to
himself, and sat down, after a lapse of three minutes, leaving the jury
in precisely the same advanced stage of wisdom as they were in before.
Serjeant Buzfuz then rose with all the majesty and dignity which the
grave nature of the proceedings demanded, and having whispered to
Dodson, and conferred briefly with Fogg, pulled his gown over his
shoulders, settled his wig, and addressed the jury.
Serjeant Buzfuz began by saying, that never, in the whole course of
his professional experience--never, from the very first moment of
his applying himself to the study and practice of the law--had he
approached a case with feelings of such deep emotion, or with such a
heavy sense of the responsibility imposed upon him--a responsibility,
he would say, which he could never have supported, were he not buoyed
up and sustained by a conviction so strong, that it amounted to
positive certainty that the cause of truth and justice, or, in other
words, the cause of his much-injured and most oppressed client, must
prevail with the high-minded and intelligent dozen of men whom he now
saw in that box before him.
Counsel usually begin in this way, because it puts the jury on the very
best terms with themselves, and makes them think what sharp fellows
they must be. A visible effect was produced immediately; several
jurymen beginning to take voluminous notes with the utmost eagerness.
"You have heard from my learned friend, gentlemen," continued Serjeant
Buzfuz, well knowing that, from the learned friend alluded to, the
gentlemen of the jury had heard just nothing at all--"you have
heard from my learned friend, gentlemen, that this is an action for
a breach of promise of marriage, in which the damages are laid at
£1500. But you have not heard from my learned friend, inasmuch as
it did not come within my learned friend's province to tell you,
what are the facts and circumstances of the case. Those facts and
circumstances, gentlemen, you shall hear detailed by me and proved by
the unimpeachable female whom I will place in that box before you."
Here Mr. Serjeant Buzfuz, with a tremendous emphasis on the word "box,"
smote his table with a mighty sound, and glanced at Dodson and Fogg,
who nodded admiration of the serjeant, and indignant defiance of the
defendant.
"The plaintiff, gentlemen," continued Serjeant Buzfuz, in a soft and
melancholy voice, "the plaintiff is a widow; yes, gentlemen, a widow.
The late Mr. Bardell, after enjoying, for many years, the esteem and
confidence of his sovereign, as one of the guardians of his royal
revenues, glided almost imperceptibly from the world, to seek elsewhere
for that repose and peace which a custom-house can never afford."
At this pathetic description of the decease of Mr. Bardell, who had
been knocked on the head with a quart-pot in a public-house cellar, the
learned serjeant's voice faltered, and he proceeded with emotion:
"Some time before his death, he had stamped his likeness upon a little
boy. With this little boy, the only pledge of her departed exciseman,
Mrs. Bardell shrunk from the world, and courted the retirement and
tranquillity of Goswell Street; and here she placed in her front
parlour window a written placard, bearing this inscription--'Apartments
furnished for a single gentleman. Inquire within.'" Here Serjeant
Buzfuz paused, while several gentlemen of the jury took a note of the
document.
"There is no date to that, is there, sir?" inquired a juror.
"There is no date, gentlemen," replied Serjeant Buzfuz: "but I am
instructed to say that it was put in the plaintiff's parlour-window
just this time three years. I entreat the attention of the jury to
the wording of this document. 'Apartments furnished for a single
gentleman'! Mrs. Bardell's opinions of the opposite sex, gentlemen,
were derived from a long contemplation of the inestimable qualities
of her lost husband. She had no fear, she had no distrust, she had no
suspicion, all was confidence and reliance. 'Mr. Bardell,' said the
widow; 'Mr. Bardell was a man of honour, Mr. Bardell was a man of
his word, Mr. Bardell was no deceiver, Mr. Bardell was once a single
gentleman himself; _to_ single gentlemen I look for protection, for
assistance, for comfort, and for consolation; _in_ single gentlemen
I shall perpetually see something to remind me of what Mr. Bardell
was, when he first won my young and untried affections; to a single
gentleman, then, shall my lodgings be let.' Actuated by this beautiful
and touching impulse (among the best impulses of our imperfect nature,
gentlemen), the lonely and desolate widow dried her tears, furnished
the first floor, caught the innocent boy to her maternal bosom, and put
the bill up in her parlour-window. Did it remain there long? No. The
serpent was on the watch, the train was laid, the mine was preparing,
the sapper and miner was at work. Before the bill had been in the
parlour-window three days--three days--gentlemen--a Being erect upon
two legs, and bearing all the outward semblance of a man, and not of
a monster, knocked at the door of Mrs. Bardell's house. He inquired
within; he took the lodgings; and on the very next day he entered into
possession of them. This man was Pickwick--Pickwick, the defendant."
Serjeant Buzfuz, who had proceeded with such volubility that his face
was perfectly crimson, here paused for breath. The silence awoke Mr.
Justice Stareleigh, who immediately wrote down something with a pen,
without any ink in it, and looked unusually profound, to impress the
jury with the belief that he always thought most deeply with his eyes
shut. Serjeant Buzfuz proceeded:
"Of this man Pickwick I will say little; the subject presents but few
attractions; and I, gentlemen, am not the man, nor are you, gentlemen,
the men, to delight in the contemplation of revolting heartlessness,
and of systematic villainy."
Here Mr. Pickwick, who had been writhing in silence for some time, gave
a violent start, as if some vague idea of assaulting Serjeant Buzfuz,
in the august presence of justice and law, suggested itself to his
mind. An admonitory gesture from Perker restrained him, and he listened
to the learned gentleman's continuation with a look of indignation,
which contrasted forcibly with the admiring faces of Mrs. Cluppins and
Mrs. Sanders.
"I say systematic villainy, gentlemen," said Serjeant Buzfuz, looking
through Mr. Pickwick and talking _at_ him; "and when I say systematic
villainy, let me tell the defendant Pickwick, if he be in court, as I
am informed he is, that it would have been more decent in him, more
becoming, in better judgment, and in better taste, if he had stopped
away. Let me tell him, gentlemen, that any gestures of dissent or
disapprobation in which he may indulge in this court will not go down
with you; that you will know how to value and how to appreciate them;
and let me tell him further, as my lord will tell you, gentlemen, that
a counsel, in the discharge of his duty to his client, is neither to
be intimidated nor bullied, nor put down; and that any attempt to do
either the one or the other, or the first or the last, will recoil on
the head of the attempter, be he plaintiff or be he defendant, be his
name Pickwick, or Noakes, or Stoakes, or Stiles, or Brown, or Thompson."
This little divergence from the subject in hand had, of course, the
intended effect of turning all eyes to Mr. Pickwick. Serjeant Buzfuz,
having partially recovered from the state of moral elevation into which
he had lashed himself, resumed:
"I shall show you, gentlemen, that for two years Pickwick continued to
reside constantly, and without interruption or intermission, at Mrs.
Bardell's house. I shall show you that Mrs. Bardell, during the whole
of that time, waited on him, attended to his comforts, cooked his
meals, looked out his linen for the washerwoman when it went abroad,
darned, aired, and prepared it for wear, when it came home, and, in
short, enjoyed his fullest trust and confidence. I shall show you
that, on many occasions, he gave halfpence, and on some occasions even
sixpences, to her little boy; and I shall prove to you, by a witness
whose testimony it will be impossible for my learned friend to weaken
or controvert, that on one occasion he patted the boy on the head, and,
after inquiring whether he had won _alley tors_ or _commoneys_ lately
(both of which I understand to be a particular species of marbles
much prized by the youth of this town), made use of this remarkable
expression: 'How should you like to have another father?' I shall prove
to you, gentlemen, that about a year ago, Pickwick suddenly began
to absent himself from home, during long intervals, as if with the
intention of gradually breaking off from my client; but I shall show
you also, that his resolution was not at that time sufficiently strong,
or that his better feelings conquered, if better feelings he has, or
that the charms and accomplishments of my client prevailed against
his unmanly intentions; by proving to you, that on one occasion, when
he returned from the country, he distinctly and in terms, offered her
marriage: previously, however, taking special care that there should be
no witness to their solemn contract; and I am in a situation to prove
to you, on the testimony of three of his own friends--most unwilling
witnesses, gentlemen--most unwilling witnesses--that on that morning he
was discovered by them holding the plaintiff in his arms, and soothing
her agitation by his caresses and endearments."
A visible impression was produced upon the auditors by this part of
the learned serjeant's address. Drawing forth two very small scraps of
paper, he proceeded:
"And now, gentlemen, but one word more. Two letters have passed between
these parties, letters which are admitted to be in the handwriting
of the defendant, and which speak volumes indeed. These letters,
too, bespeak the character of the man. They are not open, fervent,
eloquent epistles, breathing nothing but the language of affectionate
attachment. They are covert, sly, underhanded communications,
but, fortunately, far more conclusive than if couched in the most
glowing language and the most poetic imagery--letters that must
be viewed with a cautious and suspicious eye--letters that were
evidently intended at the time, by Pickwick, to mislead and delude
any third parties into whose hands they might fall. Let me read the
first:--'Garraway's, twelve o'clock. Dear Mrs. B.--Chops and Tomato
sauce. Yours, +Pickwick+.' Gentlemen, what does this mean? 'Chops and
Tomato sauce. Yours, Pickwick!' Chops! Gracious heavens! and Tomato
sauce! Gentlemen, is the happiness of a sensitive and confiding female
to be trifled away by such shallow artifices as these? The next has no
date whatever, which is in itself suspicious. 'Dear Mrs. B., I shall
not be at home till to-morrow. Slow coach.' And then follows this very
remarkable expression. 'Don't trouble yourself about the warming-pan.'
The warming-pan! Why, gentlemen, who _does_ trouble himself about
a warming-pan? When was the peace of mind of man or woman broken or
disturbed by a warming-pan, which is in itself a harmless, a useful,
and I will add, gentlemen, a comforting article of domestic furniture?
Why is Mrs. Bardell so earnestly entreated not to agitate herself
about this warming-pan, unless (as is no doubt the case) it is a mere
cover for hidden fire--a mere substitute for some endearing word of
promise, agreeably to a preconcerted system of correspondence, artfully
contrived by Pickwick with a view to his contemplated desertion, and
which I am not in a condition to explain? And what does this allusion
to the slow coach mean? For aught I know, it may be a reference to
Pickwick himself, who has most unquestionably been a criminally slow
coach during the whole of this transaction, but whose speed will now be
very unexpectedly accelerated, and whose wheels, gentlemen, as he will
find to his cost, will very soon be greased by you!"
Mr. Serjeant Buzfuz paused in this place, to see whether the jury
smiled at his joke; but as nobody took it but the greengrocer, whose
sensitiveness on the subject was very probably occasioned by his having
subjected a chaise-cart to the process in question on that identical
morning, the learned serjeant considered it advisable to undergo a
slight relapse into the dismals before he concluded.
"But enough of this, gentlemen," said Mr. Serjeant Buzfuz; "it is
difficult to smile with an aching heart; it is ill jesting when our
deepest sympathies are awakened. My client's hopes and prospects are
ruined, and it is no figure of speech to say that her occupation is
gone indeed. The bill is down--but there is no tenant. Eligible single
gentlemen pass and repass--but there is no invitation for them to
inquire within or without. All is gloom and silence in the house; even
the voice of the child is hushed; his infant sports are disregarded
when his mother weeps; his 'alley tors' and his 'commoneys' are alike
neglected; he forgets the long familiar cry of 'knuckle-down,' and at
tip-cheese, or odd and even, his hand is out. But Pickwick, gentlemen,
Pickwick, the ruthless destroyer of this domestic oasis in the desert
of Goswell Street--Pickwick, who has choked up the well, and thrown
ashes on the sward--Pickwick, who comes before you to-day with his
heartless Tomato sauce and warming-pans--Pickwick still rears his head
with unblushing effrontery, and gazes without a sigh on the ruin he
has made. Damages, gentlemen--heavy damages--is the only punishment
with which you can visit him; the only recompense you can award to
my client. And for those damages she now appeals to an enlightened,
a high-minded, a right-feeling, a conscientious, a dispassionate,
a sympathising, a contemplative jury of her civilised countrymen."
With this beautiful peroration, Mr. Serjeant Buzfuz sat down, and Mr.
Justice Stareleigh woke up.
"Call Elizabeth Cluppins," said Serjeant Buzfuz, rising a minute
afterwards, with renewed vigour.
The nearest usher called for Elizabeth Tuppins; another one, at a
little distance off, demanded Elizabeth Jupkins; and a third rushed in
a breathless state into King Street, and screamed for Elizabeth Muffins
till he was hoarse.
Meanwhile Mrs. Cluppins, with the combined assistance of Mrs.
Bardell, Mrs. Sanders, Mr. Dodson, and Mr. Fogg, was hoisted into the
witness-box; and when she was safely perched on the top step, Mrs.
Bardell stood on the bottom one, with the pocket-handkerchief and
pattens in one hand, and a glass bottle that might hold about a quarter
of a pint of smelling salts in the other, ready for any emergency. Mrs.
Sanders, whose eyes were intently fixed on the judge's face, planted
herself close by, with the large umbrella: keeping her right thumb
pressed on the spring with an earnest countenance, as if she were fully
prepared to put it up at a moment's notice.
"Mrs. Cluppins," said Serjeant Buzfuz, "pray compose yourself,
ma'am." Of course, directly Mrs. Cluppins was desired to compose
herself she sobbed with increased vehemence, and gave divers alarming
manifestations of an approaching fainting fit, or, as she afterwards
said, of her feelings being too many for her.
"Do you recollect, Mrs. Cluppins," said Serjeant Buzfuz, after a few
unimportant questions, "do you recollect being in Mrs. Bardell's back
one pair of stairs, on one particular morning in July last, when she
was dusting Pickwick's apartment?"
"Yes, my Lord and Jury, I do," replied Mrs. Cluppins.
"Mr. Pickwick's sitting-room was the first-floor front, I believe?"
"Yes, it were, sir," replied Mrs. Cluppins.
"What were you doing in the back room, ma'am?" inquired the little
judge.
"My Lord and Jury," said Mrs. Cluppins, with interesting agitation, "I
will not deceive you."
"You had better not, ma'am," said the little judge.
"I was there," resumed Mrs. Cluppins, "unbeknown to Mrs. Bardell; I had
been out with a little basket, gentlemen, to buy three pound of red
kidney purtaties, which was three pound tuppense ha'penny, when I see
Mrs. Bardell's street door on the jar."
"On the what?" exclaimed the little judge.
"Partly open, my Lord," said Serjeant Snubbin.
"She _said_ on the jar," said the little judge, with a cunning look.
"It's all the same, my Lord," said Serjeant Snubbin. The little judge
looked doubtful and said he'd make a note of it. Mrs. Cluppins then
resumed:
"I walked in, gentlemen, just to say good mornin', and went, in a
permiscuous manner, up-stairs, and into the back room. Gentlemen, there
was the sound of voices in the front room, and----"
"And you listened, I believe, Mrs. Cluppins?" said Serjeant Buzfuz.
"Beggin' your pardon, sir," replied Mrs. Cluppins, in a majestic
manner, "I would scorn the haction. The voices was very loud, sir, and
forced themselves upon my ear."
"Well, Mrs. Cluppins, you were not listening, but you heard the voices.
Was one of these voices Pickwick's?"
"Yes, it were, sir."
And Mrs. Cluppins, after distinctly stating that Mr. Pickwick addressed
himself to Mrs. Bardell, repeated by slow degrees, and by dint of
many questions, the conversation with which our readers are already
acquainted.
The jury looked suspicious, and Mr. Serjeant Buzfuz smiled and sat
down. They looked positively awful when Serjeant Snubbin intimated that
he should not cross-examine the witness, for Mr. Pickwick wished it to
be distinctly stated that it was due to her to say, that her account
was in substance correct.
Mrs. Cluppins having once broken the ice, thought it a favourable
opportunity for entering into a short dissertation on her own domestic
affairs; so, she straightway proceeded to inform the court that she
was the mother of eight children at that present speaking, and that
she entertained confident expectations of presenting Mr. Cluppins with
a ninth, somewhere about that day six months. At this interesting
point, the little judge interposed most irascibly; and the effect of
the interposition was, that both the worthy lady and Mrs. Sanders were
politely taken out of court, under the escort of Mr. Jackson, without
further parley.
"Nathaniel Winkle!" said Mr. Skimpin.
"Here!" replied a feeble voice. Mr. Winkle entered the witness-box, and
having been duly sworn, bowed to the judge with considerable deference.
"Don't look at me, sir," said the judge, sharply, in acknowledgment of
the salute; "look at the jury."
Mr. Winkle obeyed the mandate, and looked at the place where he thought
it most probable the jury might be; for seeing anything in his then
state of intellectual complication was wholly out of the question.
Mr. Winkle was then examined by Mr. Skimpin, who, being a promising
young man of two or three and forty, was of course anxious to confuse a
witness who was notoriously predisposed in favour of the other side, as
much as he could.
"Now, sir," said Mr. Skimpin, "have the goodness to let his Lordship
and the jury know what your name is, will you?" and Mr. Skimpin
inclined his head on one side to listen with great sharpness to the
answer, and glanced at the jury meanwhile, as if to imply that he
rather expected Mr. Winkle's natural taste for perjury would induce him
to give some name which did not belong to him.
"Winkle," replied the witness.
"What's your Christian name, sir?" angrily inquired the little judge.
"Nathaniel, sir."
"Daniel,--any other name?"
"Nathaniel, sir--my Lord, I mean."
"Nathaniel Daniel, or Daniel Nathaniel?"
"No, my Lord, only Nathaniel; not Daniel at all."
"What did you tell me it was Daniel for, then, sir?" inquired the judge.
"I didn't, my Lord," replied Mr. Winkle.
"You did, sir," replied the judge, with a severe frown. "How could I
have got Daniel on my notes, unless you told me so, sir?"
This argument was, of course, unanswerable.
"Mr. Winkle has rather a short memory, my Lord," interposed Mr.
Skimpin, with another glance at the jury. "We shall find means to
refresh it before we have quite done with him, I dare say."
"You had better be careful, sir," said the little judge, with a
sinister look at the witness.
Poor Mr. Winkle bowed, and endeavoured to feign an easiness of manner
which, in his then state of confusion, gave him rather the air of a
disconcerted pickpocket.
"Now, Mr. Winkle," said Mr. Skimpin, "attend to me, if you please,
sir; and let me recommend you, for your own sake, to bear in mind his
Lordship's injunction to be careful. I believe you are a particular
friend of Pickwick, the defendant, are you not?"
"I have known Mr. Pickwick now, as well as I recollect at this moment,
nearly----"
"Pray, Mr. Winkle, do not evade the question. Are you, or are you not,
a particular friend of the defendant's?"
"I was just about to say that----"
"Will you, or will you not, answer my question, sir?"
"If you don't answer the question you'll be committed, sir," interposed
the little judge, looking over his note-book.
"Come, sir," said Mr. Skimpin, "yes or no, if you please."
"Yes, I am," replied Mr. Winkle.
"Yes, you are. And why couldn't you say that at once, sir? Perhaps you
know the plaintiff, too? Eh, Mr. Winkle?"
"I don't know her; I've seen her."
"Oh, you don't know her, but you've seen her? Now, have the goodness to
tell the gentlemen of the jury what you mean by _that_, Mr. Winkle."
"I mean that I am not intimate with her, but I have seen her when I
went to call on Mr. Pickwick in Goswell Street."
"How often have you seen her, sir?"
"How often?"
"Yes, Mr. Winkle, how often? I'll repeat the question for you a dozen
times if you require it, sir." And the learned gentleman, with a firm
and steady frown, placed his hands on his hips, and smiled suspiciously
at the jury.
On this question there arose the edifying brow-beating, customary on
such points. First of all, Mr. Winkle said it was quite impossible for
him to say how many times he had seen Mrs. Bardell. Then he was asked
if he had seen her twenty times, to which he replied, "Certainly,--more
than that." Then he was asked whether he hadn't seen her a hundred
times--whether he couldn't swear that he had seen her more than
fifty times--whether he didn't know that he had seen her at least
seventy-five times--and so forth; the satisfactory conclusion which was
arrived at, at last, being, that he had better take care of himself,
and mind what he was about. The witness having been by these means
reduced to the requisite ebb of nervous perplexity, the examination was
continued as follows:
"Pray Mr. Winkle, do you remember calling on the defendant Pickwick at
these apartments in the plaintiff's house in Goswell Street, on one
particular morning, in the month of July last?"
"Yes, I do."
"Were you accompanied on that occasion by a friend of the name of
Tupman, and another of the name of Snodgrass?"
"Yes, I was."
"Are they here?"
"Yes, they are," replied Mr.
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