fiAA-lM V 
 
 
 THE 
 
 LIFE AND ADVENTURES 
 
 OF 
 
 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 
 
 BY CHARLES DICKENS, 
 (BOZO 
 
 AUTHOR OF 
 
 " THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP," « BARNABY RUDGE," &c. 
 
 WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY PHIZ. 
 
 PHILADELPHIA: 
 
 PUBLISHED BY GETZ, BUCK & CO. 
 
 18 53. 
 

 ^N*""*"»*WWV*^V^^<q» 
 
 Printed by T. K & P. Q. Collin*. 
 
TO 
 
 MISS BURDETT COUTTS, 
 
 C&fs £ale 
 
 IS DEDICATED 
 
 WITH THE TRUE AND EARNEST REGARD 
 
 or 
 
 THE AUTHOR. 
 

 PREFACE 
 
 TO 
 
 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 
 
 I attach a few preliminary words to the Life and Adventures of 
 Martin Chuzzlewit : more because I am unwilling to depart from 
 any custom which has become endeared to me by having prevailed 
 between myself and my readers on former occasions of the same 
 kind, than because I have anything particular to say. 
 
 Like a troublesome guest who lingers in the Hall after he has 
 taken leave, I cannot help loitering on the threshold of my book, 
 though those two words, The End: anticipated through twenty 
 months, yet sorrowfully penned at last: stare at me, in capitals, 
 from the printed page. 
 
 I set out, on this journey which is now concluded, with the de- 
 sign of exhibiting, in various aspects, the commonest of all the 
 vices. It is almost needless to add, that the commoner the folly or 
 the crime which an author endeavours to illustrate, the greater is 
 the risk he runs of being charged with exaggeration ; for, as no 
 man ever yet recognised an imitation of himself, no man will admit 
 the correctness of a sketch in which his own character is delineated, 
 however faithfully. 
 
 But, although Mr. Pecksniff will by no means concede to me, 
 that Mr. Pecksniff is natural, I am consoled by finding him keenly 
 susceptible of the truthfulness of Mrs. Gamp. And though Mrs. 
 Gamp considers her own portrait to be quite unlike, and altogether 
 
 (5) 
 
vi PREFACE TO MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 
 
 out of drawing, she recompenses me for the severity of her 
 criticism on that failure, by awarding unbounded praise to the pic- 
 ture of Mrs. Prig. 
 
 I have endeavoured, in the progress of this Tale, to resist the 
 temptation of the current Monthly Number, and to keep a steadier 
 eye upon the general purpose and design. With this object in 
 view, I have put a strong constraint upon myself from time to time, 
 in many places ; and I hope the story is the better for it, now. 
 
 At any rate, if my readers have derived but half the pleasure 
 and interest from its perusal, which its composition has afforded 
 me, I have ample reason to be gratified. And if they part from 
 any of my visionary friends, with the least tinge of that reluctance 
 and regret which I feel in dismissing them, my success has been 
 complete, indeed. 
 
 London, 
 Twenty-fifth June, 1844. 
 
 
 

 ■ 
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 Chapter I. — Introductory, concerning the 
 
 Pedigree of the Chuzzlewit Family. . . 9 
 
 Chap. II. — Wherein certain Persons are pre- 
 sented to the Reader, with whom he 
 may, if he please, become better ac- 
 quainted 11 
 
 Chap. III. — In which certain other Persons 
 are introduced; on the same Terms as 
 in the last Chapter 18 
 
 Chap. IV. — From which it will appear that 
 if Union be Strength, and Family Af- 
 fection be pleasant to contemplate, the 
 Chuzzlewits were the strongest and most 
 agreeable Family in the World 25 
 
 Chap. V. — Containing a full Account of the 
 Installation of Mr. Pecksniff's new Pu- 
 pil into the Bosom of Mr. Pecksniff's 
 Family. With all the Festivities held 
 on that Occasion, and the great Enjoy- 
 ment of Mr. Pinch 32 
 
 Chap. VI. — Comprises, among other import- 
 ant Matters, Pecksniffian and Archi- 
 tectural, an exact Relation of the Pro- 
 gress made by Mr. Pinch in the Con- 
 fidence and Friendship of the New 
 Pupil 41 
 
 Chap. VII. — In which Mr. Chevy Slyme as- 
 serts the Independence of his Spirit ; 
 and the Blue Dragon loses a Limb .... 46 
 
 Chap. VIII. — Accompanies Mr. Pecksniff 
 and his charming Daughters to the City 
 of London ; and relates what fell out 
 upon their way thither 52 
 
 Chap. IX.— Town and Todgers's 57 
 
 Chap. X. — Containing strange Matter ; on 
 which many Events in this History may, 
 for their good or evil Influence, chiefly 
 depend 67 
 
 Chap. XI. — Wherein a certain Gentleman 
 becomes particular in his Attentions to 
 a certain Lady, and more coming Events 
 than one cast their Shadows before ... 73 
 
 Chap. XII. — Will be seen in the Long Run, 
 if not in the Short One, to concern Mr. 
 Pinch and others nearly. Mr. Pecksniff 
 asserts the Dignity of outraged Virtue ; 
 and young Martin Chuzzlewit forms a 
 desperate Resolution 81 
 
 Chap. XIII. — Showing what became of Mar- 
 tin and his desperate Resolve, after he 
 left Mr. Pecksniff's House ; what Per- 
 sons he encountered; what Anxieties 
 he Suffered ; and what News he Heard. 89 
 
 Chap. XIV. — In which Martin bids Adieu to 
 the Lady of his Love, and Honours an 
 obscure Individual whose Fortune he 
 intends to make, by commending her to 
 his Protection 97 
 
 Chap. XV. — The Burden whereof is Hail 
 
 Columbia ! 101 
 
 Chap. XVI. — Martin Disembarks from that 
 noble and fast-sailing Line of Packet 
 Ship, "The Screw," at the Port of New 
 York, in the United States of America. 
 He makes some Acquaintances, and 
 Dines at a Boarding-house. The Parti- 
 culars of those Transactions 105 
 
 Chap. XVII. — Martin enlarges his Circle of 
 Acquaintance; increases his Stock of 
 Wisdom ; and has an excellent Oppor- 
 tunity of comparing his own Experi- 
 . ences with those of Lummy Ned of the 
 Light Salisbury, as related by his Friend 
 Mr. William Simmons 113 
 
 Chap. XVIII. — Does business with the House 
 of Anthony Chuzzlewit and Son, from 
 which One of the Partners retires un- 
 expectedly 121 
 
 Chap. XIX. — The Reader is brought into 
 Communication with some Professional 
 Persons, and sheds a Tear over the Fi- 
 lial Piety of good Mr. Jonas 125 
 
 Chap. XX. — Is a Chapter of Love 131 
 
 Chap. XXI. — More American Experiences. 
 Martin takes a Partner, and makes a 
 Purchase. Some Account of Eden, as 
 it appeared on Paper. Also of the Bri- 
 tish Lion. Also of the kind of Sympa- 
 thy professed and entertained, by the 
 Watertoast Association of United Sym- 
 pathizers 137 
 
 Chap. XXII. — From which it will be seen 
 that Martin became a Lion on his own 
 Account. Together with the Reason 
 why 145 
 
 Chap. XXIII. — Martin and his Partner take 
 Possession of their Estate. The Joyful 
 Occasion involves some further Account 
 of Eden 149 
 
 Chap. XXIV. — Reports Progress in certain 
 homely Matters of Love, Hatred, Jeal- 
 ousy, and Revenge 153 
 
 Chap. XXV. — Is in part Professional ; and 
 furnishes the Reader with some Valua- 
 ble Hints in relation to the Manage- 
 ment of a Sick Chamber 159 
 
mi 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 Chap. XXVI.— An Unexpected Meeting, and 
 
 a Promising Prospect 1 65 
 
 Chap. XXVII.— Showing that Old Friends 
 may not only appear with New Faces, 
 but in False Colours. That People are 
 prone to Bite; and that Biters may 
 
 sometimes be Bitten 169 
 
 Chap. XXVIII.— Mr. Montague at Home. 
 
 And Mr. Jonas Chuzzlewit at Home . . 177 
 Chap. XXIX. — In which some People are 
 Precocious, others Professional, and 
 others Mysterious : all in their several 
 
 Ways 181 
 
 Chap. XXX. — Proves that Changes may be 
 rung in the best-regulated Families, and 
 that Mr. Pecksniff was a special hand 
 
 a^ a Triple Bob-Major 185 
 
 Chap. XXXI. — Mr. Pinch is discharged of a 
 Duty which he never owed to Anybody ; 
 and Mr. Pecksniff discharges a Duty 
 
 which he owes to Society 191 
 
 Chap. XXXII. — Treats of Todgers's again ; 
 and of another Blighted Plant besides 
 
 the Plants upon the Leads 198 
 
 Chap. XXXIII. — Further Proceedings in 
 Eden, and a Proceeding out of it. Mar- 
 tin makes a Discovery of some import- 
 ance 201 
 
 Chap. XXXIV.— In which the Travellers 
 move Homeward, and Encounter some 
 Distinguished Characters upon the 
 
 Way 207 
 
 Chap. XXXV. — Arriving in England, Mar. 
 tin witnesses a Ceremony, from which 
 he derives the cheering Information that 
 he has not been Forgotten in his Ab- 
 sence 214 
 
 Chap. XXXVI.— Tom Pinch departs to seek 
 his Fortune. What he Finds at Start- 
 ing 217 
 
 Chap. XXXVII.— Tom Pinch going Astray 
 finds that he is not the only Person in 
 that Predicament. He Retaliates upon 
 
 a fallen Foe 225 
 
 Chap. XXXVIII.— Secret Service 229 
 
 < 'hap. XXXIX. — Containing some further 
 
 Particulars of the Domestic Economy 
 
 of the Pinches; with strange Nsxk 
 
 from the CHy, narrowly concernip# 
 
 . Tom 233 
 
 Chap. XL. — The Pinches make a Nev^ Ac- 
 quaintance, and have fresh occasion 
 for Surprise and Wonder 239 
 
 Chap. XLI. — Mr. Jonas and his Friend, ar- 
 riving at a Pleasant Understanding, 
 set forth upon an Enterprise 245 
 
 Chap. XLII. — Continuation of the Enter- 
 prise of Mr. Jonas and his Friend .... 249 
 
 Chap. XLIII. — Has an Influence on the 
 Fortunes of several People. Mr. Peck- 
 sniff is exhibited in the Plenitude of 
 Power ; and wields the same with For- 
 titude and Magnanimity 253 
 
 Chap. XLIV. — Further Continuation of the 
 
 Enterprise of Mr. Jonas and his Friend 261 
 
 Chap. XLV. In which Tom Pinch and his 
 Sister take a little Pleasure ; but quite 
 in a Domestic Way, and with no Cere- 
 mony about it 265 
 
 Chap. XL VI.— In which Miss Pecksniff 
 makes Love, Mr. Jonas makes Wrath, 
 Mrs. Gamp makes Tea, and Mr. Chuf- 
 fey makes Business 268 
 
 Chap. XLVII. — Conclusion of the Enter- 
 prise of Mr. Jonas and his Friend .... 277 
 
 Chap. XLVIII.— Bears Tidings of Martin, 
 and of Mark, as well as of a Third Per- 
 son not quite unknown to the Reader. 
 Exhibits Filial Piety in an Ugly As- 
 pect ; and casts a doubtful Ray of Light 
 upon a very Dark Place 281 
 
 Chap. XLIX. — In which Mrs. Harris, assist- 
 ed by a Teapot, is the cause of a Divi- 
 sion between Friends 287 
 
 Chap. L. — Surprises Tom Pinch very much, 
 and shows how certain Confidences 
 passed between him and his Sister .... 292 
 
 Chap. LI.— Sheds New and Brighter Light 
 upon the very Dark Place ; and con- 
 tains the Sequel of the Enterprise of 
 Mr. Jonas and his Friend 297 
 
 Chap. LII. — In which the Tables are Turned 
 
 completely Upside Down 305 
 
 Chap. LIII. — What John Westlock said to 
 Tom Pinch's Sister ; what Tom Pinch's 
 Sister said to John Westlock ; what Tom 
 Pinch said to both of them ; and how 
 they all passed the Remainder of the Day 312 
 
 Chap. LIV. — Gives the Author great Con- 
 cern. For it is the Last in the Book. . 316 
 
LIFE AND ADVENTURES 
 
 OF 
 
 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 INTRODUCTORY, CONCERNING THE PEDIGREE OF THE CHUZZLEWIT. 
 
 FAMILY. 
 
 As no lady or gentleman, with any claims to 
 polite breeding, can possibly sympathise with 
 the Chuzzlewit Family without being first as- 
 sured of the extreme antiquity of the race, it 
 is a great satisfaction to know that it undoubt- 
 edly descended in a direct line from Adam and 
 Eve ; and was, in the very earliest times, closely 
 connected with the agricultural interest. If it 
 should ever be urged by grudging and malicious 
 persons, that a Chuzzlewit, in any period of the 
 family history, displayed an overweening 
 amount of family pride, surely the weakness 
 will be considered not only pardonable but laud- 
 able, when the immense superiority of the house 
 to the rest of mankind, in respect of this its 
 ancient origin, is taken into account. 
 
 It is remarkable that as there was, in the old- 
 est family of which we have any record, a mur- 
 derer and a vagabond, so we never fail to meet, 
 in the records of all old families, with innumer- 
 able repetitions of the same phase of character. 
 Indeed, it may be laid down as a general prin- 
 ciple, that the more extended the ancestry, the 
 greater the amount of violence and vagabond- 
 ism ; for in ancient days, those two amusements, 
 combining a wholesome excitement with a pro- 
 mising means of repairing shattered fortunes, 
 were at once the ennobling pursuit and the 
 healthful recreation of the Quality of the land. 
 
 Consequently, it is a source of inexpressible 
 comfort and happiness to find, that in various 
 periods of our history, the Chuzzlewits were 
 actively connected with divers slaughterous con- 
 spiracies and bloody frays. It is further record- 
 ed of them, that being clad from head to heel 
 in steel of proof, they did on many occasions 
 lead their leather-jerk ined soldiers to the death, 
 with invincible courage, and afterwards return 
 home gracefully to their relations and friends. 
 
 There can be no doubt that at least one Chuz- 
 zlewit came over with William the Conqueror. 
 It does not appear that this illustrious ancestor 
 " came over" that monarch, to employ the vul- 
 gar phrase, at any subsequent period : inasmuch 
 as the Family do not seem to have been ever 
 greatly distinguished by the possession of land- 
 ed estate. And it is well known that for the 
 bestowal of that kind of property upon his fa- 
 vourites, the liberality and gratitude of the Nor- 
 man were as remarkable, as those virtues are 
 usually found to bo in great men when they 
 give away what belongs to other people. 
 
 Perhaps in this place the history may pause 
 to congratulate itself upon the enormous amount 
 of bravery, wisdom, eloquence, virtue, gentle 
 
 birth, and true nobility, that appears to have 
 come into England with the Norman Invasion : 
 an amount which the genealogy of every an- 
 cient family lends its aid to swell, and which 
 would beyond all question have been found to 
 be just as great, and to the full as prolific in 
 giving birth to long lines of chivalrous descend- 
 ants, boastful of their origin, even though Wil- 
 liam the Conqueror had been William the Con- 
 quered : a change of circumstances which, it 
 is quite certain, would have made no manner 
 of difference in this respect. 
 
 There was unquestionably a Chuzzlewit in 
 the Gunpowder Plot, if indeed the arch-traitor, 
 Fawkes himself, were not a scion of this re* 
 markable stock ; as he might easily have been, 
 supposing another Chuzzlewit to have emigrated 
 to Spain in the previous generation, and there 
 intermarried with a Spanish lady, by whom he 
 had issue, one olive-complexioned son. This 
 probable conjecture is strengthened, if not ab. 
 solutely confirmed, by a fact which cannot fail 
 to be interesting to those who are curious in 
 tracing the progress of hereditary tastes through 
 the lives of their unconscious inheritors. It is 
 a notable circumstance that in these later times, 
 many Chuzzlewits, being unsuccessful in other 
 pursuits, have, without the smallest rational 
 hope of enriching themselves, or any conceiv- 
 able reason, set up as coal-merchants ; and have, 
 month after month, continued gloomily to watch 
 a small stock of coals, without, in any one in. 
 stance, negociating with a purchaser. The 
 remarkable similarity between this course of 
 proceeding and that adopted by their Great An- 
 cestor beneath the vaults of the Parliament 
 House at Westminster, is too obvious and too 
 full of interest, to stand in need of comment 
 
 It is also clearly proved by the oral traditions 
 of the Family, that there existed, at some one 
 period of its history which is not distinctly 
 stated, a matron of such destructive principles, 
 and so familiarised to the use and composition 
 of inflammatory and combustible engines, that 
 she was called " The Match Maker :" by which 
 nickname and byword she is recognised in the 
 Family legends to this day. Surely there can 
 be no reasonable doubt that this was the Spau- 
 ish lady: the mother of Chuzzlewit Fawkes. 
 
 But there is one other piece of evidence, bea 
 ing immediate reference to their close connex 
 ion with this memorable event in English His 
 tory, which must carry conviction, even to a 
 mind (if such a mind there be) remaining uu 
 convinced by these presurootive proofs. 
 
 (9) 
 
30 
 
 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 There was, within a few years, in the possession 
 of a highly respectable and in every way credible 
 and unimpeachable member of the Chuzzlewit 
 Family (for his bitterest enemy never dared to 
 hint at his being otherwise than a wealthy man), 
 a dark lantern of undoubted antiquity ; rendered 
 still more interesting by being, in shape and pat- 
 tern, extremely like such as are in use at the pres- 
 ent day. Now this gentleman, since deceased, was 
 at all times ready to make oath, and did again and 
 again set forth upon his solemn asseveration, that 
 he had frequently heard his grandmother say, 
 when contemplating this venerable relic, "Ay, ay ! 
 This was carried by my fourth son on the fifth of 
 November, when he was a Guy Fawkes." These 
 remarkable words wrought (as well they might) a 
 strong impression on his mind, and he was in the 
 habit of repeating them very often. The just in- 
 terpretation which they bear, and the conclusion 
 to which they lead, are triumphant and irresisti- 
 ble. The old lady, naturally strong-minded, was 
 nevertheless frail and fading ; she was notoriously 
 subject to that confusion of ideas, or, to say the 
 least, of speech, to which age and garrulity are 
 liable. The slight, the very slight confusion, ap- 
 parent in these expressions, is manifest and is ludi- 
 crously easy of correction. " Ay, ay," quoth she, 
 and it will be observed that no emendation what- 
 ever is necessary to be made in these two initia- 
 tive remarks, " Ay, ay ! This lantern was carried 
 by my forefather" — not fourth son, which is pre- 
 posterous — " on the fifth of November. And he 
 was Guy Fawkes." Here we have a remark at 
 once consistent, clear, natural, and in strict ac- 
 cordance with the character of the speaker. In- 
 deed the anecdote is so plainly susceptible of this 
 meaning* and no other, that it would be hardly 
 worth recording in its original state, were it not a 
 proof of what may be (and very often is), effected 
 not only in historical prose but in imaginative po- 
 etry, by the exercise of a little ingenious labour on 
 the part of a commentator. 
 
 It has been said that there is no instance in 
 modern times of a Chuzzlewit having been found 
 on terms of intimacy with the Great. But here 
 again the sneering detractors who weave such 
 miserable figments from their malicious brains, 
 are stricken dumb by evidence. For letters are 
 yet in the possession of various branches of the 
 family, from which it distinctly appears, being 
 stated in so many words, that one Diggory Chuz- 
 zlewit was in the habit of perpetually dining with 
 Duke Humphrey. So constantly was he a guest 
 at that nobleman's table, indeed ; and so unceas- 
 ingly were His Grace's hospitality and compan- 
 ionship forced, as it were, upon him ; that we find 
 him uneasy, and full of constraint and reluctance : 
 writing his friends to the effect that if they fail to 
 do so and so by bearer, he will have no choice but 
 to dine again with Duke Humphrey : and express- 
 ing himself in a very marked and extraordinary 
 manner as one surfeited of High Life and Gra- 
 cious Company. 
 
 It has been rumoured, and it is needless to say 
 the rumour originated in the same base quarters, 
 that a certain male Chuzzlewit, whose birth must 
 he admitted to be involved in some obscurity, was 
 of very mean and low descent. How stands 
 the proof? When the son of that Individual, to 
 Vrhom the secret of his father's birth was suppos- 
 
 ed to have been communicated by his father in 
 his lifetime, lay upon his death-bed, this question 
 was put to him, in a distinct, solemn, and formal 
 way : " Toby Chuzzlewit, who was your grand- 
 father ?" To which he, with his last breath, no 
 less distinctly, solemnly, and formally replied : and 
 his words were taken down at the time, and sign- 
 ed by six witnesses, each with his name and ad- 
 dress in full : " The Lord No Zoo." It may be 
 said — it has been said, for human wickedness has 
 no limits — that there is no Lord of that name, and 
 that among the titles which have become extinct, 
 none at all resembling this, in sound even, is to be 
 discovered. But what is the irresistible inference ? 
 Rejecting a theory broached by some well-mean- 
 ing but mistaken persons, that this Mr. Toby Chuz- 
 zlewit's grandfather, to judge from his name, must 
 surely have been a Mandarin (which is wholly 
 insupportable, for there is no pretence of his grand- 
 mother ever having been out of this country, or 
 of any Mandarin having been in it within some 
 years of his father's birth ; except those in the tea- 
 shops, w 7 hich cannot for a moment be regarded as 
 having any bearing on the question, one way or 
 other), rejecting this hypothesis, is it not mani- 
 fest that Mr. Toby Chuzzlewit had either received 
 the name imperfectly from his father, or that he 
 had forgotten it, or that he had mispronounced it ? 
 and that even at the recent period in question, the 
 Chuzzlewits were connected by a bend sinister, or 
 kind of heraldic over-the-left, with some unknown 
 noble and illustrious House ? 
 
 From documentary evidence, yet preserved in 
 the family, the fact is clearly established that in 
 the comparatively modern days of the Diggory 
 Chuzzlewit before mentioned, one of its members 
 had attained to very great wealth and influence. 
 Throughout such fragments of his correspondence 
 as have escaped the ravages of the moths (who, 
 in right of their extensive absorption of the con- 
 tents of deeds and papers, may be called the gen- 
 eral registers of the Insect World), we find him 
 making constant reference to an uncle, in respect 
 of whom he would seem to have entertained great 
 expectations, as he was in the habit of seeking to 
 propitiate his favour by presents of plate, jewels, 
 books, watches, and other valuable articles. Thus, 
 he writes on one occasion to his brother in refer- 
 ence to a gravy-spoon, the brother's property, 
 which he (Diggory) would appear to have borrow- 
 ed or otherwise possessed himself of: " Do not 
 be angry I have parted with it — to my uncle." 
 On another occasion he expresses himself in a 
 similar manner with regard to a child's mug 
 which had been entrusted to him to get repaired 
 On another occasion he says, " I have bestowed 
 upon that irresistible uncle of mine everything I 
 ever possessed." And that he was in the habit of 
 paying long and constant visits to this gentleman 
 at his mansion, if indeed, he did not wholly reside 
 there, is manifest from the following sentence : 
 "With the exception of the suit of clothes I carry 
 about with me, the whole of my wearing apparel 
 is at present at my uncle's." This gentleman's 
 patronage and influence must have been very ex- 
 tensive, for his nephew writes, " His interest is 
 too high" — " It is too much" — " It is tremendous" 
 — and the like. Still it does not appear (which is 
 strange) to have procured for him any lucrative 
 post at court or elsewhere, or to have conferred 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 
 
 11 
 
 apon him any other distinction than that which 
 was necessarily included in the countenance of so 
 great a man, and the being invited by him to cer- 
 tain entertainments, so splendid and costly in their 
 nature that he emphatically calls them " Golden 
 Balls." 
 
 It is needless to multiply instances of the high 
 and lofty station, and the vast importance of the 
 Chuzzlewits, at different periods. If it came with- 
 in the scope of reasonable probability that further 
 proofs were required, they might be heaped upon 
 each other until they formed an Alps of testimony, 
 beneath which the boldest scepticism should be 
 crushed and beaten flat. As a goodly tumulus is 
 already collected, and decently battened up above 
 the Family grave, the present chapter is content 
 to leave it as it is : merely adding, by way of a 
 final spadeful, that many Chuzzlewits, both male 
 and female, are proved to demonstration, on the 
 faith of letters written by their own mothers, to 
 have had chiselled noses, undeniable chins, forms 
 that might have served the sculptor for a model, 
 exquisitely-turned limbs, and polished foreheads 
 of so transparent a texture that the blue veins 
 might be seen branching off* in various directions, 
 like so many roads on an ethereal map. This fact 
 in itself, though it had been a solitary one, would 
 have utterly settled and clenched the business in 
 hand ; for it is well known, on the authority of all 
 the books which treat of such matters, that every 
 one of these phenomena, but especially that of the 
 
 chiseling, are invariably peculiar to, and only 
 make themselves apparent in, persons of the very 
 best condition. 
 
 This history, having, to its own perfect satisfac- 
 tion, (and, consequently, to the full contentment 
 of all its readers,) proved the Chuzzlewits to have 
 had an origin, and to have been at one time or 
 other of an irnporUnce which cannot fail to ren- 
 der them highly improving and acceptable ac- 
 quaintance to all right-minded individuals, may 
 now proceed in earnest with its task. And hav- 
 ing shown that they must have had, by reason of 
 their ancient birth, a pretty large share in the 
 foundation and increase of the human family, it 
 will one day become its province to submit, that 
 such of its members as shall be introduced in 
 these pages, have still many counterparts and pro- 
 totypes in the Great World about us. At present 
 it contents itself with remarking, in a general 
 way, on this head : Firstly, that it may be safely 
 asserted and yet without implying any direct par- 
 ticipation in the Monboddo doctrine touching the 
 probability of the human race having once been 
 monkeys, that men do play very strange and ex- 
 traordinary tricks. Secondly, and yet without 
 trenching on the Blumenbach theory as to the 
 descendants of Adam having a vast number of 
 qualities which belong more particularly to swine 
 than to any other class of animals in the creation^ 
 that some men certainly are remarkable for tak 
 ing uncommon good care of themselves. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 WHEREIN CERTAIN PERSONS ARE PRESENTED TO THE READER, WITH 
 WHOM HE MAY, IF HE PLEASE, BECOME BETTER ACQUAINTED. 
 
 It was pretty late in the autumn of the year, 
 when the declining sun, struggling through the 
 mist which had obscured it all day, looked bright- 
 ly down upon a little Wiltshire village, within an 
 easy journey of the fair old town of Salisbury. 
 
 Like a sudden flash of memory or spirit kind- 
 ling up the mind of an old man, it shed a glory 
 upon the scene, in which its departed youth and 
 freshness seemed to live again. The wet grass 
 sparkled in the light ; the scanty patches of ver- 
 dure in the hedges — where a few green twigs yet 
 stood together bravely, resisting to the last the ty- 
 ranny of nipping winds and early frosts — took 
 heart and brightened up ; the stream which had 
 been dull and sullen all day long, broke out into a 
 cheerful smile ; the birds began to chirp and twit- 
 ter on the naked boughs, as though the hopeful 
 creatures half believed that winter had gone by, 
 and spring had come already. The vane upon 
 the tapering spire of the old church glistened from 
 its lofty station in sympathy with the general 
 gladness ; and from the ivy-shaded windows such 
 gleams of light shone back upon the glowing sky, 
 that it seemed as if the quiet buildings were the 
 hoarding-place of twenty summers, and all their 
 ruddiness and warmth were stored within. 
 
 Even those tokens of the season which emphati- 
 cally whispered of the coming winter, graced the 
 landscape, and, for the moment, tinged its livelier 
 features with no oppressive air of sadness. The 
 fallen leaves, with which the ground wus strewn, 
 
 gave forth a pleasant fragrance, and subduing all 
 harsh sounds of distant feet and wheels, created a 
 repose in gentle unison with the light scattering 
 of seed hither and thither by the distant husband- 
 man, and with the noiseless passage of the plough 
 as it turned up the rich brown earth, and wrought 
 a graceful pattern in the stubbled fields. On the 
 motionless branches of some trees, autumn berries 
 hung like clusters of coral beads, as in those fabled 
 orchards where the fruits were jewels ; others, 
 stripped of all their garniture, stood, each the cen 
 treof its little heap of bright red leaves, watching 
 their slow decay ; others again, still wearing theirs 
 had them all crunched and crackled up, as though 
 they had been burnt ; about the stems of some 
 were piled, in ruddy mounds, the apples they had 
 borne that year ; while others (hardy evergreens 
 this class) showed somewhat stem and gloomy in 
 their vigour, as charged by nature with the admo- 
 nition that it is not to her more sensitive and joy- 
 ous favourites she grants the longest term of life. 
 Still athwart their darker boughs, the sun-beams 
 struck out paths of deeper gold ; and the red light, 
 mantling in among their swarthy branches, used 
 them as foils to set its brightness off, and aid the 
 lustre of the dying day. 
 
 A moment, and its glory was no more. The 
 sun went down beneath the long dark lines of hill 
 and cloud which piled up in the west an airy city, 
 wall heaped on wall, and battlement on battlement 
 the light was all withdrawn ; the shining church . 
 
 
12 
 
 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 turned cold and dark ; the stream forgot to smile; | 
 the birds were silent ; and the gloom of winter 
 dwelt on everything. 
 
 An evening wind uprose too, and the slighter 
 branches cracked and rattled as they moved, in 
 skeleton dances, to its moaning music. The with- 
 ering leaves no longer quiet, hurried to and fro in 
 search of shelter from its chill pursuit ; the labour- 
 er unyoked his horses, and with head bent down, 
 trudged briskly home beside them ; and from the 
 cottage windows, lights began to glance and wink 
 upon the darkening fields. 
 
 Then the village forge came out in all its bright 
 importance. The lusty bellows roared Ha ha ! to 
 the clear fire, which roared in turn, and bade the 
 shining sparks dance gaily to the merry clinking 
 of the hammers on the anvil. The gleaming iron, 
 in its emulation, sparkled too, and shed its red-hot 
 gems around profusely. The strong smith and his 
 men dealt such strokes upon their work, as made 
 even the melancholy night rejoice ; and brought a 
 glow into its dark face as it hovered about the door 
 and windows, peeping curiously in above the 
 shoulders of a dozen loungers. As to this idle 
 company, there they stood, spellbound by the place, 
 and, casting now and then a glance upon the dark- 
 ness in their rear, settled their lazy elbows more 
 at ease upon the sill, and leaned a little further in : 
 no more disposed to tear themselves away, than 
 if they had been born to cluster round the blazing 
 hearth like so many crickets. 
 
 Out upon the angry wind ! how from sighing, 
 it began to bluster round the merry forge, banging 
 at the wicket, and grumbling in the chimney, as 
 if it bullied the jolly bellows for doing anything 
 to order. And what an impotent swaggerer it was 
 too, for all its noise ! for if it had any influence on 
 that hoarse companion, it was but to make him 
 roar his cheerful song the louder, and by conse- 
 quence to make the fire burn the brighter, and the 
 sparks to dance more gaily yet : at length, they 
 whizzed so madly round and round, that it was too 
 much for such a surly wind to bear; so off it flew 
 with a howl ; giving the old sign before the ale- 
 house door such a cuff as it went, that the Blue 
 Dragon was more rampant than usual ever after- 
 wan s, and indeed, before Christmas, reared clean 
 out c f his crazy frame. 
 
 It was small tyranny for a respectable wind to 
 go wreaking its vengeance on such poor creatures 
 as the fallen leaves, but this wind happening to 
 come up with a great heap of them just after vent- 
 ing its humour on the insulted Dragon, did so dis- 
 perse and scatter them that they fled away, pell- 
 mell, some here, some there, rolling over each other, 
 whirling round and round upon their edges, taking 
 frantic flights into the air, and playing all manner 
 of extraordinary gambols in the extremity of their 
 distress. Nor was this enough for its malicious 
 fury ; for not content with driving them abroad, 
 it charged small parties of them and hunted them 
 into the wheelwright's saw-pit, and below the 
 nianks and timbers in the yard, and, scattering 
 the saw-dust in the air, it looked for them under- 
 neath, and when it did meet with any, whew ! how 
 it drove the'm on and followed at their heels ! 
 
 The scared leaves only flew the faster for all 
 this ; and a giddy chase it was ; for they got into 
 unfrequented places, where there was no outlet, 
 -«iid where their pursue- kept them eddying round 
 
 and round at his pleasure ; and they crept under 
 the eaves of houses, and clung tightly to the sides 
 of hay-ricks, like bats ; and tore in at open cham- 
 ber windows, and cowered close to hedges ; and 
 in short went anywhere for safety. But the odd- 
 est feat they achieved was, to take advantage of 
 the sudden opening of Mr. Pecksniff's front-door, 
 to dash wildly into his passage ; whither the wind 
 following close upon them, and finding the back, 
 door open, incontinently blew out the lighted can- 
 dle held by Miss Pecksniff, and slammed the front- 
 door against Mr. Pecksniff who was at that mo- 
 ment entering, with such violence, that in the 
 twinkling of an eye he lay on his back at the bot- 
 tom of the steps. Being by this time weary of 
 such trifling performances, the boisterous rover 
 hurried away rejoicing, roaring over moor and 
 meadow, hill and flat, until it got out to sea, where 
 it met with other winds similarly disposed, and 
 made a night of it. 
 
 In the meantime Mr. Pecksniff, having receiv 
 ed, from a sharp angle in the bottom step but one, 
 that sort of knock on the head which lights up, 
 for the patient's entertainment, an imaginary gen- 
 eral illumination of very bright short-sixes, lay 
 placidly staring at his own street-door. And it 
 would seem to have been more suggestive in its 
 aspect than street-doors usually are ; for he con- 
 tinued to lie there, rather a lengthy and unreason 
 able time, without so much as wondering whether, 
 he was hurt or no ; neither, when Miss Pecksniff 
 inquired through the key-hole in a shrill voice, 
 which might have belonged to a wind in its teens, 
 " Who's there ?" did he make any reply ; nor, 
 when Miss Pecksniff opened the door again, and 
 shading the candle with her hand, peered out, and 
 looked provokingly round him, and about him, 
 and over him, and everywhere but at him, did he 
 offer any remark, or indicate in any manner the 
 least hint of a desire to be picked up. 
 
 " / see you," cried Miss Pecksniff, to the idea* 
 inflictor of a runaway knock. " You '11 catch it, 
 sir!" 
 
 Still Mr. Pecksniff, perhaps from having caught 
 it already, said nothing. 
 
 ■ You 're round the corner now," cried Miss 
 Pecksniff. She said it at a venture, but there was 
 appropriate matter in it too ; for Mr. Pecksniff, be 
 ing in the act of extinguishing the candles before 
 mentioned pretty rapidly, and of reducing the 
 number of brass knobs on his street-door from 
 four or five hundred (which had previously been 
 juggling of their own accord before his eyes in a 
 very novel manner) to a dozen or so, might in one 
 sense have been said to be coming round the cor 
 ner, and just turning it. 
 
 With a sharply-delivered warning relative to 
 the cage and the constable, and the stocks and the 
 gallows, Miss Pecksniff was about to close the 
 door again, when Mr. Pecksniff (being still at the 
 bottom of the steps) raised himself on one elbow, 
 and sneezed. 
 
 " That voice !" cried Miss Pecksniff, " my pa- 
 rent !" 
 
 At this exclamation, another Miss Pecksniff 
 bounced out of the parlour : and the two Miss 
 Pecksniffs, with many incoherent expressions, 
 dragged Mr. Pecksniff into an upright posture. 
 
 " Pa !" they cried in concert. " Pa ! Speak, Pa . 
 Do not look so wild, my dearest Pa !" 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 
 
 But as a gentleman's looks, in such a case of all 
 others, are by no means under his own control, 
 Mr. Pecksniff continued to keep his mouth and 
 his eyes very wide open, and to drop his lower 
 jaw, somewhat after the manner of" a toy nut- 
 cracker ; and as his hat had fallen off, and his face 
 was pale, and his hair erect, and his coat muddy, 
 the spectacle he presented was so very doleful, 
 that neither of the Miss Pecksniffs could repress 
 an involuntary screech. 
 
 " That'll do," said Mr. Pecksniff. " I 'm better." 
 
 " He 's come to himself!" cried the youngest 
 Miss Pecksniff. 
 
 " He speaks again !" exclaimed the eldest With 
 which joyful words they kissed Mr. Pecksniff on 
 either cheek ; and bore him into the house. Pre- 
 sently, the youngest Miss Pecksniff ran out again 
 to pick up his hat, his brown paper parcel, his um- 
 brella, his gloves, and other small articles; and 
 that done, and the door closed, both young ladies 
 applied themselves to tending Mr. Pecksniff's 
 wounds in the back parlour. 
 
 They were not very serious in their nature ; be- 
 ing limited to abrasions on what the eldest Miss 
 Pecksniff called " the knobby parts" of her pa- 
 rent's anatomy, such as his knees and elbows, and 
 to the development of an entirely new organ, nn- 
 known to phrenologists, on the back of his head. 
 These injuries having been comforted externally, 
 with patches of pickled brown paper, and Mr. 
 Pecksniff having been comforted internally, with 
 some stiff brandy-and-water, the eldest Miss Peck- 
 sniff sat down to make the tea, which was all 
 ready. In the meantime the youngest Miss Peck- 
 sniff brought from the kitchen a smoking dish of 
 ham and eggs, and, setting the same before her 
 father, took up her station on a low stool at his 
 feet* thereby bringing her eyes on a level with 
 the tea board. 
 
 It must not be inferred from this position of hu- 
 milit} that the youngest Miss Pecksniff was so 
 youn£ as to be, as one may say, forced to sit upon 
 a stool by reason of the shortness of her legs. 
 Miss Pecksniff sat upon a stool because of her 
 simplicity and innocence, which were very great; 
 very great. Miss Pecksniff sat upon a stool, be- 
 cause she was all girlishness, and playfulness, and 
 wildness, and kittenish buoyancy. She was the 
 most arcli and at the same time the most artless 
 creature, was the youngest Miss Pecksniff, that 
 you can possibly imagine. It was her great charm. 
 She was too fresh and guileless, and too full of 
 child-like vivacity, was the youngest Miss Peck- 
 sniff, to wear combs in her hair, or to turn it up, 
 or to frizzle it, or braid it. She wore it in a crop, 
 a loosely flowing crop, which had so many rows 
 of curls in it, that the top row was only one curl. 
 Moderately buxom was her shape, and quite wo- 
 manly too ; but sometimes — yes, sometimes — she 
 even wore a pinafore; and how charming that 
 was ! Oh ! she was indeed " a gushing thing" (as 
 a young gentleman had observed in verse, in the 
 Poct's-corner of a provincial newspaper), was the 
 youngest Miss Pecksniff! 
 
 Mr. Pecksniff was a moral man : a grave man, 
 a man of noble sentiments and speech ; and he had 
 hud her christenced Mercy. Mercy ! oh, what a 
 charming name for such a pure-souled Being as 
 the youngost Miss Pecksniff! Her sister's name 
 was Charity. There was a good thing ! Mercy 
 
 and Charity ! And Charity, with her fine 
 strong sense, and her mild, yet not reproachful 
 gravity, was so well named, and did so well set off 
 and illustrate her sister ! What a pleasant sight 
 was that, the contrast they presented ; to see each 
 loved and loving one sympathising with, and de- 
 voted to, and leaning on, and yet correcting and 
 counter-checking, and, as it were, antidoting, the 
 other ! To behold each damsel, in her very admi- 
 ration of her sister, setting up in business for her- 
 self on an entirely different principle, and an- 
 nouncing no connexion with over-the-way, and if 
 the quality of goods at that establishment don't 
 please you, you are respectfully invited to favour 
 me with a call ! And the crowning circumstance 
 of the whole delightful catalogue was, that both 
 the fair creatures were so utterly unconscious of 
 all this ! They had no idea of it They no more 
 thought or dreamed of it, than Mr. Pecksniff did. 
 Nature played them off against each other ; they 
 had no hand in it the two Miss Pecksniffs. 
 
 It has been remarked that Mr. Pecksniff was a 
 moral man. So he was. Perhaps there never waa 
 a more moral man than Mr. Pecksniff; especially 
 in his conversation and correspondence. It waa 
 once said of him by a homely admirer, that he had 
 a Fortunatus's purse of good sentiments in his in- 
 side. In this particular he was like the girl in the 
 fairy tale, except that if they were not actual dia- 
 monds which fell from his lips, they were the very 
 brightest paste, and shone prodigiously. He was 
 a most exemplary man ; fuller of virtuous precept 
 than a copybook. Some people likened him to a 
 direction-post, which is always telling the way to 
 a place, and never goes there : but these were his 
 enemies ; the shadows cast by his brightness ; that 
 was all. His very throat was moral. You saw a 
 good deal of it You looked over a very low fence 
 of white cravat (whereof no man had ever beheld 
 the tie, for he fastened it behind), and there it lay, 
 a valley between two jutting heights of collar, se- 
 rene and whiskerless before you. It seemed to 
 say, on the part of Mr. Pecksniff, " There is no 
 deception, ladies and gentlemen, all is peace ; a 
 holy calm pervades me." So did his hair, just 
 grizzled with an iron-gray, which was all brushed 
 off his forehead, and stood bolt upright or slightly 
 drooped in kindred action with his heavy eyelids. 
 So did his person, which was sleek though free 
 from corpulency. So did hi* manner, which was 
 soft and oily. In a word, even his plain, black 
 suit and state of widower, and dangling double 
 eye-glass, all tended to the same purpose, and cried 
 aloud, " Behold the moral Pecksniff!" 
 
 The brazen plate upon the door (which being 
 Mr. Pecksniff's, could not lie) bore this inscrip- 
 tion, "Pecksniff, Architect," to which Mr. Peck- 
 sniff, on his cards of business, added, " and Land 
 Surveyor." In one sense, and only one, he may 
 be said to have been a Land Surveyor on a pretty 
 large scale, as an extensive prospect lay stretched 
 out before the windows of his house. Of his archi- 
 tectural doings, nothing was clearly known, except 
 that he had never designed or built anything ; but 
 it was generally understood that his knowledge of 
 the science was almost awful in its profundity. 
 
 Mr. Pecksniff's professional engagements, in- 
 deed, were almost if not entirely, confined to the 
 reception of pupils ; for the collection of rents, 
 with which pursuit he occasionally varied and re 
 
 
14 
 
 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 lieved his graver toils, can hardly be said to be a 
 strictly architectural employment. His genius lay 
 in ensnaring parents and guardians, and in pock- 
 eting premiums. A young gentleman's premium 
 ©eing paid, and the young gentleman come to Mr. 
 Pecksniff's house, Mr. Pecksniff borrowed his 
 case of mathematical instruments (if silver-mount- 
 ed or otherwise valuable) ; entreated him, from that 
 moment, to consider himself one of the family ; 
 complimented him highly on his parents or guar- 
 dians, as the case might be : and turned him loose 
 in a spacious room on the two-pair front; where, 
 in the company of certain drawing-boards, paral- 
 lel rulers, very stiff-legged compasses, and two, or 
 perhaps three, other young gentlemen, he improv- 
 ed himself, for three or five years, according to his 
 articles, in making elevations of Salisbury Cathe- 
 dral from every possible point of sight ; and in 
 constructing in the air a vast quantity of Castles, 
 Houses of Parliament, and other Public Buildings. 
 Perhaps in no place in the world were so many 
 gorgeous edifices of this class erected as under 
 Mr. Pecksniff's auspices ; and if but one twenti- 
 eth part of the churches which were built in that 
 front room, with one or other of the Miss Peck- 
 sniffs at the altar in the act of marrying the archi 
 tect, could only be made available by the parlia- 
 mentary commissioners, no more churches would 
 be wanted for at least five centuries. 
 
 " Even the worldly goods of which we have 
 just disposed," said Mr. Pecksniff, glancing round 
 the table when he had finished, " even cream, su- 
 gar, tea, toast, ham, " 
 
 " And eggs," suggested Charity in a low voice. 
 
 " And eggs," said Mr. Pecksniff, " even they 
 have their moral. See how they come and go ! 
 Every pleasure is transitory. We can't even eat 
 long. U we indulge in harmless fluids, we get 
 the dropsy; if in exciting liquids, we get drunk. 
 What a soothing reflection is that !" 
 
 " Don't say we get drunk, Pa," urged the eld- 
 est Miss Pecksniff. 
 
 " When I say, we, my dear," returned her fa- 
 ther, "I mean mankind in general; the human 
 race, considered as a body, and not as individuals. 
 There is nothing personal in morality, my love. 
 Even such a thing as this," said Mr. Pecksniff, 
 laying the forefinger of his left hand upon the 
 brown paper patch on the top of his head, "slight 
 casualty, baldness, though it be, reminds us that 
 we are but" — he was going to say " worms," but 
 recollecting that worms were not remarkable for 
 heads of hair, he substituted " flesh and blood." 
 
 " Which," cried Mr. Pecksniff after a pause, 
 during which he seemed to have been casting 
 about for a new moral, and not quite successfully, 
 " which is also very soothing. Mercy, my dear, 
 stir the fire and throw up the cinders." 
 
 The young lady obeyed, and having done so, 
 resumed her stool, reposed one arm upon her fa- 
 ther's knee, and laid her blooming cheek upon it. 
 Miss Charity drew her chair nearer the fire, as 
 one prepared for conversation, and looked towards 
 her father. 
 
 "Yes," said Mr. Pecksniff, after a short pause, 
 during which he had been silently smiling, and 
 shaking his head at the fire — " I have again been 
 fortunate in the attainment of my object. Anew 
 mmate will very shortly come among us." 
 
 " A youth, papa ?" asked Charity. 
 
 "Ye-es, a youth," said Mr. Pecksniff. "He 
 will avail himself of the eligible opportunity which 
 now offers, for uniting the advantages of the best 
 practical architectural education, with the comforts 
 of a home, and the constant association with some 
 who (however humble their sphere, and limited 
 their capacity) are not unmindful of their moral 
 responsibilities." 
 
 ■ Oh Pa !" cried Mercy, holding up her finger 
 archly. " See advertisement !" 
 
 " Playful— playful warbler," said Mr. Pecksniff. 
 It may be observed in connexion with his calling 
 his daughter " a warbler," that she was not at all 
 vocal, but that Mr. Pecksniff was in the frequent 
 habit of using any word that occurred to him as 
 having a good sound, and rounding a sentence 
 well, without much care for its meaning. And he 
 did this so boldly, and in such an imposing man- 
 ner, that he would sometimes stagger the wisest 
 people with his eloquence, and make them gasp 
 again. 
 
 His enemies asserted, by the way, that a strong 
 trustfulness in sounds and forms, was the master- 
 key to Mr. Pecksniff's character. 
 
 " Is he handsome, Pa ?" inquired the younger 
 daughter. 
 
 " Silly Merry !" said the eldest : Merry being 
 fond for Mercy. " What is the premium, Pa ? 
 tell us that." 
 
 " Oh good gracious, Cherry !" cried Miss Mer- 
 cy, holding up her hands with the most winning 
 giggle in the world, " what a mercenary girl you 
 are ! oh you naughty, thoughtful, prudent thing !" 
 
 It was perfectly charming, and worthy of the 
 Pastoral age, to see how the two Miss Pecksniffs 
 slapped each other after this, and then subsided 
 into an embrace expressive of their different dis- 
 positions. 
 
 " He is well-looking," said Mr, Pecksniff, slow 
 ly and distinctly: "well-looking enough. I do 
 not positively expect any immediate premium 
 with him." 
 
 Notwithstanding their different natures, both 
 Charity and Mercy concurred in opening their 
 eyes uncommonly wide at this announcement, and 
 in looking for the moment as blank as if their 
 thoughts had actually had a direct bearing on the 
 main-chance. 
 
 " But what of that !" said Mr. Pecksniff, still 
 smiling at the fire. " There is disinterestedness 
 in the world, I hope I We are not all arrayed in 
 two opposite ranks ; the q/fensive and the defen- 
 sive. Some few there are who walk between ; 
 who help the needy as they go; and take no part 
 with either side : umph ?" 
 
 There was something in these morsels of phi- 
 lanthropy which reassured the sisters. They ex- 
 changed glances, and brightened very much. 
 
 " Oh ! let us not be for ever calculating, devis- 
 ing, and plotting for the future," said Mr. Peck- 
 sniff, smiling more and more, and looking at the 
 fire as a man might, who was cracking a joke 
 with it: " I am weary of such arts. If our in- 
 clinations are but good and open-hearted, let us 
 gratify them boldly, though they bring upon us, 
 Loss instead of Profit. Eh, Charity?" 
 
 Glancing towards his daughters for the first 
 time since he had begun these reflections, and see- 
 ing that they both smiled, Mr. Pecksniff eyed them 
 for an instant so jocosely (though still with a kind 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWI1 
 
 15 
 
 of saintly waggishness} that the younger one was 
 moved to sit upon his knee forthwith, put her fair 
 arms round his neck, and kiss him twenty times. 
 During the whole of this affectionate display she 
 laughed to a most immoderate extent; in which 
 hilarious indulgence even the prudent Cherry 
 joined. 
 
 "Tut, tut," said Mr. Pecksniff, pushing his 
 latest-born away, and running his fingers through 
 his hair, as he resumed his tranquil face. " What 
 folly is this ! Let us take heed how we laugh with- 
 out reason, lest we cry with it. What is the do- 
 mestic news since yesterday ? John Westlock is 
 gone, I hope ?" 
 
 " Indeed no," said Charity. 
 
 "And why not?" returned her father. "His 
 term expired yesterday. And his box was packed, 
 I know ; for I saw it, in the morning, standing 
 in the hall." 
 
 " He slept last night at the Dragon," returned 
 the young lady, " and had Mr. Pinch to dine with 
 him. They spent the evening together, and Mr. 
 Pinch was not home till very late." 
 
 " And when I saw him on the stairs this morn- 
 ing, Pa," said Mercy with her usual sprightliness, 
 " he looked, oh goodness, such a monster ! with 
 his face all manner of colours, and his eyes as dull 
 as if they had been boiled, and his head aching 
 dreadfully, I am sure from the look of it, and his 
 clothes smelling, oh it 's impossible to say how 
 strong, of" — here the young lady shuddered — 
 " of smoke and punch." 
 
 " Now I think," said Mr. Pecksniff with his 
 accustomed gentleness, though still with the air 
 of one who suffered under injury without com- 
 plaint, " I think Mr. Pinch might have done bet- 
 ter than choose for his companion one who, at the 
 close of a long intercourse, had endeavoured, as 
 he knew, to wound my feelings. I am not quite 
 sure that this was delicate in Mr. Pinch. I am 
 not quite sure Uiat this was kind in Mr. Pinch. I 
 will go further and say, I am not quite sure that 
 this was even ordinarily grateful in Mr. Pinch." 
 
 " But what can any one expect from Mr. Pinch !" 
 cried Charity, with as strong and scornful an em- 
 phasis on the name as if it would have given her 
 unspeakable pleasure to express it, in an acted 
 charade, on the calf of that gentleman's leg. 
 
 " Ay, ay," returned her father, raising his hand 
 mildly : " it is very well to say what can we ex- 
 pect from Mr. Pinch, but Mr. Pinch is a fellow- 
 creature, my dear ; Mr. Pinch is an item in the 
 vast total of humanity, my love ; and we have a 
 right, it is our duty, to expect in Mr. Pinch some 
 development of those better qualities, the posses- 
 sion of which in our own persons inspires our 
 humble self-respect No," continued Mr. Peck- 
 sniff. " No ! Heaven forbid that I should say, 
 nothing can be expected from Mr. Pinch ; or that 
 I should say, nothing can be expected from any 
 man alive (even the most degraded, which Mr. 
 Pinch is not, no really); but Mr. Pinch has dis- 
 appointed me ; he has hurt me ; I think a little 
 the worse of him on this account, but not of hu- 
 man nature. Oh no, no !" 
 
 " Hark !" said Miss Charity, holding up her fin- 
 ger, as a gentle rap was heard at the street-door. 
 "There is the creature ! Now mark my words, he 
 has come back with John Westlock for his box, 
 and is going to help him take it to the mail. Only 
 mark my words, if that isn't his intention '" 
 
 Even as she spoke, the box appeared to be in 
 progress of conveyance from the house, but after 
 a brief murmuring of question and answer, it was 
 put down again, and somebody knocked at the 
 parlour door. 
 
 " Come in !" cried Mr. Pecksniff— not severe- 
 ly ; only virtuously. " Come in !" 
 
 An ungainly, awkward-Iooking man, extremely 
 short-sighted, and prematurely bald, availed him- 
 self of this permission ; and seeing that Mr. Peck- 
 sniff sat with his back towards him, gazing at tho 
 fire, stood hesitating, with the door in his hand, 
 fie was far from handsome, certainly ; and was 
 drest in a snuff-coloured suit, of an uncouth make 
 at the best, which being shrunken with long wear, 
 was twisted and tortured into all kinds of odd 
 shapes ; but notwithstanding his attire, and his 
 clumsy figure, which a great stoop in his should- 
 ers, and a ludicrous habit he had of thrusting his 
 head forward, by no means redeemed, one would 
 not have been disposed (unless Mr. Pecksniff said 
 so) to consider him a bad fellow by any means. 
 He was perhaps about thirty, but he might have 
 been almost any age between sixteen and sixty: 
 being one of those strange creatures who never 
 decline into an ancient appearance, but look their 
 oldest when they are very young, and get it over 
 at once. 
 
 Keeping his hand upon the lock of the door, 
 he glanced from Mr. Pecksniff to Mercy, from 
 Mercy to Charity, and from Charity to Mr. Peck- 
 sniff again, several times; but the young ladies 
 being as intent upon the fire as their father was, 
 and neither of the three taking any notice of him, 
 he was fain to say, at last, 
 
 " Oh 1 I beg your pardon, Mr. Pecksniff: I beg 
 your pardon for intruding : but " 
 
 " No intrusion, Mr. Pinch," said that gentleman 
 very sweetly, but without looking round. " Pray 
 be seated, Mr. Pinch. Have the goodness to shut 
 the door, Mr. Pinch, if you please." 
 
 " Certainly, sir," said Pinch ; not doing so, how- 
 ever, but holding it rather wider open than before, 
 and beckoning nervously to somebody without ; 
 ■ Mr. Westlock, sir, hearing that you were come 
 home" — 
 
 " Mr. Pinch, Mr. Pinch !" said Mr. Pecksniff, 
 wheeling the chair about, and looking at him with 
 an aspect of the deepest melancholy, " I did not 
 expect this from you. I have not deserved this 
 from you !" 
 
 " No, but upon my word sir" — urged Pinch. 
 
 " The less you say, Mr. Pinch," interposed the 
 other, " the better. I utter no complaint. Make 
 no defence." 
 
 "No, but do have the goodness, sir," cried Pinch, 
 with great earnestness, "if you please. Ml. 
 Westlock, sir, going away for good and all, wishes 
 to leave none but friends behind him. Mr. West- 
 lock and you, sir, had a little difference the other 
 day ; you have had many little differences." 
 
 " Lfttle differences !" cried Charity. 
 
 " Little differences !" echoed Mercy. 
 
 " My loves !" said Mr. Pecksniff, with the same 
 serene upraising of his hand ; " My dears !" Af- 
 ter a solemn pause he meekly bowed to Mr. Pinch, 
 as who should say, " Proceed ;" but Mr. Pinch 
 was so very much at a loss how to rrsumr, and 
 looked so helplessly at the two Miss Pecksniffs, 
 that the conversation would most probably havo 
 terminated there, if a good-looking youth, newly 
 
16 
 
 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 arrived at man's estate, had not stepped forward 
 from the doorway and taken up the thread of the 
 discourse. 
 
 " Come, Mr. Pecksniff," he said, with a smile, 
 *' don't let there be any ill-blood between us, pray. 
 I am sorry we have ever differed, and extremely 
 sorry I have ever given you offence. Bear me no 
 ill-will at parting, sir." 
 
 " I bear," answered Mr. Pecksniff, mildly, " no 
 ill-will to any man on earth." 
 
 " I told you he didn't," said Pinch in an under 
 tone ; " I knew he didn't 1 He always says he 
 don't." 
 
 " Then you will shake hands, sir ?" cried West- 
 lock, advancing a step or two, and bespeaking Mr. 
 Pinch's close attention by a glance. 
 
 " Umph ?" said Mr. P.ecksniff, in his most win- 
 ning tone. 
 
 " You will shake hands, sir." 
 
 " No, John," said Mr. Pecksniff, with a calm- 
 ness quite ethereal ; " no, I will not shake hands, 
 John. I have forgiven you. I had already for- 
 given you, even before you ceased to reproach and 
 taunt me. I have embraced you in the spirit, 
 John, which is better than shaking hands." 
 
 " Pinch," said the youth, turning towards him, 
 with a hearty disgust of his late master, " what 
 did I tell you ?" 
 
 Poor Pinch looked down uneasily at Mr. Peck- 
 sniff, whose eye was fixed upon him as it had been 
 from the first : and looking up at the ceiling again, 
 made no reply. 
 
 " As to your forgiveness, Mr. Pecksniff," said 
 the youth, " I'll not have it upon such terms. I 
 won't be forgiven." 
 
 "Won't you, John?" retorted Mr. Pecksniff, 
 with a smile. " You must. You can't help it. 
 Forgiveness is a high quality; an exalted virtue ; 
 far above your control or influence John. I will 
 forgive you. You cannot move me to remember 
 any wrong you have ever done me, John." 
 
 " Wrong !" cried the other, with all the heat 
 and impetuosity of his age. " Here's a pretty 
 fellow ! Wrong ! Wrong I have done him ! 
 He'll not even remember the five hundred pounds 
 he had with me under false pretences ; or the 
 seventy pounds a-year for board and lodging that 
 would have been dear at seventeen! Here's a 
 martyr !" 
 
 " Money, John," said Mr. Pecksniff, " is the 
 root of all evil. I grieve to see that it is already 
 bearing evil fruits in you. But I will not remem- 
 ber its existence. I will not even remember the 
 conduct of that misguided person" — and here, 
 although he spoke like one at peace with all the 
 world, he used an emphasis that plainly said • I 
 . have my eye upon the rascal now' — " that mis- 
 guided person who has brought you here to night, 
 seeking to disturb (it is a happiness to say, in 
 vain) the heart's repose and peace of one who 
 would have shed his dearest blood to serve him." 
 
 The voice of Mr. Pecksniff trembled as he 
 spoke, and sobs were heard from his daughters. 
 Sounds floated on the air, moreover, as if two 
 spirit voices had exclaimed ; one, " Beast !" the 
 other, " Savage !" 
 
 " Forgiveness," said Mr. Pecksniff, " entire and 
 pure forgi/eness is not incompatible with a wound- 
 ed heart ; perchance when the heart is wounded, 
 it berrmes a greater virtue. With my breast still 
 
 wrung and grieved to its inmost core by the in- 
 gratitude of that person, I am proud and glad to 
 say, that I forgive him. Nay! 1 beg," cried Mr. 
 Pecksniff, raising his voice, as Pinch appeared 
 about to speak, " I beg that individual not to offer 
 a remark : he will truly oblige me by not uttering 
 one word : just now. I am not sure that I am 
 equal to the trial. In a very short space of time, 
 I shall have sufficient fortitude, I trust, to converse 
 with him as if these events had never happened. 
 But not," said Mr. Pecksniff, turning round again 
 towards the fire, and waving his hand in the di- 
 rection of the door, " not now." 
 
 " Bah !" cried John Westlock, with the utmost 
 disgust and disdain the monosyllable is capable 
 of expressing. "Ladies, good evening. Come, 
 Pinch, it's not worth thinking of. I was right 
 and you were wrong. That's a small matter ; 
 you'll be wiser another time." 
 
 So saying, he clapped that dejected companion 
 on the shoulder, turned upon his heel, and walked 
 out into the passage, whither poor Mr. Pinch, after 
 lingering irresolutely in the parlour for a few 
 seconds, expressing in his countenance the deepest 
 mental misery and gloom, followed him. Then 
 they took up the box between them, and sallied out 
 to meet the mail. 
 
 That fleet conveyance passed, every night, the 
 comer of a lane at some distance; towards which 
 point they bent their steps. For some minutes 
 they walked along in silence, until at length young 
 Westlock burst into a loud laugh, and at intervals 
 into another, and another. Still there was no re- 
 sponse from his companion. 
 
 " I '11 tell you what, Pinch !" he said abruptly 
 after another lengthened silence — "You haven't 
 half enough of the devil in you. Half enough I 
 You haven't any." 
 
 "Well !" said Pinch with a sigh, " I don't know 
 I 'm sure. It's a compliment to say so. If I 
 haven't, I suppose I'm all the better for it." 
 
 "All the better !" repeated his companion tartly: 
 " All the worse you mean to say." 
 
 " And yet," said Pinch, pursuing his own 
 thoughts and not this last remark on the part of 
 his friend, " I must have a good deal of what you 
 call the devil in me, too, or how could I make 
 Pecksniff so uncomfortable? I wouldn't have 
 occasioned him so much distress — don't laugh, 
 please — for a mine of money : and Heaven knows 
 I could find good use for it too, John. How 
 grieved he was !" 
 
 " He grieved !" returned the other. 
 
 " Why didn't you observe that the tears were 
 almost starting out of his eyes !" cried Pinch. 
 " Bless my soul, John, is it nothing to see a man 
 moved to that extent and know one's self to be 
 the cause ! And did you hear him say that he 
 could have shed his blood for me ?" 
 
 " Do you want any blood shed for you ?" re- 
 turned his friend, with considerable irritation. 
 " Does he shed anything for you that you do 
 want? Does he shed employment for you, in- 
 struction for you, pocket-money for you ? Does 
 he shed even legs of mutton for you in any decent 
 proportion to potatoes and garden stuff?" 
 
 " I am afraid," said Pinch, sighing again, " that 
 I 'm a great eater. I can't disguise from myself 
 that I 'm a great eater. Now you know that, 
 John." 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 
 
 17 
 
 u You a great eater!" retorted his companion, 
 with no less indignation than before. " How do 
 you know you are ?" 
 
 There appeared to be forcible matter in this 
 inquiry, for Mr. Pinch only repeated in an under- 
 tone that lie had a strong misgiving on the subject, 
 and that he greatly feared he was : 
 
 " Besides, whether I am or no," he added, "that 
 has little or nothing to do with his thinking me 
 ungrateful. John, there is scarcely a sin in the 
 world that is in my eyes such a crying one as in- 
 gratitude ; and when he taxes me with that, and 
 believes tne to be guilty of it, he makes me mis- 
 erable and wretched." 
 
 "Do you think he don't know that?" returned 
 the other scornfully. " But come, Pinch, before 
 I say anything more to you, just run over the 
 reasons you have for being grateful to him at all, 
 will you ? change hands first, for the box is heavy. 
 That Ml do. Now, go on." 
 
 " In the first place," said Pinch, "he took me 
 as his pupil for much less than he asked." 
 
 " Well," rejoined his friend, perfectly unmoved 
 by this instance of generosity. " What in the 
 second place ?" 
 
 " What in the second place !" cried Pinch, in 
 a sort of desperation, "why, everything in the 
 second place. My poor old grandmother died 
 happy to think that she had put me with such an 
 excellent man. I have grown up in his house, I 
 am in his confidence, I am his assistant, he allows 
 me a salary: when his business improves, my 
 prospects are to improve too. All this, and a great 
 deal more, is in the second place. And in the very 
 prologue and preface to the first place, John, you 
 must consider this, which nobody knows better 
 than I: that I was born for much plainer and 
 poorer things, that I am not a good hand at his 
 kind of business, and have no talent for it, or in- 
 deed for anything else but odds and ends that are 
 of no use or service to anybody." 
 
 He said this with so much earnestness, and in 
 a tone so full of feeling, that his companion in- 
 stinctively changed his manner as he sat down on 
 the box (they had by this time reached the finger- 
 post at the end of the lane) ; motioned him to sit 
 down beside him ; and laid his hand upon his 
 shoulder. 
 
 " I believe you are one of the best fellows in the 
 world," he said, " Tom Pinch." 
 
 " Not at all," rejoined Tom. " If you only 
 knew Pecksniff as well as I do, you might say it 
 of him, indeed, and say it truly." 
 
 " I '11 say anything of him, you like," returned 
 the other, " and not another word to his dispar- 
 agement." 
 
 "It 's for my sake then; not his, I am afraid," 
 said Pinch, shaking his head gravely." 
 
 * For whose you please, Tom, so that it does 
 please you. Oh ! He's a famous fellow ! He 
 never scraped and clawed into his pouch all your 
 poor grandmother's hard savings — she was a 
 housekeeper, wasn't she, Tom ?" 
 
 " Yes," said Mr. Pinch, nursing one of his large 
 knees, and nodding his head: "a gentleman's 
 housekeeper." 
 
 44 He never scraped and clawed into his pouch 
 
 all her hard {Savings; dazzling her with prospects 
 
 of your happiness and advancement, which he 
 
 knew (and no man better) never would be realized ! 
 
 3 
 
 He never speculated and traded on her pride in 
 you, and her having educated you, and on her 
 desire that you at least should live to be a gentle- 
 man. Not he, Tom !" 
 
 " No," said Tom, looking into his friend's face, 
 as if he were a little doubtful of his meaning ; 
 "of course not." 
 
 " So I say," returned the youth, " of course he 
 never did. He didn't take less than he had asked, 
 because that less was all she had, and more than 
 he expected : not he, Tom ! He doesn't keep you 
 as his assistant because you are of any use to him ; 
 because your wonderful faith in his pretensions is 
 of inestimable service in all his mean disputes; 
 because your honesty reflects honesty on him ; be- 
 cause your wandering about this little place all 
 your spare hours, reading in ancient books, and 
 foreign tongues, gets noised abroad, even as far as 
 Salisbury, making of him, Pecksniff the master, 
 a man of learning and of vast importance. He 
 •gets no credit from you, Tom, not he." 
 
 " Why, of course he don't," said Pinch, gazing 
 at his friend with a more troubled aspect than be- 
 fore. " Pecksniff get credit from me ! Well !" 
 
 " Don't I say that it 's ridiculous," rejoined the 
 other, " even to think of such a thing !" 
 
 " Why, it 's madness," said Tom. 
 
 "Madness!" returned young Westlock. "Cer- 
 tainly, it's madness. Who but a madman would 
 suppose he cares to hear it said on Sundays, that 
 the volunteer who plays the organ in the church, 
 and practises on summer evenings in the dark, is 
 Mr. Pecksniff's young man, eh, Tom ? Who but 
 a madman would suppose it is the game of such a 
 man as he, to have his name in everybody's mouth, 
 connected with the thousand useless odds and ends 
 you do £and which of course he taught you), eh, 
 Tom ? Who but a madman would suppose you 
 advertise him hereabouts, much cheaper and much 
 better than a chalker on the walls could, eh, Tom ? 
 As well might one suppose that he doesn't on all 
 occasions pour out his whole heart and soul to you ; 
 that he doesn't make you a very liberal, and in- 
 deed, rather an extravagant allowance ; or, to be 
 more wild and monstrous still if that be possible, 
 as well might one suppose," and here, at every 
 word, he struck him lightly on the breast, " that 
 Pecksniff traded in your nature, and that your 
 nature was, to be timid and distrustful of yourself, 
 and trustful of all other men, but most of all, ot 
 him who least deserves it There would be mad- 
 ness, Tom !" 
 
 Mr. Pinch had listened to all this with looks of 
 bewilderment, which seemed to be in part occa- 
 sioned by the matter of his companion's speech, 
 and in part, by his rapid and vehement manner. 
 Now that he had come to a close, he drew a very 
 long breath ; and gazing wistfully in his face as if 
 he were unable to settle in his own mind what ex- 
 pression it wore, and were desirous to draw from 
 it as good a clue to his real meaning as it was 
 possible to obtain in the dark, was about to an- 
 swer, when the sound of the mail-guard's horn 
 came cheerily upon their ears, putting an immedi- 
 ate end to the conference : greatly as it seemed to 
 the satisf iction of the younger man, who jumped 
 up briskly, and gave his hand u his companion 
 
 " Both hands Tom. I shnli write to you from 
 London, mind !" 
 
 " Yes," said Pinch. " Y<*. Do, please. Goo4 
 B» 
 
IS 
 
 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 bye. Good bye. I can hardly believe you 're 
 going. It seems now but yesterday that you 
 came. Good bye ! my dear old fellow !" 
 
 John Westlock returned his parting words with 
 no less heartiness of manner, and sprung up to his 
 seat upon the roof. Off went the mail at a canter 
 down the dark road : the lamps gleaming brightly, 
 and the horn awakening all the echoes, far and wide. 
 
 * Go your ways," said Pinch, apostrophizing 
 
 the coach : " I can hardly persuade myself but 
 you 're alive, and are some great monster who 
 visits this place at certain intervals, to bear my 
 friends away into the world. You 're more ex- 
 ulting and rampant than usual to-night, I think: 
 and you may well crow over your prize ; Tor he is 
 a fine lad, an ingenuous lad, and has but one fault 
 that I know of: he don't mean it, but he is most 
 cruelly unjust to Pecksniff!" 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 IN WHICH CERTAIN OTHER PERSONS ARE INTRODUCED; ON THE SAME 
 TERMS AS IN THE LAST CHAPTER. 
 
 Mention has been already made more than 
 once, of a certain Dragon who swung and creaked 
 complainingly before the village ale-house door. A 
 faded, and an ancient dragon he was; and many" 
 a wintry storm of rain, snow, sleet, and hail, had 
 changed his colour from a gaudy blue to a faint 
 lack-lustre shade of gray. But there he hung ; 
 rearing in a state of monstrous imbecility, on his 
 hind legs ; waxing, with every month that passed, 
 so much more dim and shapeless, that as you 
 gazed at him on one side of the sign-board it 
 seemed as if he must be gradually melting through 
 it, and coming out upon the other. 
 
 He was a courteous and considerate dragon, 
 too; or had been in his distincter days : for in the 
 midst of his rampant feebleness, he kept one of 
 his fore paws near his nose, as though he would 
 say, " Don't mind me — it 's only my fun ;" while 
 he held out the other, in polite and hospitable en- 
 treaty. Indeed it ryust be conceded to the whole 
 brood of dragons of modern times, that they have 
 made a great advance in civilization and refine- 
 ment. They no longer demand a beautiful virgin 
 for breakfast every morning, with as much regu- 
 larity as any tame single gentleman expects his 
 hot roll, but rest content with the society of idle 
 bachelors and roving married men : a*nd they are 
 now remarkable rather for holding aloof from the 
 softer sex and discouraging their visits (especially 
 on Saturday nights), than for rudely insisting on 
 their company without any reference to their in- 
 clinations, as they are known to have done in 
 days of yore. 
 
 Nor is this tribute to the reclaimed animals in 
 question so wide a digression into the realms of 
 Natural History, as it may, at first sight, appear to 
 be : for the present business of these pages is 
 with the dragon who had his retreat in Mr. Peck- 
 sniff's neighbourhood, and that courteous animal 
 being already on the carpet, there is nothing in 
 the way of its immediate transaction. 
 
 For many years then, he had swung and creak- 
 ed, and flapped himself about, before the two win- 
 dows of the best bedroom in that house of enter- 
 tainment to which he lent his name : but never, 
 in all his swinging, creaking, and flapping, had 
 there been such a stir within its dingy precincts, 
 as on the evening next after that upon which the 
 incidents, detailed in the last chapter, occurred ; 
 when there was such a hurrying up and down 
 ntairs of feet, such a glancing of lights, such a 
 whispering of voices, such a smoking and sput- 
 tering of wood newly lighted in a damp chimney, 
 
 such an airing of linen, such a scorching smell of 
 hot warming-pans, such a domestic bustle and to- 
 do, in short, as never dragon, griffin, unicorn, or 
 other animal of that species presided over, since 
 they first Began to interest themselves in house 
 hold affairs. 
 
 An old gentleman and a young lady, travelling, 
 unattended, in a rusty old chariot with post-horses ; 
 corning nobody knew whence, and going nobody 
 knew whither ; had tunred out of the high road, 
 and driven unexpectedly to the Blue Dragon : and 
 here was the old gentleman, who had taken this 
 step by reason of his sudden illness in the car- 
 riage, suffering the most horrible cramps and 
 spasms, yet protesting and vowing in the very 
 midst of his pain, that he wouldn't have a doctor 
 sent for, and wouldn't take any remedies but those 
 which the young lady administered from a small 
 medicine-chest, and wouldn't, in a word, do any- 
 thing but terrify the landlady out of her five wits, 
 and obstinately refuse compliance with every sug 
 gestion that was made to him. 
 
 Of all the five hundred proposals for his relief 
 which the good woman poured out in less than 
 half-an-hour, he would entertain but one. That 
 was, that he should go to bed. And it was in the 
 preparation of his bed, and the arrangement of 
 his chamber, that all the stir was made in the 
 room behind the Dragon. 
 
 He was beyond all question, very ill, and suf- 
 fering exceedingly : not the less, perhaps, because 
 he was a strong and vigorous old man, with a will 
 of iron, and a voice of brass. But neither the ap- 
 prehensions which he plainly entertained, at times, 
 for his life ; nor the great pain he underwent ; in- 
 fluenced his resolution in the least degree. He 
 would have no person sent for. The worse he 
 grew, the more rigid and inflexible he became in 
 this determination. If they sent for any person 
 to attend him, man, woman, or child, he would 
 leave the house directly (so he told them), though 
 he quitted it on foot, and died upon the threshold 
 of the door. 
 
 Now there being no medical practitioner actu- 
 ally resident in the village, but a poor apothecary 
 who was also a grocer and general dealer, the 
 landlady had upon her own responsibility sent for 
 him, in the very first burst and outset of the dis- 
 aster. Of course it followed, as a necessary result 
 of his being wanted, that he was not at home. He 
 had gone some miles away, and was not expected 
 home until late at night ; so the landlady, being 
 by this time pretty well beside herself, despatched 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 
 
 19 
 
 Che same messenger in all haste for Mr. Pecksniff, 
 as a learned man who could bear a deal of respon- 
 sibility, and a moral man who could administer a 
 word of comfort to a troubled mind. That her 
 guest had need of some efficient services under 
 the latter head was obvious enough from the rest- 
 less expressions, importing, however, rather a 
 worldly than a spiritual anxiety, to which he gave 
 frequent utterance. 
 
 From this last-mentioned secret errand, the 
 messenger returned with no better news than from 
 the first : Mr. Pecksniff was not at home. How- 
 ever, they got the patient into bed, without him ; 
 and in the course of two hours he gradually be- 
 came so far better that there were much longer 
 intervals than at first between his terms of suffer- 
 ing. By degrees, he ceased to suffer at all : though 
 his exhaustion was occasionally so great, that it 
 suggested hardly less alarm than his actual endu- 
 rance had done. 
 
 It was in one of his intervals of repose, when, 
 looking round with great caution, and reaching 
 uneasily out of his nest of pillows, he endeavour- 
 ed, with a strange air of secrecy and distrust, to 
 make use of the writing materials which he had 
 ordered to be placed on a table beside him, that 
 the young lady and the mistress of the Blue Dra- 
 gon, found themselves sitting side by side before 
 the fire in the sick chamber. 
 
 The mistress of the Blue Dragon was in out- 
 ward appearance just what a landlady should be: 
 broad, buxom, comfortable, and good-looking, with 
 a face of clear red and white, which by its jovial 
 aspect, at once bore testimony to her hearty par- 
 ticipation in the good things of the larder and the 
 cellar, and to their thriving and healthful influen- 
 ces. She was a widow, but years ago had passed 
 through her state of weeds, and burst into flower 
 again ; and in full bloom she had continued ever 
 since ; and in full bloom she was now ; with roses 
 on her ample skirts, and roses on her boddice, 
 roses in her cap, roses in her cheeks, — ay, and 
 roses, worth the gathering too, on her lips, for that 
 matter. She had still a bright black eye, and jet 
 black hair ; was comely, dimpled, plump, and tight 
 as a gooseberry ; and though she was not exactly 
 What the world calls young, you may make an af- 
 fidavit, on trust, before any mayor or magistrate in 
 Christendom, that there are a great many young 
 ladies in the world (blessings on them, one and 
 all !) whom you wouldn't like half as well, or ad- 
 mire half as much, as the beaming hostess of the 
 Blue Dragon. 
 
 As this fair matron sat beside the fire, she 
 glanced occasionally, with all the pride of owner- 
 ship, about the room; which was a large apart- 
 ment, such as one may see in country places, with 
 a low roof and a sunken flooring, all down-hill 
 from the door, and a descent of two steps pn the 
 inside so exquisitely unexpected, that strangers, 
 despite the most elaborate cautioning, usually dived 
 in head-first, as into a plunging-bath. It was none 
 of your frivolous and preposterously bright bed- 
 rooms, where nobody can close an eye with any 
 kind of propriety or decent regard to the associa- 
 tion of ideas; but it was a good dull, leaden, 
 drowsy place, where every article of furniture 
 reminded you that you came there to sleep, and 
 that you were expected to go to sleep. There was 
 no wakeful reflection of the fire there, as in your 
 
 modern chambers, which upon the darkest nights 
 have a watchful consciousness of French polish ; 
 the old Spanish mahogany winked at it now and 
 then, as a dozing cat or dog might, nothing more. 
 The very size and shape, and hopeless immovea- 
 bility, of the bedstead, and wardrobe, and in a 
 minor degree of even the chairs and tablet, pro- 
 voked sleep; they were plainly apoplectic and 
 disposed to snore. There were no staring por- 
 traits to remonstrate with you for being lazy ; no 
 round-eyed birds upon the curtains, disgustingly 
 wide awake, and insufferably prying. The thick 
 neutral hangings, and the dark blinds, and the 
 heavy heap of bed-clothes, were all designed to 
 hold in sleep, and act as non-conductors to the 
 day and getting up. Even the old stuffed fox 
 upon the top of the wardrobe was devoid of any 
 spark of vigilance, for his glass eye had fallen out, 
 and he slumbered as he stood. 
 
 The wandering attention of the mistress of the 
 Blue Dragon roved to these things but twice or 
 thrice, and then for but an instant at a time. It 
 soon deserted them, and even the distant bed with 
 its strange burden, for the young creature imme- 
 diately before her, who, with her downcast eyes 
 intently fixed upon the fire, sat wrapped in silent 
 meditation. 
 
 She was very young ; apparently not more than 
 seventeen ; timid and shrinking in her manner, 
 and yet with a greater share of self-possession and 
 control over her emotions than usually belongs to 
 a far more advanced period of female life. This 
 she had abundantly shown, but now, in her tend- 
 ing of the sick gentleman. She was short in 
 stature ; and her figure was slight, as became her 
 years ; but all the charms of youth and maiden- 
 hood set it off, and clustered on her gentle brow. 
 Her face was very pale, in part no doubt from re- 
 cent agitation. Her dark brown hair, disordered 
 from the same cause, had fallen negligently from 
 its bonds, and hung upon her neck : for which in- 
 stance of its waywardness, no male observer would 
 have had the heart to blame it. 
 
 Her attire was that of a lady, but extremely 
 plain ; and in her manner, even when she sat as 
 still as she did then, there was an indefinable 
 something which appeared to be in kindred with 
 her scrupulously unpretending dress. She had sat, 
 at first looking anxiously towards the bed; but 
 seeing that the patient remained quiet, and was 
 busy with his writing, she had softly moved her 
 chair into its present place : partly as it seemed, 
 from an instinctive consciousness that he desired 
 to avoid observation ; and partly that she might, 
 unseen by him, give some vent to the natural 
 feelings she had hitherto suppressed. 
 
 Of all this, and much more, the rosy landlady 
 of the Blue Dragon took as accurate note and 
 observation as only woman can take of woman. 
 And at length she said, in a voice too low, she 
 knew, to reach the bed : 
 
 44 You have seen the gentleman in this way be- 
 fore. Miss? Is he used to these attacks?" 
 
 44 1 have seen him very ill before, but not so ill 
 as he has been to-night" 
 
 44 What a Providence!" said the landlady of the 
 Dragon, 44 that you had the prescriptions and the 
 medicines with you, Miss !" 
 
 44 They are intended for such an emergency. 
 We never travel without them." 
 
20 
 
 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 "Oh!" thought the hostess, "then we are in 
 the habit of travelling, and of travelling together." 
 She was so conscious of expressing this in her 
 face, that meeting the young lady's eyes immedi- 
 ately afterwards, and being a very honest hostess, 
 she was rather confused. 
 
 " The gentleman — your grandpapa" — she re- 
 sumed, "after a short pause, "being so bent on 
 having no assistance, must terrify you very much, 
 Miss 7" 
 
 " I have been very much alarmed to-night. He — 
 he is not my grandfather." 
 
 "Father, I should have said," returned the 
 hostess, sensible of having made an awkward 
 mistake. 
 
 " Nor my father," said the young lady. " Nor," 
 she added, slightly smiling with a quick percep- 
 tion of what the landlady was going to add, " Nor 
 my uncle. We are not related." 
 
 " O dear me !" returned the landlady, still more 
 embarrassed than before : " how could I be so very 
 much mistaken ; knowing, as anybody in their 
 proper senses might, that when a gentleman is ill, 
 he looks so much older than he really is ! That I 
 should have called you • Miss,' too, Ma'am !" But 
 when she had proceeded thus far, she glanced in- 
 voluntarily at the third finger of the young lady's 
 left hand, and faltered again : for there was no 
 ring upon it. 
 
 " When I told you we were not related," said 
 the other mildly, but not without confusion on her 
 own part, " I meant not in any way. Not even 
 by marriage. Did you call me, Martin ?" 
 
 " Call you ?" cried the old man looking quickly 
 
 up, and hurriedly drawing beneath the coverlet, 
 
 the paper on which he had been writing. " No." 
 
 She had moved a pace or two towards the bed, 
 
 but stopped immediately, and went no further. 
 
 "No," he repeated, with a petulant emphasis. 
 "Why do you ask me ? If I had called you, what 
 need for such a question ?" 
 
 " It was the creaking of the sign outside, sir, I 
 dare say," observed the landlady : a suggestion by 
 the way (as she felt a moment after she had made 
 it), not at all complimentary to the voice of the old 
 gentleman. 
 
 " No matter what, Ma'am," he rejoined : " it 
 wasn't I. Why how you stand there, Mary, as 
 if I had the plague! But they're all afraid of 
 me," he added, leaning helplessly backward on 
 his pillow, " even she ! There is a curse upon 
 me. What else have I to look for !" 
 
 " O dear, no. Oh no, I'm sure," said the good- 
 tempered landlady, rising, and going towards him. 
 " Be of better cheer, sir. These are only sick 
 fancies." 
 
 "What are only sick fancies?" he retorted. 
 "What do you know about fancies? Who told 
 you about fancies ? The old story ! Fancies !" 
 
 " Only see again there, how you take one up !" 
 said the mistress of the Blue Dragon, with unim- 
 paired good humour. " Dear heart alive, there is 
 no harm in the word, sir, if it is an old one. Folks 
 in good health have their fancies too, and strange 
 ones, every day." 
 
 Harmless as this speech appeared to be, it acted 
 on the traveller's distrust, like oil on fire. He 
 raised his head up in the bed, and, fixing on her 
 two dark eyes whose brightness was exaggerated 
 by the paleness of his hollow cheeks, as they in 
 
 turn, together with his straggling locks of long 
 gray hair, were rendered whiter by the tight black 
 velvet skull-cap which he wore, he searched her 
 face intently. 
 
 " Ah ! you begin too soon," he said, in so low a 
 voice that he seemed to be thinking it, rather than 
 addressing her. " But you lose no time. You do 
 your errand, and you earn your fee. Now, who 
 may be your client ?" 
 
 The landlady looked in great astonishment at 
 her whom he called Mary, and finding no rejoin- 
 der in the drooping face, looked back again at 
 him. At first she had recoiled involuntarily, sup- 
 posing him disordered in his mind ; but the slow 
 composure of his manner, and the settled purpose 
 announced in his strong features, and gathering, 
 most of all, about his puckered mouth, forbade the 
 supposition. 
 
 " Come," he said, " tell me who is it ? Being 
 here, it is not very hard for me to guess, you may 
 suppose." 
 
 " Martin," interposed the young lady, laying her 
 hand upon his arm ; "reflect how short a time we 
 have been in this house, and that even your name 
 is unknown here." 
 
 " Unless," he said, " you — " He was evidently 
 tempted to express a suspicion of her having 
 broken his confidence in favour of the landlady, 
 but either remembering her tender nursing, or 
 being moved in some sort by her face, he checked 
 himself, and changing his uneasy posture in the 
 bed, was silent. 
 
 " There !" said Mrs. Lupin : for in that name 
 the Blue Dragon was licensed to furnish enter- 
 tainment, both to man and beast. "Now, you 
 will be well again, sir. You forgot, for the mo- 
 ment, that there were none but friends here." 
 
 " Oh !" cried the old man moaning impatiently 
 as he tossed one restless arm upon the coverlet, 
 " why do you talk to me of friends ! Can you or 
 anybody teach me to know who are my friends, 
 and who my enemies !" 
 
 "At least," urged Mrs. Lupin, gently, "this 
 young lady is your friend, I am sure." 
 
 " She has no temptation to be otherwise," cried 
 the old man, like one whose hope and confidence 
 were utterly exhausted. " I suppose she is. Heaven 
 knows. There : let me try to sleep. Leave the 
 candle where it is." 
 
 As they retired from the bed, he drew forth the 
 writing which had occupied him so long, and 
 holding it in the flame of the taper burnt it to 
 ashes. That done, he extinguished the light, and 
 turning his face away with a heavy sigh, drew 
 the coverlet about his head, and lay quite still. 
 
 This destruction of the paper, both as being 
 strangely inconsistent with the labour he had de- 
 voted to it, and as involving considerable danger 
 of fire to the Dragon, occasioned Mrs. Lupin not 
 a little consternation. But the young lady, evin- 
 cing no surprise, curiosity, or alarm, whispered 
 her, with many thanks for her solicitude and 
 company, that she would remain there some time 
 longer ; and that she begged her not to share her 
 watch, as she was well used to being alone, and 
 would pass the time in reading. 
 
 " Mrs. Lupin had her full share and dividend 
 of that large capital of curiosity which is inher- 
 ited by her sex, and at another time it might have 
 been difficult so to impress this hint upon her as 
 
. //:. '.„, 
 
 ■ 
 
 x 
 
I 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT 
 
 21 
 
 to induce her to take it But now, in sheer won- 
 der and amazement at these mysteries, she with- 
 drew at once, and repairing straightway to her 
 own little parlour below-stairs, sat down in her 
 easy-chuir with unnatural composure. At this 
 very crisis, a step was heard in the entry, and Mr. 
 Pecksniff, looking sweetly over the half-door of 
 the bar, and into the vista of snug privacy beyond, 
 murmured : 
 
 44 Good evening, Mrs. Lupin !" 
 
 44 Oh dear me, sir !" she cried, advancing to re- 
 ceive him, " I am so very glad you have come." 
 
 44 And I am very glad I have come," said Mr. 
 Pecksniff, " if I can be of service. I am very 
 glad I have come. What is the matter, Mrs. 
 Lupin ?" 
 
 ** A gentleman taken ill upon the road, has been 
 60 very bad up-stairs, sir," said the tearful hostess. 
 
 44 A gentleman taken ill upon the road, has been 
 bo very bad up-stairs, has he ?" repeated Mr. Peck- 
 sniff. " Well, well !" 
 
 Now there was nothing that one may call de- 
 cidedly original in this remark, nor can it be ex- 
 actly said to have contained any wise precept 
 theretofore unknown to mankind, or to have 
 opened any hidden source of consolation : but 
 Mr. Pecksniff's manner was so bland, and he 
 nodded his head so soothingly, and showed in 
 every thing such an affable sense of his own ex- 
 cellence, that anybody would have been, as Mrs. 
 Lupin was, comforted by the mere voice and pre- 
 sence of such a man ; and, though he had merely 
 said " a verb must agree with its nominative case 
 in number and person, my good friend," or 44 eight 
 times eight are sixty-four, my worthy soul," must 
 have felt deeply grateful to him for his humanity 
 and wisdom. 
 
 44 And how," asked Mr. Pecksniff, drawing off 
 his gloves and warming his hands before the fire, 
 as benevolently as if they were somebody else's, 
 not his : 44 and how is he now ?" 
 
 44 He is better, and quite tranquil," answered 
 Mrs. Lupin. 
 
 44 He is better, and quite tranquil," said Mr. 
 Pecksniff. 44 Very well ! ve-ry well !" 
 
 Here again, though the statement was Mrs. 
 Lupin's and not Mr. Pecksniff's, Mr. Pecksniff 
 made it his own and consoled her with it. It was 
 not much when Mrs. Lupin said it, but it was a 
 whole book when Mr. Pecksniff said it. u I ob- 
 serve," he seemed to say, 44 and through me, 
 morality in general remarks, that he is better and 
 quite tranquil." 
 
 44 There must be weighty matters on his mind 
 though," said the hostess, shaking her head, 44 for 
 he talks, sir, in the strangest way you ever heard. 
 He is far from easy in his thoughts, and wants 
 same proper advice from those whose goodness 
 makes it worth his having." 
 
 44 Then," said Mr. Pecksniff, M he is the sort of 
 customer for me." But though he said this in the 
 plainest language, he didn't speak a word. He 
 only shook his head : disparagingly of himself too. 
 
 44 1 am afraid, sir," continued the landlady, first 
 looking round to assure herself that there was 
 nobody within hearing, and then looking down 
 upon the floor, 44 1 am very much afraid, sir, that 
 his conscience is troubled by his not being related 
 -or — or even married to — a very young lady — " 
 
 44 Mrs I upin !" said Mr. Pecksniff, holding up 
 
 his hand with something in his manner as nearly 
 approaching to severity, as any expression of his, 
 mild being that he was, could ever do. u Person ! 
 young person !" 
 
 44 A very young person," said Mrs. Lupin, cour- 
 tesying and blushing ; 44 1 beg your pardon, sir, 
 but I have been so hurried to-night, that I don't 
 know what I say : who is with him now." 
 
 44 Who is with him now," ruminated Mr. Peck- 
 sniff, warming his back (as he had warmed his 
 hands) as if it were a widow's back, or an enemy's 
 back, or a back that any less excellent man would 
 have suffered to be cold ; 44 Oh dear me, dear me !" 
 
 44 At the same time I am bound to say, and I do 
 say with all my heart," observed the hostess, ear- 
 nestly, " that her looks and manner almost disarm 
 suspicion." 
 
 44 Your suspicion, Mrs. Lupin," said Mr. Peck- 
 sniff gravely, 4< is very natural." 
 
 Touching which remark, let it be written down 
 to their confusion, that the enemies of this worthy 
 man unblushingly maintained that he always said 
 of what was very bad, that it was very natural ■ 
 and that he unconsciously betrayed his own na- 
 ture in doing so. 
 
 44 Your suspicion, Mrs. Lupin, 44 he repeated, u i» 
 very natural, and I have no doubt correct I will 
 wait upon these travellers," 
 
 With that he took off his greatcoat, and having 
 run his fingers through his hair, thrust one hand 
 gently in the bosom of his waistcoat and meekly 
 signed to her to lead the way. 
 
 44 Shall I knock ?" asked Mrs. Lupin, when they 
 reached the chamber door. 
 
 44 No," said Mr. Pecksniff, 44 enter if you please." 
 
 They went in on tiptoe : or rather the hostess 
 took that precaution, for Mr. Pecksniff always 
 walked softly. The old gentleman was still asleep, 
 and his young companion still sat reading by the 
 fire. 
 
 44 1 am afraid," said Mr. Pecksniff, pausing at 
 the door, and giving his head a melancholy roll, 
 44 1 am afraid that this looks artful. I am afraid, 
 Mrs. Lupin, do you know, that this looks very 
 artful !" 
 
 As he finished this whisper, he advanced before 
 the hostess ; and at the same time the young lady, 
 hearing footsteps, rose. Mr. Pecksniff glanced at 
 the volume she held, and whispered Mrs. Lupin 
 again : if possible, with increased despondency. 
 
 44 Yes ma'am," he said, 44 it is a good book. I 
 was fearful of that beforehand. I am apprehen- 
 sive that this is a very deep thing indeed !" 
 
 44 Hush ! don't trouble yourself, Ma'am," said 
 Mr. Pecksniff, as the landlady was about to an- 
 swer. 44 This young" — in spite of himself he hes- 
 itated when ' person' rose to his lips, and substi- 
 tuted another word: "this young stranger, Mrs. 
 Lupin, will excuse me for replying briefly, that I 
 reside in this village ; it may be in an influential 
 manner, however undeserved ; and that I have 
 been summoned here, by you. I am here, as I 
 am everywhere, I hope, in sympathy for the sick 
 and sorry." 
 
 With these impressive words, Mr. Pecksniff 
 passed over to the bedside, where, after patting 
 the counterpane once or twice in a very solemn 
 manner, as if by that means he gained a clear 
 insight into the patient's disorder, he took his seat 
 in a large arm-chair, and in an attitude of 
 
22 
 
 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 thought fulness and much comfort, waited for his 
 waking. Whatever objection the young lady 
 urged to Mrs. Lupin went no further, for nothing 
 more was said to Mr. Pecksniff, and Mr. Pecksniff 
 said nothing more to anybody else. 
 
 Full half an hour elapsed before the old man 
 stirred, but at length he turned himself in bed, 
 and, though not yet awake, gave tokens that his 
 sleep was drawing to an end. By little and little 
 he removed the bed-clothes from about his head, 
 and turned still more towards the side where Mr. 
 Pecksniff sat. In course of time his eyes opened; 
 and he lay for a few moments as people newly 
 roused sometimes will, gazing indolently at his 
 visiter, without any distinct consciousness of his 
 presence. 
 
 There was nothing remarkable in these pro- 
 ceedings, except the influence they worked on 
 Mr. Pecksniff, which could hardly have been sur- 
 passed by the most marvellous of natural pheno- 
 mena. Gradually his hands became tightly clasped 
 upon the elbows of the chair, his eyes dilated with 
 surprise, his mouth opened, his hair stood more 
 erect upon his forehead than its custom was, until, 
 at length, when the old man rose in bed, and 
 stared at him with scarcely less emotion than he 
 showed himself, the Pecksniff doubts were all 
 resolved, and he exclaimed aloud : 
 
 " You are Martin Chuzzlewit !" 
 
 His consternation of surprise was so genuine, 
 that the old man, with all the disposition that he 
 clearly entertained to believe it assumed, was con- 
 vinced of its reality. 
 
 " I am Martin Chuzzlewit," he said, bitterly : 
 " and Martin Chuzzlewit wishes you had been 
 hanged, before you had come here to disturb him 
 in his sleep. Why I dreamed of this fellow !" he 
 said, lying down again, and turning away his face, 
 " before I knew that he was near me !" 
 
 " My good cousin — " said Mr. Pecksniff. 
 
 "There! His very first words!" cried the old 
 man, shaking his grey head to and fro upon the 
 pillow, and throwing up his hands. " In his very 
 first words he asserts his relationship ! I knew 
 he would : they all do it ! Near or distant, blood 
 or water, it's all one. Ugh ! What a calendar 
 of deceit, and lying, and false witnessing, the 
 sound of any word of kindred opens before me !" 
 
 * Pray' do not be hasty, Mr. Chuzzlewit," said 
 Pecksniff, in a tone that was at once in the sub- 
 limest degree compassionate and dispassionate; 
 for he had by this time recovered from his surprise, 
 and was in full possession of his virtuous self. 
 " You will regret being hasty, I know you will." 
 
 " You know !" said Martin, contemptuously. 
 
 " Yes," retorted Mr. Pecksniff. " Ay ay, Mr. 
 Chuzzlewit: and don't imagine that I mean to 
 court or flatter you : for nothing is further from 
 my intention. Neither, sir, need you entertain 
 the least misgiving that I shall repeat that ob- 
 noxious word which has given you so much of- 
 fence already. Why should I ? What do I expect 
 or want from you? There is nothing in your 
 possession that I know of, Mr. Chuzzlewit, which 
 is much to be coveted for the happiness it brings 
 you." 
 
 " That's true enough," muttered the old man. 
 
 "Apart from that consideration," said Mr. 
 Pecksniff, watchful of the effect he made, " it must 
 »e plain to you (I am sure) by this time, that if I 
 
 had wished to insinuate myself into your good 
 opinion, I should have been, of all things, careful 
 not to address you as a relative : knowing your 
 humour, and being quite certain beforehand that 
 I could not have a worse letter of recommenda- 
 tion." 
 
 Martin made not any verbal answer ; but he as 
 clearly implied, though only by a motion of his 
 legs beneath the bed-clothes, that there was reason 
 in this and he could not dispute it, as if he had 
 said as much in good set terms. 
 
 "No," said Mr. Pecksniff, keeping his hand in 
 his waistcoat as though he were ready, on the 
 shortest notice, to produce his heart for Martin 
 Chuzzlewit's inspection, " I came here to offer my 
 services to a stranger. I make no offer of them 
 to you, because I know you would distrust me if 
 I did. But lying on that bed, sir, I regard you as 
 a stranger, and I have just that amount of inter- 
 est in you which I hope I should feel in any stran- 
 ger, circumstanced as you are. Beyond that I am 
 quite as indifferent to you, Mr. Chuzzlewit, as you 
 are to me." 
 
 Having said which, Mr. Pecksniff threw him- 
 self back in the easy chair : so radiant with in- 
 genuous honesty, that Mrs. Lupin almost wondered 
 not to see a stained-glass Glory, such as the Saint 
 wore in the church, shining about his head. 
 
 A long pause succeeded. The old man, with 
 increased restlessness, changed his posture several 
 times. Mrs. Lupin and the young lady gazed in 
 silence at the counterpane. Mr. Pecksniff toyed 
 abstractedly with his eye-glass, and kept his eyes 
 shut, that he might ruminate the better. 
 
 "Eh?" he said at last: opening them suddenly, 
 and looking towards the bed. " I beg your pardon. 
 I thought you spoke. Mrs. Lupin," he continued, 
 slowly rising, I am not aware that I can be of any 
 service to you here. The gentleman is better, and 
 you are as good a nurse as he can have. Eh ?" 
 
 This last note of interrogation bore reference to 
 another change of posture on the old man's part, 
 which brought his face towards Mr. Pecksniff for 
 the first time since he had turned away from him. 
 
 " If you desire to speak to me before I go sir," 
 continued that gentleman, after another pause, 
 " you may command my leisure ; but I must stip- 
 ulate, in justice to myself, that you do so as to a 
 stranger : strictly as to a stranger." 
 
 Now if Mr. Pecksniff knew, from anything 
 Martin Chuzzlewit had expressed in gestures, that 
 he w r anted to speak to him, he could only have 
 found it out on some such principle as prevails in 
 melodramas, and in virtue of which the elderly 
 farmer with the comic son always knows what 
 the dumb-girl means when she takes refuge in his 
 garden, and relates her personal memoirs in in- 
 comprehensible pantomime. But without stopping 
 to make any inquiry on this point, Martin Chuz- 
 zlewit signed to his young companion to withdraw, 
 which she immediately did, along with the land- 
 lady : leaving him and Mr. Pecksniff alone to- 
 gether. For some time they looked at each other 
 in silence; or rather the old man looked at Mr. 
 Pecksniff, and Mr. Pecksniff, again closing hi3 
 eyes on all outward objects, took an inward survey 
 of his own breast. That it amply repaid him for 
 his trouble, and afforded a delicious and enchant 
 ing prospect, was clear from the expression of his 
 face. 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 
 
 „ 
 
 ** You wish me to speak to you as a total stran- 
 ger,' 1 said the old man, "do you?" 
 
 Mr. Pecksniff" replied, by a shrug of his shoul- 
 ders and an apparent tutniii^-roimd of his eyes 
 in their sockets before he opened them, that he 
 was still reduced to the necessity of entertaining 
 that desire. 
 
 44 You shall he gratified," said Martin. 44 Sir, I 
 am a rich man. Not so rich as some suppose 
 perhaps, but yet wealthy. I am not a miser, sir, 
 though even that charge is made against me, as I 
 hear, and currently believed. I have no pleasure 
 in hoarding. I have no pleasure in the possession 
 of money. The devil that we c ill hy that name 
 can give me nothing but unhappiness." 
 
 It would l>e no description of Mr. Pecksniff's 
 gentleness of manner, to adopt the common par- 
 lance, and say, that he looked at this moment as 
 if butter wouldn't melt in his mouth. He rather 
 looked as if any quantity of butter might have 
 been made out of him, by churning the milk of 
 human kindness, as it spouted upwards from his 
 heart 
 
 44 For the same reason that I am not a hoarder 
 of money," said the old man, 44 1 am not lavish of 
 it. Some people find their gratification in storing 
 it up; and others theirs in parting with it; but I 
 have no gratification connected with the thing. 
 Pain and bitterness are the only goods it ever 
 could procure for me. I hate it. It is a spectre 
 walking before me through the world, and making 
 every social pleasure hideous." 
 
 A thought arose in Mr. Pecksniff's mind, which 
 must have instantly mounted to his lace, or Mar- 
 tin Chuzzlewit would not have resumed as quickly 
 and as sternly as he did : 
 
 44 You would advise me for my pence of mind, 
 to get rid of this source of misery, and transfer it 
 to some one who could bear it better. Even you, 
 perhaps, would rid me of a burden under which I 
 suffer so grievously. But, kind stranger," said the 
 old man, whose every feature darkened as he spoke, 
 "good Christian stranger, that is a main part of 
 my trouble. In other hands, I have known money 
 do good ; in other hands I have known it triumph- 
 ed in, and boasted of with reason, as the master- 
 key to all the brazen gates that close upon the 
 paths to worldly honour, fortune, and enjoyment. 
 To what man or woman ; to what worthy, honest, 
 incorruptible creature ; shall I confide such a tal- 
 isman either now or when I die ? Do you know 
 any such person ? Your virtues are of course in- 
 estimable, but can you tell me of any other living 
 creature who will bear the test of contact with 
 tnyself?" 
 
 44 Of contact with yourself, sir," echoed Mr. 
 Pecksniff". 
 
 44 Ay," returned the old man, " the test of con-^ 
 tact with me — with me. You have heard of him 
 whose misery (the gratification of his own foolish 
 wish) was, that he turned every thing ho touched, 
 to gold. The curse of rrfy existence, and the real- 
 ization of my own mad desire, is that by the 
 golden standard which I bear about me, I am 
 doomed to try the metal of all other men, and 
 find it false and hollow." 
 
 Mr. Pecksniff shook his head, and said, u You 
 think so." 
 
 "Oli yes," cried the old man, " I think so ! and 
 in your telling me 4 1 think so,' I recognise the 
 
 true unworldly ring of your met il. I tell you, 
 man," he added, with increasing bitterness, "that 
 I have gone, a rich man, among people of all 
 grades and kinds ; relatives, friends, and strangers ; 
 among people in wliom, when I was poor, I had 
 confidence, and justly, for they never once deceived 
 me then, or, to me, wronged each other. But I 
 have never found one nature, no, not one, in which, 
 being wealthy and alone, I was not forced to detect 
 the latent corruption that lay hid within it, waiting 
 for such as I to bring it forth. Treachery, deceit, 
 and low design ; hatred of competitors, real or 
 fancied, for my favour ; meanness, falsehood, base, 
 ness, and servility ; or," and here he looked closely 
 in his cousin's eyes, "or an assumption of honest 
 independence, almost worse than all; these are the 
 beauties which my wealth has brought to light 
 Brother against brother, child against parent, 
 friends treading on the faces of friends, this is the 
 social company by which my way has been at- 
 tended. There are stories told — they may be true 
 or false — of rich men, who, in the garb of pov- 
 erty, have found out virtue and rewarded it. They 
 were dolts and idiots for their pains. They should 
 have made the search in their own characters. 
 I They should have shown themselves fit objects to 
 j be robbed and preyed upon and plotted against, 
 and adulated by any knaves, who, but for joy, 
 would have spat upon their coffins when they died 
 their dupes ; and then their search would have 
 ended as mine has done, and they would be what 
 I am." 
 
 Mr. Pecksniff, not at all knowing what it might 
 be best to say, in the momentary pause which en- 
 sued upon these remarks, made an elaborate de- 
 monstration of intending to deliver something 
 very oracular indeetf: trusting to the certainty of 
 the old man interrupting him, before he should 
 utter a word. Nor was he mistaken, for Martin 
 Chuzzlewit having taken breath, went on to say : 
 
 44 Hear me to an end ; judge what profit you 
 are like to gain from any repetition of this visit ; 
 and leave me. I have so corrupted and changed 
 the nature of all those who have ever attended on 
 me, by breeding avaricious plots and hopes within 
 them ; I have engendered such domestic strife 
 and discord, by tarrying even with members of 
 my own family ; I have been such a liglgpd torch 
 in peaceful homes, kindling up all the bad gases 
 and vapours in their moral atmosphere, which, 
 but for me, might have proved harmless to the 
 end ; that I have, I may say, fled from all who 
 knew me, and taking refuge in secret places, have 
 lived, of late, the life of one who is hunted. The 
 young girl whom you just now saw — what! your 
 eye lightens when I talk of her ! — You hate her 
 already, do you !" 
 
 44 Upon my word, sir !" said Mr. PccksnirT, lay- 
 ing his hand upon his breast, and dropping his 
 eyelids. 
 
 44 1 forgot," cried the old man, looking at him 
 with a keenness which the other seemed to feel, 
 although he did not raise his eyes so as to see it : 
 " I ask your pardon. I forgot you were a stran- 
 ger. For the moment you reminded me of one 
 Pecksniff, a cousin of mine. As I was saying — 
 the young girl whom you just now saw, is an 
 orphan child, whom, with one steady purpose, I 
 have bred and educated, or, if you prefer the word, 
 adopted. For a year or more she has been my 
 
24 
 
 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 constant companion, and she is my only one. I 
 have taken, as she knows, a solemn oath never to 
 leave her sixpence when I die, but while I live, I 
 make her an annual allowance : not extravagant 
 in its amount and yet not stinted. There is a 
 compact between us that no term of affectionate 
 cajolery shall ever be addressed by either to the 
 other, but that she call me always by my Christian 
 name, I her, by hers. She is bound to me in life 
 by ties of interest, and losing by my death, and 
 having no expectation disappointed, will mourn it, 
 perhaps: though for that I care little. This is 
 the only kind of friend I have or will have. Judge 
 from such premises what a profitable hour you 
 have spent in coming here, and leave me : to re- 
 turn no more." 
 
 With these words, the old man fell slowly back 
 upon his pillow. Mr. Pecksniff as slowly rose, 
 and, with a prefatory hem, began as follows : 
 
 " Mr. Chuzzlewit." 
 
 "There. Go!" interposed the other. "Enough 
 of this. I am weary of you." 
 
 " I am sorry for that, sir," rejoined Mr. Peck- 
 sniff, " because I have a duty to discharge, from 
 which, depend upon it, I shall not shrink. No, 
 sir, I shall not shrink." 
 
 It is a lamentable fact, that as Mr. Pecksniff 
 stood erect beside the bed, in all the dignity of 
 Goodness, and addressed him thus, the old man 
 cast an angry glance towards the candlestick, as 
 if he were possessed by a strong inclination to 
 launch it at his cousin's head. But he constrained 
 himself, and pointing with his finger to the door, 
 informed him that his road lay there. 
 
 " Thank you," said Mr. Pecksniff, "I am aware 
 of that ; I am going. But before I go, I crave 
 your leave to speak, and more than that, Mr. 
 Chuzzlewit, I must and will — yes indeed, I repeat 
 it, must and will— -be heard. I am not surprised, 
 sir, at anything you have told me to-night. It is 
 natural, very natural, and the greater part of it 
 was known to me before. I will not say," con- 
 tinued Mr. Pecksniff, drawing out his pocket- 
 handkerchief, and winking with both eyes at once, 
 as it were against his will, " I will not say that 
 you are mistaken in me. While you are in your 
 presenynood, I would not say so for the w r orld. I 
 almost wish, indeed, that I had a different nature, 
 that I might repress even this slight confession 
 of weakness : which I cannot disguise from you : 
 which I feel is humiliating: but which you will 
 have the goodness to excuse. We will say, if you 
 please," added Mr. Pecksniff, with great tender- 
 ness of manner, " that it arises from a cold in the 
 head, or is attributable to snuff, or smelling-salts, 
 or onions, or anything but the real cause." 
 
 Here he paused for an instant, and concealed 
 ais face behind his locket-handkerchief. Then, 
 
 smiling faintly, and holding the bed-furniture with 
 one hand, he resumed : 
 
 " But, Mr. Chuzzlewit, while I am forgetful of 
 myself, I owe it to myself, and to my character— 
 ay sir, and I have a character which is very dear 
 to me, and will be the best inheritance of my two 
 daughters — to tell you on behalf of another, that 
 your conduct is wrong, unnatural, indefensible, 
 monstrous. And I tell you, sir," said Mr. Peck- 
 sniff, towering on tiptoe among the curtains, as if 
 he were literally rising above all worldly consid- 
 erations, and were fain to hold on tight, to keep 
 himself from darting skywards like a rocket, "I 
 tell you without fear or favour, that it will not do 
 for you to be unmindful of your grandson, young 
 Martin, who Jjas the strongest natural claim upon 
 you. It will not do, sir," repeated Mr. Pecksniff, 
 shaking his head. " You may think it will do, 
 but it won't. You must provide for that young 
 man ; you shall provide for him ; you will provide 
 for him. I believe," said Mr. Pecksniff, glancing 
 at the pen-and-ink, " that in secret you have al- 
 ready done so. Bless you for doing so. Bless you 
 for doing right, sir. Bless you for hating me. 
 And good night !" 
 
 So saying, Mr. Pecksniff waved his right hand 
 with much solemnity ; and once more inserting 
 it in his waistcoat, departed. There was emotion 
 in his manner, but his step was firm. Subject to 
 human weakness, he was upheld by conscience. 
 
 Martin lay for some time, with an expression 
 on his face of silent wonder, not unmixed with 
 rage : at length he muttered in a whisper : 
 
 " What does this mean ? Can the false-hearted 
 boy have chosen such a tool as yonder fellow who 
 has just gone out ? Why not ! He has conspired 
 against me, like the rest, and they are but birds of 
 one feather. A new plot ! a new plot ! Oh self, 
 self, self! At every turn, nothing but self!" 
 
 He fell to trifling, as he ceased to speak, with 
 the ashes of the burnt paper in the candlestick. 
 He did so, at first in pure abstraction, but they 
 presently became the subject of his thoughts. 
 
 " Another will made and destroyed," he said, 
 " nothing determined on, nothing done, and I 
 might have died to-night ! I plainly see to what 
 foul uses all this money will be put at last," he 
 cried, almost writhing in the bed : " after filling 
 me with cares and miseries all my life, it will per- 
 petuate discord and bad passions when I am dead. 
 So it always is. What lawsuits grow out of the 
 graves of rich men, every day : sowing perjury, 
 hatred, and lies among near kindred, wbere there 
 should be nothing but love ! Heaven help us, we 
 have much to answer for! Oh self, self, self ! 
 Every man for himself, and no creature for nie !" 
 
 Universal self! Was there nothing of, its shad- 
 ow in these reflections, and in the history of Mar. 
 tin Chuzzlewit, on his own showing ? 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 FROM WHICH IT WILL APPEAR, THAT IF UNION BE STRENGTH, AND FAM- 
 ILY AFFECTION BE PLEASANT TO CONTEMPLATE, THE CHUZZLEWITS 
 WERE THE STRONGEST AND MOST AGREEABLE FAMILY IN THE WORLD. 
 
 That worthy man, Mr. Pecksniff', having taken 
 leave of his cousin in the solemn terms recited in 
 the last chapter withdrew to his own home, and 
 remained there three whole days: not so much 
 as going out for a walk beyond the boundaries of 
 his own garden, lest he should be hastily sum- 
 nioned to the bedside of his penitent and remorse- 
 ful relative, whom, in his ample benevolence, he 
 • had made up his mind to forgive unconditionally, 
 and to love on any terms. But such was the 
 obstinaey and such the bitter nature of that 6tern 
 old man, that no repentant summons came; and 
 the fourth day found Mr. Pecksniff apparently 
 much further from hisChristian object than the first. 
 
 During the whole of this interval, he haunted 
 the Dragon at all times and seasons in the day 
 and night, and, returning good for evil, evinced 
 the deepest solicitude in the progress of the obdu- 
 rate invalid ; insomuch that Mrs. Lupm was 
 fairly melted by his disinterested anxiety (for he 
 often particularly required her to take notice that 
 he would do the same by any stranger or pauper 
 in the like condition), and shed many tears of 
 admiration and delight 
 
 Meantime, old Martin Chuzzlewit remained shut 
 up in his own chamber, and saw no person but 
 his young companion, saving the hostess of the 
 Blue Dragon, who was, at certain times, admitted 
 to his presence. So surely as she came into the 
 room, however, Martin feigned to fall asleep. It 
 was only when he and the young lady were alone, 
 that he would utter a word, even in answer to the 
 simplest inquiry; though Mr. Pecksniff could 
 make out, by hard listening at the door, that they 
 two being left together, he was talkative enough. 
 
 It happened on the fourth evening, that Mr. 
 Pecksniff, walking, as usual, into the bar of the 
 Dragon, and finding no Mrs. Lupin there, went 
 straight up-stairs: purposing, in the fervour of his 
 affectionate zeal, to apply his ear once more to 
 the key-hole, and quiet his mind by assuring him- 
 self that the hard-hearted patient was going on 
 well. It happened that Mr. Pecksniff, coming 
 softly upon the dark passage into which a spiral 
 ray of light usually darted through this same key- 
 hole, wa3 astonished to find no such ray visible ; 
 and it happened that Mr. Pecksniff, when lie had 
 felt his way to the chamber-door, stooping hur- 
 riedly down to ascertain by personal inspection 
 whether the jealousy of the old man had caused 
 this .key-hole to be stopped on the inside, brought 
 his head into such violent contact with another 
 head, that he could not help uttering in an audible 
 voice, the monosyllable " Oh 1" which was, as it 
 were, sharply unscrewed and jerked out of him 
 by very anguish. It happened then, and lastly, 
 that Mr. Pecksniff found himself immediately col- 
 lared by something which smelt like several damp 
 umbrellas, a barrel of beer, a cask of warm 
 brandy-and-water, and a small parlour-full of stale 
 tobacco-smoke, mixed ; and was straightway led 
 down stairs into the bar from which he had lately 
 come, where he found himself standing opposite 
 
 to, and in the grasp of, a perfectly strange gentle* 
 man, of still stranger appearance, who, with his 
 disengaged hand, rubbed his own head very hard, 
 and looked at him, Pecksniff, with an evil coun 
 lena nee. 
 
 The gentleman was of that order of appearance, 
 which is currently termed shabby-genteel, though 
 in respect of his dress he can hardly be said to 
 have been in any extremities, as his fingers were 
 a long way out of his gloves, and the soles of his 
 feet were at an inconvenient distance from the 
 upper leather of his boots. His nether garments 
 were of a bluish-grey — violent in its colours once, 
 but sobered now by age and dinginess — and were 
 so stretched and strained in a tough conflict 
 between his braces and his straps, that they 
 appeared every moment in danger of flying 
 asunder at the knees. His coat, in colour blue 
 and of a military cut, was buttoned and frogged, 
 up to his chin. His cravat was, in hue and pat- 
 tern, like one of those mantles which hair-dressers 
 arc accustomed to wrap about their clients, during 
 the progress of the professional mysteries. His 
 hat had arrived at such a pass that it would have 
 been hard to determine whether it was originally 
 white or black. But he wore a moustache — a 
 shaggy moustache too: nothing in the meek and 
 merciful way, but quite in the fierce and scornful 
 style: the regular Satanic sort of thing — and ho 
 wore, besides, a vast quantity of unbrushed hair 
 He was very dirty and very jaunty ; very bold 
 and very mean ; very swaggering and very slink* 
 ing ; very much like a man who might have been 
 something better, and unspeakably like a man 
 who deserved to be something worse. 
 
 44 You were eaves-dropping at that door, you 
 vagabond !" said this gentleman. 
 
 Mr. Pecksniff cast him off, as Saint George 
 might have repudiated the Dragon in that animal's 
 last moments, and said : 
 
 44 Where is Mrs. Lupin, I wonder I can the 
 good woman possibly be aware that tnere is a 
 person here who — " 
 
 u Stay 1" said the gentleman. u Wait a bit She 
 does know. What then ?" 
 
 44 What then, sir ?" cried Mr. Pecksniff. u What 
 then ? Do you know, sir, that I am the friend 
 and relative of that sick gentleman ? That I am 
 his protector, his guardian, his — " 
 
 44 Not his niece's husband," interposed the 
 stranger, " I '11 be sworn ; for he was there before 
 you." 
 
 44 What do you mean ?" said Mr. Pecksniff, with 
 indignant surprise. " What do you till me, sir ?" 
 
 u Wait a bit !" cried the other. " Perhaps you 
 are a cousin — theooaote who lives in this place P 
 
 44 1 am the cousin who lives in this place," 
 replied the man of worth. 
 
 44 Your name is Pecksniff?" said the gentleman 
 
 44 It is." 
 
 44 1 am proud to know you, and I ask you# 
 pardon," said the gentleman, touching his hat 
 and subsequently diving behind his cravat for ■ 
 
26 
 
 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 shirt-collar, which, however, he did not succeed in I 
 bringing to the surface. "You behold in me, sir, 
 one who has also an interest in that gentleman 
 up-stairs. Wait a bit." 
 
 As he said this, he touched the tip of his high 
 nose, by way of intimation that he would let Mr. 
 Pecksniff into a secret presently ; and pulling off 
 his hat, began to search inside the crown among 
 a mass of crumpled documents and small pieces 
 of what may be called the bark of broken cigars : 
 whence he presently selected the cover of an old 
 letter, begrimed with dirt and redolent of tobacco. 
 
 "Read that," he cried, giving it to Mr. Peck- 
 sniff. 
 
 "This is addressed to Chevy Sly me, Esquire," 
 said that gentleman. 
 
 " You know Chevy Slyme, Esquire, I believe ?" 
 returned the stranger. 
 
 Mr. Pecksniff shrugged his shoulders as though 
 he would say " I know there is such a person, and 
 I am sorry for it." 
 
 "Very good," remarked the gentleman. "That 
 is my interest and business here." With that he 
 made another dive for his shirt-collar, and brought 
 up a string. 
 
 "Now this is very distressing, my friend," said 
 Mr. Pecksniff, shaking his head and smiling com- 
 posedly. " It is very distressing to me, to be com- 
 pelled to say that you are not the person you claim 
 to be. I know Mr. Slyme, my friend : this will 
 not do : honesty is the best policy : you had better 
 not; you had, indeed." 
 
 "Stop!" cried the gentleman, stretching forth 
 his right arm, which was so tightly wedged into 
 his threadbare sleeve that it looked like a cloth 
 sausage. " Wait a bit !" 
 
 He paused to establish himself immediately in 
 front of the fire, with his back towards it. Then 
 gathering the skirts of his coat under his left arm, 
 and smoothing his moustache with his right thumb 
 and forefinger, he resumed : 
 
 " I understand your mistake, and lam not of- 
 fended. W T hy? Because it's complimentary. You 
 suppose I would set myself up for Chevy Slyme. 
 Sir, if there is a man on earth whom a gentleman 
 would feel proud and honoured to be mistaken for, 
 that man is my friend Slyme. For he is, without 
 an exception, the highest-minded, the most inde- 
 pendent-spirited ; most original, spiritual, classi- 
 cal, talented ; and most thoroughly Shakspearian, 
 if not Miltonic ; and at the same time the most 
 disgustingly-unappreciated dog I know. But, sir, 
 I have not the vanity to attempt to pass for Slyme. 
 Any other man in the wide world, I am equal to ; 
 but Slyme is, I frankly confess, a great many cuts 
 above me. Therefore you are wrong." 
 
 " I judged from this," said Mr. Pecksniff, hold- 
 ing out the cover of a letter. 
 
 " No doubt you did," returned the gentleman. 
 " But, Mr. Pecksniff, the whole thing resolves it- 
 self into an instance of the peculiarities of ge- 
 nius. Every man of true genius has his pecu- 
 liarity. Sir, the peculiarity of my friend Slyme 
 '£, that he is always waiting round the corner. He 
 js perpetually round the corner, sir. He is round 
 the corner at this instant. Now," said the gen- 
 tleman, shaking his forefinger before his nose, and 
 planting his legs wider apart as he looked atten- 
 tively in Mr. Pecksniff's face, " that is a remark- 
 ably curious and interesting trait in Slyme's char- 
 
 acter ; and whenever Slyme's life comes to be 
 written, that trait must be thoroughly worked out 
 by his biographer, or society will not be satisfied. 
 Observe me, society will not be satisfied !" 
 
 Mr. Pecksniff coughed. 
 
 " Slyme's biographer, sir, whoever he may be," 
 resumed the gentleman, "must apply to me; or 
 if I am gone to that what's-his-name from which 
 no thingumbob comes back, he must apply to my 
 executors for leave to search among my papers. I 
 have taken a few notes in my poor way, of some 
 of that man's proceedings — my adopted brother, 
 sir, — which would amaze you. He made use of 
 an expression, sir, only on the fifteenth of last 
 month, when he couldn't meet a little bill and the 
 other party wouldn't renew, which would have* 
 done honour to Napoleon Bonaparte in addressing 
 the French army." 
 
 " And pray," asked Mr. Pecksniff, obviously 
 not quite at his ease, " what may be Mr. Slyme's 
 business here, if I may be permitted to inquire, 
 who am compelled by a regard for my own char- 
 acter to disavow all interest in his proceedings ?" 
 
 " In the first place," returned the gentleman, 
 "you will permit me to say, that I object to that 
 remark, and that I strongly and indignantly pro- 
 test against it on behalf of my friend Slyme. In 
 the next place, you will give me leave to introduce 
 myself. My name, sir, is Tigg. The name of 
 Montague Tigg will perhaps be familiar to you, 
 in connexion with the most remarkable events of 
 the Peninsular War?" 
 
 Mr. Pecksniff gently shook his head. 
 
 " No matter," said the gentleman. " That man 
 was my father, and I bear his name. I am con- 
 sequently proud — proud as Lucifer. Excuse me 
 one moment; I desire my friend Slyme to be pre- 
 sent at the remainder of this conference." 
 
 With this announcement he hurried away to 
 the outer door of the Blue Dragon, and almost im- 
 mediately returned with a companion shorter than 
 himself, who was wrapped in an old, blue camlei 
 clonk, with a lining of faded scarlet. His sharp 
 features being much pinched and nipped by long 
 waiting in the cold, and his straggling red whis- 
 kers and frowzy hair being more than usually 
 dishevelled from the same cause, he certainly look- 
 ed rather unwholesome and uncomfortable than 
 Shakspearian or Miltonic. 
 
 "Now," said Mr. Tigg, clapping one hand on 
 the shoulder of his prepossessing friend, and call- 
 ing Mr. Pecksniff's attention to him with the 
 other, " you two are related ; and relations never 
 did agree, and never will ; which is a wise dispen- 
 sation and an inevitable thing, or there would be 
 none but family parties, and everybody in the 
 world would bore everybody else to death. If you 
 were on good terms, I should consider you a most 
 confoundedly unnatural pair; but standing to- 
 wards each other as you do, I look upon you as 
 a couple of devilish deep-thoughted fellows, who 
 may be reasoned with to any extent." 
 
 Here Mr. Chevy Slyme, whose great abilities 
 seemed one and all to point towards the sneaking 
 quarter of the moral compass, nudged his friend 
 stealthily with his elbow, and whispered in his ear. 
 
 "Chiv," said Mr. Tigg aloud, in the high lone 
 of one who was not to be tampered with, " I shall 
 come to that, presently. I act upon my own re- 
 sponsibility, or not at all. To the extent of such 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEYVIT. 
 
 27 
 
 a trifling loan as a crownpiece to a man of your 
 talents, I look upon Mr. Pecksniff as certain :" 
 and seeing at tins juncture that the expression of 
 Mr. Pecksniff's face by no in> ;tns l>. tokened that 
 he shared this certainty, Mr. Tigg laid his finger 
 on his nose again for that gentleman's private and 
 especial behoof: calling upon him thereby to take 
 notice, that the requisition of small loans was an- 
 other instance of tho peculiarities of genius as 
 developed in his friend Slyme; that he, Tigg, 
 winked at the same, !>ee;uise of the strong meta- 
 physical interest which these weaknesses possess- 
 ed ; and that in reference to his own personal ad- 
 vocacy of such small advances, he merely con- 
 sulted the humour of his friend, without the least 
 regard to his own advantage or necessities. 
 
 " Oh, Chiv, Chiv !" added Mr. Tigg, surveying 
 his adopted brother with an air of profound con- 
 templation after dismissing this piece of panto- 
 mime. * You are, upon my life, a strange in- 
 stance of the little frailties that beset a mighty 
 mind. If there had never been a telescope in the 
 world, I should have been quite certain from my 
 observation of you, Chiv, that there were spots on 
 the sun ! I wish I may die, if this isn't the 
 queerest state of existence that we find ourselves 
 forced into, without knowing why or wherefore, 
 Mr. Pecksniff! Well, never mind ! Moralise as 
 we will, the world goes on. As Hamlet says, Her- 
 cules may lay about him with his club in every 
 possible direction, but he can't prevent the cats 
 from making a most intolerable row on the roofs 
 of the houses, or the dogs from being shot in the 
 hot weather if they run about the streets unmuz- 
 zled. Life 's a riddle : a most infernally hard rid- 
 dle to guess, Mr. Pecksniff. My own opinion is, 
 that like that celebrated conundrum, 4 Why 's a 
 man in jail like a man out of jail?' there's no 
 answer to it. Upon my soul and body, it 's the 
 queerest sort of thing altogether — but there's no 
 use in talking about it. Ha ! ha !" 
 
 With which consolatory deduction from the 
 gloomy premises recited, Mr. Tigg roused him- 
 self by a great effort, and proceeded in his former 
 strain. 
 
 " Now I '11 tell you what it is. I 'm a most 
 confoundedly soft-hearted kind of fellow in my 
 way, and I cannot stand by, and see you two 
 blades cutting each other's throats when there 's 
 nothing to be got by it. Mr. Pecksniff, you're 
 the coirsin of the testator up-stairs and we 're the 
 nephew — I say we, meaning Chiv. Perhaps in 
 all essential points, you are more nearly related to 
 him thin we are. Very good. If so, so be it 
 But you can't get at him, neither can we. I give 
 you my brightest honour, sir, that I 've been look, 
 ing through that keyhole, with short intervals of 
 rest, ever since nine o'clock this morning, in ex- 
 pectation of receiving an answer to one of the 
 most moderate and gentlemanly applications for a 
 little temporary assistance — only fifteen pound, 
 and my security— that the mind of man can con- 
 ceive. Irt the mean time, sir, he is perpetually 
 closeted with, and pouring his whole confidence 
 into the bosom of a stranger. Now, I say deci- 
 sively, with regard to this state of circumstances, 
 that it won't do; that it won't act; that it can't 
 bet and that it must not be suffered to continue." 
 
 " Every man," said Mr. Pecksniff, M has a right, 
 an undoubted right, (which I, for one, would not 
 
 call in question for any earthly consideration : oh 
 no !) to regulate his own proceedings by his own 
 Ukiofl and disliking*, supposing they are not im- 
 moral and not irreligious. I may feel in my own 
 breast, that Mr. Chuzzlewit does not regard — me, 
 for instance; say me — with exactly that amount 
 of Christian love which should subsist between 
 ns ; I may feel grieved and hurt at the circum- 
 stance ; still, I may not rush to the conclusion 
 thai Mr. Chuzzlewit is wholly without a justifica- 
 tion in all his coldnesses : Heaven forbid ! Besides; 
 how, Mr. Tigg," continued Pecksniff even more 
 gravely and impressively than he had spoken yet, 
 44 how could Mr. Chuzzlewit be prevented from 
 having these peculiar and most extraordinary con- 
 fidences of which you speak ; the existence of 
 which I must admit; and which I cannot but de- 
 plore — fur his sake ? Consider, my good sir — ** 
 and here Mr. Pecksniff eyed him wiatfully — " how 
 very much at random you are talking." 
 
 44 Why as to that," rejoined Tigg, " it certainly 
 is a difficult question." 
 
 44 Undoubtedly it is a .difficult question," Mr. 
 Pecksniff answered : and as he spoke he drew 
 himself aloof, and seemed to grow more mindful, 
 suddenly, of the moral gulf between himself and 
 the creature he addressed. ** Undoubtedly it is a 
 very difficult question. And I am far from feel- 
 ing sure that it is a question any one is authorised 
 to discuss. Good evening to you." 
 
 44 You don't know that the Spottlctoes are here 
 I suppose ?" said Mr. Tigg. 
 
 44 What do you mean, sir? what Spottlctoes?" 
 asked Pecksniff, stopping abruptly on his way to 
 the door. 
 
 44 Mr. and Mrs. Spottletoe," said Chevy Slyme, 
 Esquire, speaking aloud for the first time, and 
 speaking very sulkUy : shambling with his legs 
 the while. "Spottletoe married my father's bro- 
 ther's child, did'nt he? and Sirs. Spottletoe is 
 Chuzzlewit's own niece, isn't she? She was his 
 favourite once. You may well ask what Spottle 
 toes." 
 
 44 Now, upon my sacred word !" cried Mr. Peck 
 sniff, looking upwards. "This is dreadful. The 
 rapacity of these people is absolutely frightful !" 
 
 44 It 's not only the Spottlctoes either, Tigg," 
 said Slyme, looking at that gentleman and speak- 
 ing at Mr. Pecksniff. "Anthony Chuzzlewit and 
 his son have got wind of it, and have come down 
 this afternoon. I saw 'em not five minutes ago, 
 when I was waiting round' the corner." 
 
 "Oh, Mammon, Mammon!" cried Mr. Peck 
 sniff, smiting his forehead. 
 
 "So there," said Slyme, regardless of the inter- 
 ruption, " are his brother and another nephew for 
 you, already." 
 
 " This is the whole thing, sir," said Mr. Tigg; 
 "this is tho point and purpose at which I was 
 gradually arriving, when my friend S!ymo here, 
 with six words, hit it full. Mr. Pecksniff, now 
 that your cousin (and Chiv's uncle) has turned up, 
 some step* must he taken to prevent his disap- 
 pearing again ; and, if possible, to counteract tho 
 influence which is exercised over hirn now, by 
 this designing fivourite. Everybody who is inte- 
 rested feels it, sir. Tho whole family is pouring 
 down to this place. The time has come when ill 
 dividual jealousies and interests must be forgotten 
 for a time, sir, and union must be made against 
 
28 
 
 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 the common enemy. When the common enemy 
 is routed, you will all set up for yourselves again ; 
 every lady and gentleman who has a part in the 
 game, will go in on their own account and bowl 
 away, to the best of their ability, at the testator's 
 wicket ; and nobody will be in a worse position 
 than before. Think of it. Don't commit your- 
 self now. You'll find us at the Half-Moon and 
 Seven Stars in this village, at any time, and open 
 to any reasonable proposition. Hem ! Chiv, my 
 dear fellow, go out and see what sort of a night 
 it is." 
 
 Mr. Sly me lost no time in disappearing, and, it 
 is to be presumed, in going round the corner. Mr. 
 Tigg, planting his legs as wide apart as he could 
 be reasonably expected by the most sanguine man 
 to keep them, shook his head at Mr. Pecksniff 
 and smiled. 
 
 " We must not be too hard," he said, "upon 
 the little eccentricities of our friend Slime. You 
 eaw him whisper me ?" 
 
 Mr. Pecksniff had seen him. 
 
 " You heard my answer, I think ?" 
 
 Mr. Pecksniff had heard it. 
 
 u Five shillings, eh ?" said Mr. Tigg, thought- 
 fully. " Ah ! what an extraordinary fellow ! Very 
 moderate too !" 
 
 Mr. Pecksniff made no answer. 
 
 - Five shillings !" pursued Mr. Tigg, musing : 
 "and to be punctually repaid next week; that 's 
 the best of it. You heard that ?" 
 
 Mr. Pecksniff had not heard that. 
 
 " No ! You surprise me !" cried Tigg. "That 's 
 the cream of the thing, sir. I never knew that 
 man fail to redeem a promise, in my life. You 're 
 not in want of change, are you ?" 
 
 " No," said Mr. Pecksniff, " thank you. Not 
 at all." 
 
 " Just so," returned Mr. Tigg. " If you had 
 been, I'd have got it for you." With that he be- 
 gan to whistle; but a dozen seconds had not 
 elapsed when he stopped short, and, looking ear- 
 nestly at Mr. Pecksniff, said : 
 
 "" Perhaps you'd rather not lend Slyme five 
 shillings ?" 
 
 " I would much rather not," Mr. Pecksniff re- 
 joined. 
 
 " Egad !" cried Tigg, gravely nodding his head 
 as if some ground of objection occurred to him at 
 that moment for the first time, "it's very possible 
 you may be right. Would you entertain the same 
 sort of objection to lending me five shillings, 
 now ?" 
 
 " Yes, I couldn't do it, indeed," said Mr. Peck- 
 sniff. 
 
 " Not even half-a-crown, perhaps ?" urged Mr. 
 Tigg. 
 
 " Not even half-a-crown." 
 
 "Why then we come," said Mr. Tigg, "tc the 
 ridiculously small amount of eighteenpence. Ha! 
 ha!" 
 
 41 And that," said Mr. Pecksniff, " would be 
 equally objectionable." 
 
 On receipt of this assurance, Mr. Tigg shook 
 him heartily by both hands, protesting with much 
 earnestness, that he was one of the most consistent 
 und remarkable men he had ever met, and that he 
 desired the honour of his better acquaintance. He 
 further observed that there were many little cha- 
 racteristics about his friend Slime, of which he 
 
 could by no means, as a man of strict honour, 
 approve ; but that he was prepared to forgive him 
 all these slight drawbacks, and much more, in 
 consideration of the great pleasure he himself had 
 that day enjoyed in his social intercourse with 
 Mr. Pecksniff, which had given him a far higher 
 and more enduring delight than the successful 
 negotiation of any small loan on the part of his 
 friend could possibly have imparted. With which 
 remarks he would beg leave, he said, to wish Mr. 
 Pecksniff a very good evening. And so he took 
 himself off: as little abashed by his recent failure 
 as any gentleman would desire to be. 
 
 The meditations of Mr. Pecksniff that evening 
 at the bar of the Dragon, and that night in his 
 own house, were very serious and grave indeed ; 
 the more especially as the intelligence he had re- 
 ceived from Messrs. Tigg and Slyme touching the 
 arrival of other members of the family, was fully 
 confirmed on more particular inquiry. For the 
 Spottletoes had actually gone straight to the Dra- 
 gon, where they were at that moment housed and 
 mounting guard, and where their appearance had 
 occasioned such a vast sensation, that Mrs. Lupin, 
 scenting their errand before they had been under 
 her roof half an hour, carried the news herself 
 with all possible secrecy straight to Mr. Peck- 
 sniff's house : indeed it was her great caution in 
 doing so which occasioned her to miss that gen- 
 tleman, who entered at the front door of the Dra- 
 gon, just as she emerged from the back one. 
 Moreover, Mr. Anthony Chuzzlewit and his son 
 Jonas were economically quartered at the Half 
 Moon and Seven Stars, which was an obscure 
 alehouse ; and by the very next coach there came 
 posting to the scene of action, so many other affec- 
 tionate members of the family, (who quarrelled 
 with each other, inside and out, all the w r ay down, 
 to the utter distraction of the coachman), that in 
 less than four-and-twenty hours the scanty tavern 
 accommodation was at a premium, and all the 
 private lodgings in the place, amounting to full 
 four beds and a sofa, rose cent, per cent, in the 
 market. 
 
 In a word, things came to that pass that nearly 
 the whole family sat down before the Blue Dragon, 
 and formally invested it ; and Martin Chuzzlewit 
 was in a state of siege. But he resisted bravely ; 
 refusing to receive all letters, messages, and par- 
 cels , obstinately declining to treat with anybody ; 
 and holding out no hope or promise of capitula- 
 tion. Meantime the family forces were perpetually 
 encountering each other in divers parts of the 
 neighbourhood : and, as no one branch of the 
 Chuzzlewit tree had ever been known to agree 
 with another within the memory of man, there 
 was such a skirmishing, and flouting, and snap- 
 ping off of heads, in the metaphorical sense of 
 that expression ; such a bandying of words and 
 calling of names; such an upturning of noses and 
 wrinkling of brows; such a formal interment of 
 good feelings and violent resurrection of ancient 
 grievances; as had never been known in those 
 quiet parts since the earliest record of their civil- 
 ized existence. 
 
 At length in utter despair and hopelessness, 
 some few of the belligerents began to speak to 
 each other in only moderate terms of mutual 
 aggravation ; and nearly all addressed themselves 
 wUh a show of tolerable decency to Mc Pecksniff, 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT, 
 
 29 
 
 (n recognition of his high character and influential 
 position. Thus, by little and little they made 
 "ommon cause of Martin Chuzzlewit's obduracy," 
 intil it was agreed — if such a word can be used 
 in connexion with the Chuzzlewits — that there 
 should be a general council and conference held 
 at Mr. Pecksniff's house upon a certain day at 
 noon : which all members of the family who had 
 brought themselves within reach of the summons, 
 were forthwith bidden and invited, solemnly, to 
 attend. 
 
 • If ever Mr. Pecksniff wore nn apostolic look, 
 he wore it on this memorable day. If ever his 
 unruffled smile proelaimcd the words, "I am a 
 messenger of peace !" that was its mission now. 
 If ever man combined within himself all the mild 
 qualities of the lamb with a considerable touch of 
 the dove, and not a dash of the crocodile, or the 
 least possible suggestion of the very mildest 
 seasoning of the serpent, that man was he. And, 
 Oh, the two Miss Pecksniffs ! Oh, the serene 
 expression on the face of Charity, which seemed 
 to say, " I know that all my family have injured 
 me beyond the possibility of reparation, but I for- 
 give them, for it is my duty so to do !" And, Oh, 
 the gay simplicity of Mercy : so charming, inno- 
 cent, and infant-like, that if she had gone out 
 walking by herself, and it had been a Kttle earlier 
 in the season, the robin-redbreasts might have 
 covered her with leaves against her will, believing 
 her to be one of the sweet children in the wood, 
 come out of it, and issuing forth once more to 
 look for blackberries in the young freshness of 
 her heart ! What words can paint the Pecksniffs 
 in that trying hour ? Oh, none : for words have 
 naughty company among them, and the Peck- 
 sniffs were all goodness. 
 
 But when the company arrived ! That was 
 the time. When Mr. Pecksniff, rising from his 
 seat at the table's head, with a daughter on either 
 hand, received his guests in the best parlour and 
 motioned them to chairs, with eyes so overflow- 
 ing and countenance so damp with gracious per- 
 spiration, that he may be said to have been in a 
 kind of moist meekness ! And the company : the 
 jealous, stony-hearted, distrustful company, who 
 were all shut up in themselves, and had no faith 
 in anybody, and wouldn't believe anything, and 
 would no more allow themselves to be softened 
 or lulled asleep by the Pecksniffs than if they had 
 been so many hedgehogs or porcupines ! 
 
 First, there was Mr. Spottletoe, who was so 
 bald and had such big whiskers, that he seemed 
 to have stopped his hair, by the sudden application 
 of some powerful remedy, in the very act of fall- 
 ing off his head, and to have fastened it irrevoca- 
 bly on his face. Then there was Mrs. Spottletoe, 
 who being much too slim for her years, and of a 
 poetical constitution, was accustomed to inform 
 her more intimate friends that the said whiskers 
 were " the lodestar of her existence ;" and who 
 could now, by reason of her strong affection for 
 her uncle Chuzzlewit, and the shock it gave her 
 to be suspected of testamentary designs upon him, 
 do nothing but cry— except moan. Then there 
 were Anthony Chuzzlewit, and his son Jonas : the 
 face of the old man so sharpened by the wariness 
 and cunning of his life, that it seemed to cut him 
 a passage through the crowded room, as he edged 
 away behind the remotest chairs ; while the son 
 
 had so well profited by the precept and example 
 of the father that he looked a year or two the 
 elder of the twain, as they stood winking their red 
 eyes, side by side, and whispering to each other, 
 softly. Then there was the widow of a deceased 
 brother of Mr. Martin Chuzzlewit, who being al- 
 most supcrnaturally disagreeable, and having a 
 dreary face and a bony figure and a masculine 
 voice, was, in right of these qualities, what is 
 commonly called a strong-minded woman ; and 
 who, if she could, would have established her 
 claim to the title, and have shown herself, men- 
 tally speaking, a perfect Sampson, by shutting up 
 her brother-in-law in a private madhouse, until he 
 proved his complete sanity by loving her very 
 much. Beside her sat her spinster daughters, 
 three in number, and of gentlemanly deportment, 
 who had so mortified themselves with tight stays, 
 that their tempers were reduced to something less 
 than their waists, and sharp lacing was expressed 
 in their very noses. Then there was a young 
 gentleman, grand-nephew of Mr. Martin Chuzzle- 
 wit, very dark and very hairy, and apparently 
 born for no particular purpose but to save looking- 
 glasses the trouble of reflecting more than just 
 the first idea and sketchy notion of a face, which 
 had never been carried out Then there was a 
 solitary female cousin who was remarkable for 
 nothing but being very deaf, and living by her- 
 self, and always having the toothache. Then 
 there was George Chuzzlewit, a gay bachelor 
 cousin, who claimed to be young but had been 
 younger, and was inclined to corpulency, and 
 rather over-fed himself: to that extent, indeed, 
 that his eyes were strained in their sockets, as if 
 with constant surprise; and he had such an ob- 
 vious disposition to pimples, that the bright spot* 
 on his cravat, the rich pattern on his waistcoat, 
 and even his glittering trinkets, seemed to have 
 broken out upon him, and not to have come into 
 existence comfortably. Last of all, there were 
 present Mr. Chevy Slyme and his friend Tigg. 
 And it is worthy of remark, that although each 
 person present disliked the other mainly because 
 he or she did belong to the family, they one and 
 all concurred in hating Mr.Tigg because he didn't 
 
 Such was the pleasant little family circle now 
 assembled in Mr. Pecksniff's best parlour, agree- 
 ably prepared to fall foul of Mr. Pecksniff or any- 
 body else who might venture to say anything 
 whatever upon any subject 
 
 " This," said Mr. Pecksniff rising, and looking 
 round upon them, with folded hands, "does me 
 good. It does my daughters good. We thank 
 you for assembling here. We are grateful to you 
 with our whole hearts. It is a blessed distinction 
 that you have conferred upon us, and believe me** 
 — it is impossible to conceive how he smiled here 
 — " we shall not easily forget it." 
 
 ■ I am sorry to interrupt you, Pecksniff," re- 
 marked Mr. Spottletoe, with his whiskers in a 
 very portentous state ; u but you are assuming too 
 much to yourself, sir. Who do you imagine has 
 it in contemplation to confer a distinction upon 
 you sir ?" 
 
 A general murmur echoed this inquiry and 
 applauded it. 
 
 " If you are about to pursue the course with 
 which you have begun sir," pursued Mr. Spottle- 
 toe in great heat, and giving a violent rap on to* 
 
30 
 
 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 tabie with, his knuckles, " the sooner you desist. I 
 and this assembly separates, the better. I am no 
 stranger sir, to your preposterous desire to be 
 regarded as the head of this family, but I can tell 
 you sir — " 
 
 Oh, yes indeed! He tell. He! -What! He 
 was the head, was he ! From the strong-minded 
 woman downwards everybody fell, that instant, 
 upon Mr. Spottletoe, who after vainly attempting 
 to be heard in silence was fain to sit down again, 
 folding his arms and shaking his head, most 
 wrathfully, and giving Mrs. Spottletoe to under- 
 stand in dumb show that that scoundrel Pecksniff 
 might go on for the present, but he would cut in 
 presently, and annihilate him. 
 
 " I am not sorry," said Mr. Pecksniff in resump- 
 tion of his address, " I am really not' sorry that 
 this little incident has happened. It is good to 
 feel that we are met here without disguise. It is 
 good to know that we have no reserve before each 
 other, but are appearing freely in our own charac- 
 ters." 
 
 Here, the eldest daughter of the strong-minded 
 woman rose a little way from her seat, and trem- 
 bling violently from head to foot, more as it seemed 
 with passion than timidity, expressed a general 
 hope that some people would appear in their own 
 •characters, if it were only for such a proceeding 
 having the attraction of novelty to recommend it; 
 and that when they (meaning the some people be- 
 fore mentioned) talked about their relations, they 
 would be careful to observe who was present in 
 company at the time ; otherwise it might come 
 round to those relations' ears, in a way they little 
 expected ; and as to red noses (she observed) she 
 had yet to learn that a red nose was any disgrace, 
 inasmuch as people neither made nor coloured 
 their own noses, but had that feature provided for 
 them without being first consulted ; though even 
 upon that branch of the subject she had great 
 doubts whether certain noses were redder than 
 other noses, or indeed half as red as some. This 
 remark being received with a shrill titter by the 
 two sisters of the speaker, Miss. Charity Pecksniff 
 begged with much politeness to be informed whe- 
 ther any of those very low observations were lev- 
 elled at her ; and receiving no more explanatory 
 answer than was conveyed in the adage " Those 
 the cap fits, let them wear it," immediately com- 
 menced a somewhat acrimonious and personal re- 
 tort, wherein she was much comforted and abet- 
 ted by her sister Mercy, who laughed at the same 
 with great heartiness : indeed far more naturally 
 than life. And it being quite impossible that any 
 difference of opinion can take place among wo- 
 men without every woman who is within hearing 
 taking active part in it, the strong-minded lady 
 and her two daughters, and Mrs. Spottletoe, and 
 the deaf cousin (who was not at all disqualified 
 from joining in the dispute by reason of being 
 perfectly unacquainted with its merits), one and 
 all plunged into the quarrel directly. 
 
 The two Miss Pecksniffs being a pretty good 
 match for the three Miss Chuzzlewits, and all five 
 young ladies having, in the figurative language of 
 the day, a great amount of steam to dispose of, the 
 altercation would no doubt have been a long one 
 but for the high valour and prowess of the strong- 
 minded woman, who, in right of her reputation 
 fc oowers of sarcasm, did so belabour and pum- 
 
 mel Mrs. Spottletoe with taunting words that that 
 poor lady, before the engagement was two minutes 
 t>ld, had no refuge but in tears. These she shed 
 so plentifully, and so much to the agitation and 
 grief of Mr. Spottletoe, that that gentleman, after 
 holding his clenched fist close to Mr. Pecksniff's 
 eyes, as if it were some natural curiosity from the 
 near inspection whereof he was likely to derive 
 high gratification and improvement, and after of- 
 fering (for no particular reason that anybody could 
 discover) to kick Mr. George Chuzzlewit for, and 
 in consideration of, the trifling sum of sixpence, 
 took his wife under his arm, and indignantly with- 
 drew. This diversion, by distracting the attention 
 of the combatants, put an end to the strife, which, 
 after breaking out afresh some twice or thrice in 
 certain inconsiderable spirts and dashes, died away 
 in silence. « 
 
 It was then that Mr. Pecksniff once more rose 
 from his chair. It was then that the two Miss 
 Pecksniffs composed themselves to look as if there 
 were no such beings — not to say present, but in 
 the whole compass of the world — as the three 
 Miss Chuzzlewits : while the three Miss Chuzzle- 
 wits became equally unconscious of the existence 
 of the two Miss Pecksniffs. 
 
 " It is to be lamented," said Mr. Pecksniff, with 
 a forgiving recollection of Mr. Spottletoe's fist, 
 " that our friend should have withdrawn himself 
 so very hastily, though we have cause fcr mutual 
 congratulation even in that, since we are assured 
 that he is not distrustful of us in anything we 
 may say or do, while he is absent. Now, that is 
 very soothing, is it not ?" 
 
 " Pecksniff," said Anthony, who had been watch- 
 ing the whole party with peculiar keenness from 
 the first — " don't you be a hypocrite." 
 
 " A what, my good sir ?" demanded Mr. Peck- 
 sniff. 
 
 " A hypocrite." 
 
 " Charity, my dear," said Mr. Pecksniff, " when 
 I take my chamber candlestick to-night, remind 
 me to be more than usually particular in praying 
 for Mr. Anthony Chuzzlewit; who has done me 
 an injustice." 
 
 This was said in a very bland voice, and aside, 
 as being addressed to his daughter's private ear. 
 With a cheerfulness of conscience, prompting al- 
 most a sprightly demeanour, he then resumed : 
 
 " All our thoughts centreing in our very dear, 
 but unkind relative, and he being as it were be- 
 yond our reach, we are met to-day really as if we 
 were a funeral party, except — a blessed exception 
 — that there :s 'nobody in the house." 
 
 The strong-minded lady was not at all sure that 
 this was a blessed exception. Quite the contrary. 
 
 "Well, my dear madam !" said Mr. Pecksniff; 
 "be that as it may, here we are; and being here, 
 we are to consider whether it is possible by any 
 justifiable means — " 
 
 " Why, you know as well as I," sa ; d th* strong- 
 minded lady, " that any means are justifiable in 
 such a case, don't you ?" 
 
 "Very good, my dear madam, very good — whe 
 ther it is possible by any means ; w« will say by 
 any means, to open the eyes of our valued relative 
 to his present infatuation. Whether it is possible 
 to make him acquainted by any means with the 
 real character and purpose of that yourg female 
 whose strange, whose very strange petition, it 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 
 
 61 
 
 reference to himself" — here Mr. Pecksniff sunk 
 his voice to an impressive whisper — u really casts 
 a shadow of disgrace and shame upon this family ; 
 and who, we know" — here he raised his voiee 
 again — M else why is she his companion \ harbours 
 the very basest designs upon his weakness and his 
 property." 
 
 In their strong feeling on this point, they, who 
 i in nothing else, all concurred as one mind. 
 
 Good Heaven, that she should harbour designs 
 upon his property ! The strong-minded lady was 
 for poison, her three daughters were for Bride- 
 well and bread-and-water, the cousin with the 
 tooth-ache advocated Botany Buy, the two Miss 
 Pecksniffs suggested flogging. Nobody but Mr. 
 Tigg, who, notwithstanding his extreme shabbi- 
 ness, was still understood to be in some sort a 
 lady's-man, in right of his upper lip and his frogs, 
 indicated a doubt of the justifiable nature of these 
 measures; and he only ogled the three Miss 
 Chuzzlewits with the least admixture of banter 
 in his admiration, as though he would observe, 
 " You are positively down upon her to trio great 
 an extent, my sweet creatures, upon my soul vou 
 are !" 
 
 " Now," said Mr. Pecksniff, crossing his two 
 forc-fingers in a manner which was at once con- 
 ciliatory and argumentative: "I will not, upon 
 the one hand, go so far as to say that she deserves 
 all the inflictions which have been so very forci- 
 bly and hilariously suggested ;" one of his orna- 
 mental sentences ; "nor will I, upon the other, on 
 any account compromise my common under- 
 standing as a man by making the assertion that 
 she does not. What I would observe is, that I 
 think some practical means might be devised of 
 inducing our respected — shall I say our rever- 
 ed— ?" 
 
 " No !" interposed the strong-minded woman 
 in a loud voice. 
 
 "Then I will not," said Mr. Pecksniff. "You 
 are quite right, my dear madam, and I appreciate 
 and thank you for your discriminating objection 
 — our respected relative, to dispose himself to 
 listen to the promptings of nature, and not to 
 the—" 
 
 " Go on, Pa V cried Mercy. 
 
 " Why, the truth is, my dear," said Mr. Peck- 
 sniff, smiling upon his assembled kindred, "that 
 I am at a loss for a word. The name of those 
 fabulous animals (pagan, I regret to say) who 
 used to sing in the water, has quite escaped me." 
 
 Mr. George Chuzzlewit suggested ** Swans." 
 
 " No," said Mr. Pecksniff. " Not swans. Very 
 like swans, too. Thank you." 
 
 The nephew with the outline of a countenance, 
 speaking for the first and last time on that occa- 
 sion, propounded " Oysters." 
 
 M No," said Mr. Pecksniff, with his own pecu- 
 liar urbanity, "nor oysters.* But by no means 
 unlike oysters ; a very excellent idea ; thank you, 
 my dear sir, very much. Wait! Sirens. Dear 
 me ! sirens, of course. I think, I say, that means 
 might be devised of disposing our respected rela- 
 tive to listen to the promptings of nature, and not 
 to the sireu-Iike delusions of art Now we must 
 not Jom light of the fact that our esteemed friend 
 has a grandson, to whom he was, until lately, 
 very much attached, and whom I could have 
 wished to see here to-day, for I have a real and 
 
 deep regard for him. A fine young man : a very 
 fine young man ! I would submit to you, whether 
 we might not remove Mr. Chuzzlewit's distrust of 
 us, and vindicate our own disinterestedness by — " 
 
 " If Mr. George Chuzzlewit has anything to 
 say to me," interposed the strong-minded woman, 
 sternly, " I beg him to spca,k out, ltk*> I 
 and not to look at me and my daughters as if he 
 could eat us." 
 
 "As to looking, I have beard it said, Mrs. 
 Ned," returned Mr. George, angrily, "that a cat 
 is free to contemplate a monarch ; and therefore 
 I hope I have some right, having been born a 
 member of this family, to look at a person wbo 
 only came into it by marriage. As to eating, I 
 beg to say, whatever bitterness your jealousies 
 and disappointed expectations may suggest to 
 you, that 1 am not a cannibal, ma'am." 
 
 " I don't know that I" cried the atrong-minded 
 woman. 
 
 " At all events, if I was a cannibal," said Mr. 
 George Chuzzlewit, greatly stimulated by this 
 retort, " 1 think it would occur to me that a lady 
 who had outlived three husbands and suffered so 
 very little from their loss, must be most uncom- 
 monly lough." 
 
 The strong-minded woman immediately rose. 
 
 "And I will further add," said Mr. George, 
 nodding his head violently at every second syl- 
 lable ; " naming no names, and therefore hurting 
 nobody but those whose consciences tell them 
 they are alluded to, that I think it would be much 
 more decent and becoming, if those who hooked 
 and crooked themselves into this family by getting 
 on the blind side of some of its members before 
 marriage, and manslaughtering them afterwards 
 by crowing over them to that strong pitch that 
 they were glad to die, would refrain from acting 
 the part of vultures in regard to other members 
 of this family who are living. I think it would 
 be full as well, if not better, if those individuals 
 would keep at home, contenting themselves with 
 what they have got (luckily for them) already; 
 instead of hovering about, and thrusting their 
 fingers into, a family pie, which they flavor much 
 more than enough, I can tell them, when they 
 are fifty miles away." 
 
 " I might have been prepared for this !" cried 
 the strong-minded woman, looking about her with 
 a disdainful smile as she moved towards the door, 
 followed by her three daughters : " indeed I was 
 fully prepared for it, from the first. What else 
 could I expect in such an atmosphere as this !" 
 
 " Don't direct your halfpay-officer's gaze at me, 
 ma'am, if you please," interposed Miss Charity ; 
 " for I won't bear it." 
 
 This was a smart stab at a pension enjoyed by 
 the strong-minded woman, during her second 
 widowhood and before her last coverture. It told 
 immensely. 
 
 "I passed-from the memory of a grateful coun- 
 try, you very miserable minx," said Mrs. Ned, 
 "when I entered this family; and I feel now, 
 though I did not feel then, that it served me right, 
 and that I lost my claim upon the United King- 
 dom of Great Britain and Ireland when I so de. 
 graded myself. Now my dears, if you 're quite 
 ready, and have sufficiently improved yourselves 
 by taking to heart the genteel example of these 
 two young lud.es, I think we '11 go. Mi Pecs 
 
LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 Bniflf, we are very much obliged to you, really. 
 We came to be entertained, and you have far sur- 
 passed our utmost expectations, in the amuse- 
 ment vou have provided for us. Thank you. 
 Good bye !" 
 
 With such departing words, did this strong- 
 minded female paralyse the Pecksniffian energies ; 
 and so she swept out of the room, and out of the 
 house, attended by her daughters, who, as with 
 one accord, elevated their three noses in the air, 
 and joined in a contemptuous titter. As they 
 passed the parlour window on the outside, they 
 were seen to counterfeit a perfect transport of de- 
 light amojig themselves ; and with this final blow 
 and great discouragement for those within, they 
 vanished 
 
 Before Mr. Pecksniff or any of his remaining 
 visitors could offer a remark, another figure pass- 
 ed this window, coming, at a great rate, in the 
 opposite direction : and immediately afterwards, 
 Mr. Spottletoe burst into the chamber. Compared 
 with his present state of heat, he had gone out a 
 man of snow or ice. His head distilled such oil 
 upon his whiskers, that they were rich and clog- 
 ged with unctuous drops ; his face was violently 
 inflamed, his limbs trembled ; and he gasped and 
 strove for breath. 
 
 " My good sir !" cried Mr. Pecksniff. 
 
 " Oh yes !" returned the other : " Oil yes, cer- 
 tainly ! Oh to be sure ! Oh of course ! You hear 
 him ? You hear him ? all of you !" 
 
 " What 's the matter !" cried several voices. 
 
 " Oh nothing !" cried Spottletoe, still gasping. 
 "Nothing at all ! It's of no consequence ! Ask 
 him ! He '11 tell you !" 
 
 " I do not understand our friend," said Mr. 
 Pecksniff, looking about him in utter amazement. 
 " I assure you that he is quite unintelligihle to 
 me." 
 
 " Unintelligible, sir !" cried the other. " Unin- 
 telligible f Do you mean to say, sir, that you 
 don't know what has happened ! That you haven't 
 decoyed us here, and laid a plot and a plan against 
 us ! Will you venture to say that you didn't 
 
 know Mr. Chuzzlewit was going, sir, and that 
 you don't know he 's gone, sir ?" 
 
 " Gone !" was the general cry. 
 
 " Gone," echoed Mr. Spottletoe. " Gone while 
 we were sitting here. Gone. Nobody knows 
 where he 's gone. Oh of course not ! Nobody 
 knew he was going. Oh of course not ! The 
 landlady thought up to the very last moment that 
 they were merely going for a ride ; she had no 
 other suspicion. Oh of course not ! She 's not 
 this fellow's creature. Oh of course not !" 
 
 Adding to these exclamations a kind of ironical 
 howl, and gazing upon the company for one brief 
 instant afterwards, in a sudden silence, the irri 
 tated gentleman started off again at the same 
 tremendous pace, and was seen no more. 
 
 It was in vain for Mr. Pecksniff to assure them 
 that this new and opportune evasion of the family 
 was at least as great a shock and surprise to him, 
 as to anybody else. Of all the bullyings and de- 
 nunciations that were ever heaped on one unlucky 
 head, none can ever have exceeded in energy and 
 heartiness those with which he was complimented 
 by each of his remaining relatives, singly, upon 
 bidding him farewell 
 
 The moml position taken by Mr. Tigg was 
 something quite tremendous ; and the deaf cousin, 
 who had had the complicated aggravation of see- 
 ing all the proceedings and hearing nothing but 
 the catastrophe, actually scraped her shoes upon 
 the scraper, and afterwards distributed impressions 
 of them all over the top step, in token that she 
 shook the dust from her feet before quitting that 
 dissembling and perfidious mansion. 
 
 Mr. Pecksniff had, in short, but one comfort, 
 and that was the knowledge that all these his re- 
 lations and friends had hated him to the veryut 
 most extent before ; and that he, for his part, had 
 not distributed among them any more love, than, 
 with his ample capital in that respect, he could 
 comfortably afford to part with. This view of his 
 affairs yielded him great consolation ; and the 
 fact deserves to be noted, as showing with what 
 ease a good man may be consoled under circum 
 stances of failure and disappointment 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 CONTAINING A FULL ACCOUNT OF THE INSTALLATION OF MR. PECK 
 SNIFF'S NEW PUPIL INTO THE BOSOM OF MR. PECKSNIFF'S FAMILY. 
 W'TH ALL THE FESTIVITIES HELD ON THE OCCASION, AND THE GREA1 
 ENJOYMENT OF MR. PINCH. 
 
 The best of architects and land-surveyors kept 
 a horse, in whom the enemies already mentioned 
 more than once in these pages, pretended to de- 
 tect a fanciful resemblance to his master. Not in 
 his outward person, for he was a raw-bonsd, hag- 
 gard horse, always on a much shorter allowance 
 of corn than Mr. Pecksniff; but in his moral 
 character, wherein, said they, he was full of pro- 
 mise, but of no performance. He was always, in 
 a manner, going to, and never going. When at 
 his slowest rate of travelling, he would sometimes 
 lift up his legs so high, and display such mighty 
 action, that it was difficult to believe he was doing 
 less than fourteen miles an hour ; and he was for 
 ever so perfectly satisfied with his own speed, and 
 po little disconcerted by opportunities of compar- 
 
 ing himself with the fastest trotters, that the il- 
 lusion was the more difficult of resistance. He 
 was a kind of animal who infused into the breasts 
 of strangers a lively sense of hope, and possessed 
 all those who knew him better with a grim despair. 
 In what respect, having three points of character, 
 he might be fairly likened to his master, that good 
 man's slanderers only can explain. But it is a 
 melancholy truth, and a deplorable instance of the 
 uncharitableness of the world, that they made the 
 comparison. 
 
 In this horse, and the hooded vehicle, whatever 
 its proper name might be, to which he was usually 
 harnessed — it was more like a gig with a tumour, 
 than anything else — all Mr. Pinch's thoughts and 
 wishes centred, one bright frosty morning : for 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 
 
 3:j 
 
 with this gallant equipage he was about to drive 
 to Salisbury alone, there to meet with the new 
 pupil, and thence to bring him home in triumph. 
 
 Blessings on thy simple heart, Tom I'ineh, how 
 proudly dost thou button up that seanty OOftt, call- 
 ed by a sad misnomer, for tie-e many years, a 
 "great "one; and how thoroughly as with thy 
 cheerful voice thou pleasantly adjurest Sam the 
 hostler " not to let him go yet," dost thou believe 
 that quadruped desires to go, and would go if he 
 might ! Who could repress a smile— of love for 
 thee, Tom Pinch, and not in jest ut thy expense, 
 for thou art pour enough already, Heaven knows— 
 to think that such a holiday as lies before thee, 
 fdiould awaken that quick flow, and hurry of the 
 spirits, in which thou settest down again, almost 
 untasted, on the kitchen window-sill, that great 
 white mug (put by, by thy own hands, last night, 
 that breakfast might not hold thee late), and layest 
 yonder crust upon the seat beside thee, to be eaten 
 oft the road, when thou art calmer in thy high 
 rejoicing ! Who, as thou drivest off, a happy man, 
 and noddest with a grateful lovingness to Peck- 
 sniff in his nightcap at his chamber-window, 
 would not cry, M Heaven speed thee, Tom, and 
 send that thou wert going off for ever to some 
 quiet home where thou mightst live at peace, and 
 sorrow should not touch thee !" 
 
 What better time for driving, riding, walking, 
 moving through the air by any means, than a 
 fresh, frosty- morning, when hope runs cheerily 
 through the veins with the brisk blood, and tingles 
 in the frame from head to foot ! This' was the 
 glad commencement of a bracing day in early 
 winter, such as may put the languid summer sea- 
 ion (speaking of it when it can't be had) to the 
 blush, and shame the spring for being sometimes 
 cold by halves. The sheep-bells rang as clearly 
 in the vigorous air, as if they felt its wholesome 
 influence like living creatures; the trees, in lieu 
 of leaves or blossoms, shed upon the ground a 
 frosty rime that sparkled as it fell, and might have 
 been the dust of diamonds — so it was, to Tom. 
 From cottage chimneys, smoke went streaming 
 up high, high, as if the earth had lost its gross- 
 ness, being so fair, and must not be oppressed by 
 heavy vapour. The crust of ice on the else rip- 
 pling brook, was so transparent and so thin in 
 texture, that the lively water might, of its own 
 free will, have stopped — in Tom's glad mind it 
 had — to look upon the lovely morning. And lest 
 the sun should break this charm too eagerly, there 
 moved between him and the ground a mist like 
 that which waits upon the moon on summer 
 nights — the very same to Tom — and wooed him 
 to dissolve it gently. 
 
 Tom Pinch went on ; not fast, but with a sense 
 of rapid motion, which did just as well ; and as 
 he went, all kinds of things occurred to keep him 
 happy. Thus when he came within sight of the 
 turnpike, and was — Oh a long way off! — he saw 
 the tollman's wife, who had that moment checked 
 a wagon, run back into the little house again like 
 mad, to say (she knew) that Mr. Pinch was com- 
 ing up. And sho was right, for when he drew 
 within hail of the gnte, forth rushed the tollman's 
 children, shrieking in tiny chorus, " Mr. Pinch !" 
 to Tom's intense delight. The very tollman, 
 though an ugly chap in general, and one whom 
 folks were rather shy of handling, came out him- 
 self to take the toll, and give him rough good- 
 
 morning: and what with all this, and a glimpse 
 of the family breakfast on a little round table 
 before the fire, the crust Tom Pinch had brought 
 away with him acquired as rich a flavour as 
 though it had been cut from off a fairy ! 
 
 But there was more than this. It was not only 
 the married people and the children who gave 
 Tom Pinch a welcome as he passed. No, no. 
 Sparkling eyes and snowy breasts came hurriedly 
 to many an upper casement as he clattered by, 
 and gave him back his greeting : not stinted 
 either, but sevenfold, good measure. They were 
 all merry ; they all laughed ; and wine of the 
 wickedest among them even kissed their hands as 
 Tom looked back. For who minded poor Mr. 
 Pinch ? There was no harm in him. 
 
 And now the morning grew so fair, and all 
 things were so wide awake and gay, that the sun 
 seeming to say — Tom had no doubt he said—** I 
 can't stand it any longer: I must have a look" — 
 streamed out in radiant majesty. The mist, too 
 shy and gentle for such lusty company, fled off, 
 quite scared, before it; and as it swept away, the 
 hills and mounds and distant pasture-lands, teem- 
 ing with placid sheep and noisy crows, came out 
 us bright as though they were unrolled bran-new 
 for the occasion. In compliment to which disco- 
 very, the brook stood still no longer, put ran 
 briskly off to bear the tidings to the water-mill, 
 three miles away. 
 
 Mr. Pinch was jogging along, full of pleasant 
 thoughts and cheerful influences, when ho saw, 
 upon the path before him, going in the same direc 
 tion with himself, a traveller on foot, who walked 
 with a light, quick step, and sang as he went — for 
 certain in a very loud voice, but not unmusically. 
 He was a young fellow, of some five or six-and- 
 twenty perhaps, and was drest in such a free and 
 fly-away fashion, that the long ends of his loose 
 red neckcloth were streaming out behind him 
 quite as often as before ; and the bunch of bright 
 winter berries in the button-hole of his velveteen 
 coat, was as visible to Mr. Pineh*s rearward ob- 
 servation, as if he had worn that garment wrong 
 side foremost He continued to sing with so 
 much energy, that he did t not hear the sound of 
 wheels until it was close behind hkn ; when he 
 turned a whimsical face and, very merry pair of 
 blue eyes on Mr. Pinch, and checked himself 
 directly. 
 
 "Why, Mark!" said Tom Pineh, stopping 
 " who 'd have thought of seeing you here / Well! 
 this is surprising !" 
 
 Mark touched his hat, and said, with a rery 
 sudden decrease of vivacity, that he was going to 
 Salisbury. 
 
 " And how spruce you are, too V* said Mr. Pinch, 
 snrv. yinjr him with great pleasure. "Really I 
 didn't think you were half such a tight-made 
 fellow, Mark!" 
 
 "Thankee, Mr. Pineh. Pr that, I 
 
 believe. It's not my fault, you know. With re- 
 gard to being spruce, sir, that 's where it is, you. 
 see." And here he looked particularly gloomy. 
 
 " Where what is?" Mr. Pineh demanded. 
 
 "Where the aggravation of it is. Any man 
 
 may be in good spirits and good temper when 
 
 he *s well drest There aint much credit in that 
 
 l very ragged and very jolly, then I shouh' 
 
 begin to feel I had gained a point, Mr. Pineh." 
 
 " So you were singing just ftpw, to bear up s« 
 
34 
 
 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 it were, against being well dressed, eh, Mark ?" 
 said Pinch. 
 
 "Your conversation's always equal to print, sir," 
 rejoined Mark, with a broad grin. " That was it." 
 " Well !" cried Pinch, " you are the strangest 
 young man, Mark, I ever knew in my life. I 
 always thought so ; but now I am quite certain 
 of it. I am going to Salisbury, too. Will you 
 get in? I shall be very glad of your company." 
 
 The young fellow made his acknowledgments 
 and accepted tire offer ; stepping into the carriage 
 directly, and seating himself on the very edge of 
 the seat with his body half out of it, to express his 
 being there on sufferance, and by the politeness 
 of Mr. Pinch. As they went along, the conversa- 
 tion proceeded after this manner. 
 
 " I more than half believed, just now, seeing 
 you so very smart," said Pinch, " that you must 
 be going to be married, Mark." 
 
 " Well, sir, I 've thought of that, too," he re- 
 plied. " There might be some credit in being 
 jolly with a wife, 'specially if the children had 
 the measles ar.d that, and was very fractious in- 
 deed. But I 'm a'most afraid to try it. I don't 
 see my way clear." 
 
 " You 're not very fond of anybody, perhaps ?" 
 said Pinch. 
 
 " Not -particular, sir, I think." 
 
 " But the way would be, you know. Mark, 
 according to your views of things," said Mr. Pinch, 
 'to marry somebody you did'nt like, and who 
 was very disagreeable." 
 
 " So it would, sir, but that might be carrying 
 out a principle a little too far, mightn't it ?" 
 
 " Perhaps it might," said Mr. Pinch. At which 
 they both laughed gaily. 
 
 " Lord bless you, sir," said Mark, " you don't 
 half know me, though. I don't believe there ever 
 waj a man as could come out so strong under 
 circumstances that would make other men miser- 
 able, as I could, if I could only get a chance. 
 But I can't get a chance. It 's my opinion, that 
 nobody never will know half of what 's in me, 
 unless something very unexpected turns up. And 
 I don't see any prospect of that. I 'm a going to 
 leave the Dragon, sir." . 
 
 " Going to leave the Dragon !" cried Mr. Pinch, 
 looking at him with great astonishment. " Why, 
 Mark, you take my breath away !" 
 
 " Yes, sir," he rejoined, looking straight before 
 him and a long way off, as men do sometimes 
 when they cogitate profoundly. " What 's the 
 use of my stopping at the Dragon ? It an't at all 
 the sort of place for me. When I left London 
 (I 'm a Kentish man by birth, though), and took 
 that sitivation here, I quite made up my mind 
 that it was the dullest little out-of-the-way corner 
 in England, and that there would be some credit 
 in being jolly under such circumstances. But, 
 Lord, there's no dulness at the Dragon ! Skittles, 
 cricket, quoits, nine-pins, comic songs, choruses, 
 company round the chimney corner every win- 
 ter's evening — any man could be jolly at the 
 Dragon. There 's no credit in that." 
 
 u But if common report be true for once, Mark, 
 as I think it is, being able to confirm it by what 
 I know myself," said Mr. Pinch, "you are the 
 cause of half this merriment, and set it going." 
 
 "There may be something in that too, sir," 
 answered Mark. " But that 's no consolation." 
 " Well !" said Mr. Pinch, after a sort silence, 
 
 his usually subdued tone being even more sub- 
 dued than ever. " I can hardly think enough of 
 what you tell me. Why, what will become of 
 Mrs. Lupin, Mark ?" 
 
 Mark looked more fixedly before him, and fur- 
 ther off still, as he answered that he didn't sup- 
 pose it would be much of an object to her. There 
 were plenty of smart young fellows as would be 
 glad of the place. He knew a dozen himself. 
 
 "That's probable enough," said Mr. Pinch, 
 " but I am not at all sure that Mrs. Lupin would 
 be glad of them. Why, I always supposed that 
 Mrs. Lupin and you would make a match of it, 
 Mark : and so did every one, as far as I know." 
 
 " I never," Mark replied, in some confusion, 
 " said nothing as was in a direct way courting- 
 like to her, nor she to me, but I don't know what 
 I mightn't do one of these odd times, and what 
 she mightn't say in answer. Well, sir, that 
 wouldn't suit." 
 
 " Not to be landlord of the Dragon, Mark ?" 
 cried Mr. Pinch. 
 
 " No sir, certainly not," returned the other, 
 withdrawing his gaze from the horizon, and look- 
 ing at his fellow-traveller. "Why, that would be 
 the ruin of a man like me. I go and sit down 
 comfortably for life, and no man never finds me 
 out. What would be the credit of the landlord 
 of the Dragon's being jolly ? why, he couldn't 
 help it, if he tried." 
 
 " Does Mrs. Lupin know you are going to leave 
 her ?" Mr. Pinch inquired. 
 
 " I haven't broke it to her yet, sir ; but I must 
 I 'm looking out this morning for something new 
 and suitable," he said, nodding towards the city. 
 
 " What kind of thing now ?" Mr. Pinch de- 
 manded. 
 
 " I was thinking," Mark replied, " of some- 
 thing in the grave-digging way." 
 
 " Good Gracious, Mark !" cried Mr. Pinch. 
 
 " It 's a good damp, wormy sort of business, 
 sir," said Mark, shaking his head, argumentative- 
 ly, " and there might be some credit in being 
 jolly, with one's mind in that pursuit, unless 
 grave-diggers is usually given that way ; which 
 would be a drawback. You don't happen to 
 know how that is, in general, do you, sir ?" 
 
 " No," said Mr. Pinch, " I don't indeed. I 
 never thought upon the subject." 
 
 " In case of that not turning out as well as one 
 could wish, you know," said Mark, musing again, 
 " there 's other businesses. Undertaking now. 
 That's gloomy. There might be credit to be 
 gained there. A broker's man in a poor neigh- 
 bourhood wouldn't be bad perhaps. A jailer sees 
 a deal of misery. A doctor's man is in the very 
 midst of murder. A bailiff's an't a lively office 
 nat'rally. Even a tax-gatherer must find his 
 feelings rather worked upon at times. There 's 
 lots of trades, in which I should have an opportu- 
 nity, I think ?" 
 
 Mr. Pinch was so perfectly overwhelmed by 
 these remarks that he could do nothing but occa- 
 sionally exchange a word or two on some indiffer 
 ent subject, and cast sidelong glances at the bright 
 face of his odd friend (who seemed quite uncon 
 scious of his observation), until they reached a 
 certain corner of the road, close upon the out 
 skirts of the city, when Mark said he would jump 
 down there, if he pleased. 
 
 " But bless my soul, Mark," said M, Pinch, 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 
 
 who in the progress of his observation just then 
 made the discovery that the bosom of his compa- 
 nion's shirt was as much exposed as if it were 
 midsummer, and was ruffled by every breath 
 of air, ■ why don't you wear a waistcoat ?" 
 
 " What's the good of one, sir?" asked Mark. 
 
 ■ Good of one ?" said Mr. Pinch. " Why, to 
 keep your chest warm." 
 
 44 Lord love you, sir !" cried Mark, 44 you don't 
 know me. My chest don't want no warming. 
 Even If it did, what would no waistcoat bring it 
 to? Inflammation of the lungs, perhaps? Well, 
 there 'd be some credit in being jolly, with an in- 
 flammation of the lungs." 
 
 As Mr. Pinch returned no other answer than 
 such as was conveyed in his drawing his breath 
 very hard, and opening his eyes very wide, and 
 nodding his head very much, Mark thanked him 
 for his ride, and without troubling him to stop, 
 jumped lightly down. And away he fluttered, 
 with his red neck-kerchief, and his open coat, 
 down a cross lane : turning back from time to 
 time to nod to Mr. Pinch, and looking one of the 
 most careless, good-humoured, comical fellows in 
 life. His late companion, with a thoughtful face, 
 pursued his way to Salisbury. 
 
 Mr. Pinch had a shrewd notion that Salisbury 
 was a very desperate sort of place ; an exceeding 
 wild and dissipated city ; and when he had put 
 up the horse, and given the hostler to understand 
 that he would look in again in the course of an 
 hour or two to see him take his corn, he set forth 
 on a stroll about the streets with a vague and not 
 unpleasant idea that they teemed with all kinds 
 of mystery and bedevilmont. To one of his quiet 
 habits this little delusion was greatly assisted by 
 the circumstance of its being market-day, and the 
 thoroughfares about the market-place being filled 
 with carts, horses, donkeys, baskets, wagons, gar- 
 den-stuff, meat, tripe, pies, poultry, and hucksters' 
 wares of every opposite description and possible 
 variety of character. Then there were young 
 farmers and old farmers, with smock frocks, 
 brown great-coats, drab great-coats, red worsted 
 comforters, leather-leggings, wonderful shaped 
 hats, hunting-whips, and rough sticks, standing 
 about in groups, or talking noisily together on the 
 tavern steps, or paying and receiving huge amounts 
 of greasy wealth, with the assistance of such 
 bulky pocket-books that when they were in their 
 pockets it was apoplexy toget them out, and when 
 they were out, it was spasms to get them in again. 
 Also there were farmers' wives in beaver bonnets 
 and red cloaks, riding shaggy horses purged of 
 all earthly passions, who went soberly into all 
 manner of places without desiring to know why, 
 and who, if required, would have stood stock still 
 in a china-shop, with a complete dinner-service at 
 each hoof. Also a great many dogs, who were 
 strongly interested in the state of the market and 
 the bargains of their masters ; and a great confu- 
 sion of tongues, both brute and human. 
 
 Mr. Pinch regarded everything exposed for sale 
 witn great delight, and was particularly struck 
 by the itinerant cutlery, which he considered of 
 the very keenest kind, insomuch that he purchased 
 a pocket knife with seven blades in it, and >riot a 
 cut (as ho afterwards found out) among thorn. 
 Win n he had exhausted the market-place, and 
 watched the farmers safe into the market dinner, 
 he went back to look after the horse. Having* | 
 
 seen him eat unto his heart's content, he issued 
 forth again, to wander round the town and legale 
 himself with the shop windows ; previously taking 
 a long stare at the bank, and wondering in what 
 direction under-ground, the caverns might be, 
 where they kept the money ; and turning to look 
 back at one or two young men who passed him, 
 whom he knew to be articled to solicitors in the 
 town ; and who had a sort of fearful interest in 
 his eyes, as jolly dogs who knew a thing or two, 
 and kept it up tremendously. 
 
 But the shops. First of all, there were the jew- 
 ellers' shops, with all the treasures of the earth 
 displayed therein, and such large silver watches 
 hanging up in every pane of glass, that if they 
 were anything but first-rate goers it certainly was 
 not because the works could decently complain of 
 want of room. In good sooth they were big 
 enough, and perhaps, as the saying is, ugly 
 enough, to be the most correct of all mechanical 
 performers ; in Mr. Pinch's eyes, however, they 
 were smaller than Geneva ware; and when he 
 saw one very bloated watch announced as a re- 
 peater, gifted with the uncommon power of strik- 
 ing every quarter of an hour inside the pocket of 
 its happy owner, he almost wished that he were 
 rich enough to buy it. 
 
 But what were even gold and silver, precious 
 stones and clockwork, to the bookshops, whence a 
 pleasant smell of paper freshly pressed came issu- 
 ing forth, awakening instant recollections of some 
 new grammar had at school, long time ago, with 
 44 Master Pinch, Grove House Academy," inscrib- 
 ed in faultless writing on the fly-leaf! That whiff 
 of russia leather, too, and all those rows on rows 
 of volumes, neatly ranged within — what happi- 
 ness did they suggest ! And in the window were 
 the spick-and-span new works from London, with 
 the title-pages, and sometimes even the first page 
 of the first chapter, laid wide open : tempting un. 
 wary men to begin to read the book, and then, in 
 the impossibility of turning over, to rush blindly 
 in, and buy it ! Here, too, were the dainty front- 
 ispiece and trim vignette, pointing like handposts 
 on the outskirts of great cities to the rich stock 
 of incident beyond ; and store of books, with 
 many a grave portrait and time-honoured name, 
 whose matter he knew well, and would have given 
 mines to have, in any form, upon the narrow shelf 
 beside his bed at Mr. Pecksniff's. What a heart- 
 breaking shop it was ! 
 
 3There was another ; not quite so bad at first, 
 but still a trying shop ; where children's books 
 were sold, and whero poor Robinson Crusoe stood 
 alone in his might, with dog and hatchet, goat- 
 skin cap and fowling-pieces: calmly surveying 
 Philip Quarll and the host of imitators round him, 
 and calling Mr. Pinch to witness that he, of all 
 the crowd, impressed one solitary foot-print on the 
 shore of boyish memory, whereof the tread cf 
 generations should not stir the lightest grain of 
 sand. And there, too, were the Persian Tale*, 
 with flying cheats, and students ortnehanted 
 books shut up for years in caverns : and there, too, 
 was Abudah, the merchant, with the terrible little 
 old woman hobbling out of the box in his bed 
 room : and there the mighty talisman — the rare 
 Arabian Nights — with Cassim Baba, divided by 
 four, like the ghost of a dreadful sum, hanging 
 up, all gory, in the robbers' cave. Which match 
 less wonders, coming fast on Mr. Pinch's mind. 
 
LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 did so rub up and chafe that wonderful lamp with- 1 
 in him, that when he turned his face towards the 
 busy street, a crowd of phantoms waited on his 
 pleasure, and he lived again, with new delight, 
 the happy days before the Pecksniff era. 
 
 He had less interest now in the chemists' shops, 
 with their great glowing bottles (with smaller re- 
 positories of brightness in their very stoppers); 
 and in their agreeable compromises between med- 
 icine and perfumery, in the shape of toothsome 
 lozenges and virgin honey. Neither had he the 
 least regard (but he never had much) for the tai- 
 lors', where the newest metropolitan waistcoat 
 patterns were hanging up, which by some strange 
 transformation always looked amazing there, and 
 never appeared at all like the same thing any- 
 where else. But he stopped to read the playbill 
 at the theatre, and surveyed the doorway with a 
 kind of awe, which was not diminished when a 
 sallow gentleman with long dark hair came out, 
 and told a boy to run home to his lodgings and 
 bring down his broad-sword. Mr. Pinch stood 
 rooted to the spot on hearing this, and might 
 have stood there until dark, but that the old ca- 
 thedral bell began to ring for vesper service, on 
 which he tore himself away. 
 
 Now, the organist's assistant was a friend of 
 Mr. Pinch's, which was a good thing, for he too 
 was a very quiet, gentle soul, and had been, like 
 Tom, a kind of old-fashioned boy at school, 
 though well-liked by the noisy fellows too. As 
 good luck would have it (Tom always said he had 
 great good luck) the assistant chanced that very 
 afternoon to be on duty by himself, with no one 
 in the dusty organ-loft but Tom : so while he 
 played, Tom helped him with the stops; and 
 finally, the service being just over, Tom took the 
 organ himself. It was then turning dark, and 
 the yellow light that streamed in through the an- 
 cient windows in the choir was mingled with a 
 murky red. As the grand tones resounded 
 through the church, they seemed to Tom, to find 
 an echo in the depth of every ancient tomb, no 
 less than in the deep mystery of his own heart. 
 Great thoughts and hopes came crowding on his 
 mind as the rich music rolled upon the air, and 
 yet among them — something more grave and 
 solemn in their purpose, but the same — were all 
 the images of that day, down to its very lightest 
 recollection of childhood. The feeling that the 
 sounds awakened, in the moment of their exist- 
 ence, seemed to include his whole life and being ; 
 and as the surrounding realities of stone and wood 
 and glass grew dimmer in the darkness, these 
 visions grew so much the brighter that Tom 
 might have forgotten the new pupil and the ex- 
 pectant master, and have sat there pouring out 
 his grateful heart till midnight, but for a very 
 earthy old verger insisting on locking up the ca- 
 thedral forthwith. So he took leave of his friend, 
 with many thanks, groped his way out, as well 
 as he could, into the now lamp-lighted streets, 
 and hurried off to get his dinner. 
 
 All the farmers being by this time jogging 
 homewards, there was nobody in the sanded par- 
 lour of the tavern where he had left the horse ; 
 so he had his little table drawn out close before 
 the fire, and fell to work upon a well-cooked steak 
 and smoking hot potatoes, with a strong appre- 
 ciation of their excellence, and a very keen sense 
 
 of enjoyment. Beside him, too, there stood a 
 jug of most stupendous Wiltshire beer ; and the 
 effect of the whole was so transcendent, that he 
 was obliged every now and then to lay down 
 his knife and fork, rub his hands, and think 
 about it. By the time the cheese and celery 
 came, Mr. Pinch had taken a book out of his 
 pocket, and could afford to trifle with the viands; 
 now eating a little, now drinking a little, now 
 reading a little, and now stopping to wonder 
 what sort of a young man the new pupil would 
 turn out to be. He had passed from this latter 
 theme and was deep in his book again, when the 
 door opened, and another guest came in, bringing 
 with him such a quantity of cold air, that he po- 
 sitively seemed at first to put the fire out. 
 
 " Very hard frost to-night, sir," said the new- 
 comer, courteously acknowledging Mr. Pinch's 
 withdrawal of the little table, that he might have 
 place. Don't disturb yourself, I beg." 
 
 Though he said this with a vast amount of 
 consideration for Mr. Pinch's comfort, he dragged 
 one of the great leather-bottomed chairs to the 
 very centre of the hearth, notwithstanding ; and 
 sat down in front of the fire, with a foot on each hob. 
 
 " My feet are quite numbed. Ah ! Bitter cold 
 to be sure." 
 
 "You have been in the air some considerable 
 time, I dare say ?" said Mr. Pinch. 
 
 " All day. Outside a coach, too." 
 
 " That accounts for his making the room so 
 cool," thought Mr. Pinch. " Poor fellow ! How 
 thoroughly chilled he must be !" 
 
 The stranger became thoughtful, likewise, and 
 sat for five or ten minutes looking at the fire in 
 silence. At length he rose and divested himself 
 of his shawl and great-coat, which (far different 
 from Mr. Pinch's) was a very warm and thick 
 one ; but he was not a whit more conversational 
 out of his great-coat than in it, for he sat down 
 again in the same place and attitude, and leaning 
 back in his chair, began to bite his nails. He 
 was young — one-and-twenty-, perhaps — and hand 
 some ; with a keen dark eye, and a quickness of 
 look and manner which made Tom sensible of a 
 great contrast in his own bearing, and caused 
 bim to feel even more shy than usual. 
 
 There was a clock in the room, which the 
 stranger often turned to look at. Tom made 
 frequent reference to it also : partly from a ner- 
 vous sympathy with his taciturn companion ; and 
 partly because the new pupil was to inquire for 
 him at half after six, and the hands were getting 
 on towards that hour. Whenever the stranger 
 caught him looking at this clock, a kind of con 
 fusion came upon Tom as if he had been found 
 out in something ; and it was a perception of his 
 uneasiness which caused the younger man to say, 
 perhaps, with a smile : 
 
 " We both appear to be rather particular about 
 the time. The fact is, I have an engagement to 
 meet a gentleman here." 
 
 " So have I," said Mr. Pinch. 
 
 " At half-past six," said the stranger. 
 
 " At half-past six," said Tom in the very same 
 breath ; whereupon the other looked at him with 
 some surprise. 
 
 " The young gentleman, I expect," remarked 
 Tom, timidly, " was to inquire at that time for a 
 person of the name of Pinch." 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 
 
 " Dear me !" cried the other, jumping up. "And 
 I have been keeping the fire from you all this 
 while ! I had no idea you were Mr. Pinch. I am 
 the Mr. Martin for whom you were to inquire. 
 Pray excuse me. How do you do ? Oh, do draw 
 nearer, pray !" 
 
 "Thank you," said Tom, "thank you. lam 
 not at all cold ; and you are ; and we have a cold 
 ride before us. Well, if you wish it, I will. I — I 
 am very glad," said Tom, smiling with an em- 
 barrassed frankness peculiarly his, and which was 
 as plainly a confession of his own imperfections, 
 and an appeal to the kindness of the person he 
 addressed, as if he had drawn one up in simple 
 language and committed it to paper : "lam very 
 glad indeed that you turn out to be the party I 
 expected. I was thinking, but a minute ago, that 
 I could wish him to be like you." • 
 
 44 I am very glad to hear it," returned Martin, 
 shaking hands with him again ; " for I assure you, 
 I was thinking there could be no such luck as Mr. 
 Pinch's turning out like you." 
 
 u No, really !" said Tom, with great pleasure. 
 44 Are you serious ?" 
 
 44 Upon my word I am," replied bis new ac- 
 quaintance. " You and I will get on excellently 
 well, I know : which it's no small relief to me to 
 feel, for to tell you the truth, I am not at all the 
 sort of fellow who could get on with everybody, 
 and that's the point on which I had the greatest 
 doubts. But they're quite relieved now. — Do me 
 the favour to ring the bell, will you ?" 
 
 Mr. Pinch rose, and complied with great alac- 
 rity — the handle hung just over Martin's head, as 
 he warmed himself — and listened with a smiling 
 face to what his friend went on to say. It was : 
 
 44 If you like punch, you'll allow me to order a 
 glass a-piece, as hot as it can be made, that we 
 may usher in our friendship in a becoming man- 
 ner. To let you into a secret, Mr. Pinch, I never 
 was so much in want of something warm and 
 cheering in my life; but I didn't like to run the 
 chance of being found drinking it, without know- 
 ing what kind of person you were ; for first im- 
 pressions, you know, often go a long way, and 
 last a long time." 
 
 Mr. Pinch assented, and the punch was ordered. 
 In due course it came : hot and strong. After 
 drinking to each other in the steaming mixture, 
 they became quite confidential. 
 
 44 I'm a sort of relation of Pecksniff's, you 
 know," said the young man. 
 
 44 Indeed !" cried Mr. Pinch. 
 
 44 Yes. My grandfather is his cousin, so he's 
 kith and kin to me, somehow, if you can make 
 that out. /can't." 
 
 44 Then Martin is your Christian name ?" said 
 Mr. Pinch, thoughtfully. 44 Oh !" 
 
 44 Of course it is," returned his friend : 44 1 wish 
 it was my surname, for my own is not a very 
 pretty one, and it takes a long time to sign. 
 Chuzzlewit is my name." 
 
 44 Dear me !" cried Mr. Pinch, with an involun- 
 tary start 
 
 44 You're not surprised at my having two names, 
 I suppose ?" returned the other, setting his glass 
 to his lips. 44 Most people have." 
 
 44 Oh, no," said Mr. Pinch, " not at all. Oh dear 
 no ! Well !" And then remembering that Mr. 
 Pecksniff h«d privately cautioned him to say no- 
 
 | thing in reference to the old gentleman of the 
 same name who had lodged at the Dragon, but to 
 reserve all mention of that person for him, lie had 
 no better means of hiding his confusion, than by 
 raising his own glass to his mouth. They looked 
 at each other out of their respective tumblers for a 
 few seconds, and then put them down empty. 
 
 44 1 told them in the stable to be ready for us ten 
 minutes ago," said Mr. Pinch, glancing at the 
 clock again. 44 Shall we go ?" 
 
 44 If you please," returned the other. 
 
 44 Would you like to drive ?" said Mr. Pinch ; 
 his whole face beaming with a consciousness of the 
 splendour of his offer. u You shall, if you wish." 
 
 44 Why, that depends, Mr. Pinch," said Martin, 
 laughing, "upon what sort of horse you have. 
 Because if he's a bad one, I would rather keep 
 my hands warm by holding them comfortably in 
 my great-coat pockets." 
 
 He appeared to think this such a good joke, 
 that Mr. Pinch was quite sure it must be a capital 
 one. Accordingly, he laughed too, and was fully 
 persuaded that he enjoyed it very much. Then 
 he settled his bill, and Mr. Chuzzlewit paid for the 
 punch ; and having wrapped themselves up, to the 
 extent of their respective means, they went out 
 together to the front door, where Mr. Pecksniff's 
 property stopped the way. 
 
 41 1 won't drive, thank you, Mr. Pinch," said 
 Martin, getting into the sitter's place. " By the 
 bye, there's a box of mine. Can we mauage to 
 take it?" 
 
 44 Oh, certainly," said Tom. " Put it in, Dick, 
 anywhere !" 
 
 It was not precisely of that convenient size 
 which would admit of its being squeezed into any 
 odd corner, but Dick the hostler got it in some- 
 how, and Mr. Chuzzlewit helped him. It was all 
 on Mr. Pinch's side, and Mr. Chuzzlewit said he 
 was very much afraid it would encumber him ; to 
 which Tom said, " Not at all ;" though it forced 
 him into such an awkward position, that be had 
 much ado to see anything but his own knees. But 
 it is an ill wind that blows nobody any g^>od ; and 
 the wisdom of the saying was verified in this in- 
 stance ; for the cold air came from Mr. Pinch's 
 Bide of the carriage, and by interposing a perfect 
 wall of box and man between it and the new 
 pupil, he shielded that young gentleman effec- 
 tually : which was a great comfort 
 
 It was a clear evening, with a bright moon. 
 The whole landscape was silvered by its light and 
 by the hoar-frost; and everything looked exqui- 
 sitely beautiful. At first, the great serenity ana 
 peace through which they travelled, disposed them 
 both to silence ; but in a very short time the punch 
 within them and the healthful air without made 
 them loquacious, and they talked incessantly. 
 When they were half-way home, and stopped to 
 give the horse some water, Martin (who was very 
 generous with his money) ordered another glass 
 of punch, which they drank between them, ana 
 which had not the effect of making them less oon 
 versational than before. Their principal topic of 
 discourse was naturally Mr. Pecksniff and his 
 family ; of whom, and of the great obligations they 
 had heaped upon him, Torn Pinch, with the tears 
 standing in his eyes, drew such a picture, as 
 would have inclined any one of common feeling 
 almost to revere them : and of which Mr. Peck- 
 
LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 sniff had not the slightest foresight or precon- 
 ceived idea, or he certainly (being very humble) 
 would not have sent Tom Pinch to bring the pupil 
 home. 
 
 In this way they went on, and on, and on — in 
 the language of the story-books — until at last the 
 village lights appeared before them, and the church 
 spire cast a long reflection on the grave-yard grass : 
 as if it w T ere a dial (alas, the truest in the world !) 
 marking, whatever light shone out of Heaven, the 
 flight of days and weeks and years, by some new 
 shadow on that solemn ground. 
 
 " A pretty church !" said Martin, observing that 
 his companion slackened the slack pace of the 
 horse, as they approached. 
 
 "Is it not?" cried Tom, with great pride. 
 There 's the sweetest little organ there you ever 
 heard. I play it for them." 
 
 "Indeed?" said Martin. "It is hardly worth 
 the trouble, I should think. What do you get for 
 that, now ?" 
 
 "Nothing," answered Tom. 
 
 " Well," returned nis friend, " you are a very 
 strange fellow !" 
 
 To which remark there succeeded a brief si- 
 lence. 
 
 " When I say nothing," observed Mr. Pinch, 
 cheerfully, " I am wrong, and don't say what I 
 mean, because I get a great deal of pleasure from 
 it, and the means of passing some of the happiest 
 hours I know. It led to something else the other 
 day — but you will not care to hear about that, I 
 dare say ?" 
 
 " Oh, yes, I shall. What?" 
 
 " It led to my seeing," said Tom, in a lower 
 voice, " one of the loveliest and most beautiful 
 faces you can possibly picture to yourself." 
 
 " And yet I am able to picture a beautiful one," 
 said his friend, thoughtfully, " or should be, if I 
 have any memory." 
 
 "She came," said Tom, laying his hand upon 
 the other's arm, " for the first time, very early in 
 the morning, when it was hardly light ; and when 
 I saw her, over my shoulder, standing just within 
 the porch, I turned quite cold, almost believing 
 her to be a spirit. A moment's reflection got the 
 better of that, of course, and fortunately it came to 
 my relief so soon, that I didn't leave off playing." 
 
 "Why fortunately?" 
 
 " Why ? Because she stood there, listening. 
 I had my spectacles on, and saw her through the 
 chinks in the curtains as plainly as I see you ; 
 and she was beautiful. After a while she glided 
 off, and I continued to play until she was out of 
 hearing." 
 
 " Why did you do that ?" 
 
 " Don't you see ?" responded Tom. " Because 
 she might suppose I hadn't seen her, and might 
 return." 
 
 " And did she ?" 
 
 " Certainly she did. Next morning, and next 
 evening, too : but always when there was no peo- 
 ple about, and always alone. I rose earlier and 
 sat there later, that when she came, she might 
 find the church door open, and the organ playing, 
 and might not be disappointed. She strolled that 
 way for some days, and always staid to listen. 
 But she is gone now, and of all unlikely things in 
 this wide world, it is perhaps the most improbable 
 that I shall ever look upon her face again." 
 
 " You don't know anything more about her ?" 
 
 " No." 
 
 " And you never followed her, when she went 
 away ?" 
 
 " Why should I distress her by doing that ?" 
 said Tom Pinch. " Is it likely that she wanted 
 my company ? She came to hear the organ, not 
 to see me ; and would you have had me scare her 
 from a place she seemed to grow quite fond of? 
 Now, Heaven bless her !" cried Tom, " to have 
 given her but a minute's pleasure every day, I 
 would have gone on playing the organ at those 
 times until I was an old man : quite contented if 
 she sometimes thought of a poor fellow like me, 
 as a part of the music; and more than recom- 
 pensed if she ever mixed me up with anything 
 she liked as well as she liked that !" 
 
 The new pupil was clearly very much amazed 
 by Mr. Pinch's weakness, and would probably 
 have told him so, and given him some good ad- 
 vice, but for their opportune arrival at Mr. Peck- 
 sniff's door : the front door this time, on account 
 of the occasion being one of ceremony and rejoic- 
 ing. The same man was in waiting for the horse 
 who had been adjured by Mr. Pinch in the morn- 
 ing not to yield to his rabid desire to start ; and 
 after delivering the animal into his. charge, and 
 beseeching Mr. Chuzzlewit in a whisper never to 
 reveal a syllable of what he had just told him in 
 the fulnecs of his heart, Tom led the pupil in, for 
 instant presentation. 
 
 Mr. Pecksniff had clearly not expected them for 
 hours to come : for he was surrounded by open 
 books, and was glancing from.. volume to volume, 
 with a black lead-peneil in his mouth, and a pair 
 of compasses in his hand, at a vast number of 
 mathematical diagrams, of such extraordinary 
 shapes that they looked like designs for fireworks. 
 Neither had Miss Charity expected them, for she 
 was busied, with a capacious wicker basket before 
 her, in making impracticable nightcaps for the 
 poor. Neither had Miss Mercy expected them, 
 for she was sitting upon her stool, tying on the — 
 oh, good gracious ! — the petticoat of a large doll 
 that she was dressing for a neighbour's child : 
 really, quite a grown-up doll, which made it more 
 confusing : and had its little bonnet dangling by 
 the riband from one of her fair curls, to which she 
 had fastened it, lest it should be lost, or sat upon. 
 It would be difficult, if not impossible, to conceive 
 a family so thoroughly taken by surprise as the 
 Pecksniffs were, on this occasion. 
 
 " Bless my life !" said Mr. Pecksniff, looking 
 up, and gradually exchanging his abstracted face 
 for one of joyful recognition. " Here already '. 
 Martin, my dear boy, I am delighted to welcome 
 you to my poor house !" 
 
 With this kind greeting, Mr. Pecksniff fairly 
 took him to his arms, and patted him several times 
 upon the back with his right hand the while, as 
 if to express that his feelings during the embrace 
 were too much for utterance. 
 
 " But here," he said, recovering, " are my daugh- 
 ters, Martin : my two only children, whom (if you 
 ever saw them) you have not beheld — ah, these 
 sad family divisions ! — since you were infants to- 
 gether. Nay, my dears, why blush at being de- 
 tected in your every-day pursuits ? We had pre- 
 pared to give you the reception of a visitor, Mar 
 tin, in our little room of state," said Mr. Peck- 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 
 
 sniff, smiling, " but I like thin better — I like this 
 better !" 
 
 Oh, blessed star of Innocence, wherever you 
 may be, how did you glitter in your home of 
 ether, when the two Miss Feckcmfft put forth, 
 each her lily hand, and gave the same, with 
 mantling checks, to Martin ! How did you 
 twinkle, as if fluttering with sympathy, when 
 Mercy, reminded of Vie bonnet in her hair, hid 
 her fair face and turned her head aside : the 
 while her gentle sister plucked it out, and sm<>t< 
 her, with a sister's soft reproof, upon her buxom 
 shoulder ! 
 
 44 And how," said Mr. Pecksniff, turning round 
 after the contemplation of these passages, and 
 taking Mr. Pinch in a friendly manner by the 
 elbow, 44 how has our friend here used you, Mar- 
 tin ?" 
 
 44 Very well, indeed, sir. We are on the best 
 terms, 1 assure you." 
 
 44 Old Tom Pinch !" said Mr. Pecksniff, looking 
 on him with affectionate sadness. 44 Ah I It seems 
 but yesterday that Thomas was a boy, fresh from 
 a scholastic course. Yet years have passed, I 
 think, since Thomas Pinch and I first walked 
 the world together !" 
 
 Mr. Pinch .could say nothing. He was too 
 much moved. But he pressed his master's hand, 
 and tried to thank him. 
 
 44 And Thomas Pinch and I," said Mr. Peck- 
 sniff, in a deeper voice, " will walk it yet, in 
 mutual faithfulness and friendship! And if it 
 corfies to pass that either of us be run over, in 
 any of those busy crossings which divide the 
 streets of life, the other will convey him to the 
 hospital in Hope, and sit beside his bed in 
 Bounty !" 
 
 44 Well, well, well !" he added, in a happier 
 tone, as he shook Mr. Pinch's elbow, hard. 44 No 
 more of this ! Martin, my dear friend, that you 
 may be at home within these walls, let me show 
 you how we live, and where. Come !" * 
 
 With that he took up a lighted candle, and, 
 attended by his young relative, prepared to leave 
 the room. At the door, he stopped. , 
 
 44 You 'II bear us company, Tom Pinch ?" 
 
 Ay, cheerfully, though it had been to death, 
 would Tom have followed him : glad to lay down 
 his life for such a man ! 
 
 44 This," said Mr. Pecksniff, opening the door 
 of an opposite parlour, 44 is the little room of state, 
 I mentioned to you. My girls have pride in it, 
 Martin ! This," opening another door, 44 is the 
 little chamber in which my works (slight things 
 at best) have been concocted. Portrait of my- 
 self by Spiller. Bust by Spokcr. The latter is 
 considered a good likeness. I seem to recogriise 
 something about the left-hand corner of the nose, 
 myself." 
 
 Martin thought it was very like, but scarcely 
 intellectual enough. Mr. Pecksniff observed that 
 the same fault had been found with it before. It 
 was remarkable it should have struck his young 
 relution too. He was glad to see he had an eye 
 for art. 
 
 44 Various books you observe,'* said Mr. Peck- 
 sniff, waving his hand towards the wall, "con- 
 nected with our pursuit I have scribbled my- 
 self, bat have not yet published. Be careful how 
 you come up stairs. This," opening another 
 door, 44 is my chamber. I read here when the 
 
 family suppose I have retired to rest Sometimes 
 I injure my health, rather more than I can quite 
 jusijfy to myself, by doing so; but art is long 
 and time is short Every facility you see for 
 jotting down crude notions, even m 
 
 These latter words were explained by his point* 
 ing to a small round table on which were a lamp, 
 divers sheets of paper, a piece of India-rubber, 
 and a case of instruments : all put ready, in case 
 an architectural idea should come into Mr. Peck- 
 sniffs head in the night ; in which event he would 
 instantly leap out of bed, and fix it for ever. 
 
 Mr. Pecksniff opened another door on the same 
 floor, and shut it again, all at once, as if it were 
 a Blue Chamber. But before he had well done 
 so, he looked smilingly round, and said, " Why 
 not?" 
 
 Martin couldn't say why not because he didn't 
 know anything at all about it So Mr. Pecksniff 
 answered himself, by throwing open the door, and 
 saying: 
 
 44 My daughters' room. A poor firstfloor to 
 us, but a bower to them. Very neat Very airy. 
 Plants you observe ; hyacinths ; books again ; 
 birds." These birds, by the bye, comprised in 
 all one staggering old sparrow without a tail, 
 which had been borrowed expressly from the 
 kitchen. "Such trifles as girls love, are here. 
 Nothing more. Those who seek heartless splen- 
 dour, would seek here in vain." 
 
 With that he led them to the floor above. 
 
 44 This," said Mr. Pecksniff, throwing wide the 
 door of the memorable two-pair front ; u is a room 
 where some talent has been developed, I believe. 
 This is a room in which an idea for a steeple 
 occurred to me, that I may one day give to the 
 world. We work here, my dear Martin. Some 
 architects have been bred in this room : — a few, 
 I think, Mr. Pinch?" 
 
 Tom fully assented ; and, what is more, fully 
 believed it. 
 
 44 You see," said Mr. Pecksniff, passing tlio 
 candle rapidly from roll to roll of paper, 4 ' some 
 traces of our doings here. Salisbury Cathedral 
 from the north. From the south. ' From the east. 
 From the West From the south-east. From the 
 nor'-west • A bridge. An alms-house. A jail. 
 A church. A powder-magrfzine. A wine.cellar. 
 A ]x>rtico. A summer-house. An ice-house. 
 Plans, elevations, sections, every kind of thin<*. 
 And this," he added, having by this time reached 
 another large' chamber on the same story with 
 four little beds in it, 44 this is your ruom,-uf which 
 Mr. Pinch here, is the quiet sharer. A southern 
 aspect ; a charming prospect ; Mr. Pincn's little 
 library, you perceive ; everything agreeable and 
 appropriate. If there is any additional comfort 
 you would tlcsire to have here at any time, pray 
 mention it Even to strangers — fur less to you, 
 my dear Martin — there is no restriction on that 
 point." 
 
 It was undoubtedly true, and may be stated in 
 corroboration of Mr. Pecksniff, that any pupil 
 had the most liberal permission to mention any- 
 thing in this way that suggested itself to hi» 
 fancy. Some young gentlemen had gone on men 
 UoDUig the very same thing for five years without 
 ever being stopped. 
 
 "The domestic assistants" said Mr. Peck 
 sniff, " sleep above ; and that is all." After which 
 and listening complacently as he went to the en. 
 
40 
 
 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 comiums passed by his young friend on the ar- 
 rangements generally, he led the way to the 
 parlour again. 
 
 Here a great change had taken place ; for fes- 
 tive preparations on a rather extensive scale were 
 already completed, and the two Miss Pecksniffs 
 were awaiting their return with hospitable looks. 
 There were two bottles of currant wine — white 
 and red ; a dish of sandwiches (very long and very 
 slim) ; another of apples ; another of captains' 
 biscuits (which are always a moist and jovial sort 
 of viand) ; a plate of oranges cut up small and 
 gritty ; with powdered sugar, and a highly geolo- 
 gical home-made cake. The magnitude of these 
 preparations quite took away Tom Pinch's breath : 
 for though the new pupils were usually let down 
 softly, as one may say, particularly in the wine 
 department, which had so many stages of declen- 
 sion, that sometimes a young gentleman was a 
 whole fortnight in getting to the pump; still this 
 was a banquet : a sort of Lord Mayor's feast in 
 private life : a something to think of, and hold on 
 by, afterwards. 
 
 To this entertainment, which, apart from its 
 own intrinsic merits, had the additional choice 
 quality that it was in strict keeping with the night, 
 being both light and cool, Mr. Pecksniff besought 
 the company to do full justice. 
 
 " Martin," he said, " will seat himself between 
 you two, my dears, and Mr. Pinch will come by 
 me. Let us drink to our new inmate, and may 
 we be happy together ! Martin, my dear friend, 
 my love to you ! Mr. Pinch, if you spare the 
 bottle we shall quarrel." 
 
 And trying (in his regard for the feelings of 
 the rest) to look as if the wine were not acid and 
 didn't make him wink, Mr. Pecksniff did honour 
 to his own toast. 
 
 "This," he said, in allusion to the party, not 
 the wine, " is a mingling that repays one for much 
 disappointment and vexation. Let us be merry." 
 Here he took a captain's biscuit. " It is a poor 
 heart that never rejoices ; and our hearts are not 
 poor ? No !" 
 
 With such stimulants to merriment did he be- 
 guile the time, and do the honours of the table ; 
 while Mr. Pinch, perhaps to assure himself that 
 what he saw and heard was holiday reality, and 
 not a charming dream, ate of everything, and in 
 particular disposed of the slim sandwiches to a 
 surprising extent. Nor was he stinted in his 
 draughts of wine ; but on the contrary, remem- 
 bering Mr. Pecksniff's speech, attacked the bottle 
 with such vigour, that every time he filled his glass 
 anew, Miss Charity, despite her amiable resolves, 
 could not repress a fixed and stony glare, as if her 
 eyes had rested on a ghost. Mr. Pecksniff also 
 became thoughtful at those moments, not to say 
 dejected : but, as he knew the vintage, it is very 
 likely he may have been speculating on the proba- 
 ble condition of Mr. Pinch upon the morrow, and 
 discussing within himself the best remedies for 
 colic. 
 
 Martin and the young ladies were excellent 
 friends already, and compared recollections of 
 cheir childish days, to their mutual liveliness and 
 entertainment. Miss Mercy laughed immensely 
 at everything that was said ; and sometimes, after 
 glancing at the happy face of Mr. Pinch, was 
 seized with such fits of mirth as brought her to 
 vhe very confines of hysterics. But, for these 
 
 bursts of gaiety, her sister, in her better sense, 
 reproved her; observing, in an angry whisper, 
 that it was far from being a theme for jest; and 
 that she had no patience with the creature ; though 
 it generally ended in her laughing too — but much 
 more moderately — and saying, that indeed it was 
 a little too ridiculous and intolerable to be serious 
 about. 
 
 At length it became high time to remember the 
 first clause of that great discovery made by the 
 ancient philosopher, for securing health, riches, 
 and wisdom ; the infallibility of which has been 
 for generations verified by the enormous fortunes, 
 constantly amassed by chimney-sweepers and 
 other persons who get up early and go to bed be- 
 times. The young ladies accordingly rose, and 
 having taken leave of Mr. Chuzzlewit with much 
 sweetness, and of their father with much duty, 
 and of Mr. Pinch with much condescension, re- 
 tired to their bower. Mr. Pecksniff insisted on 
 accompanying his young friend up-stairs, for per 
 sonal superintendence of his comforts; and taking 
 him by the arm, conducted him once more to his 
 bedroom, followed by Mr. Pinch, who bore the 
 light. 
 
 " Mr. Pinch," said Pecksniff, seating himself 
 with folded arms on one of the spare beds. " I 
 don't see any snuffers in that candlestick, will 
 you oblige me by going down, and asking for a 
 pair?" 
 
 Mr. Pinch, only too happy to be useful, went 
 off directly. 
 
 " You will excuse Thomas Pinch's want of pol 
 ish, Martin," said Mr. Pecksniff, with a smile of 
 patronage and pity, as soon as he had left the 
 room. " He means well." 
 
 " He is a very good fellow, sir." 
 
 " Oh, yes," said Mr. Pecksniff. " Yes. Tho- 
 mas Pinch means well. He is very grateful. I 
 have never regretted having befriended Thomas 
 Pinch." 
 
 '' I should think you never would, sir." 
 
 "No," said Mr. Pecksniff. "No. I hope- not. 
 Poor fellow, he is always disposed to do his best ; 
 but he is not gifted. You will make him useful 
 to you, Martin, if you please. If Thomas has a 
 fault, it is that he is sometimes a little apt to for- 
 get his position. But that is soon checked. Wor> 
 thy soul ! You will find him easy to manage. 
 Goodnight!" 
 
 " Good night, sir." 
 
 By this time Mr. Pinch had returned with the 
 snuffers. 
 
 "And good night to you, Mr. Pinch," said 
 Pecksniff. " And sound sleep to you both. Bless 
 you ! Bless you !" 
 
 Invoking this benediction on the heads of his 
 young friends with great fervour, he withdrew to 
 his own room ; while they, being tired, soon fell 
 asleep. If Martin dreamed at all, some, clue to 
 the matter of his visions may possibly be gathered 
 from the after-pages of this history. Those of 
 Thomas Pinch were all of holidays, church or. 
 gans, and seraphic Pecksniffs. It was some time 
 before Mr. Pecksniff dreamed at all, or even 
 sought his pillow, as he sat for full two hours be- 
 fore the fire in his own chamber, looking at the 
 coals and thinking deeply. But he, too, slept and 
 dreamed at last. Thus in the quiet hours of the 
 night, one house shuts in as many incoherent and 
 incongruous fancies as a madman's head. 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEVVIT. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 COMPRISES, AMONG OTHER IMPORTANT MATTERS, PECKSNIFFIAN AND 
 ARCHITECTURAL, AN EXACT RELATION OF THE PROGRESS MADE BY 
 MR. PINCH IN THE CONFIDENCE AND FRIENDSHIP OF THE NEW PUPIL, 
 
 It was morning; and the beautiful Aurora, of 
 whom so orach hath been written, said, and sung, 
 did, with her rosy fingers, nip and tweak Miss 
 Pecksniff's nose. It was the frolicksomc custom 
 of the Goddess, in her intercourse with the fair 
 Cherry, so to do; or in more prosaic phrase, the 
 tip of that feature in the sweet girl's countenance, 
 was always very red at breakfast-time. For the 
 most part, indeed, it wore, at that season of the 
 day, a scraped and frosty look, as if it had been 
 rasped ; while a similar phenomenon developed ! 
 itself in her humour, which was then observed to ! 
 be of a sharp and acid quality, a? though an extra 
 lemon (figuratively speaking) had been squeezed 
 into the nectar of her disposition, and had rather 
 damaged its flavour. 
 
 This additional pungency on the part of the 
 firlr young creature led, on ordinary occasions, to 
 such slight consequences as the copious dilution 
 of Mr. Pinch's tea, or to his coming off uncom- 
 monly short in respect of butter, or to other the 
 like results. But on the morning after the Instal- 
 lation Banquet, she suffered him to wander to and 
 fro among the eatables and drinkables, a perfectly 
 free and unchecked man ; so utterly to Mr. Pinch's 
 wonder and confusion, that like the wretched cap- 
 tive who recovered his liberty in his old age, he 
 could make but little use of his enlargement, and 
 fell into a strange kind of flutter for want of some 
 kind hand to scrape his bread, and cut him off in 
 the article of sugar with a lump, and pay him 
 those other little attentions to which he was accus- 
 tomed. There was something almost awful, too, 
 about the self-possession of the new pupil ; who 
 14 troubled" Mr. Pecksniff for the loaf, and helped 
 himself to a rasher of that gentleman's own par- 
 ticular and private bacon, with all the coolness in 
 life. He even seemed to think that he was doing 
 quite a regular thing, and to expect that Mt. 
 Pinch would follow his example, since he took 
 occasion to observe of that young man " that lie 
 didn't get on :" a speech of so tremendous a cha- 
 racter, that Tom cast down his eyes involuntarily, 
 and felt as if he himself had committed some hor- 
 rible deed and heinous breach of Mr. Pecksniffs 
 confidence. Indeed, the agony of having such an 
 indiscreet remark addressed to him before the 
 assembled family, was breakfast enough in itself 
 and would, without anyjother matter of reflection, 
 have settled Mr. Pinch's business and quenched 
 his appetite, for one meal, though he had been 
 never so hungry. 
 
 The young ladies, however, and Mr. Pecksniff 
 likewise, remained in the very best of spirits in 
 spite of these severe trials, though with something 
 of a Mysterious understanding among themselves. 
 When the meal was nearly over, Mr. Pecksniff 
 ■tniUngly explained tho cause of their common 
 satisfaction. 
 
 44 It is nut often," he said, w Martin, that my 
 daughters and I desert our quiet home to pursue 
 the giddy round of pleasures that revolves abroad. 
 But we think of doing so to-day." 
 
 44 Indeed, sir I" cried the new pupiL 
 6 
 
 44 Yes," said Mr. Pecksniff, tapping his left 
 hand with a letter which he held in his right 44 1 
 have a summons here to repair to London ; on 
 professional business, my dear Martin ; strictly on 
 professional business ; and I promised my girls, 
 long ago, that whenever that hap|>cned again, they 
 should accompany me. We shall go forth to- 
 night by the heavy coach — like the dove of old, 
 my dear Martin — and it will be a week before we 
 again deposit our olive-branches in the passage. 
 When I say olive-branches," observed Mr. Peck- 
 sniff, in explanation, 44 1 mean, our unpretending 
 luggage." 
 
 44 1 hope the young ladies will enjoy their trip," 
 said Martin. 
 
 44 Oh ! that I 'm sure we shall !" cried Mercy, 
 clapping her hands. 44 Good gracious, Cherry, my 
 darling, the idea of London !" 
 
 44 Ardent child !" said Mr. Pecksniff, gazing on 
 her in a dreamy way. "And yet there is a me- 
 lancholy sweetness in these youthful hopes ! It 
 is pleasant to know that they never can be realised. 
 I remember thinking once myself, in the days of 
 my childhood, that pickled onions grew on trees, 
 and thattevery elephant was born with an impreg- 
 nable castle on his back. I have not found the 
 fact to be so ; far from it ; and yot those visions 
 have comforted me under circumstances of trial. 
 Even when I have had the anguish of discovering 
 that I have nourished in my breast an ostrich, and 
 not a human pupil — even in that hour of agony, 
 they have soothed me." 
 
 At this dread allusion to John Westlock, Mr. 
 Pincli precipitately choked in his tea; for he had 
 that very morning received a letter from him, as 
 Mr. Pecksniff very well knew. 
 
 44 You will take care, my dear Martin," said 
 Mr. Pecksniff, resuming his former cheerfulness, 
 44 that the house does not run away in our absence. 
 We leave you in charge of everything. There is 
 no mystery; all is free and open. Unlike the 
 young man in the Eastern tale — who is described 
 as a one-eyed almanack, if I am not mistaken. 
 Mr. Pinch?" — 
 
 44 A one-eyed calender, I think, sir," faltered Tom. 
 
 44 They are pretty nearly the same thing, I be- 
 lieve," said Mr. Pecksniff, smiling compassion- 
 ately ; 44 or they used to be in my time. Unlike 
 tfiat young man, my dear Martin, you arc forbid- 
 den to enter no corner of this house ; but are re- 
 quested to make yourself perfectly at home in 
 every part of it. You will be jovial, my dear 
 Martin, and will kill the fatted calf if you please !" 
 
 There was not the least objection, doubtless, to 
 tho young man's slaughtering and appropriating 
 to his own use any calf, fat or lean, that he might 
 happen to find upon the premises ; but as no such 
 animal chanced at that time to be grazing on Mr 
 Pecksniff's estate, this request must be considered 
 rather as a polite compliment than a substantial 
 hospitality. It was the finishing ornament of the 
 conversation ; for when he had delivered it, Mr 
 Pecksniff rose, and led the way to that hotbed of 
 architectural genius, the two-pair front 
 
 D* 
 
42 
 
 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 " Let me sec," he said, searching- among- the 
 papers, " how you can best employ yourself, Mar- 
 tin, while I am absent. Suppose you were to 
 give me your idea of a monument to a Lord Mayor 
 of London ; or a tomb for a sheriff; or your notion 
 of a cow-house to be erected in a nobleman's park. 
 Do you know, now," said Mr. Pecksniff, folding 
 his hands, and looking at his young relation with 
 an air of pensive interest, " that I should very 
 much like to see your notion of a cow-house?" 
 
 But Martin by no means appeared to relish this 
 suggestion. 
 
 " A pump," said Mr. Pecksniff, " is very chaste 
 practice. I have found that a lamp-post is calcu- 
 lated to refine the mind and give it a classical 
 tendency. An ornamental turnpike has a remark- 
 able effect upon the imagination. What do you 
 say to beginning with an ornamental turnpike?" 
 
 " Whatever Mr. Pecksniff pleased," said Mar- 
 tin, doubtfully. 
 
 "Stay," said that gentleman. "Come! as 
 you're ambitious, and are a very neat draughts- 
 man, you shall — ha ha ! — you shall try your hand 
 on these proposals for a grammar-school : regu- 
 lating your plan, of course, by the printed parti- 
 culars Upon my word, now," said Mr. Pecksniff, 
 merrily, " I shall be very curious to see what you 
 make of the grammar-school. Who knows but a 
 young man of your taste might hit upon some- 
 thing impracticable and unlikely in itself, but 
 which T could put into shape ? For it really is, my 
 dear Martin, it really is in the finishing touches 
 alone, that great experience and long study in 
 these matters .tell. Ha, ha, ha ! New it really 
 will be," continued Mr. Pecksniff, clapping his 
 young friend on the back in his droll humour, 
 " an amusement to me, to see what you make of 
 the grammar-school." 
 
 Martin readily undertook this task, and Mr. 
 Pecksniff forthwith proceeded to entrust him with 
 the materials necessary for its execution : dwelling 
 meanwhile on the magical effect of a few finishing 
 touches from the hand of a master ; which, indeed, 
 as some people said, (and these were the old ene- 
 mies again !) was unquestionably very surprising, 
 and almost miraculous; as there were cases on 
 record in which the masterly introduction of an 
 additional back window, or a kitchen door, or 
 half-a-dozen steps, or even a water-spout, had 
 made the design of a pupil Mr. Pecksniff's own 
 work, and had brought substantial rewards into 
 that gentleman's pocket. But such is the magic 
 of genius, which changes all it handles into gold ! 
 
 " When your mind requires to be refreshed, by 
 change of occupation," said Mr. Pecksniff, " Tho- 
 mas Pinch will instruct you in the art of survey- 
 ing the back garden, or in ascertaining the dead 
 level of the road between this house and the finger- 
 post, or in any other practical and pleasing pur- 
 suit There are a cart-load of loose bricks, and a 
 score or two of old flower-pots, in the back yard. 
 If you could pile them up, my dear Martin, into 
 any form which would remind me on my return — 
 Eay of St. Peter's at Rome, or the Mosque of St. 
 Sophia at Constantinople — it would be at once 
 improving to you and agreeable to my feelings. 
 And now," said Mr. Pecksniff, in conclusion, "to 
 drop, for the present, our professional relations, 
 and a'dvert to private matters, I shall be glad to 
 talk with you in my own room, while I pack up 
 my portmanteau." 
 
 Martin attended him ; and they remained in 
 secret conference together for an hour or more ; 
 leaving Tom Pinch alone. When the young man 
 returned, he was very taciturn and dull, in which 
 state he remained all day ; so that Tom, after 
 trying him once or twice with indifferent conver- 
 sation, felt a delicacy in obtruding himself upon 
 his thoughts, and said no more. 
 
 He would not have had leisure to say much, 
 had his new friend been ever so loquacious : for 
 first of all Mr. Pecksniff called him down to 
 stand upon the top of his portmanteau and repre- 
 sent ancient statues there, until such time as it 
 would consent to be locked ; and then Miss Cha- 
 rity called him to come and cord her trunk j and 
 then Miss Mercy sent for him to come and mend 
 her box; and then he wrote the fullest possible 
 cards for all the luggage ; and then he volunteered 
 to carry it all down stairs ; and after that to see it 
 safely carried on a couple of barrows to the old 
 finger-post at the end of the lane ; and then to 
 mind it till the coach came up. In short, his 
 day's work would have been a pretty heavy one 
 for a porter, but his thorough good-will made no- 
 thing of it : and as he sat upon the luggage at 
 last, waiting for the Pecksniffs, escorted by the 
 new pupil, to come down the lane, his heart was 
 light with the hope of having pleased Ins bene- 
 factor. 
 
 " I was almost afraid," said Tom, taking a letter 
 from his pocket, and wiping his face, for he was 
 hot with bustling about though it was a cold day, 
 " that I shouldn't have had time to write it, and 
 that would have been a thousand pities : postage 
 from such a distance being a serious considera- 
 tion, when one's not rich. She will be glad to see 
 my hand, poor girl, and to hear that Pecksniff is 
 as kind as ever. I would have asked John West- 
 lock to call and see her, and tell her all about me 
 by word of mouth, but I was afraid he might 
 speak against Pecksniff to her, and make her un- 
 easy. Besides, they are particular people where 
 she is, and it might have rendered her situation 
 uncomfortable if she had had a visit from a young 
 man like John. Poor Ruth !" 
 
 Tom Pinch seemed a little disposed to be me- 
 lancholy for half a minute or so, but he found 
 comfort very soon, and pursued his ruminations 
 thus : 
 
 " I'm a nice man, I don't think, as John used 
 to say (John was a kind, merry-hearted fellow : I 
 wish he had liked Pecksniff better) to be feeling 
 low, on account of the distance between us, when 
 I ought to be thinking, instead, of my extraordi- 
 nary good-luck in having ever got here. I must 
 have been born with a silver spoon in my mouth, 
 I am sure, to have ever come across Pecksniff. 
 And here have I fallen again into my usual good- 
 luck with the new pupil ! Such an affable, gener- 
 ous, free fellow, as he is, I never saw. Why, we 
 were companions directly! and he a relation of 
 Pecksniff's too, and a clever, dashing youth who 
 might cut his way through the world as if it were 
 a cheese ! Here he comes while the words are on 
 my lips," said Tom : " walking down the lane as 
 if the lane belonged to him." 
 
 In truth, the new pupil, not at all disconcerted 
 by the honour of having Miss Mercy Pecksniff on 
 his arm, or by the affectionate adieux of that young 
 lady, approached as Mr. Pinch spoke, followed by 
 Miss Charity and Mr. Pecksniff. As the coach 
 
MARTIN CIIUZZLEWIT. 
 
 appeared at the same moment, Tom lost no time 
 in entreating the gentleman last mentioned to 
 undertake the defiverj of his letter, 
 
 "Oh!" said Mr. Pecksniff, glancing at the 
 superscription. " For your sister, Thomas. Yes, 
 oh yes, it shall be delivered, Mr. Pinch. Make 
 your mind easy upon that score. She shall 
 certainly have it, Mr. Pinch." 
 
 He made the promise with so much condescen- 
 sion and patronage, that Tom felt he had asked a 
 great deal (this had not occurred to his mind be- 
 fore), and thanked him earnestly. The Miss 
 Pecksniffs, according to a custom they had, were 
 amused beyond description, at the mention of Mr. 
 Pinch's sister. Oh, the fright ! The bare idea 
 of a Miss Pinch ! Good heavens ! 
 
 Tom was greatly pleased to see them so merry, 
 for he took it as a token of their favour and good- 
 humoured regard. Therefore he laughed too and 
 rubbed his hands, and wished them a pleasant 
 journey and safe return, and was quite brislc. 
 Even when the coach had rolled away with the 
 olive-branches in the boot and the family of doves 
 inside, he stood waving his hand and bowing : so 
 much gratified by the unusually courteous de- 
 meanour of thd young ladies, that he was quite 
 regardless, for the moment, of Martin Chuzzlewit, 
 who stood leaning thoughtfully against the finger- 
 post, and who, after disposing of his fair charge, 
 had hardly lifted his eyes from the ground. 
 
 The perfect silence whfch ensued upon the 
 bustle and departure of the coach, together with 
 the sharp air of the wintry afternoon, roused 
 them both at the same time. They turned, as by 
 mutual consent, and moved off, arm-in-arm. 
 
 " How melancholy you are !" said Tom ; " what 
 is the matter ?" 
 
 "Nothing worth speaking of," said Martin. 
 44 Very little more than was the matter yesterday, 
 and much more, I hope, than will be the matter 
 to-morrow. I 'm out of spirits, Pinch." 
 
 " Well," cried Tom, " now do you know I am 
 4n capifal spirits to-day, and scarcely ever' felt 
 more disposed to be good company. It was a 
 very kind thing in your predecessor, John, to 
 write to me, was it not ?" 
 
 " Why, yes," said Martin, carelessly : " I should 
 have thought he would have had enough to do to 
 enjoy himself, without thinking of you, Pinch." 
 
 " Just what I felt to be so very likely," Tom 
 
 rejoined : " but no, he keeps his word, and says, 
 
 * My dear Pinch, I often think of you,' and all 
 
 sorts of kind and considerate things of that de- 
 
 r bcription." 
 
 Be niu^t be a devilish good-natured fellow," 
 said Martin, somewhat peevishly: "because he 
 can't mean that, you know." 
 
 " I don't suppose he can, ch ?" said Tom, look- 
 ing wistfully in his companion's face. " He says 
 so to please me, you think ?" 
 
 " Why, is it likely," rejoined Martin, with 
 greater earnestness, " that a young man newly- 
 escaped from this kennel of a place, and fresh to 
 all the delights of being his own master in Lon- 
 don, can have much leisure or inclination to think 
 favourably of anything or anybody he has left be- 
 hind him here? I put it to you, Pinch, is it natural?" 
 
 After a short reflection, Mr. Pinch replied, in a 
 more subdued tone, that to be sure it was unrea- 
 sonable to expect any such' thing, and that he had 
 no doubt Martin knew best 
 
 ** Of course I know best," Martin observed. 
 
 " Yes, I fee! that," said Mr. Pinch, mildly. « I 
 said so." And when he had made this rejoinder, 
 they fell into a blank silence again, which lasted un- 
 til they reached home : by which time it was dark. 
 
 Now, Miss Charity Pecksniff, in consideration 
 of the inconvenience of carrying them with her 
 in the coach, and the impossibility of preserving 
 them by artificial means until the family's return, 
 had set forth, in a couple of plates, the fragments 
 of yesterday's feast. In virtue of which liberal 
 arrangement, they had the happiness to find 
 awaiting them in the parlour, two chaotic heaps 
 of the remains of last night's pleasure, consisting 
 of certain filmy bits of oranges, some mummied 
 sandwiches, various disrupted masses of the geo- 
 logical cake, and several entire captain's biscuits. 
 That choice liquor in which to steep these dainties 
 might not be wanting, the remains of the two 
 bottles of currant-wine had been poured together 
 and corked with a curl-paper ; so that every ma- 
 terial was at hand for making quite a heavy night 
 of it. 
 
 Martin Chuzzlewit beheld these roystering pre- 
 parations with infinite contempt, and stirring the 
 fire into a blaze (to the great destruction of Mr. 
 Pecksniff's coals), sat moodily down before it, in 
 the most comfortable chair he could find. That 
 he might the better squeeze himself into the 
 small corner that was left for him, Mr. Pinch took 
 up his position 6n Miss Mercy Pecksniff's stool, 
 and setting his glass down upon the hearth-rug 
 and putting his plate upon his knees, \0gan to 
 enjoy himself. 
 
 If Diogenes coming to life again could have 
 rolled himself, tub and all, into Mr. Pecksniff's 
 parlour, and could have seen Tom Pinch as he 
 sat on Mercy Pecksniff's stool, with his plute and 
 glass before him, he could not have faced it out, 
 though in his surliest mood, but must have smiled 
 good-temperedly. The perfect and entire' satis- 
 faction of Tom; his surpassing appreciation of 
 the husky sandwiches, which crumbled in his 
 mouth like sawdust ; the unspeakable rcl. 
 which he swallowed the thin wine by drops, and 
 smacked his lips, as though it were so rich and 
 generous that to lose an atom of its fruit) - tlavour 
 were a sin ; the look with which he paused some- 
 times, with his glass in his hand, proposing silent 
 toasts to himself; and the anxious shadcthat 
 came upon his contented face when after wander- 
 ing round the room, exulting in its uninvaded 
 snugness, his glance encountered the dull brow 
 of his companion ; no cynic in the world, though 
 in his hatred of its men a very grilHn, could have 
 withstood these things in Thomas Pinch. 
 
 Some men would have slapped him on the back 
 and pledged him in a bumper of the currant-wine, 
 though it had been the sharpest vinegar — ay, and 
 liked its flavour too; some would have seized him 
 by his honest hand, and thanked him for the lesson 
 that his simple nature taught them. Some would 
 have laughed with, and others would have laughed 
 at him ; of which hisUclass was Martin Chuzzle- 
 wit, who, unable to restrain himself at last 
 laughed loud and long. 
 
 " That's right," said Tom, nodding approving 
 ly. " Cheer up ! That 's capital !" 
 
 At which encouragement, young Martin 
 laughed again; and said, as soon as he had 
 breath and gravity enough : 
 
44 
 
 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 14 1 never saw such a fellow as you are, Pinch." 
 
 " Didn't you though ?" said Tom. " Well, it 's 
 very likely you do find me strange, because I 
 have hardly seen anything of the world, and you 
 have seen a good deal I dare say ?" 
 
 " Pretty well for my time of life," rejoined Mar- 
 tin, drawing his chair still nearer to the fire, and 
 spreading his feet out on the fender. "Deuce 
 take it, I must talk openly to somebody. I '11 
 talk openly to you, Pinch." 
 
 " Do !" said Tom. " I shall take it as being 
 very friendly of you." 
 
 " I 'm not in your way, am I ?" inquired Mar- 
 tin, glancing down at Mr. Pinch, who was by this 
 time looking at the fire over his leg. 
 
 M Not at all !" cried Tom. 
 
 " You must know then, to make short of a long 
 story," said Martin, beginning with a kind of ef- 
 fort, as if the revelation were not agreeable to 
 him : "that I have been bred up from childhood 
 with great expectations, and have always been 
 taught to believe that I should be, one day, very 
 rich. So I should have been, but for certain brief 
 reasons which I am going to tell you, and which 
 have led to my being disinherited." 
 
 " By your father ?" inquired Mr. Pinch, with 
 open eyes. 
 
 M By my grandfather. I have had no parents 
 these many years. Scarcely within my remem- 
 brance." 
 
 " Neither have I," said Tom, touching the 
 young man's hand with his own and timidly 
 withdrawing it again. " Dear me !" 
 
 « Why as to that you know, Pinch," pursued 
 the other, stirring the fire again, and speaking in 
 his rapid, ofT-hand way : " it 's all very right and 
 proper to be fond of parents when we have them, 
 and to bear them in remembrance after they 're 
 dead, if you have ever known anything of them. 
 But as I never did know anything about mine 
 personally, you know, I can't be expected to be 
 very sentimental about 'em. And I am not: 
 that 's the truth." 
 
 Mr. Pinch was just then looking thoughtfully 
 at the bars. But on his companion pausing in 
 this place, he started, and said " Oh ! of course" — 
 and composed himself to listen again. 
 
 " In a word," said Martin, " I have been bred 
 and reared all my life by this grandfather of whom 
 I have just spoken. Now, he has a great many 
 good points; there is no doubt about that; I'll 
 not disguise the fact from you ; but he has two 
 very great faults, which are the staple of his bad 
 side. In the first place, he has the most confirmed 
 obstinacy of character you ever met with in any 
 human creature. In the second, he is most abo- 
 minably selfish." 
 
 " Is he indeed ?" cried Tom. 
 
 " In those two respects," returned the other, 
 " there never was such a man. I have often heard 
 from those w r ho know, that they have been, time 
 out of mind, the failings of our family; and I he- 
 Sieve there 's some truth in it. But I can't say of 
 my own knowledge. All J hg,ve to do, you know, 
 is to be very thankful that they haven't descended 
 to me, and to be very careful that I don't contract 
 'em." 
 
 " To be sure" said Mr. Pinch. "Very proper." 
 
 "' Well, sir," resumed Martin, stirring the fire 
 t.iice more, and drawing his chair still closer to 
 't, "his selfishness makes him exacting, you see ; 
 
 and his obstinacy makes him resolute in his ex. 
 actions. ,The consequence is that he has always 
 exacted a great deal from me in the way of re- 
 spect, and submission, and self-denial when his 
 wishes were in question, and so forth. I have 
 borne a great deal from him, because I have been 
 under obligations to him (if one can ever be said 
 to be under obligations to one's own grandfather), 
 and because I have been really attached to him ; 
 but we have had a great many quarrels for all 
 that, for I could not accommodate myself to his 
 ways very often — not out of the least reference to 
 
 myself you understand, but because " he 
 
 stammered here, and was rather at a loss. 
 
 Mr. Pinch being about the worst man in the 
 world to help anybody out of a difficulty of this 
 sort, said nothing. 
 
 " Well ! as you understand me," resumed Mar- 
 tin quickly, " I needn't hunt for the precise ex. 
 pression I want. Now, I come to the cream of 
 my story, and the occasion of my being here. I 
 am in love, Pinch." 
 
 Mr. Pinch looked up into his face with in- 
 creased interest. 
 
 " I say I am in love. I am in love with one of 
 the most beautiful girls the sun e.ver shone upon. 
 But she is wholly and entirely dependent upon 
 the pleasure of my grandfather ; and if he were 
 to know that she favoured my passion, she would 
 lose her home and everything she possesses in the 
 world. There is nothing very selfish in that love, 
 I think ?" 
 
 " Selfish !" cried Tom. " You have acted 
 nobly. To love her as I am sure you do, and yet 
 in consideration for her state of dependence, not 
 even to disclose " 
 
 " What are you talking about, Pinch ?" said 
 Martin pettishly : " don't make yourself ridicu- 
 lous, my good fellow ! What do you mean by not 
 disclosing ?" 
 
 " I beg pardon," answered Tom. " I thought 
 you meant that, or I wouldn't have said it." 
 
 u If I didn't tell her I loved her, where would 
 be the use of my being in love ?" said Martin : 
 " unless to keep myself in a perpetual state of 
 worry and vexation ?" 
 
 " That 's true," Tom answered. " Well ! I can 
 guess what she said when you told her ?" he 
 added, glancing at Martin's handsome face. 
 
 " Why, not exactly, Pinch," he rejoined, with 
 a slight frown : " because she has some girlish 
 notions about duty and gratitude, and all the rest 
 of it, which are rather hard to fathom ; but in the 
 main you are right. Her heart was mine, I found." 
 
 "Just what I supposed," said Tom. "Quite 
 natural !" and, in his great satisfaction, he took a 
 long sip out of his wine-glass. 
 
 " Although I had conducted myself from the 
 first with the utmost circumspection," pursued 
 Martin, " I had not managed matters so well but 
 that my grandfather, who is full of jealousy and 
 distrust, suspected me of loving her. He said 
 nothing to her, but straightway attacked me in 
 private, and charged me with designing to cor ^ 
 rupt the fidelity to himself (there you observe his 
 selfishness), of a young creature whom he had 
 trained and educated to be his only disinterested 
 and faithful companion when he should have dis 
 posed of me in marriage to his heart's content 
 Upon that, I took fire immediately, and told him 
 that with his good leave I would dispose of my 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 
 
 45 
 
 self in marriage, and would rather not be knocked 
 down by him or any other auctioneer to any bid- 
 der whomsoewr." 
 
 Mr. Finch opened his eyes wider and looked at 
 the fire harder than he had done yet 
 
 " You may bo sure," said Martin, " that this 
 nettled him, and that he began to be the very re- 
 verse of complimentary to myself. Interview suc- 
 ceeded interview ; words engendered words, as 
 they always do ; and the upshot of it was, that I 
 was to renounce her, or be renounced by him. 
 Now you must bear in mind, Pinch, that I am not 
 only desperately fond of her (for though she is 
 poor, her beauty and intellect would reflect great 
 credit on anybody, I don't care of what pretensions, 
 who might become her husband), but that a chief 
 ingredient in my composition is a most determin- 
 ed " 
 
 "Obstinacy," suggested Tom in perfect good 
 faith. But the suggestion was not so well receiv- 
 ed as he had expected ; for the young man imme- 
 diately rejoined, with some irritation, 
 
 u What a fellow you are, Pinch !" 
 
 " I beg your pardon," said Tom, " I thought 
 you wanted a word." 
 
 " I didn't want that word," he rejoined. " I told 
 you obstinacy was no part of my character, did I 
 hot ? I was going to say, if you had given me 
 leave, that a chief ingredient in my composition 
 is a most determined firmness." 
 
 44 Oh !" cried Tom, screwing up his mouth, and 
 nodding. " Yes, yes ; I see !" 
 
 44 And being firm," pursued Martin, " of course 
 I was not goiog to yield to him, or give way by 
 so much as the thousandth part of an inch." 
 
 " No, no," said Tom. 
 
 " On the contrary, the more he urged, the more 
 I was determined to oppose him." 
 
 44 To be sure !" said Tom. 
 
 44 Very well," rejoined Martin, throwing him- 
 self back in his chair, with a careless wave of 
 both hands, as if the subject were quite settled, 
 and nothing more could be said about it — 44 There 
 is an end of the matter, and here am I !" 
 
 Mr. Pinch sat staring at the fire for some min- 
 utes with a puzzled look, such as he might have 
 assumed if some uncommonly difficult conundrum 
 had been proposed, which he found it impossible 
 to guess. At length he said : 
 
 44 Pecksniff, of course, you had known before ?" 
 
 44 Only by name. No, I had never seen him, for 
 my grandfather kept not only himself but me, aloof 
 from all his relation*. But our separation took 
 place in a town in the adjoining county. From 
 that place I came to Salisbury, and there I saw 
 Pecksniff's advertisement, which I answered, hav- 
 ing always had some natural taste, I believe, in 
 the matters to which it referred, and thinking it 
 might suit me. As soon as I found it to be his, I 
 was doubly bent on coming to him if possible, on 
 account of his being H 
 
 44 Such an excellent man," interposed Tom, rub- 
 bing his hands : "so he is. You were quite 
 right." 
 
 44 Why not so much on that account, if the truth 
 must be spoken," returned Martin, 44 as because 
 my grandfather has an inveterate dislike to him, 
 and after the old man's arbitrary treatment of me 
 I had a natural desire to run as directly counter 
 to ali his opinions) as I could Well! as I said 
 
 before, here I am. My engagement with the 
 young ludy I have been telling you about, is likely 
 to be a tolerably long one ; for neither her pros* 
 pects, nor mine, are, very bright ; and of course I 
 shall not think of marrying Until I am well able 
 to do »o. It would never do, you know, for ma 
 to be plunging myself into poverty and shabbi- 
 ncss and love in one room up three pair of stairs, 
 and all that sort of thing." 
 
 44 To say nothing of her," remarked Tom Pinch, 
 in a low voice. 
 
 "Exactly so," rejoined Martin, rising to warm 
 his back, and leaning against the chimney-piece. 
 • 4 To say nothing of her. At the same time, of 
 course it's not very hard upon her to be obliged 
 to yield to the necessity of the case : first, because 
 she loves me very much ; and secondly, because 
 I have sacrificed a great deal on her account, and 
 might have done much better, you know." 
 
 It was a very long time before Tom said ■ Cer- 
 tainly ;" so long, that he might have taken a nap 
 in the interval, but he did say it at last. 
 
 44 Now, there is one odd coincidence connected 
 with this love-story," said Martin, " which brings 
 it to an end. You remember what you told me 
 last night as we were coming here, about your 
 pretty visitor in the church ?" 
 
 44 Surely I do," said Tom, rising from his stool, 
 and seating himself in the chair from which the 
 other had lately risen, that he might see his face. 
 "Undoubtedly." 
 
 44 That was she." 
 
 44 1 knew what you were going to say," cried 
 Tom, looking fixedly at him, and speaking very 
 softly. " You don't tell me so ?" 
 
 " That was she," repeated the young man. M Af- 
 ter what I have heard from Pecksniff, I have no 
 doubt that she came and went with my grandfa- 
 ther. — Don't you drink too much of that sour 
 wine, or you '11 have a fit of some sort, Pinch, I 
 see." 
 
 41 It is not very wholesome, I am afraid," said 
 Tom, setting down the empty glass he had for 
 some time held. " So that was she, was it ?" 
 
 Martin nodded assent : and adding, with a rest 
 less impatience, that if he had been a few dav» 
 earlier be would have seen her ; and that now she 
 might be, for anything he knew, hundreds df miles 
 away ; threw himself, after a few turns acrces the 
 room, into a chair, and chafed like a spoilt child. 
 
 Tom Pinch's heart was very tender, and he 
 could not bear to see the most indifferent person 
 in distress ; still less one who had awakened an 
 interest in him, and who regarded him (either in 
 fact, or as he supposed) with kindness, and in a 
 spirit of lenient construction. Whatever his own 
 thoughts had been a few moments before— and 
 to judge from bis face they must have been pretty 
 serious— he dismissed them instantly, and gave 
 his young friend tho best counsel and comfort that 
 occurred to him.* 
 
 "All will be well in time," said Tom, " I have 
 no doubt; and some trial and adversity just now 
 will only serve to make you more attached to 
 each other in better days. I have arwmj 
 that the truth is so, and I have a feeling within 
 me, which tells me how natural and right it b 
 that it should be. Whit never ran smooth yet," 
 said Tom, with a smile, which despite the home- 
 liness of his face, was plcasanter to see than many 
 
46 
 
 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 a proud beauty's brightest glance : " what never 
 ran smooth yet, can hardly be expected to change 
 its character for us ; so we must take it as we find 
 it, and fashion it into the very best shape we can, 
 by patience and good humour. I have no power 
 at all ; I needn't tell you that; but I have an ex- 
 cellent will ; and if I could ever be of use to you, 
 in any way whatever, how glad I should be !" 
 
 " Thank you," said Martin, shaking his hand. 
 * You 're a good fellow, upon my word, and 
 speak very kindly. Of course, you know," he 
 added, after a moment's pause, as he drew his 
 chair towards the fire again, " I should not hesi- 
 tate to avail myself of your services if you could 
 help me at all ; but mercy, on us !" — Here he 
 rumpled his hair impatiently with his hand, and 
 looked at Tom as if he took it rather ill that he 
 was not somebody else — " You might as well be 
 a toasting-fork or a frying-pan, Pinch, for any 
 help you can render me." 
 
 " Except in the inclination," said Tom, gently. 
 
 " Oh ! to be sure. I meant that, of course. If 
 inclination went for anything, I should n't want 
 help. I tell you what you may do, though, if you 
 will — at the present moment too." 
 
 " What is that ?" demanded Tom. 
 
 " Read to me." 
 ' " I shall be delighted," cried Tom, catching up 
 the candle, with enthusiasm. " Excuse my leav- 
 ing you in the dark for a moment, and I'll fetch 
 a book directly. What will you like? Shak- 
 speare ?" 
 
 " Ay !" replied his friend, yawning and stretch- 
 ing himself. " He '11 do. I am tired with the 
 bustle of to-day, and the novelty of everything 
 about me ; and in such a case, there's no greater 
 luxury in the world, I think, than being read to 
 sleep. You won't mind my going to sleep, if I 
 can r 
 
 " Not at all !" cried Tom. 
 
 " Then begin as soon as you like. You need n't 
 leave oif when you see me getting drowsy (unless 
 
 you feel tired), for it's pleasant to wake gradually 
 to the sounds again. Did you ever try that ?" 
 
 " No, I never tried that," said Tom. 
 
 " Well ! You can, you know, one of these days 
 when we 're both in the right humour. Don't 
 mind leaving me in the dark. Look sharp ?" 
 
 Mr. Pinch lost no time in moving away; and 
 in a minute or two returned with one of the pre- 
 cious volumes from the shelf beside his bed. Mar- 
 tin had in the meantime made himself as comfort- 
 able as circumstances would permit, by construct- 
 ing before the fire a temporary sofa of three chairs 
 with Mercy's stool for a pillow, and lying down 
 at full length upon it. 
 
 " Don't be too loud, please," he said to Pinch. 
 
 " No, no," said Tom. 
 
 " You 're sure you 're not cold ?" 
 
 " Not at all !" cried Tom. 
 
 " I am quite ready then." 
 
 Mr. Pinch accordingly, after turning over the 
 leaves of his book w T ith as much care as if they 
 were living and highly cherished creatures, made 
 his own selection, and began to read. Before he 
 had completed fifty lines, his friend was snoring. 
 
 "Poor fellow !" said Tom, softly, as he stretched 
 out his head to peep at him over the backs of the 
 chairs. " He is very young to have so much 
 trouble. How trustful and generous in him to 
 bestow all this confidence in me. And that was 
 she, was it !" 
 
 But suddenly remembering their compact, he 
 took up the poem at the place where he had left 
 off, and went on reading; always forgetting to 
 snuff the candle, until its wick looked like a 
 mushroom. He gradually became so much inte- 
 rested, that he quite forgot to replenish the fire ; 
 and was only reminded of his neglect by Martin 
 Chuzzlewit starting up after the lapse of an hour 
 or so, and crying with a shiver: 
 
 " Why, it 's nearly out, I declare ! No wonder 
 I dreamed of being frozen. Do call for some 
 coals. What a fellow you are, Pinch !" 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 IN WHICH MR. CHEVY SLYME ASSERTS THE INDEPENDENCE OF HIS 
 SPIRIT; AND THE BLUE DRAGON LOSES A LIMB. 
 
 Martin began to work at the grammar-school 
 next morning, with so much vigor and expedition, 
 that Mr. Pinch had new reason to do homage to 
 the natural endowments of that young gentleman, 
 and to acknowledge his infinite superiority to 
 himself. The new pupil received Tom's compli- 
 ments very graciously ; and having by this time 
 conceived a real regard for him, in his own pecu- 
 liar way, predicted that they should always be the 
 very best of friends, and that neither of them, he 
 was certain (but particularly Tom), would ever 
 have reason to regret the day on which they be- 
 came acquainted. Mr. Pinch was delighted to 
 hear him say this, and felt so much flattered by 
 his kind assurances of friendship and protection, 
 that he was at a loss how to express the pleasure 
 they afforded him. And indeed it may be ob- 
 
 served of this friendship, such as it was, that it 
 had within it more likely materials of endurance 
 than many a sworn brotherhood that has been 
 rich in promise ; for so long as the one party 
 found a pleasure in patronising, and the other in 
 being patronised, (which was the very essence of 
 their respective characters), it was of all possible 
 events among the least probable, that the twin 
 demons, Envy and Pride, would ever arise be- 
 tween them. So in many cases of friendship, or 
 what passes for it, the old axiom is reversed, and 
 like clings to unlike more than to like. 4 
 
 They were both very busy^ on the afternoon 
 succeeding the family's departure — Martin with 
 the grammar-school, and Tom in balancing cer 
 tain receipts of rents, and deducting Mr. Peck 
 sniff's commission from the same ; in which an 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 
 
 47 
 
 struse employment he was much distracted by a 
 habit bis new friend had of whistling aloud, while 
 he was drawing — when they were not a little 
 startled by the unexpected obtrusion into that 
 sanctuary of genius, of a human head, which al- 
 though a shaggy and somewhat alartniu^ head, in 
 ap;> n i led alfably upon them from the 
 
 doorway, in a manner that was at once waggish, 
 conciliatory, and expressive of approbation. 
 
 - 1 am not industrious myself, gents both," said 
 tho head, " but I know how to appreciate that 
 quality in others. I wish I may turn gray and 
 ugly, if it isn't, in my opinion, next to genius, one 
 of the very charmingest qualities of the human 
 mind. Upon my soul, I am grateful to my friend 
 Pecksniff for helping me to the contemplation of 
 such a delicious picture as you present. You re- 
 mind me of VVhittington, afterwards thrice Lord 
 Mayor of London. 1 give you my unsullied word 
 of honour, that you very strongly remind me of 
 that historical character. You are a pair of Whit- 
 tingtons, gents, without the cat; which is a most 
 agreeable and blessed exception to me, for I am 
 not attached to the feline species. My name is 
 Tigg ; how do ydu do ?" 
 
 Martin looked to Mr. Pinch for an explanation ; 
 and Tom, who had never in his life set eyes on 
 Mr. Tigg before, looked to that gentleman himself. 
 
 "Chevy Sly me ?" said Mr. Tigg, interrogatively, 
 and kissing his left hand in token of friendship. 
 " You will understand me when I say that I am 
 the accredited agent of Chevy Sly me — that I am 
 the ambassador from the court of Chiv ? Ha ha !" 
 
 44 Heyday !" asked Martin, starting at the men- 
 tion of a name he knew. 44 Pray, what does he 
 want with me ?" 
 
 44 If your name is Pinch" — Mr. Tigg began. 
 
 44 It is not," said Martin, checking himself. 
 44 That is Mr. Pinch." 
 
 44 If that is Mr. Pinch," cried Tigg, kissing his 
 hand again, and beginning to follow his head into 
 the room, 44 he will permit me to say that I greatly 
 esteem and respect his character, which has been 
 most highly commended to me by my friend 
 Pecksniff; and that I deeply appreciate his talent 
 for the organ, notwithstanding that I do not, if I 
 may use the expression, grind, myself. If that is 
 Mr. Pinch, I will venture to express a hope that I 
 see him well, and that he is suffering no inconve- 
 nience from the easterly wind ?" 
 
 44 Thank you," said Tom. 4t I am very well " 
 
 44 That is a comfort," Mr. Tigg rejoined. 
 u Then," he added, shielding his lips with the 
 palm of his hand, and applying them close to Mr. 
 Pinch's ear, 44 1 have come for the letter." 
 
 "For the letter?" said Tom, aloud. "What 
 letter?" 
 
 44 The letter," whispered Tigg, in the same cau- 
 tious manner as before, "which my friend Peck- 
 sniff addressed to Chevy Sly me, Esquire, and left 
 with you." 
 
 u He didn't leave any letter with me," said Tom. 
 
 "Hush !" cried the other. " It's all the same 
 thing, though not so delicately done by my friend 
 • Pecksniff as I could have wished — the money." 
 
 44 The money !" cried Tom, quite scared. 
 
 44 Exactly so," said Mr. Tigg. With which he 
 rapped Tom twice or thrice upon the breast and 
 nodded several times, as though he would say, 
 that he saw they understood each other ; that it 
 
 was unnecessary to mention the circumstance be- 
 fore a third person ; and that he would take it as 
 a particular favour if Tom would «lip the amount 
 into his hand, as quietly as possible. 
 
 Mr. Pinch, however, was so very much astound- 
 ed by this (to him) inexplicable deportment, that 
 he at once openly declared there must be some 
 mistake, and that he had been entrusted with no 
 eommission whatever having any reference to Mr. 
 Tigg, or to his friend either. — Mr. Tigg received 
 this declaration with a grave request that Mr. 
 Pinch would have the goodness to make it again ; 
 and on Tom's repeating it in a still more empha- 
 tic and unmistakeable manner, checked it off, sen- 
 tence for sentence, by nodding his head solemnly 
 at the end of each. When it had come to a close 
 for the second time, Mr. Tigg sat himself down 
 in a chair and addressed the young men as fol- 
 lows : 
 
 44 Then I tell you what it is, gents both. There 
 is at this present moment in this very place, a per- 
 fect constellation of talent and genius, who is in- 
 volved, through what I cannot but designate as 
 the culpable negligence of my friend Pecksniff, 
 in a situation as tremendous, perhaps, as the so- 
 cial intercourse of the nineteenth century will 
 readily admit of. There is actually at this in- 
 stant, at the Blue Dragon in this village — an ale- 
 house, observe ; a common, paltry, low-minded, 
 clodhopping pipe-smoking alehouse — an indivi- 
 dual, of whom it may be said, in the language of 
 the Poet, that nobody but himself can in any way 
 come up to him ; who is detained there for his 
 bill. Ha ! ha ! For his bill. I repeat it — for his 
 bill. Now" said Mr. Tigg, " we have heard of 
 Fox's Book of Martyrs, I believe, and we have 
 heard of the Court of Requests, and the Star 
 Chamber ; but I fear the contradiction of no man 
 alive or dead, when I assert that my friend Chevy 
 Slyme being held in pawn for a bill, beats any 
 amount of cock-fighting with which I am ac- 
 quainted." 
 
 Martin and Mr. Pinch looked, first at each 
 other, and afterwards at Mr. Tigg, who with his 
 arms folded on his breast surveyed them, half in 
 despondency and half in bitterness. 
 
 "Don't mistake me, gents both," he said, 
 stretching forth his right hand. " If it had been 
 for anything but a bill, I eould have borne it, and 
 could still have looked upon mankind with some 
 feeling of respect: but when such a man as my 
 friend Slyme is detained for a score — a thing in 
 itself essentially mean ; a low performance on a 
 slate, or possibly chalked upon the back of a door 
 — I do feel that there is a screw of such magni- 
 tude loose somewhere, that the whole framework 
 of society is shaken, and the very first principles 
 of things can no longer be trusted. In short, 
 gents both," said Mr. Tigg with a passionate 
 flourish of his hands and head, " when a man 
 like Slyme is detained for such a thing as a bill, 1 
 reject the superstitions of ages, and believe no- 
 thing. I don't even believe that I don't believe, 
 curse me if I do !" 
 
 44 1 am very sorry, I am sure." said Tom, after 
 a pause, " but Mr. Pecksniff said nothing to me 
 about it, and I couldn't act without his instruc 
 tions. Wouldn't it be better, sir, if you were to 
 go to— to wherever you came from — yourself, and 
 remit the money to your friend ?" 
 
48 
 
 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 " How can that be done, when I am detained 
 also ?" said Mr. Tigg ; " and when moreover, 
 owing- to the astounding, and I must add, guilty 
 negligence of my friend Pecksniff, I have no 
 money for coach-hire ?" 
 
 Tom thought of reminding the gentleman (who, 
 no doubt, in his agitation had forgotten it) that 
 there was a post-office in the land ; and that pos- 
 sibly if he wrote to some friend or agent for a 
 remittance, it might not be lost upon the road ; or 
 at all events that'the chance, however desperate, 
 was worth trusting to. But as his good-nature 
 presently suggested to him certain reasons for 
 abstaining from this hint, he paused again, and 
 then asked : 
 
 " Did you say, Sir, that you were detained 
 also?" 
 
 "Come here," said Mr. Tigg, rising. "You 
 have no objection to my opening this window for 
 a moment ?" 
 
 " Certainly not," said Tom. 
 " Very good," said Mr. Tigg, lifting the sash. 
 11 You see a fellow down there in a red neckcloth 
 and no waistcoat?" 
 
 " Of course I do," cried Tom. M That '■ Mark 
 Tapley." 
 
 " Mark Tapley, is it ?" said the gentleman. 
 "Then Mark Tapley had not only the great 
 politeness to follow me to this house, but is wait- 
 ing now, to see me home again. And for that 
 act of attention, Sir," added Mr. Tigg, stroking 
 his moustache, " I can tell you, that Mark Tapley 
 had better in his infancy have been fed to suffoca- 
 tion by Mrs. Tapley, than preserved to this time." 
 Mr. Pinch was not so dismayed by this terri- 
 ble threat, but that he had voice enough to call to 
 Mark to come in, and up stairs ; a summons 
 which he so speedily obeyed, that almost as soon 
 as Tom and Mr. Tigg had drawn in their heads 
 and closed the window again, he the denounced 
 appeared before them. 
 
 "Come here, Mark !" said Mr. Pinch. "Good 
 gracious me ! what 's the matter between Mrs. 
 Lupin and this gentleman ?" 
 
 " What gentleman, Sir ?" said Mark. " I don't 
 see no gentleman here, Sir, excepting you and 
 the new gentleman," to whom he made a rough 
 kind of bow — " and there 's nothing wrong be- 
 tween Mrs. Lupin and either of you, Mr. Pinch, 
 I am sure." 
 
 " Nonsense, Mark !" cried Tom. " You see 
 
 Mr " 
 
 " Tigg," interposed that gentleman. " Wait a 
 bit I shall crush him soon. All in good time !" 
 "Oh, him!" rejoined Mark, with an air of 
 careless defiance. " Yes, I see him. I could see 
 him a little better, if he 'd shave himself, and get 
 his hair cut." 
 
 Mr. Tigg shook his head with a ferocious look, 
 and smote himself once upon the breast. 
 
 " It 's no use," said Mark. " If you knock 
 ever so much in that quarter, you '11 get no 
 answer. I know better. There 's nothing there 
 but padding : and a greasy sort it is." 
 
 " Nay, Mark," urged Mr. Pinch, interposing to 
 prevent hostilities, " tell me what I ask you. 
 Yon 're not out of temper, I hope ?" 
 
 " Out of temper, Sir !" cried Mark, with a 
 grin ; " why no, Sir. There 's a little credit — not 
 much — in being jolly, when such fellows as him 
 
 is a going about like roaring lions : if there is 
 any breed of lions, at least, as is all roar and 
 mane. What is there between him and Mrs. 
 Lupin, Sir ? Why, there 's a score between him 
 and Mrs. Lupin. And I think Mrs. Lupin lets 
 him and his friend off very easy in not charging 
 'em double prices for being a disgrace to the 
 Dragon. That's my opinion. I wouldn't have 
 any such Peter the Wild Boy as him in my house, 
 Sir, not if I was paid race-week prices for it. 
 He 's enough to turn the very beer in the casks 
 sour, with his looks : he is ! So he would, if it 
 had judgment enough." 
 
 " You 're not answering my question, you 
 know, Mark," observed Mr. Pinch. 
 
 " Well, sir," said Mark, " I don't know as 
 there 's much to answer further than that. Him 
 and his friend goes and stops at the Moon and 
 Stars till they 've run a bill there ; and then comes 
 and stops with us and does the same. The run- 
 ning of bills is common enough, Mr, Pinch ; it 
 an't that as we object to ; it 's the ways of this 
 chap. Nothing 's good enough for him ; all the 
 women is dying for him he thinks, and is over- 
 paid if he winks at 'em ; and all the men was 
 made to be ordered about by him. This not be- 
 ing aggravation enough, he say's this morning to 
 me, in his usual captivating way, ' We 're going 
 to-night, my man.' ' Are you, sir ?' says I. ' Per- 
 haps you 'd like the bill got ready, sir ?' ' Oh, 
 no, my man,' he says ; • you needn't mind that 
 I '11 give Pecksniff orders to see to that' In 
 reply to which, the Dragon makes answer, 
 ' Thankee, sir, you 're very kind to honour us so 
 far, but as we don't know any particular good of 
 you, and you don't travel with luggage, and Mr. 
 Pecksniff an't at home (which perhaps you mayn't 
 happen to be aware of, sir), we should prefer 
 something more satisfactory ;' and that 's where 
 the matter stands. And I ask," said Mr. Tapley, 
 pointing, in conclusion, to Mr. Tigg, with his hat, 
 " any lady or gentleman, possessing ordinary 
 strength of mind, to say, whether he 's a dis- 
 agreeable-looking chap or not !" 
 
 " Let me inquire," said Martin, interposing be- 
 tween this candid speech and the delivery of some 
 blighting anathema by Mr. Tigg, " what the 
 amount of this debt may be." 
 
 " In point of money, Sir, very little," answered 
 Mark. " Only just turned of three pounds. But 
 
 it an't that ; it 's the " 
 
 " Yes, yes, you told us so before," said Martin. 
 " Pinch, a word with you." 
 
 "What is. it?" asked Tom, retiring with him 
 to a corner of the room. 
 
 • " Why, simply — I am ashamed to say — that 
 this Mr. Slyme is a relation of mine, of whom I 
 never heard anything pleasant ; and that I don't 
 want him here just now, and think he would be 
 cheaply got rid of, perhaps, for three or four 
 pounds. You haven't enough money to pay this 
 bill, I suppose ?" 
 
 Tom shook his head to an extent that left no 
 doubt of his entire sincerity. 
 
 " That 's unfortunate, for I am poor too ; and 
 in case you had had it, I 'd have borrowed it of 
 you. But if we told this landlady we would see 
 her paid, I suppose that would answer the same 
 purpose ?" 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 
 
 4i) 
 
 " Oh dear, yes !" said Tom. " She knows me, 
 bless you !" 
 
 44 Then, let us go down at once and tell her so ; 
 for the sooner we are rid of their company the 
 better As you have conducted the conversation 
 with this gentleman hitherto, perhaps you '11 telf 
 him what we purpose doing; will you ?" 
 
 Mr. Pinch complying, at once imparted the 
 intelligence to Mr. Tigg, who shook him warmly 
 by the hand in return, assuring him that his faith 
 in anything and everything was again restored. 
 It was not so much, he said, for the temporary 
 relief of this assistance that he prized it, as for its 
 vindication of the high principle that Nature's 
 Nobs lilt with Nature's Nobs, and true greatness 
 of soul sympathised with true greatness of soul, 
 all the world over. It proved to him, he sa ; d, that 
 like him they admired genius, even when it was 
 coupled with the alloy occasionally visible in the 
 metal of his friend Slyme; and on behalf of that 
 friend, he thanked them, as warmly and heartily 
 as if the cause were his own. Being cut short 
 in these speeches by a general move towards the 
 stairs, he took possession, at the street-door, of the 
 lapel of Mr. Pinch's coat, as a security against 
 further interruption, and entertained that gentle- 
 .man with some highly improving discourse until 
 they reached the Dragon, whither they were 
 closely followed by Mark and the new pupil. 
 
 The rosy hostess scarcely needed Mr. Pinch's 
 word as a preliminary to the release of her two 
 visitors, of whom she was glad to be rid on any 
 terms : indeed, their brief detention had originated 
 mainly with Mr. Tapley, who entertained a con- 
 stitutional dislike to gentlemen out-at-elbows who 
 flourished on false pretences ; and had conceived 
 a particular aversion to Mr. Tigg and his friend, 
 as choice specimens of the species. The business 
 in hand thus easily settled, Mr. Pinch and Martin 
 would have withdrawn immediately, but for the 
 urgent entreaties of Mr. Tigg that he would allow 
 him the honour of presenting them to his friend 
 Slyme, which were so very difficult of resistance 
 that, yielding partly to these persuasions and 
 partly to their own curiosity, they suffered them- 
 selves to be ushered into the presence of that 
 distinguished gentleman. 
 
 He was brooding ovor the remains of yesterday's 
 decanter of brandy, and was engaged in the 
 thoughtful occupation of making a chain of rings 
 on the top of the table with the wet foot of his 
 drink ing-glass. Wretched and forlorn as he 
 looked, Mr. Slyme had once been, in his way, the 
 choicest of swaggerers : putting forth his preten- 
 sions, boldly, as a man of infinite taste and most 
 undoubted promise. The stock-in-trade requisite 
 to set up an amateur in this department of busi- 
 ness, is very slight and easily got together; a 
 trick of the nose and a curl of the lip sufficient to 
 compound a tolerable sneer, being ample pro- 
 vision for any exigency. But, in an evil hour, 
 this off-shoot of the Chuzzlewit trunk, being lazy, 
 and ill qualified for any regular pursuit, and hav- 
 ing dissipated such means as he ever possessed, 
 had formally established himself as a professor of 
 Taste for a livelihood ; and finding, too late, that 
 something more than his old amount of qualifica- 
 tions was necessary to sustain him in this calling, 
 had quickly fallen to his present level, where he 
 retained nothing of his old self but his boastfuJ- 
 
 ncM and his bile, and seemed to hare no existence 
 separate or apart from his friend Tigg. And now 
 so abject and pitiful was he — at once so maudlin, 
 insolent, beggarly, and proud— that even his friend 
 and parasite, standing erect beside him, swelled 
 into a man by contrast 
 
 44 Chiv," said Mr. Tigg, clapping him on the 
 back, " my friend Pecksniff not being at home, I 
 have arranged our trifling piece of business with 
 Mr. Pinch and friend. Mr. Pinch and friend, Mr. 
 Chevy Slyme— Chiv, Mr Pinch and friend !" 
 
 44 These are agreeable circumstances in which 
 to be introduced to strangers," said Chevy Slym , 
 turning his bloodshot eyes towards Tom Pinch. 
 "I am the most miserable man in the world, I 
 believe !" 
 
 Tom begged he wouldn't mention it ; and find- 
 ing him in this condition, retired, after an awk- 
 ward pause, followed by Martin. But Mr. Tigg 
 so urgently conjured them, by coughs and signs, 
 to remain in the shadow of the door, that they 
 stopped there. 
 
 " I swear," cried Mr. Slyme, giving the table 
 an imbecile blow with his fist, and then feebly 
 leaning his head upon his hand, while some 
 drunken drops oozed from his eyes, u that I am 
 the wretchedest creature on record. Society is in 
 a conspiracy against me. I 'm the most literary 
 man alive. I 'm full of scholarship ; I 'm full of 
 genius ; I 'm full of information ; I 'm full of novel 
 views on every subject ; yet look at my condition ! 
 I 'm at this moment obliged to two strangers for 
 a tavern bill !" 
 
 Mr. Tigg replenished his friend's glass, pressed 
 it into his hand, and nodded an intimation to the 
 visitors that they would see him in a better aspect 
 immediately. 
 
 "Obliged to two strangers for a tavern bill, 
 eh !" repeated Mr. Slyme, after a sulky applica- 
 tion to his glass. " Very pretty ! And crowds of 
 impostors, the while, becoming famous : men who 
 are no more on a level with me than — Tigg I 
 ta"ke you to witness that I am the most persecuted 
 hound on the face of the earth." 
 
 With a whine, not unlike the cry of the animal 
 he named, in its lowest state of humiliation, he 
 raised his glass to his mouth again. He found 
 some encouragement in it ; for when he set it 
 down, he laughed scornfully. Upon that Mr. Tigg 
 gesticulated to the visitors once more, and with 
 great expression : implying that now the time was 
 come when they would see Chiv in his greatness. 
 
 41 Ha, ha, ha !" laughed Mr. Slyme. 44 Obliged 
 to two strangers for a tavern bill ! Yet I think 
 I 've a rich uncle, Tigg, who could buy up the 
 uncles of fifty strangers? Have I, or have I 
 not ? I come of a good family, I believe ? Do 
 I, or do I not ? I 'm not a man of common capa- 
 city or accomplishments, I think. Am I, or am 
 I not ?" 
 
 44 You arc the American aloe of the human 
 race, my dear Chiv," said Mr. Tigg, 44 which only 
 blooms once in a hundred years !" 
 
 44 Ha, ha, ha!" laughed Mr. Slyme, again. 
 44 Obliged to two strangers for a tavern bill ! I ! 
 Obliged to two architect's appienticcs — fellows 
 who measure earth with iron chains, and build 
 houses like" bricklayers. Give me the names of 
 those two apprentices. How dare they oblige 
 | me r 
 
50 
 
 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 Mr. Tigg was quite lost in admiration of this 
 noble trait in his friend's character; as he made 
 known to Mr. Pinch in a neat little ballet of ac- 
 tion, spontaneously invented for the purpose. 
 
 " I '11 let 'em know, and I '11 let all men know," 
 cried Chevy Slime, " that I 'm none of the mean, 
 grovelling, tame characters they meet with com- 
 monly. I have an independent spirit. I have a 
 heart that swells in my bosom. I have a soul that 
 rises superior to base considerations." 
 
 "O, Chiv, Chic," murmured Mr. Tigg, "you 
 have a nobly independent nature, Chiv!" 
 
 " You go and do your duty, sir," said Mr. Slyme, 
 angrily, "and borrow money for travelling ex- 
 penses ; and whoever you borrow of, let 'cm know 
 that I possess a haughty spirit, and a proud spirit, 
 and have infernally finely-touched chords in my 
 nature, which won't brook patronage. Do you 
 hear? Tell 'em I hate 'em, and that that's the 
 way I preserve my self-respect; and tell 'em that 
 no man ever respected himself more than I do !" 
 
 He might have added that he hated two sorts 
 of men ; all those who did him favours, and all 
 those who were better off than himself; as in 
 either case their position was an insult to a man 
 of his stupendous merits. But he did not ; for 
 with the apt closing words above recited, Mr. 
 Slyme — of too haughty a stomach to work, to beg, 
 to burrow, or to steal; yet mean enough to be 
 worked or borrowed, begged or stolen for, by any 
 catspaw that would serve his turn ; too insolent to 
 lick the hand that fed him in his need, yet cur 
 enough to bite and tear it in the dark — with these 
 apt closing words, Mr. Slyme fell forward with 
 his head upon the table, and so declined into a 
 sodden sleep. 
 
 " Was there ever," cried Mr. Tigg, joining the 
 young men at the doqr, and shutting it carefully 
 behind him, "such an independent spirit as is 
 possessed by that extraordinary creature ? Was 
 there ever such a Roman as our friend Chiv ? Was 
 there ever a man of such a purely classical turn 
 of thought, and of such a toga-like simplicity of 
 nature ? Was there ever a man with such a flow 
 of eloquence ? Might he not, gents both, I ask, 
 have sat upon a tripod in the ancient limes, and 
 prophesied to a perfectly unlimited extent, if pre- 
 viously supplied with gin-and-water at the public 
 cost ?" 
 
 Mr. Pinch was about to contest this latter posi- 
 tion with his usual mildness, when, observing that 
 his companion had already gone down-stairs, he 
 prepared to follow him. 
 
 " You are not going, Mr. Pinch ?" said Tigg. 
 
 " Thank you," answered Tom. " Yes. Don't 
 come down." 
 
 " Do you know that I should like one little word 
 in private with you, Mr. Pinch ?" said Tigg, fol- 
 lowing him. " One minu\e of your company in 
 the skittle-ground would very much relieve my 
 mind. Might I beseech that favour?" 
 
 14 Oh, certainly," replied Tom, " if you really 
 wish it." So he accompanied Mr. Tigg to the 
 retreat in question : on arriving at which place 
 that gentleman took from his hat what seemed to 
 be the fossil remains of an antediluvian pocket- 
 handkerchief, and wiped his eyes therewith. 
 
 " You have not. beheld me this day," said Mr. 
 Tigg, " in a favourable light." 
 
 " Don't mention that," said Tom, " I beg." 
 
 " But you have not" cried Tigg. " I must per 
 sist in that opinion. If you could have seen me, 
 Mr. Pinch, at the head of my regiment on the 
 coast of Africa, charging in the form of a hollow- 
 square with the women and children and the regi- 
 mental plate-chest in the centre, you would not 
 have known me for the same man. You would 
 have respected me, sir." 
 
 Tom had certain ideas of his own upon the 
 subject of glory ; and consequently he was not 
 quite so much excited by this picture as Mr. Tigg 
 could have desired. 
 
 " But no matter !" said that gentleman. " The 
 school-boy writing home to his parents and de- 
 scribing the milk-and-water, said ' This is indeed 
 weakness.' I repeat that assertion in reference to 
 myself at the present moment: and I ask your 
 pardon. Sir, you have seen my friend, Slyme ?" 
 
 "No doubt," said Mr. Pinch. 
 
 " Sir, you have been impressed by my friend 
 Slyme ?" 
 
 ■ Not very pleasantly, I must say," answered 
 Tom, after a little hesitation. 
 
 " I am grieved but not surprised," cried Mr. 
 Tigg, detaining him b}^ both lapels, " to hear that 
 you have come to that conclusion ; for it is my 
 own. But, Mr. Pinch, though I am a rough and 
 thoughtless man, I can honour Mind. I honour 
 Mind in following my friend. To you of all men, 
 Mr. Pinch, I have a right to make appeal on 
 Mind's behalf, when it has not the art to push its 
 fortune in the world. And so, sir — not for myself, 
 who have no claim upon you, but for my crushed, 
 my sensitive and independent friend, who has — I 
 ask the loan of three half-crowns. I ask you for 
 the loan of three half-crowns, distinctly, and with- 
 out a blush. I ask it, almost as a right. And 
 when I add that they will be returned by post, 
 this week, I feel that you will blame me for that 
 sordid stipulation." 
 
 Mr. Pinch took from his pocket an old-fashion- 
 ed red-leather purse with a steel-clasp, which had 
 probably once belonged to his deceased grandmo- 
 ther. It held one half-sovereign and no more. All 
 Tom's worldly wealth until next quarter-day. 
 
 " Stay !" cried Mr. Tigg, who had watched this 
 proceeding keenly. " I was just about to say, 
 that for the convenience of posting you had bet- 
 ter make it gold. Thank you. A general direc- 
 tion, I suppose, to Mr. Pinch, at Mr. Pecksniff's 
 — will that find you ?" 
 
 " That '11 find me," said Tom. " You had bet- 
 ter put Esquire to Mr. Pecksniff's name, if you 
 please. Direct to me, you know, at Seth Peck- 
 sniff's, Esquire." 
 
 " At Seth Pecksniff's, Esquire," repeated Mr. 
 Tigg, taking an exact note of it, with a stump of 
 pencil. " We se:id this week, I believe ?" 
 
 " Yes : or Monday will do," replied Tom. 
 
 " No, no, I beg your pardon. Monday will not 
 do," said Mr. Tigg. " If we stipulated for this 
 week, Saturday is the latest day. Did we stipu- 
 late for this week ?" 
 
 " Since you are so particular about it," said 
 Tom, " I think w^ did." 
 
 Mr. Tigg added this condition to his memoran. 
 dum ; read the entry over to himself with a severe 
 frown ; and that the transaction might be the more 
 correct and business-like, appended his initials to 
 the. whole. That done, he assured Mr. Pinch that 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 
 
 everything was now perfectly regular ; and, after 
 squeezing his hand with great fervour, departed. 
 
 Tom entertained enough suspicion that .Martin 
 might possibly turn this interview into a jest, to 
 render him desirous to avoid the company of that 
 young gentleman for the present With this view 
 he took a few turns up and down the skittle-ground, 
 and did not re-enter the house until Mr. Tigg and 
 his friend had quitted it, and the new pupil and 
 M irk were watching their departure from one of 
 the windows. 
 
 14 1 was just a saying, sir, that if one could live 
 by it," observed Mark, pointing after their lute 
 guests, " that would be the sort of service 'for me. 
 Waiting on such individuals as them, would be 
 better than grave-digging, sir." 
 
 ■ And staying here would be better than either, 
 Mark," replied Tom. " So take my advice, and 
 continue to swim easily in smooth water." 
 
 " It 's too late to take it now, sir," said Mark. 
 " I have broke it to her, sir. I am off to-morrow 
 morning." 
 
 "Off!" cried Mr. Pinch, "where to?" 
 
 " I shall go up to London, sir." 
 
 " What to be ?" asked Mr. Pinch. 
 
 44 Well ! I don't know yet, sir. Nothing turned 
 up that day I opened my mind to you, as was at 
 all likely to suit me. All them trades I thought 
 of was a deal too jolly ; there was no credit at all 
 to be got in any of 'em. I must look for a priyate 
 service I suppose, sir. I might be brought out 
 strong, perhaps, in a serious family, Mr. Pinch." 
 
 "Perhaps you might come out rather too strong 
 for a serious family's taste, Mark." 
 
 "That's possible, sir. If I could get into a 
 wicked family, I might do myself justice : but the 
 difficulty is to make sure of one's ground, because 
 a young man can't very well advertise that he 
 wants a place, and wages an't so much an object 
 as a wicked sitivation ; can he, sir 7" 
 
 " Why, no," said Mr. Pinch, "I don't think 
 he can." 
 
 " An envious family," pursued Marft, with a 
 thoughtful face; "or a quarrelsome family, or a 
 malicious family, or even a good out-and-out mean 
 family, would open a field of action as I might do 
 something in. The man as would have suited me 
 of all other men was that old gentleman as was 
 took ill here, for he really was a trying customer. 
 Howsevcr, I tnust wait and see what turns up, sir ; 
 and hope for the worst." 
 
 44 You are determined to go then 7" said Mr. 
 Pinch. 
 
 44 My box is gone already, sir, by the wagon, 
 and I 'in going to walk on to-morrow morning, 
 and get a lift by the day coach when it overtakes 
 me. So I wish you good b'ye, Mr. Pinch; — and 
 you too, sir, — and all good luck and happiness !" 
 
 They both returned his greeting laughingly, 
 and walked home arm-in-arm: Mr. Pinch impart- 
 ing.to his new friend, as they went, such further 
 particulars of Mark Tapley's whimsical restless- 
 ness ad the reader is nlready acquainted with. 
 
 In the meantime .Mark, having a shrewd notion 
 that his mistress was in very low spirits, and that 
 he could not exactly answer for the consequences 
 of any lengthened tite a tete in the bar, kept him- 
 self obstinately out of her way all the afternoon 
 and evening. In this piece of generalship he was 
 very much assisted by the great influx of company 
 
 into the tap-room ; for the news of his intention 
 having gone abroad, there was a perfect throng 
 there all the evening, and much drinking of healths 
 and clinking of mugs. At length the house was 
 closed for the night ; and there being now no help 
 for it, Mark put the best face be could upon the 
 matter, and walked doggedly to the bar-door. 
 
 " If I look at her," said Mark to himself, " I 'm 
 done. I feel that I 'm a going fast" 
 
 " You have come at last," said Mrs. Lupin. 
 
 Ay, Mark said : There he was. 
 
 44 And you are determined to leave us, Mark," 
 cried Mrs. Lupin. 
 
 44 Why, yes ; I am," said Mark ; keeping his 
 eyes hard upon the floor. 
 
 44 1 thought," pursued the landlady, with a most 
 engaging hesitation, "that you had been — fond — 
 of the Dragon?" 
 
 44 So I am," said Mark. 
 
 44 Then," pursued the hostess — and it really was 
 not an unnatural inquiry — "why do you desert it?" 
 
 But as he gave no manner of answer to this 
 question ; not even on its being repeated ; Mrs. 
 Lupin put his money into his hand, and asked 
 him — not unkindly, quite the contrary — what he 
 would take. 
 
 It is proverbial that there are certain things 
 which flesh and blood cannot bear. Such a ques- 
 tion as this, propounded in such a manner, at such 
 a time, and by such a person, proved (at least, as 
 far as Mark's flesh and blood were concerned) to 
 be one of them. He looked up in spite of himself 
 directly ; and having once looked up there was no 
 looking down again ; for of all the tight plump, 
 buxom, bright-eyed, dimple-faced landladies that 
 ever shone on earth, there stood before him then, 
 bodily in that bar, the very pink and pine-apple. 
 
 44 Why, I tell you what," said Mark, throwing 
 off all his constraint in an instant, and seizing the 
 hostess round the waist — at which she was not at 
 all alarmed, for she knew what a good young man 
 he was — " if I took what I liked most I should 
 take you. If I only thought of what was best for 
 me, I should take you. If I took what nineteen 
 young fellows in twenty would be glad to take, 
 and- would take at any price, I should take you. 
 Yes, I should," cried Mr. Tapley, shaking his 
 head, expressively enough, and looking (in a mo- 
 mentary state of forgetfulness) rather hard at the 
 hostess's ripe lips. "And no man wouldn't won- 
 der if I did!" 
 
 Mrs. Lupin said he amazed her. She was 
 astonished how he could say such things. She 
 had never thought it of him. 
 
 " Why, I never thcught it of myself till now !" 
 said Mark, raising his eyebrows with a look of 
 the merriest possible surprise. " I always expected 
 we should part and never have no explanation ; I 
 meant to do it when I come in here just now ; 
 but there 's something about you, as makes a man 
 sensible. Then let us have a word or two toge- 
 ther : letting it be understood beforehand — ' he 
 added this in a grave tone, to prevent the poss.bi 
 lity of any mistake — " that I 'm not a going i? 
 make no love, you know." 
 
 There was for just one second a phade — thougi. 
 not by any means a dark one— on the landlady's 
 open brow. But it passed off instantly, in a laugh 
 that came* from her very heart 
 
 44 Oh, very good !" she said : " if there is be is 
 
52 
 
 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 no love-making, you had better take your arm 
 away." 
 
 44 Lord, why should I !" cried Mark. " It 's 
 quite innocent." 
 
 " Of course it 's innocent," returned the hostess, 
 41 or I shouldn't allow it." 
 
 44 Very well !" said Mark. " Then let it be." 
 
 There was so much reason in this, that the 
 landlady laughed again, suffered it to remain, and 
 bade him say what he had to say, and be quick 
 about it. But he was an impudent fellow, she 
 added. 
 
 " Ha ha ! I almost think I am !" cried Mark, 
 44 though I never thought so before. Why, I can 
 say anything to-night 1" 
 
 " Say what you 're going to say if you please, 
 and be quick," returned the landlady, " for I want 
 to get to bed." 
 
 44 Why, then, my dear good soul," said Mark, 
 " and a kinder woman than you are, never dravved 
 breath — let me see the man as says she did — 
 what would be the likely consequences of us two 
 being — " 
 
 " Oh nonsense !" cried Mrs. Lupin. " Don't 
 talk about that any more." 
 
 " No no, but it an't nonsense," said Mark ; " and 
 I wish you'd attend. What would be the likely 
 consequence of us two being married ? If I can't 
 be content and comfortable in this here lively 
 Dragon now, is it to be looked for as I should be 
 then ? By no means. Very good. Then you, 
 even w T ith your good humour, would be always 
 on the fret and worrit, always uncomfortable in 
 your own mind, always a thinking as you was 
 getting too old for my taste, always a picturing 
 me to yourself as being chained up to the Dragon 
 door, and wanting to break away. I don't know 
 that it would be so," said Mark, " but I don't know 
 that it mightn't be. I am a roving sort of chap, 
 I know. I'm fond of change. I'm always a 
 thinking that with my good health and spirits it 
 would be more creditable in me to be jolly where 
 there 's things a going on, to make one dismal. 
 It may be a mistake of mine, you see, but nothing 
 short of trying how it acts, will set it right. Then 
 an't it best that I should go? particular when 
 your free way has helped me out to say all this, 
 and we can part as good friends as we have ever 
 been since first I entered this here noble Dragon, 
 which" said Mr. Tapley in conclusion, " has my 
 
 good word and my good wish, to the day of my 
 death !" 
 
 The hostess sat quite silent for a little time, but 
 she very soon put both her hands in Mark's and 
 shook them heartily. 
 
 " For you are a good man," she said ; looking 
 into his face with a smile, which was rather se- 
 rious for her. " And I do believe have been a 
 better friend to me to-night than ever I have had 
 in all my life." 
 
 " Oh ! as to that, you know," said Mark, " that 's 
 nonsense. But love my heart alive !" he added, 
 looking at her in a sort of rapture, " if you are 
 that way disposed, what a lot of suitable husbands 
 there is as you may drive distracted !" 
 
 She laughed again at this compliment; and, 
 once more shaking him by both hands, and bid- 
 ding him, if he should ever want a friend, to re- 
 member her, turned gaily from the little bar and 
 up the Dragon staircase. 
 
 " Humming a tune as she goes," said Mark, 
 listening, " in case I should think she 's at all put 
 out, and should be made down-hearted. Come, 
 here 's some credit in being jolly, at last !" 
 
 With that piece of comfort, very ruefully uttered, 
 he went, in anything but a jolly manner, to bed. 
 
 He rose early next morning, and was a-foot 
 soon after sunrise. But it was of no use ; the 
 whole place was up to see Mark Tapley off: the 
 boys, the dogs, the children, the old men, the busy 
 people and the idlers : there they were, all calling 
 out " Good by'e, Mark," after their own manner, 
 and all sorry he was going. Somehow he had a 
 kind of sense that his old mistress was peeping 
 from her chamber-window, but he couldn't make 
 up his mind to look back. 
 
 44 Good by'e one, good by'e all !" cried Mark, 
 waving his hat on the top of his walking-stick, 
 as he strode at a quick pace up the little street. 
 44 Hearty chaps them wheelwrights — hurrah ! 
 Here 's the butcher's dog a-coming out of the gar- 
 den — down, old fellow ! And Mr. Pinch a-going 
 to his organ — good by'e, sir ! And the terrier- 
 bitch from over the way— hie, then, lass And 
 children enough to hand down human natur to 
 the latest posterity — good by'e, boys and girls ! 
 There 's some credit in it now. I'm a-coming 
 out strong at last. These are the circumstances 
 as would try a ordinary mind ; but Fm uncom- 
 mon jolly ; not quite as jolly as I could wish to 
 be, but very near. Good by'e ! good by'e !" 
 
 CHAPTER VIIL 
 
 ACCOMPANIES MR. PECKSNIFF AND HIS CHARMING DAUGHTERS TO THL 
 CITY OF LONDON; AND RELATES WHAT FELL OUT, UPON THEIR WAY 
 THITHER. 
 
 When Mr. Pecksniff and the two young ladies 
 got into the heavy coach at the end of the lane, 
 they found it empty, which was a great comfort; 
 particularly as the outside was quite full, and the 
 passengers looked very frosty. For as Mr. Peck- 
 sniff justly observed — when he and his daughters 
 had burrowed their feet deep in the straw, wrapped 
 themselves to the chin, and pulled up both win- 
 dows^-it is always satisfactory to feel, in keen 
 weather, that many other people are not as warm 
 
 as you are. And this, he said, was quite natural, 
 and a very beautiful arrangement ; not confined 
 to coaches, but extending itself into many social 
 ramifications. "For" (he observed), "if every 
 one were warm and well-fed, we should lose the 
 satisfaction of admiring the fortitude with which 
 certain conditions of men bear culd and hunger. 
 And if we were no better off than anybody else, 
 what would become of our sense of gratitude 
 which," said Mr. Pecksniff with tears in his eyes 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT, 
 
 53 
 
 as ne shook his fist at a beggar who wanted to 
 gei up behind, " is one of the holiest feelings of 
 our common nature." 
 
 His children heard with becoming reverence 
 these moral precepts from the lips of their father, 
 and signified their acquiescence in the same, by 
 smiles. That he might the better feed and cher- 
 ish that sacred flame of gratitude in his breast, 
 Mr. Pecksniff remarked that he would trouble his 
 eldest daughter, even in this early stage of their 
 journey, for the brandy-bottle. And from the 
 narrow neck of that stone vessel, he imbibed a 
 copious refreshment 
 
 "What are we?" said Mr. Pecksniff, "but 
 coaches ? Some of us are slow coaches" — 
 
 14 Goodness, Pa !" cried Charity. 
 
 44 Some of us, I say," resumed her parent with 
 increased emphasis, " are slow coaches ; some of 
 us are fast coaches. Our passions are the hprses ; 
 and rampant animals too !" — 
 
 u Really, Pa !" cried both the daughters at once. 
 u How very unpleasant !" 
 
 "And rampant animals too!" repeated Mr. 
 Pecksniff, with so much determination, that he 
 may be said to have exhibited, at the moment, a 
 sort of moral rampancy himself; — "and Virtue 
 is the drag. We start from The Mother's Arms, 
 and we run to The Dust Shovel." 
 
 When he had said this, Mr. Pecksniff, being 
 exhausted, took some further refreshment. When 
 he had donfl>that, he corked the bottle tight, with 
 the air of a man who had effectually corked the 
 subject also ; and went to sleep for three stages. 
 
 The tendency of mankind when it falls asleep 
 in coaches, is to wake up cross ; to find its legs in 
 its way ; and its corns an aggravation. Mr. Peck- 
 sniff not being exempt from the common lot of 
 humanity, found himself, at the end of his nap, 
 so decidedly the victim of these infirmities, that 
 he had an irresistible inclination to visit them 
 upon his daughters ; which he had already begun 
 to do in the shape of divers random kicks, and 
 other unexpected motions of his shoes, when the 
 coach stopped, and after a short delay, the door 
 was opened. 
 
 "Now mind," said a thin sharp voice in the 
 dark. " I and my son go inside, because the roof 
 is full, but you agree only to charge us outside 
 prices. It 's quite understood that we won't pay 
 more. Is it?" 
 
 u All right, sir," replied the guard. 
 
 " Is there anybody inside now ?" inquired the 
 voice. 
 
 "Three passengers," returned the guard. 
 
 " Then I ask the three passengers to witness 
 tlus bargain, if they will be so good," said the 
 voice. " My boy, I think we may safely get in." 
 
 In pursuance of which opinion, two people took 
 their seats in the vehicle, which was solemnly li- 
 censed by Act of Parliament to carry any six 
 persons who could be got in at the door. 
 
 44 That was lucky !" whispered the old man, 
 when they moved on again. " And a great stroke 
 of policy in you to observe it He, he, he ! We 
 couldn't have gone outside. I should have died 
 of the rheumatism !" 
 
 Whether it occurred to the dutiful son that he 
 had in some degree over-reached himself by con- 
 tributing to tne prolongation of his father's days ; 
 or whether the cold had affected his temper ; is 
 
 doubtful. But he gave his father such a nudge in 
 reply, that that good old gentleman was taken 
 with a cough which lasted for full five minutes, 
 without intermission, and goaded Mr. Pecksniff 
 to that pitch of irritation, that he said at last— 
 and very suddenly— 
 
 44 There is no room ! There is really no room in 
 this coach for any gentleman with a cold in his 
 head !" 
 
 44 Mine," said the old man, after a moment's 
 pause, " is upon my chest Pecksniff." 
 
 The voice and manner, together, now that he 
 spoke out ; the composure of the speaker ; the 
 presence of his son ; and his knowledge of Mr 
 Pecksniff; afforded a clue to his identity which it 
 was impossible to mistake. 
 
 "Hem ! I thought," said Mr. Pecksniff, return- 
 ing to his usual mildness, " that I addressed a 
 stranger. I find that I address a relative. Mr. 
 Anthony Chuzzlewit and his son Mr. Jonas — for 
 they, my dear children, are our travelling compa- 
 nions — will excuse me for an apparently harsh 
 remark. It is not my desire to wound the feel- 
 ings of any person with whom I am connected in 
 family bonds. I may be a hypocrite," said Mr. 
 Pecksniff, cuttingly, " but I am not a brute." 
 
 44 Pooh, pooh !" said the old man. " What sig- 
 nifies that word, Pecksniff? Hypocrite ! why, 
 we are all hypocrites. We were all hypocrites 
 t'other day. I am sure I felt that to be agreed 
 upon among us, or I shouldn't have called you 
 one. We should not have been there at all, if we 
 had not been hypocrites. The only difference be- 
 tween you and the rest was — shall I tell you the 
 difference between you and the rest now, Peck- 
 sniff?" 
 
 44 If you please, my good sir; if you please." 
 
 44 Why, the annoying quality in you, is," said 
 the old man, " that you never have a confederate 
 or partner in your juggling ; you would deceive 
 everybody, even those who practise the same art ; 
 and have a way with you, as if you — he, he, he ! 
 — as if you really believed yourself. I 'd lay a 
 handsome wager now," said the old man, " if I 
 laid wagers, which I don't and never did, that you 
 keep up appearances by a tacit understanding, 
 tun before your own daughters here. Now I, 
 when I have a business scheme in hand, tell Jonas 
 what it is, and we discuss it openly. You're not 
 offended, Pecksniff?" 
 
 " Offended, my good sir !" cried that gentleman, 
 as if he had received the highest compliments that 
 language could convey. 
 
 44 Are you travelling to London, Mr. Pecksniff?" 
 asked the son. 
 
 44 Yes, Mr. Jonas, we are travelling to London 
 We shall have the pleasure of your company all 
 the way, I trust ?" 
 
 44 Oh ! ecod, you had better ask father that" 
 said Jonas. " I am not a going to commit my- 
 self." 
 
 Mr. Pecksniff was, as a matter of course, grcatlv 
 entertained by this retort. His mirth having suo- 
 sided, Mr. Jonas gave him to understand that him- 
 self and parent were in fact travelling to their 
 home in the metropolis: and that since the me- 
 morable day of the great family garnering, they 
 had been tarrying in that part of the couniry 
 watching the sale of certain eligible investments, 
 which they had had in their copartnership eye 
 
54 
 
 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 when Ibey came down ; for it was their custom, 
 Mr. Jonas said, whenever such a thing was prac- 
 .icable, to kill two birds with one stone, and never 
 to throw away sprats, but as bait for whales. 
 When he had communicated, to Mr. Pecksniff, 
 these pithy scraps of intelligence, he said "That 
 if it was all the same to him, he would turn him 
 over to father, and have a chat with the gals ;" 
 and in furtherance of this polite scheme, he va- 
 cated his seat adjoining that gentleman, and estab- 
 lished himself in the opposite corner, next to the 
 fair Miss Mercy. 
 
 The education of Mr. Jonas had been conducted 
 from his cradle on the strictest principles of the 
 main chance. The very first word he learnt to 
 spell was "gain," and the second (when begot 
 into two syllables), " money." But for two re- 
 sults, which were not clearly foreseen perhaps by 
 his watchful parent in the beginning, his training 
 may be said to have been unexceptionable. One 
 of these flaws was, that having been long taught 
 by his father to over-reach everybody, he had im- 
 perceptibly acquired a love of over-reaching that 
 venerable monitor himself. The other, that from 
 his early habits of considering everything as a 
 question of property, he had gradually come to 
 look, with impatience, on his parent as a certain 
 amount of personal estate, which had no right 
 whatever to be going at large, but ought to be 
 secured in that particular description of iron safe 
 which is commonly called a coffin, and banked in 
 the grave. 
 
 " Well, cousin !" said Mr. Jonas — " Because we 
 are cousins, you know, a few times removed — So 
 you're going to London ?" 
 
 Miss Mercy replied in the affirmative, pinching 
 her sister's arm at the same time, and giggling 
 excessively. 
 
 " Lots of beaux in London, cousin !" said Mr. 
 Jonas, slightly advancing his elbow. 
 
 " Indeed, sir !" cried the young lady. " They 
 won't hurt us, sir, I dare say." And having given 
 him this answer with great demureness, she was 
 so overcome by her own humour, that she was 
 fain to stifle her merriment in her sister's shawl. 
 
 " Merry," cried that more prudent damsel, 
 " really I am ashamed of you. How can you go 
 on so ? you wild thing !" At which Miss Merry 
 only laughed the more, of course. 
 
 " I saw a wildness in her eye, t'other day," 
 said Mr. Jonas, addressing Charity. " But you're 
 the one to sit solemn ! I say — you were regularly 
 prim, cousin!" 
 
 " Oh ! The old-fashioned fright !" cried Merry, 
 in a whisper. " Cherry, my dear, upon my word 
 you must sit next him. I shall die outright if he 
 talks to me any more ; I shall positively !" To 
 prevent which fatal consequence, the buoyant 
 creature skipped out of her seat as she spoke, and 
 squeezed her sister into the place from which she 
 had risen. 
 
 " Don't mind crowding me," cried Mr. Jonas. 
 " I like to be crowded by gals. Come a little 
 closer, cousin." 
 
 " No, thank you, sir," said Charity. 
 
 " There's that other one a laughing again," said 
 Mr. Jonas ; " she's a laughing at my father, I 
 shouldn't wonder. If he puts on that old flannel 
 nightcap of his, I don't know what she'll do ! Is 
 that mv father a snoring, Pecksniff?" 
 
 " Yes, Mr. Jonas." 
 
 "Tread' upon his foot, will you be so good ?" 
 said the young gentleman. " The foot next you 's 
 the gouty one." 
 
 Mr. Pecksniff hesitating to perform this friendly 
 office, Mr. Jonas did it himself; at the same time 
 crying— 
 
 " Come, wake up, father, or you'll be having 
 the nightmare, and screeching out, /know. — E)o 
 you ever have the nightmare, cousin ?" he asked 
 liis neighbour, with characteristic gallantry, as he 
 dropped his voice again. 
 
 "Sometimes," answered Charity. "Not often." 
 
 " The other one," said Mr. Jonas, after a pause. 
 " Does she ever have the nightmare ?" 
 . " I don't know," replied Charity. " You had 
 better ask her." 
 
 " She laughs so ;" said Jonas ; " there's no 
 talking to her. Only hark how's she a going on 
 now ! You're the sensible one, cousin !" 
 
 "Tut, tut!" cried Charity. 
 
 " Oh ! But you are ! You know you are !" 
 
 "Mercy is a little giddy," said Miss Charity. 
 "But she'll sober down in time." 
 
 " It'll be a very long time, then, if she does at 
 all," rejoined her cousin. " Take a little more 
 room." 
 
 " I am afraid of crowding you," said Charity. 
 But she took it notwithstanding ; and after one or 
 two remarks on the extreme heaviness of the 
 coach, and the number of places ir stopped at, 
 they fell into a silence which remained unbroken 
 by any member of the party until supper-time. 
 
 Although Mr. Jonas conducted Charity to the 
 hotel and sat himself beside her at the board, it 
 was pretty clear that he had an eye to " the other 
 one" also, for he often glanced across at Mercy, 
 and seemed to draw comparisons between the 
 personal appearance of the two, which were not 
 unfavourable to the superior plumpness of the 
 younger sister. He allowed himself no great 
 leisure for this kind of observation, however, be- 
 ing busily engaged with the supper, which, as he 
 whispered in his fair companion's ear, was a con- 
 tract business, and therefore the more she ate, the 
 better the bargain Was. His father and Mr. Peck- 
 sniff, probably acting on the same wise principle, 
 demolished everything that came within their 
 reach, and by that means acquired a greasy ex- 
 pression of countenance, indicating contentment, 
 if not repletion, which it was very pleasant to 
 contemplate. 
 
 When they could eat no more, Mr. Pecksniff 
 and Mr. Jonas subscribed for two sixpennyworths 
 of hot brandy-and-water, which the latter gentle- 
 man considered a more politic order than one 
 shillingsworth ; there being a chance of their 
 getting more spirit out of the innkeeper under 
 this arrangement than if it were all in one glass. 
 Having swallowed his share of the enlivening 
 fluid, Mr. Pecksniff, under pretence of going to 
 see if the coach were ready, went secretly to the 
 bar, and had his own little bottle filled, in order 
 that he might refresh himself at leisure in the 
 dark coach without being observed. 
 
 These arrangements concluded, and the coach 
 being ready, they got into their old places and 
 jogged on again. But before he composed him- 
 self for a nap, Mr. Pecksniff delivered a kind of 
 grace after meat, in these words : 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEVVIT. 
 
 55 
 
 44 The procoss of digestion, as I have been in- 
 formed by anatomical friends, is one of the most 
 wonderful work* of nature. I do not know bow 
 it may be with others, but it is a great sati-fie- 
 lion to me to know, when r« -*r : * 1 i i ; ir "" ">y humble 
 fare, that I am putting in motion tin: most beauti- 
 ful machinery with winch we h *M "V acquaint- 
 ance. I really feel at such times ;is if 1 was doing 
 a public service. When I have wound myself up, 
 if I may employ such a term," said Mr. Pecksniff 
 with exquisite tenderness, "and know that I am 
 Going, 1 fed that in the lesson afforded by the 
 works within me, I am a Benefactor to my Kind !" 
 
 As nothing could be added to this, nothing was 
 said ; and Mr. Pecksniff, exulting, it may be pre- 
 sumed, in his moral utility, went to sleep again. 
 
 The rest of the night wore away in the usual 
 manner. Mr. Pecksniff and Old Anthony kept 
 tumbling against each other and waking up much 
 terrified ; or crushed their heads in opposite cor- 
 ners of the coach and strangely tattooed the surface 
 of their faces — I leaven knows how — in their sleep. 
 The coach stopped and went on, and went on and 
 stopped, times out of number. Passengers got up 
 and passengers got down, and fresh horses came 
 and went and came again, with scarcely any in- 
 terval between each team as it seemed to those 
 who were dozing, and with a gap of a whole night 
 between every one as it seemed to those who were 
 broad awake. At length they began to jolt and 
 rumble over horribly uneven stones, and Mr. Peck- 
 sniff looking out of window said it was to-morrow 
 morning, and they were there. 
 
 Very soon afterwards the coach stopped at the 
 office in the city ; and the street in which it was 
 situated was already in a bustle, that fully bore 
 out Mr. Pecksniff's words about its being morn- 
 ing, though for any signs of day yet appearing in 
 the sky it might have been midnight. There was 
 a dense fog too— as if it were a city in the clouds, 
 which they had been travelling to all night up a 
 magic beanstalk — and a thick crust upon the 
 pavement like oil-cake ; which, one of the out- 
 sides (mad, no doubt) said to another (his keeper, 
 of course)^was snow. 
 
 Taking a confused leave of Anthony and his 
 son, and leaving the luggage of himself and daugh- 
 ters at the office to be called for afterwards, Mr. 
 Pecksniff, with one of the young ladies under 
 each arm, dived across the street, and then across 
 other streets, and so up the queerest courts, and 
 down the strangest alleys and under the blindest 
 archways, in a kind of frenzy : now skipping over 
 a kennel, now running for his life, from a coach 
 and horses ; now thinking he had lost his way, 
 now thinking he had found it; now in a slate of 
 the highest confidence, now despondent lo the last 
 degree, but always in a great perspiration and 
 flurry ; until at length they stopped in a kind of 
 
 Saved yard near the Monument. That is to say, 
 Ir. Pecksniff told them so; for as' to anything 
 they could see of the Monument, or anything elso 
 but the buildings close at hand, they might as well 
 have been playing blindman's buff at Salisbury. 
 
 Mr. Pecksniff looked about him for a moment, 
 and then knocked at the door of a very dingy 
 edifice, even among the choice collection of dingy 
 edifices at hand ; on the front of which was a little 
 oval board, like a lea-tray, with this inscription — 
 •* Commercial Boarding House: M. Todgcrs." 
 
 It seemed that M. Todgcrs was not op yet, for 
 Mr. Pecksniff knocked twice and rang thrice, 
 without making any impression on anything but 
 a dog over the way. At last a chain and some 
 re withdrawn with a rusty noise, as if the 
 weather had made the very fastenings hoarse, and 
 a small l>oy with a large red head, and no nose to 
 speak of, and a very dirty Wellington boot on hut 
 left arm, appeared ; who (being surprised) rubbed 
 the nose just mentioned with the back of a shoe- 
 brush, and said nothing. 
 
 "Still a-bed, my man?" asked Mr. Pecksniff. 
 
 "Still a-bed!" replied the boy. "I wish they 
 wos still a-bed, They're very noisy a-bed ; all 
 calling for their boots at once. I thought you 
 wos the Paper, and wondered why you didn't 
 shove yourself through the grating as usual. 
 What do you want?" 
 
 Considering his years, which were tender, the 
 youth may be said to have preferred this question 
 sternly, and in something of a defiant manner. 
 But Mr. Pecksniff, without taking umbrage at 
 his bearing, put a card in his hand, and bade him 
 take that up stairs, and show them meanwhile 
 into a room where there was a fire. 
 
 "Or if there's one in the eating-parlour," said 
 Mr. Pecksniff, " I can find it myself." So he led 
 his daughters, without waiting for any further 
 introduction, into a room on the ground floor 
 where a table-cloth (rather a tight and scanty fit 
 in reference to the table it covered) was already 
 spread for breakfast: displaying a mighty dish of 
 pink boiled beef; an instance of that particular 
 style of loaf which is known to housekeepers as a 
 slack-baked, crummy quartern ; a liberal provision 
 of cups and saucers; and the usual appendages. 
 
 Inside the fender were some half dozen pairs of 
 shoes and boots, of various sizes, just cleaned and 
 turned with the soles upward to dry; and a pair of 
 short black gaiters, on one of which was chalked — 
 in sport, it would appear, by some gentleman who 
 had slipped down fbf the purpose, ponding his 
 toilet, and gone up again — " Jinkins's Particular," 
 while ihe other exhibited a sketch in profile, claim- 
 ing to be tl»e portrait of Jinking himself. 
 
 M. Todgers's Commercial Boarding- House was 
 a house of that sort which is likely to be dark at 
 any time; but that morning it was especially 
 dark. There was an odd smell in the passage, 
 as if the concentrated essence of all the dinners 
 that had been cooked in the kitchen since the 
 house was built, lingered at the top of the kitchen 
 stairs to that hour, and, like the Black Friar in 
 Don Juan, "wouldn't be driven away." In par- 
 ticular, there was a sensation of cabbage ; as if 
 all the greens that had ever been boiled there 
 were evergreens, and flourished in immortal 
 strength. The parlour was wainscoted, u:, 
 muiiicatcd to strangers a mnguetic and instinctive 
 consciousness of rats and mice. The staircase 
 was very gloomy and very broad, with balustrades 
 so thick and heavy that they would have served 
 for a bridge. In. a sombre corner on the first 
 landing, stood a gruff old giant of a clock, with r 
 preposterous coronet of three brass balls on his 
 head ; whom few bad ever seen — none ever looked 
 in the face — and who seemed to continue his 
 heavy tick for no other reason than to warn heed- 
 less people from running into himsnccidentally. 
 It had not been papered or painted, hadn't Ton 
 
56 
 
 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 gers's, within the memory of man. It was very 
 black, begrimed, and mouldy. And, at the top 
 of the staircase, was an old, disjointed, rickety, 
 ill-favoured skylight, patched and mended in all 
 kinds of ways, which looked distrustfully down 
 at everythiug that passed below, and covered 
 Todgers's up as if it were a sort of human cu- 
 cumber-frame, and only peopje of a peculiar 
 growth were reared there. 
 
 Mr. Pecksniff and his fair daughters had not 
 stood warming themselves at the file ten minutes, 
 when the sound of feet was heard upon the stairs, 
 and the presiding deity of the establishment came 
 hurrying in. 
 
 M. Todgers was a lady — rather a bony and 
 hard-featured lady — with a row of curls in front 
 of her head, shaped like little barrels of beer ; 
 and on the top of it something made of net — you 
 couldn't call it a cap exactly — which looked like 
 a black cobweb. She had a little basket on her 
 arm, and in it a bunch of keys that jingled as 
 she came. In her other hand she bore a flaming 
 tallow candle, which, after surveying Mr. Peck- 
 sniff for one instant by its light, she put down 
 upon the table, to the end that she might receive 
 him with the greater cordiality. 
 
 " Mr. Pecksniff," cried Mrs. Todgers. " Wel- 
 come to London ! Who would have thought of 
 such a visit as this, after so — dear, dear ! — so 
 many years ! How do you do, Mr. Pecksniff?" 
 
 " As well as ever ; and as glad to see you, as 
 ever;" Mr. Pecksniff made response. "Why, 
 you are younger than you used to be !" 
 
 " You are, I am sure !" said Mrs. Todgers. 
 " You 're not a bit changed." 
 
 " What do you say to this ?" cried Mr. Peck- 
 sniff, stretching out his hand towards the young 
 ladies. " Does this make me no older ?" 
 
 "Not your daughters!" exclaimed the lady, 
 raising her hands and clasping them. " Oh, no, 
 Mr. Pecksniff! Your second, and her brides- 
 maid !" 
 
 Mr. Pecksniff smiled complacently; shook his. 
 head ; and said, " My daughters, Mrs. Todgers : 
 merely my daughters." 
 
 " Ah !" sighed the good lady, " I must believe 
 you, for now I look at 'em I think I should have 
 known 'em anywhere. My dear Miss Pecksniffs, 
 how happy your Pa has made me !" 
 
 She hugged them both ; and being by this time 
 overpowered by her feelings or the inclemency 
 of the morning, jerked a little pocket handker- 
 chief out of the little basket, and applied the 
 same to her face. 
 
 " Now, my good madam," said Mr. Pecksniff, 
 "I know the rules of your establishment, and 
 that you only receive gentlemen boarders. But 
 it occurred to me, when I left home, that perhaps 
 you would give my daughters houseroom, and 
 make an exception in their favour." 
 
 " Perhaps ?" cried Mrs. Todgers ecstatically. 
 "Perhaps?" 
 
 " I may say then, that I was sure you would," 
 said Mr. Pecksniff. " I know that you have a 
 j'lttle room of your own, and that they can be 
 comfortable there, without appearing at the gen- 
 eral table ' 
 
 " Dear girls !" said Mrs. Todgers. " I must 
 take that liberty once more." 
 
 Mrs. Todgers meant by this that she must em- 
 brace them once more, which she accordingly 
 did, with great ardour. But the truth was, that, 
 the house being full with the exception of one 
 bed, which would now be occupied by Mr. Peck- 
 sniff, she w T anted time for consideration ; and so 
 much time too (for it was a knotty point how to 
 dispose of them), that even when this second 
 embrace was over, she stood for some moments 
 gazing at the sisters, with affection beaming in 
 one eye, and calculation shining out of the other. 
 
 " I think I know how to arrange it," said Mrs. 
 Todgers, at length. " A sofa bedstead in the lit- 
 tle third room which opens from my own parlour. 
 Oh, you dear girls !" 
 
 Thereupon she embraced them once more, 
 observing that she could not decide which was 
 most like their poor mother (which was highly 
 probable : seeing that she had never beheld that 
 lady), but that she rather thought the youngest 
 was ; and then she said that as the gentlemen 
 would be down directly, and the ladies were 
 fatigued with travelling, would they step into her 
 room at once ? 
 
 It was on the same floor ; being in fact, tne 
 back parlour ; and had, as Mrs. Todgers said, the 
 great advantage (in London) of not being over- 
 looked ; as they would see, when the fog cleared 
 off. Nor was this a vain-glorious boast, for it 
 commanded at a perspective of two feet, a brown 
 wall with a black cistern on the top. The sleep- 
 ing apartment designed for the young ladies was 
 approached from this chamber by a mightily con- 
 venient little door, which would only open when 
 fallen against by a strong person. It commanded 
 from a similar point of sight another angle of the 
 wall, and another side of the cistern. " Not the 
 damp side," said Mrs. Todgers. " That is Mr. 
 Jinkins's." 
 
 In the first of these sanctuaries a fire was speed- 
 ily kindled by the youthful porter, who, whistling 
 at his work in the absence of Mrs. Todgers (not 
 to mention his sketching figures on his corduroys 
 with burnt firewood), and being afterwards taken 
 by that lady in the fact, was dismissed with a box 
 on his ears. Having prepared breakfast for the 
 young ladies with her own hands, she withdrew 
 to preside in the other room ; where the joke at 
 Mr. Jinkins's expense, seemed to be proceeding 
 rather noisily. 
 
 " I won't ask you yet, my dears," said Mr. 
 Pecksniff, looking in at the door, " how you like 
 London. Shall I ?" 
 
 " We haven't seen much of it, Pa !" cried 
 Merry. 
 
 "Nothing, I hope," said Cherry. (Both verv 
 miserably.) 
 
 "Indeed," said Mr. Pecksniff, "that's true. 
 We have our pleasure, and our business too, be- 
 fore us. All in good time. All in good time !" 
 
 Whether Mr. Pecksniff's business in London 
 was as strictly professional as he had given his 
 new pupil to understand, we shall see, to adopt 
 that worthy man's phraseology, " all in good 
 time." 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 TOWN AND TODGERS'S. 
 
 Surely there never was, in any other borough, 
 city, or hamlet in the world, such a singular sort 
 of a place as Todgers's. And surely London, to 
 judge from that part of it which hcmmcil Tod- 
 gers's round, and hustled it, and crushed it, and 
 stuck its brick-and-mortar elbows into it, and kept 
 the air from it, and stood perpetually between it 
 and the light, was worthy of Todgers's, and quali- 
 fied to be on terms of close relationship and alli- 
 ance with hundreds and thousands of the odd 
 family to which Todgers's belonged. 
 
 Y(ju couldn't walk in Todgers's neighbourhood, 
 as you could in any other neighbourhood. You 
 groped your way for an hour through lanes 
 and bye-ways, and court-yards and passages ; and 
 never once emerged upon anything that might be 
 reasonably called a street. A kind of resigned 
 distraction came over the stranger as he trod 
 those devious mazes, and, giving himself up for 
 lost, went in and out and round about, and quietly 
 turned back again when he came to a dead wall, 
 or was stopped by an iron railing^ and felt that 
 the means of escape might possibly present them- 
 selves in their own good time, but that to antici- 
 pate them was hopeless. Instances were known 
 of people, who, being asked to dine at Todgers's, 
 had travelled round and round it for a weary time, 
 with its very chimney-pots in view ; and finding 
 it, at last, impossible of attainment, had gome 
 home again with a gentle melancholy on their 
 spirits, tranquil and uncomplaining. Nobody had 
 ever found Todgers's on a verbal direction, though 
 given within a minute's walk of it. Cautious emi- 
 grants from Scotland or the North of England had 
 been known to reach it safely by impressing a 
 charity-boy, town-bred, and bringing him along 
 with them ; or by clinging tenaciously to the post- 
 man ; but these were rare exceptions, and only 
 went to prove the rule, that Todgers's was in s 
 labyrinth, whereof the mystery was known but 
 to a chosen few. 
 
 Several fruit-brokers had their marts near 
 Todgers's ; and one of the first impressions 
 wrought upon the stranger's senses, was of 
 oranges — of damaged oranges, with blue and 
 green bruises on them, festering in boxes, or 
 mouldering away in cellars. All day long, a 
 stream of porters from the wharves beside the 
 liver, each bearing on his back a bursting chest 
 of oranges, poured slowly through the narrow 
 passages ; while underneath the archway by the 
 public-house, the knots of, those who rested and 
 regaled within, were piled from morning until 
 night. Strange solitary pumps were found near 
 TonWrs's, biding themselves for the most part in 
 blind alleys, and keeping company with fire-lad- 
 ders. There were churches also by dozens, with 
 many a ghostly little church-yard, all overgrown 
 with such strangling vegetation as springs up 
 ppontanrnii -ly from damp, and graves, and rub- 
 bish. In some of these dingy resting-places, 
 which bore much the same analogy to green 
 churchyards, as the pots of earth for mignonette 
 and wall-Mower in the windows overlooking them, 
 did to rustic gardens — there were trees ; tall trees ; j 
 
 still putting forth their leaves in each succeeding 
 year, with such a languishing remembrance of 
 their kind (so one might fancy, looking on theii 
 sickly boughs) as birds in cages have of theirs 
 Here, paralysed old watchmen guarded the bodies 
 of the dead at night, year after year, until at last 
 they joined that solemn brotherhood ; and, saving 
 that they slept below the ground a sounder sleep 
 than even they had ever known above it, and were 
 shut up in another kind of box, their condition 
 can hardly be said to have undergone any material 
 change when they, in turn, were watched them- 
 selves. 
 
 Among the narrow thoroughfares at hand, there 
 lingered, here and there, an ancient doorway of 
 carved oak, from which, of old, the sounds of 
 revelry and feasting often came ; but now, these 
 mansions, only used for storehouses, were dark 
 and dull, and, being filled with wool, and cotton, 
 and the like — such heavy merchandise as stifles 
 sound and stops the throat of echo— had an air of 
 •palpable deadness about them, which, added to 
 their silence and desertion, made them very grim. 
 In like manner, there were gloomy court-yards in 
 these parts, into which few but belated wayfarers 
 ever strayed, and where vast bags and packs of 
 goods, upward or downward bound, were for ever 
 dangling between heaven and earth from lofty 
 cranes. There were more trueks near Todgers's 
 than you would suppose a whole city could ever 
 need ; not active truck?, but a vagabond race, for 
 ever lounging in the narrow lanes before their 
 masters' doors, and stopping up the pass ; so that 
 when a stray hackney-coach or lumbering wagon 
 came that way, they were the cause of such an 
 uproar as enlivened the whole neighbourhood, and 
 made the very bells in the next church-tower 
 vibrate again. In the throats and maws of dark 
 no-thoroughfares near Todgers's, individual wine- 
 merchants and wholesale dealers in grocery-ware 
 had perfect little towns of their own ; and, deep 
 among the very foundations of these buildings, the 
 ground was undermined and burrowed out into 
 stables, where cart-horses, troubled by rats, might 
 be heard, on a quiet Sunday, rattling their hal- 
 ters, as disturbed spirits in tales of haunted houses 
 are said to clank their chains. 
 
 To tell of half the queer old taverns that had a 
 drowsy and secret existence near Todgera's, would 
 fill a goodly book ; while a second volume, ne less 
 capacious, might be devoted to an account of the 
 quaint old guests who frequented their dimly- 
 lighted parlours. These were, in general, ancient 
 inhabitant* of that region ; born, and "bred there 
 from boyhood ; who had long since become 
 wheezy and asthmalical, and short of breath, ex- 
 cept in the article of story-telling : in whieh re- 
 spect they were still marvellously long-winded. 
 These gentry were much opposed to steam and 
 all new-fancied ways, and held ballooning to be 
 sinful, and deplored the degeneracy of the timet; 
 which that particular member of Mcfc little club 
 who kept the keys of the nearest church, profes- 
 sionally, always attributed to the prevalence of 
 dissent and irreligion ; though the major part o? 
 
58 
 
 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 the company inclined to the belief that virtue went 
 out' with hair-powder, and that old England's 
 greatness had decayed amain with barbers. 
 
 As to Todgers's itself — speaking of it only as 
 a house in (hat neighbourhood, and making no 
 reference to its merits as a commercial boarding 
 establishment — it was worthy to stand where it 
 did. There was one staircase-window in it: at 
 the side of the house, on the ground-floor: which 
 tradition said had not been opened for a hundred 
 years at least, and which, abutting on an always- 
 dirty lane, was so begrimed and coated with a 
 century's mud, that no one pane of glass could 
 possibly fall out, though all were cracked and 
 broken twenty times. But the grand mystery of 
 Todgers's was the cellarage, approachable only 
 by a little back door and a rusty grating : which 
 cellarage within the memory of man had had no 
 connexion with the house, but had always been 
 the freehold property of somebody else, and was 
 reported to be full of wealth : though in what 
 shape — whether in silver, brass, or gold, or butts 
 of wine, or casks of gunpowder — was matter of 
 profound uncertainty and supreme indifference to 
 Todgers's, and all its inmates. 
 
 The top of the house was worthy of notice. 
 There was a sort of terrace on the roof,' with posts 
 and fragments of rotten lines, once intended to 
 dry clothes upon; and there were two or three 
 tea-chests out there y full of earth, with forgotten 
 plants in them, like old walking-sticks. Whoever 
 climbed to this observatory, was stunned at first 
 from having knocked his head against the little 
 door in coming out; and after that, was for the 
 moment choaked from having looked, perforce, 
 straight down the kitchen chimney ; but these 
 two stages over, there were things to gaze at from 
 the top of Todgers's, well worth your seeing too. 
 For first and foremost, if the day were bright, you 
 observed upon the house-tops, stretching far away, 
 a long dark path : the shadow of the Monument: 
 and turning round, the tall original was close be- 
 side you, with every hair erect upon his golden 
 head, as if the doings of the city frightened him. 
 Then there were steeples, towers, belfreys, shining 
 vanes, and masts of ships: a very forest. Gables, 
 housetops, garret-windows, wilderness upon wil- 
 derness. Smoke and noise enough for all the 
 world at once. 
 
 After the first glance, there were slight features 
 in the midst of this crowd of objects, which sprung 
 out from the mass without any reason, as it were, 
 and took bold of the attention whether the spec- 
 tator would or no. Thus, the revolving chimney- 
 pots on one great stack of buildings, seemed to be 
 turning gravely to each other every now and then, 
 and whispering the result of their separate obser- 
 vation of what was going on below. Others, of a 
 crook-backed shape, appeared to be maliciously 
 holding themselves askew, that they might shut 
 the prospect out and baffle Todgers's. The man 
 who was mending a pen at an upper window over 
 the way, became of paramount importance in the 
 scene, and made a blank in it, ridiculously dispro- 
 portionate in its extent, when he retired. The 
 gambols of a piece of cloth upon the dyer's pole 
 had far more interest for the moment than all the 
 changing motion of the crowd. Yet even while 
 the looker-on felt angry with himself for this, and 
 wonaered how it was, the tumult swelled into a | 
 
 roar ; the host of objects seemed to thicken and 
 expand a hundredfold : and after gazing round 
 him, quite scared, he turued into Todgers's again, 
 much more rapidly than he came out; and ten to 
 one he told M. Todgers afterwards that if he hadn't 
 done so, he would certainly have come into the 
 street by the shortest cut : that is to say, headfore- 
 most. 
 
 So said the two Miss Pecksniffs, when they 
 retired with Mrs. Todgers from this place of espial, 
 leaving the youthful porter to close the door and 
 follow them down stairs : who being of a playful 
 temperament, and contemplating with a delight 
 peculiar to his sex and time of life, any chance of 
 dashing himself into small fragments, lingered 
 behjnd to walk upon the parapet. 
 
 It being the second day of their stay in London, 
 the Miss Pecksniffs and Mrs. Todgers were by 
 this time highly confidential, insomuch that the 
 last-named lady had already communicated the 
 particulars of three early disappointments of a 
 tender mature ; and had furthermore possessed her 
 young friends with a general summary of the life, 
 conduct, and character of Mr. Todgers : who, it 
 seemed, had cut his matrimonial career rather 
 short, by unlawfully running away from his hap- 
 piness, and establishing himself in foreign coun- 
 tries as a bachelor. 
 
 " Your pa was once a little particular in his 
 attentions, my dears," said Mrs. Todgers : " but 
 to be your ma was too much happiness denied me. 
 You 'd hardly know who this was done for, per- 
 haps ?" 
 
 She called their attention to an oval miniature, 
 like a little blister, which was tacked up over the 
 kettle-holder, and in which there was a dreamy 
 shadowing forth of her own visage. 
 
 " It's a speaking likeness !" cried the two Miss 
 Pecksniffs. 
 
 " It was considered so once," said Mrs. Tod- 
 gers, warming herself in a gentlemanly manner 
 at the fire : " but I hardly thought you would 
 have known it, my loves." 
 
 They would have known it anywhere. If they 
 could have met with it in the street, or seen it in 
 a shop window, they would have cried, " Good 
 Gracious ! Mrs. Todgers !" 
 
 " Presiding over an establishment like this, 
 makes sad havoc with the features, my dear Miss 
 Pecksniffs," said Mrs. Todgers. " The gravy 
 alone, is enough to add twenty years to one's age, 
 I do assure you." 
 
 " Lor 1" cried the two Miss Pecksniffs. 
 
 " The anxiety of that one item, my dears," said 
 Mrs. Todgers, " keeps the mind continually upon 
 the stretch. There is no such passion in human 
 nature, as the passion for gravy among commer- 
 cial gentlemen. It 's nothing to say a joint won't 
 yield — a whole animal wouldn't yield — the 
 amount of gravy they expect each day at dinner. 
 And what I have undergone in consequence," 
 cried Mrs. Todgers, raising her eyes and shaking 
 her head, " no one would believe !" 
 
 "Just like Mr. Pinch, Merry!" said Charity. 
 " We have always noticed it in him, you remem- 
 ber?" 
 
 " Yes, my dear," giggled Merry, " but we have 
 never given it him, you know." 
 
 " You, my dears, having to deal with your pa's 
 pupils who can't help themselves, are able to take 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 
 
 59 
 
 your own way," said Mrs. Todgers, ** but in a 
 commercial establishment, where any gentleman 
 Sal irday evening, ' Mrs. Todgers, 
 this day week we part, in consequence of the 
 , it is not so easy to preserve ;i pleasant 
 understanding. Your pa was kind enough," add- 
 ed the good lady, " to invite me to take a ride 
 with you to-day ; and I think he mentioned that 
 you were going to call upon Miss Pinch. Any 
 relation to the gentleman you were speaking of 
 just now, Miss Pecksniff?" 
 
 ** For goodness sake, Mrs. Todgers," interposed 
 the lively Merry, "don't call him a gentleman. 
 My dear Cherry, Pinch a gentleman ! The idea !" 
 
 44 What a wicked girl you are !" cried Mrs. 
 Todgers, embracing her with great affection. 
 u You 're quite a quiz, I do declare ! My dear 
 Miss Pecksniff, what a happiness your sister's 
 spirits must be to your pa and self!" 
 
 u He 's the most hideous, goggle-eyed creature, 
 Mrs. Todgers, in existence," resumed Merry : 
 "quite an ogre. The ugliest, awkwardest, fright- 
 fulest being, you can imagine. This is his sister; 
 so I leave you to suppose what she is. I shall be 
 obliged to laugh outright, I know I shall !" cried 
 the charming girl ; " I never shall be able to keep 
 ray countenance. The notion of a Miss Pinch 
 presuming to exist at all, is sufficient to kill one, 
 but to see her — oh my stars !" 
 
 Mrs. Todgers laughed immensely at the dear 
 love's humour, and declared she was quite afraid 
 of her, that she was. She was so very severe. 
 
 M Who is severe ?" cried a voice at the door. 
 " There is no such thing as severity in our family, 
 I hope!" And then Mr. Pecksniff peeped smil- 
 ingly into the room, and said, " May I come in, 
 Mrs. Todgers?" 
 
 Mrs. Todgers almost screamed, for the little 
 door of communication between that room and 
 the inner one being wide open, there was a full 
 disclosure of the sofa bedstead in all its monstrous 
 impropriety. But she had the presence of mind 
 to close this portal in the twinkling of an eye; 
 and having done so, said, though not without con- 
 fusion, " Oh yes, Mr. Pecksniff, you can come in, 
 if you please." 
 
 " How are we to-day," said Mr. Pecksniff, jo- 
 cosely ; " and what are our plans ? Are we ready 
 to go and see Tom Pinch's sister ? #la, ha, ha ! 
 Poor Thomas Pinch !" 
 
 " Are we ready," returned Mrs. Todgers, nod- 
 ding her head with mysterious intelligence, " to 
 send a favourable reply to Mr. Jinkins's round- 
 robin ? That 's the first question, Mr. Pecksniff." 
 
 44 Why Mr. Jinkins's robin, my dear madam?" 
 asked Mr. Pecksniff, putting one arm round Mer- 
 cy, and the other round Mrs". Todgers, whom ho 
 seemed, in the abstraction of the moment, to mis- 
 take for Charity. " Why Mr. Jinkins's ?" 
 
 M Because he began to get it up, and indeed 
 always takes the lead in the house," said Mrs. 
 Todgers, playfully. "That's why, sir." 
 
 "Jinkins is a man of superior talents" observed 
 Mr. r> <Usiiiff. " I have conceived a great regard 
 for Jinkins. 1 (alee Jinkins's desire to pay polite 
 attention to my daughters, as an additional proof 
 of the friendly iceling of Jinkins, Mrs. Todgers.* 1 
 
 " W. 11 now," returned that lady, "having said 
 so mixli, you must say the rest, Mr. Pecksniff: 
 so tell the dear young ladies all about it." 
 
 With these words, she gently eluded Mr. Peck- 
 sniff's grasp, and took Miss Charity into her own 
 embrace; though win ther she was impelled to this 
 proceeding by the irrepressible affection the bad 
 conceived for that young lady, or whether it had 
 any reference to a lowering, not to say distinctly 
 spiteful expression which had been visible in her 
 face for some moments, has never been exactly 
 ascertained. Be this as it may, Mr. Pecksniff 
 went on to inform his daughters of the purport 
 and history of the round-robin aforesaid, which 
 was in brief, that the commercial gentleman who 
 helped to make up the sum and substance of that 
 noun of multitude or signifying many, called 
 Todgers's, desired the honour of their presence at 
 the general table, so long as they remained in the 
 house, and besought that they would grace the 
 board at dinner-time next day, the same being 
 Sunday. He further said, that Mrs. Todgers being 
 a consenting party to this invitation, he was will- 
 ing, for his part, to accept it ; and so lell them that 
 he might write his gracious answer, the while 
 they armed themselves with their best bonnets for 
 the utter defeat and overthrow of Miss Pinch. 
 
 Tom Pinch's sister was governess in a family, 
 a lofty family ; perhaps the wealthiest brass and 
 copper founders' family known to mankind. They 
 lived at Camberwell ; in a house so big and fierce 
 that its mere outside, like the outside of a giant's 
 castle, struck terror into vulgar minds and made 
 bold persons quail. There was a great front gate; 
 with a great bell, whose handle was in itself a 
 note of admiration; and a great lodge; which 
 being close to the house, rather spoilt the look-out 
 certainly, but made the look-in, tremendous. At 
 this entry, a great porter kept constant watch and 
 ward ; and when he gave the visitor high leave to 
 pass, he rang a second great bell, responsive to 
 whose note a great footman appeared in due time 
 at the great hall-door, with such great tags upon 
 his liveried shoulder that he was perpetually en- 
 tangling and hooking himself among the chairs 
 and tables, and led a life of torment which could 
 scarcely have been surpassed, if he had been a 
 blue-bottle in a world of cobwebs. 
 
 To this mansion, Mr. Pecksniff, accompanied 
 by his daughters and Mrs. Todgers, drove gal- 
 lantly in a one-horse fly. The foregoing ceremo- 
 nies having been all performed, they were ushered 
 into the house ; and 60, by degrees, they got at 
 last into a small room with books in it, where 
 Mr. Pinch's sister was at that moment, instruct- 
 ing her eldest pupil: to wit, a premature little 
 woman of thirteen years old, who had already ar- 
 rived at such a pitch of whalebone and education 
 that she had nothing girlish about her, which was 
 a source of great rejoicing to all her relations and 
 friends. 
 
 44 Visitors for Miss Pinch !" said the footman. 
 He must have been an ingenious young man, for 
 he said it very cleverly : with a nice discrimina- 
 tion between the co! Ufa which be would 
 have announced visitors to the family, and the 
 warm personal interest with which he would hav* 
 announced visitors to the cook. 
 
 "Visitors for Miss Pinch 1" 
 
 Miss Pinch rose hastily; with sucn toKens of 
 agitation us plainly declared Cat her list of callers 
 was not numerous. At the same time, the li'tlo 
 oupil became alarmingly upright, and orepared 
 
50 
 
 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 herself to take mental notes of all that might be 
 said and done. For the lady of the establishment 
 was curious in tht> natural history and habits of 
 the animal called Governess, and encouraged her 
 daughters to report thereon whenever occasion 
 served ; which was, in reference to all parties con- 
 cerned, very laudable, improving, and pleasant. 
 
 It is a melancholy fact ; but it must be related, 
 that Mr. Pinch's sister was not at all ugly. On 
 the contrary, she had a very good face , a very 
 mild and prepossessing face ; and a pretty little 
 figure — slight and short, but remarkable for its 
 neatness. There was something of her brother, 
 much of him indeed, in a certain gentleness of 
 manner, and in her look of timid trustfulness; 
 but she was so far from being a fright, or a dowdy, 
 or a horror, or anything else, predicted by the two 
 Miss Pecksniffs, that those young ladies naturally 
 regarded her with great indignation, feeling that 
 this was by no means what they had come to see. 
 Miss Mercy, as having the larger share of 
 gaiety, bore up the best against this disappoint- 
 ment, and carried it off, in outward show at least, 
 with a titter ; but her sister, not caring to hide 
 her disdain, expressed it pretty openly in her looks. 
 As to Mrs. Todgers, she leaned on Mr. Pecksniff's 
 arm and preserved a kind of genteel grimness, 
 suitable to any state of mind, and involving any 
 shade of opinion. 
 
 " Don't be alarmed Miss Pinch," said Mr. Peck- 
 sniff, taking her hand condescendingly in one of 
 his, and patting it with the other. ** I have called 
 to see you, in pursuance of a promise given to 
 your brother, Thomas Pinch. My name — com- 
 pose yourself, Miss Pinch — is Pecksniff." 
 
 The good man emphasized these words as 
 though he would have said, ' You see in me, young 
 person, the benefactor of your race; the patron of 
 your house; the preserver of your brother, who is 
 fed with manna daily from my table ; and in right 
 of whom there is a considerable balance in my 
 favour at present standing in the books beyond 
 the sky. But I have no pride, for I can afford to 
 do without it !' 
 
 The poor girl felt it all as if it had been Gospel 
 Truth. Her brother writing in the fulness of his 
 simple heart, had often told her so, and how much 
 more! As Mr. Pecksniff ceased to speak, she 
 hung her head, and dropped a tear upon his hand. 
 "Oh very well, Miss Pinch !" thought the sharp 
 pupil, " crying before strangers, as if you didn't 
 like the situation !" 
 
 " Thomas is well," said Mr. Pecksniff; " and 
 sends his love and this letter. I cannot say, poor 
 fellow, that he will ever be distinguished in our 
 profession; but he has the will to do well, which 
 is the next thing to having the power ; and, there- 
 fore, we must bear with him. Eh ?" 
 
 " I know he has the will, sir," said Tom Pinch's 
 sister, " and I know how kindly and considerately 
 you cherish it, for which neither he nor I can 
 ever be grateful enough, as we very often say in 
 writing to each other. The young ladies too," 
 sne added, glancing gratefully at his two daugh- 
 ters, " I know how much we owe to them." 
 
 " My dears," said Mr. Pecksniff, turning to 
 them with a smile ; " Thomas's sister is saying 
 »ome*hing you will be glad to hear, I think." 
 
 ' We can't take anv merit to ourselves, papa !" 
 eriec Cherrv, as the/ ootn apprised Tom Pinch's 
 
 sister, with a curtsey, that they would feekbliged 
 if she would keep her distance. " Mr. Pinch's 
 being so well provided for is owing to you alone, 
 and we can only say how glad we are to hear that 
 he is as grateful as he ought to be." 
 
 " Oh very well, Miss Pinch !" thought the pu- 
 pil again. " Got a grateful brother, living on 
 other people's kindness !" 
 
 " It was very kind of you," said Tom Pinch's 
 sister, with Tom's own simplicity, and Tom's own 
 smile, " to come here : very kind indeed : though 
 how great a kindness you have done me in grati- 
 fying my wish to see you, and to thank you with 
 my own lips, you, who make so light of benefits 
 conferred, can scarcely think." 
 
 " Very grateful ; very pleasant ; very proper," 
 murmured Mr. Pecksniff. 
 
 " It makes me happy too," said Ruth Pinch, 
 who now that her first surprise was over, had a 
 chatty, cheerful way with her, and a single-heart- 
 ed desire to look upon the best side of everything, 
 which was the very moral and image of Tom ; 
 " very happy to think that you will be able to tell 
 him how more than comfortably I am situated 
 here, and how unnecessary it is that he should 
 ever waste a regret on my being cast upon my 
 own resources. Dear me ! So long as I heard 
 that he was happy, and he heard that I was," 
 said Tom's sister, " we could both bear, without 
 one impatient or complaining thought, a great 
 deal more than ever we have had to endure, I am 
 very certain." And if ever the plain truth were 
 spoken on this occasionally false earth, Tom's sis- 
 ter spoke it when she said that. 
 
 " Ah !" cried Mr. Pecksniff, whose eyes had in 
 
 the mean time wandered to the pupil ; " certainly. 
 
 And how do you do, my very interesting child ?" 
 
 "Quite well, I thank you, sir," replied that 
 
 frosty innocent. 
 
 " A sweet face this, my dears," said Mr. Peck- 
 sniff,, turning to his daughters. " A charming 
 manner !" 
 
 Both young ladies had been in ecstasies with 
 the scion of a wealthy house (through whom the 
 nearest road and shortest cut to her parents might 
 be supposed to lie) from the first. Mrs. Todgers 
 vowed that anything one quarter so angelic she 
 had never seen. "She wanted but a pair of wings, 
 a dear," said that good woman, " to be a young 
 syrup," — meaning, possibly, young sylph, or se- 
 raph. 
 
 " If you will give that to your distinguished 
 parents, my amiable little friend," said Mr Peck- 
 sniff, producing one of his professional cards, 
 " and will say that I and my daughters — " 
 " And Mrs. Todgers, pa," said Mary. 
 "And Mrs. Todgers, of London," "added Mr. 
 Pecksniff; " that I, and my daughters, and Mrs. 
 Todgers of London, did not intrude upon them, 
 as our object simply was to take some notice of 
 Miss Pinch, whose brother is a young man in my 
 employment ; but that I could not leave this very 
 chaste mansion, without adding my humble tri- 
 bute, as an Architect, to the correctness and ele- 
 gance of the owner's taste, and to his just appre- 
 ciation of that beautiful art, to the cultivation of 
 which I have devoted a life, and to the promotion 
 of whose glory and advancement I have sacrificed 
 a — a fortune — I shall be very much obliged to 
 vou" 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 
 
 ** Missis's compliments to Mis* Pinch," said I 
 the footman, suddenly appearing, and speaking 
 in exactly the same key as before, M and begs to 
 know wot my young lady is a learning of just 
 now." 
 
 ■ Oh !" said Mr. Pecksniff, M here is the young 
 man. He will take the card. With my compli- 
 ments, if you please, young man. My dears, wc 
 are interrupting the studies. Let us go." 
 
 Some confusion was occasioned for an instant 
 by Mrs. Todgers's unstrapping her little flat 
 hand-basket, and hurriedly entrusting the " young 
 man" with one of her own cards, which, in ad- 
 dition to certain detailed information relative to 
 the terms of the commercial establishment, bore 
 a foot-note to the effect that M. T. took that 
 opportunity of thanking those gentlemen who had 
 honoured her with their favours, and begged that 
 they would have the goodness, if satisfied with 
 the table, to recommend her to their friends. But 
 Mr. Pecksniff, with admirable presence of mind, 
 recovered this document, and buttoned it up in 
 his own pocket. 
 
 Then he said to Miss Pinch — with more con- 
 descension and kindness than ever, for it was 
 desirable the footman should expressly under- 
 stand that they were hot friends of hers, but 
 patrons : 
 
 41 Good morning. Good bye. God bless you ! 
 You may depend upon my continued protection 
 of your brother Thomas. Keep your mind quite 
 at ease, Miss Pinch !" 
 
 * Thank you," said Tom's sister heartily : " a 
 thousand times." 
 
 " Not at all," he retorted, patting her gently on 
 the head. " Don't mention it. You will make 
 me angry if you do. My sweet child" — to the 
 pupil, " farewell ! That fairy creature," said Mr. 
 Pecksniff, looking in his pensive mood hard at 
 the footman, as if lie meant him, * has shed a 
 vision on my path, refulgent in its nature, and 
 not easily to be obliterated. My dears, are you 
 ready ?" 
 
 They were not quite ready yet, for they were 
 still caressing the pupil. But they tore them- 
 selves away at length ; and sweeping past Miss 
 Pinch with each a haughty inclination of the 
 head and a curtsey strangled in its birth, flounced 
 into the passage. 
 
 The young man had rather a long job in show- 
 ing them out ; for Mr. Pecksniff's delight in the 
 tastefulness of the house was such that he could 
 not help often stopping (particularly when they 
 were near the parlour door) and giving it expres- 
 sion, in a loud voice and very learned terms. 
 Indeed, he delivered, between the study and the 
 hall, a familia- exposition of the whole science of 
 architecture as applied to dwelling-houses, and 
 was yet in the freshness of his eloquence when 
 they reached the garden. 
 
 44 If you look," said Mr. Pecksniff, backing 
 from the Bteps, with his head on one side and his 
 eyes half-shut that he mighi the better take in 
 the proportions of the exterior : 4 ' If you look, 
 my dears, at the cornice which supports the roof, 
 and observe the airiness of its construction, 
 especially where it sweeps the southern angle of 
 the building, you will feel with me — How do you 
 do, sir ? I hope you 're well ! "" 
 
 politely bowed to a middle-aged gentleman at an 
 upper window, to whom he spoke, not because 
 tlie m ntleman could hear him (for he certainly 
 could not), but as an appropriate accompaniment 
 to his salutation. 
 
 44 I have no doubt, my dears," said Mr. Peck- 
 sniff, feigning to point out other beauties with his 
 hand, 44 that that is the proprietor. I should be 
 glad to know him. It might lead to something. 
 Is he looking this way, Charity ?" 
 44 He is opening the window, pa !" 
 44 Ha, ha !" cried Mr. Pecksniff, softly. 4 * All 
 right ! He has found I 'm professional. He 
 heard me inside just now, I have no doubt. Don"t 
 look ! With regard to the fluted pillars in the 
 portico, my dears — " 
 
 44 Hallo !" cried the gentleman. 
 44 Sir, your servant !" said Mr. Pecksniff, taking 
 off his hat : " I am proud to make your acquaint 
 ance." 
 
 44 Come off the grass, will you !" roared the 
 gentleman. 
 
 44 1 beg your pardon, sir," said Mr. Pecksniff, 
 doubtful of his having heard aright, "Did 
 you — ?" 
 
 44 Come off the grass !" repeated the gentle- 
 man, warmly. 
 
 44 We are unwilling to intrude, sir," Mr. Peck 
 sniff smilingly began. 
 
 44 But you are intruding," returned the other 
 44 unwarrantably intruding — trespassing. Yoi 
 see a gravel walk, don't you? What do yoi 
 think it's meant for? Open the gate there 
 Show that party out !" 
 
 With that, he clapped down the window again, 
 and disappeared. 
 
 Mr. Pecksniff put on his hat, and walked with 
 great deliberation and in profound silence to the 
 fly, gazing at the clouds as he went, with great 
 interest. After helping his daughters and Mrs. 
 Todgcrs into that conveyance, he stood looking 
 at it for some moments, as if he were not quite 
 certain whether it was a carriage or a temple ; 
 but, having settled this point in his mind, he got 
 into his place, spread his hands out on his knees, 
 and smile'd upon the three beholders. 
 
 But his daughters, less tranquil-minded, burst 
 into a torrent of indignation. This came, they 
 said, of cherishing such creatures as the Pinches. 
 This came of lowering themselves to their level. 
 This came of putting themselves in the humiliat- 
 ing position of seeming to know such bold, an- 
 dacious, cunning, dreadful girls as that. They 
 had expected this. They had predicted it to Mrs. 
 Todgers, as she (Todgers) could depone, that very 
 morning. To this they added, that the owner of 
 the house, supposing them to be Miss" Pinch's 
 friends, had acted, in their opinion, quite correct- 
 ly, and had done no more than, under such cir- 
 cumstances, might reasonably have been expect- 
 ed. To that they added (with a trifling incon- 
 sistency), that he was a brntc and a bcai ; and 
 then they merged into a flood of tears, wlncn 
 swept away all wandering epithets before n. 
 
 Perhaps Miss Pinch was scarcely so much to 
 blame in the matter as the Seraph, who, imme- 
 diately on the withdrawal of the visitors, had 
 hastened to report them at head-quarters, with a 
 full account of their having presumptuously 
 
 Interrupting himself with these words, he very | charged her with the delivery of a message after 
 
62 
 
 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 wards consigned to the footman; which outrage, 
 taken, in conjunction with Mr. Pecksniff's unob- 
 trusive remarks on the establishment, might pos- 
 sibly have had some share in their dismissal. 
 Poor Miss Pinch, however, had to bear the brunt 
 of it with both parties : being s,o severely taken 
 to task by the Seraph's mother for having such 
 vulgar acquaintances, that she was fain to retire 
 to her own room in tears, which her natural 
 cheerfulness and submission, and the delight of 
 having seen Mr. Pecksniff, and having received a 
 letter from her brother, were at first insufficient 
 to repress. 
 
 As to Mr. Pecksniff, he told them in the fly, 
 that a good action was its. own reward : and ra- 
 ther gave them to understand, that if he could 
 have been kicked in such a cause, he would have 
 liked it all the better. But this was no comfort to 
 the young ladies, who scolded violently the whole 
 way back, and even exhibited, more than once, a 
 keen desire to attack the devoted Mrs. Todgers : 
 on whose personal appearance, but particularly on 
 whose offending card and hand-basket, they were 
 Becretly inclined to lay the blame of half their 
 failure. 
 
 Todgers's was in a great bustle that evening, 
 partly owing to some additional domestic prepara- 
 tions for the morrow, and partly to the excitement 
 always inseparable in that house from Saturday 
 night, when every gentleman's linen arrived at a 
 different hour in its own little bundle, with his 
 private account pinned on the outside. There 
 was always a great clinking of pattens down 
 stairs, too, until midnight or so, on Saturdays ; to- 
 gether with a frequent gleaming of mysterious 
 lights in the area; much working at the pump; 
 and a constant jangling of the iron handle of the 
 pail. Shrill altercations from time to time arose 
 between Mrs. Todgers and unknown females in 
 remote back kitchens ; and sounds were occasion- 
 ally heard indicative of small articles of iron- 
 mongery and hardware being thrown at the boy. 
 It was the custom of that youth on Saturdays, to 
 roll up his shirt sleeves to his shoulders, and per- 
 vade all parts of the house in an apron of coarse 
 green baize ; moreover, he was more strongly 
 tempted on Saturdays than on any other days (it 
 being a busy time), to make excursive bolts into 
 the neighbouring alleys when he answered the 
 door, and there to play at leap-frog and other 
 sports with vagrant lads, until pursued and brought 
 back by the hair of his head, or the lobe of his 
 ear; so that he was quite a conspicuous feature 
 among the peculiar incidents of the last day in the 
 week at Todgers's. 
 
 He was especially so, on this particular Satur- 
 day evening, and honoured the Miss Pecksniffs 
 with a deal of notice; seldom passing the door of 
 Mrs. Todgers's private room, where they sat alone 
 before the fire, working by the light of a solitary 
 candle, without putting in his head and greeting 
 them with some such compliments as, " There 
 you are agin !" " An't it nice ?" — and similar 
 humorous attentions. 
 
 " I say," he whispered, stopping in one of his 
 journeys to and fro, " young ladies, there's soup 
 to-morrow. She's a making it now. An't she a 
 putting in the water ? Oh ! not at all neither !" 
 
 In the course of answering another knock, he 
 thrust in his head again 
 
 " I say — there's fowls to-mcjrow. Not skinny 
 ones. Oh no !" 
 
 Presently he called through the key-hole, 
 
 "There's a fish to-morrow — just come. Don't 
 eat none of him !" and, with this spectral warn- 
 ing, vanished again. 
 
 Bye and bye, he returned to lay the cloth for 
 supper : it having been arranged between Mrs. 
 Todgers and the young ladies, that they should 
 partake of an exclusive veal-cutlet together in the 
 privacy of that apartment. He entertained them 
 on this occasion by thrusting the lighted candle 
 into his mouth, and exhibiting his face in a state 
 of transparency ; after the performance of which 
 feat, he went on with his professional duties ; 
 brightening every knife as he laid it on the table, 
 by breathing on the blade and afterwards polish- 
 ing the same on the apron already mentioned. 
 When he had completed his preparations, he 
 grinned at the sisters, and expressed his belief 
 that the approaching collation would be of " rather 
 a spicy sort." 
 
 "Will it be long before it's ready, Bailey?" 
 asked Mercy . 
 
 No," said Bailey, " it is cooked. When I come 
 up, she was dodging among the tender pieces 
 with a fork, and eating of 'em." 
 
 But he had scarcely achieved the utterance of 
 these words, when he received a manual comph- 
 ment on the head, which sent him staggering 
 against the wall ; and Mrs. Todgers, dish in hand, 
 stood indignantly before him. 
 
 " Oh you little villain !" said that lady. " Oh 
 you bad, false boy !" 
 
 " No worse than yeself," retorted Bailey, guard- 
 ing his head, on a principle invented by Mr. Tho- 
 mas Cribb. "Ah! Come now! Do that agin, 
 will yer !" 
 
 " He's the most dreadful child," said Mrs. Tod- 
 gers, setting down the dish, " I ever had to deal 
 with. The gentlemen spoil him to that extent, 
 and teach him such things, that I'm afraid nothing 
 but hanging will ever do him any good." 
 
 " Won't it ?" cried Bailey. " Oh ! Yes ! Wot 
 do you go a lowerin the table for then, and de- 
 stroying my constitooshun ?" 
 
 " Go down stairs, you vicious boy," said Mrs. 
 Todgers, holding the door open. " Do you hear 
 me ? Go along !" 
 
 After two or three dexterous feint?, he went, 
 and was seen no more that night, save once, 
 when he brought up some tumblers and hot water 
 and much disturbed the two Miss Pecksniffs by 
 squinting hideously behind the back of the uncon- 
 scious Mrs. Todgers. Having done this justice to 
 his wounded feelings, he retired underground ; 
 where, in company with a swarm of black beetles 
 and a kitchen candle, he employed his faculties in 
 cleaning boots and brushing clothes until the 
 night was far advanced. 
 
 Benjamin was supposed to be the real name of 
 this young retainer, but he was known by a great 
 variety of names. Benjamin, for instance, had 
 been converted into Uncle Ben, and that again 
 had been corrupted into Uncle ; which, by an easy 
 transition, had again passed into Barnwell, in 
 memory of the celebrated relative in that degree 
 who was shot by his nephew George, while medi- 
 tating in his garden at Camberwell. The gentle- 
 men at Todgers's had a merry habit, too, of ne» 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 
 
 G3 
 
 •towing upon him, for the time being, the name 
 of any notorious malefactor or minuter ; and 
 sometimes, when current events were Hut, they 
 tfto -<ught the pages of history for these dis- 
 tinctions; as Mr. Pitt, Young, Brown rigir, and 
 the like. At the period of which * I write, M M M 
 generally known among the gentlemen as Bailry 
 junior ; a name bestowed upon him in contradis- 
 tinction, perhaps, to Old Bailey ; and possibly as 
 involving ihe recollection of an unfortunate lady 
 of the hum name, who perished by her own hand 
 early in lilt-, and has been immortalised in a ballad. 
 
 The usual Sunday dinner-hour at Todgers's 
 was two o'clock, — a suitable time, it was consi- 
 dered, for all parties ; convenient to Mrs. Todgers, 
 on account of the baker's; and convenient to the 
 genth -men, with reference to their afternoon en- 
 gagements. But on the Sunday which was to 
 introduce the two Miss Pecksniffs to a full know- 
 ledge of Todgers's and its society, the dinner was 
 postponed until five, in order that everything 
 mijrht be as genteel as the occasion demanded. 
 
 When the hour drew nigh, Bailey junior, testi- 
 fying great excitement, appeared in a complete 
 suit of cast-off* clothes several sizes too large for 
 him, and in particular, mounted a clean shirt of 
 such extraordinary magnitude, that one of the 
 gentlemen (remarkable for his ready wit) called 
 him ," collars" on the spot. At about a quarter 
 before five, a deputation, consisting of Mr. Jinkins, 
 and another gentleman whose name was Gander, 
 knocked at the door of Mrs. Todgers's room, and, 
 being formally introduced to the two Miss Peck- 
 sniffs by their parent, who was in waiting, be- 
 sought the honour of conducting them up stairs. 
 
 The drawing-room at Todgers's was out of the 
 common style ; so much so indeed, that you would 
 hardly have taken it to be a drawing-room, unless 
 you were told so by somebody who was in the se- 
 cret It was floor-clothed all over; and the ceil- 
 ing, including a great beam in the middle, was 
 papered. Besides the three little windows, with 
 seats in them, commanding the opposite archway, 
 there was another window looking point blank, 
 without any compromise at all about it, into Jin- 
 kins's bed-room ; and high up all abong one side 
 of the wall was a strip of panes of glass, two-deep, 
 giving lijrlit to the staircase. There were the 
 oddest closets possible, with little casements in 
 them like eight-day clocks, lurking in the wains- 
 cot and taking the shape of the stairs ; and the 
 very door itself (which was painted black) had 
 two gseat glass eyes in its forehead, with an in- 
 quisitive green pupil in the middle of each. 
 
 Here the gentlemen were all assembled. There 
 was a general cry of " Hear, Hear !" and u Bravo 
 Jink !" when Mr. Jinkins appeared with Charity 
 on his arm : which became quite rapturous as 
 Mr. Gander' followed, escorting Mercy, and Mr. 
 Pecksniff" brought up the rear with Mrs. Todgers. 
 
 Then the presentations look place. They in- 
 cluded a gentleman of a sporting turn, who pro- 
 pounded questions on jockey subjects to the editors 
 m Sunday papers, which were regarded by his 
 friends as rather stiff* things to answer; and they 
 Jnelud. (1 ■ genth man cf a theatrical turn, who 
 had once entertained serious thoughts of M coming 
 out," but had been kept in by tin wickedness of 
 human nature ; and they included a gentleman 
 of a debating turn, who was strong at speech- 
 
 making; and a gentleman of a literary turn, who 
 wrote squibs upon the rest, and knew the weak 
 side of everybody's character but his oWn. There 
 was a gentleman of a vocal turn, and a gentleman 
 of a smoking turn, and a gentleman of a c 
 turn ; some of the gentlemen had a turn for whist, 
 and a large proportion of the gentlemen had a 
 strong turn for billiards and betting. They had 
 all, it may be presumed, a turn for business ; be. 
 ing all commercially employed in one way or 
 other ; and had, every one in his own way, a de- 
 cided turn for pleasure to boot Mr. Jinkins was 
 of a fashionable turn ; being a regular frequenter 
 of the Parks on Sundays, and knowing a great 
 many carriages by sight. He spoke mysteriously, 
 too, of splendid women, and was suspected of 
 having once committed himself with a Countess. 
 Mr. Gander was of a witty turn, being indeed the 
 gentleman who had originated the sally about' 
 "collars;" which sparkling pleasantry was now 
 retailed from mouth to mouth, under the title of 
 Gander's Last, and was received in all parts of the 
 room with great applause. Mr. Jinkins, it may 
 be added, was much the oldest of the party : be- 
 ing a fish-salesman's book-keeper, aged forty. He 
 was the oldest boarder also ; and in right of his 
 double seniority, took the lead in the house, as 
 Mrs. Todgers had already said. 
 
 There was considerable delay in the production 
 of dinner, and poor Mrs. Todgers, being reproach- 
 ed in confidence by Jinkins, slipped in and out, 
 at least twenty times, to see about it ; always 
 coming back as though she had no such thing 
 upon her mind, and hadn't been out at all. But 
 there was no hitch in the conversation, neverthe- 
 less ; for one gentleman, who travelled in the per- 
 fumery line, exhibited an interesting nick-nack 
 in the way of a remarkable cake of shaving soap 
 which he had lately met with in Germany ; and 
 the gentleman of a literary turn repeated (by de- 
 sire) some sarcastic stanzas he had recently pro- 
 duced on the freezing of the tank at the back of 
 the house. These amusements, with the miscel- 
 laneous conversation arising out of them, passed 
 the time splendidly, until dinner was announced 
 by Bailey junior in these terms : 
 
 u The wittles is up !" 
 
 On which notice they immediately descended 
 to the banquet-hall; some of the more facetious 
 spirits in the rear taking down gentlemen as if 
 they were ladies, in imitation of the fortunate 
 possessors of the two Miss Pecksniff's. 
 
 Mr. Pecksniff* said grace — a short and pious 
 grace, invoking a blessing on the appetites of 
 those present, and committing all persons who 
 had nothing to eat, to the care of Providence : 
 whose business (so said the grace, in effect) it 
 clearly was, to look after them. This done, they 
 fell to, with less ceremony than appetite ; the table 
 groaning beneath the weight, not only of the deli- 
 cacies whereof tlic Miss Pecksniffs had been pre 
 viously forewarned, but of boiled beef, roast veal 
 bacon, pics, and abundance of such heavy vegeta- 
 bles as are favourably known to housekeepers for 
 their satisfying qualities. Besides which, there 
 were bottles of stout, bottles of wine, bottles of ale 
 and divers other strong drinks, native and foreign 
 
 All this was highly agreeable to the two M»* 
 Pecksniffs, who were in imim use request ; sitting 
 one on either hand of Mr. Jenkins at the bottom 
 
64 
 
 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 of the table; and who were called upon to take 
 wine with some new admirer every minute. They 
 had hardly ever felt so pleasant, and so full of 
 conversation, in their lives ; Mercy, in particular, 
 was uncommonly brilliant, and said so many good 
 things in the way of lively repartee that she was 
 looked upon as a prodigy. " In short," as that 
 young lady observed, " they felt now, indeed, that 
 they were in London, and for the first time too." 
 
 Their young friend Bailey sympathized in these 
 feelings to the fullest extent, and, abating nothing 
 of his patronage, gave them every encouragement 
 in his power : favouring them, when the general 
 attention was diverted from his proceedings, with 
 many nods and winks and other tokens of recog- 
 nition, and occasionally touching his nose with a 
 corkscrew, as if to express the Bacchanalian char- 
 acter of the meeting. In truth, perhaps even the 
 spirits of the two Miss Pecksniffs, and the hungry 
 watchfulness of Mrs. Todgers, were less worthy 
 of note than the proceedings of this remarkable 
 boy, whom nothing disconcerted or put out of his 
 way. If any piece of crockery — a dish or other- 
 wise — chanced to slip through his hands (which 
 happened onCe or twice), he let it go with perfect 
 good-breeding, and never added to the painful 
 emotions of the company by exhibiting the least 
 regret. Nor did he, by hurrying to and fro, dis- 
 turb the repose of the assembly, as many well- 
 trained servants do ; on the contrary, feeling the 
 hopelessness of waiting upon so large a party, he 
 left the gentlemen to help themselves to what they 
 wanted, and seldom stirred from behind Mr. Jin- 
 kins's chair, where, with his hands in his pockets, 
 and his legs planted pretty wide apart, he led the 
 laughter, and enjoyed the conversation. 
 
 The dessert was splendid. No waiting either. 
 The pudding-plates had been washed in a little tub 
 outside the door while cheese was on, and though 
 they were moist and warm with friction, still there 
 they were again — up to the mark, and true to time. 
 Quarts of almonds ; dozens of oranges ; pounds 
 of raisins ; stacks of biffins ; soup-plates full of 
 nuts. Oh, Todgers's could do it when it chose ! 
 mind that. 
 
 Then more wine came on ; red wines and white 
 wines; and a large china bowl of punch, brewed 
 by the gentleman of a convivial turn, who adjured 
 the Miss Pecksniffs not to be despondent on ac- 
 count of its dimensions, as there were materials 
 in the house for the concoction of half a dozen 
 more of the same size. Good gracious, how they 
 laughed ! How they coughed when they sipped it, 
 because it was so strong; and how they laughed 
 again, when somebody vowed that but for its col- 
 our it might have been mistaken, in regard of its 
 innocuous qualities, for new milk ! What a shout 
 of " No !" burst from the gentlemen when they 
 pathetically implored Mr. Jinkins to suffer them 
 to qualify it with hot water; and how blushingly, 
 by little and little, did each of them drink her 
 whole glassful down to its very dregs ! 
 
 Now comes the trying time. The sun, as Mr. 
 Jinkins 9ays (gentlemanly creature, Jinkins — ne- 
 ver at a loss !), is about to leave the firmament. 
 "Miss Pecksniff!" says Mrs. Todgers, softly, 
 "will you — " " Oh dear, no more, Mrs. Todgers." 
 Mrs. Todgers rises , the two Miss Pecksniffs rise ; 
 ull rise. Miss Mercy Pecksniff looks downward 
 for her scarf, Where is it ? Dear me, where can 
 
 it be ? Sweet girl, she has it on — not on her fair 
 neck, but loose upon her flowing figure. A dozen 
 hands assist her. She is all confusion. The young- 
 est gentleman in company thirsts to murder Jin- 
 kins. She skips and joins her sister at the door. 
 FTer sister has her arm about the waist of Mrs. 
 Todgers. She winds her arm around her sister. 
 Diana, what a picture ! The last things visible 
 are a shape and a skip. " Gentlemen, let us drink 
 the ladies !" 
 
 The enthusiasm is tremendous. The gentle- 
 man of a debating turn rises in the midst, and 
 suddenly lets loose a tide of eloquence which bears 
 down everything before it. He is reminded of a 
 toast — a toast to which they will respond. There 
 is an individual present; he has him in his eye; 
 to whom they owe a debt of gratitude. He re- 
 peats it— a debt of gratitude. Their rugged na- 
 tures have been softened and ameliorated that day 
 by the society of lovely woman. There is a gen- 
 tleman in company whom two accomplished and 
 delightful females regard with veneration, as the 
 fountain of their existence. Yes, when yet the 
 two Miss Pecksniffs lisped in language scarce in- 
 telligible, they called that individual " Father !" 
 There is great applause. He gives them " Mr. 
 Pecksniff, and God bless him !" They all shake 
 hands with Mr. Pecksniff, as they drink the toast, 
 The youngest gentleman in company does so with 
 a thrill ; for he feels that a mysterious influence 
 pervades the man who claims that being in the 
 pink scarf for his daughter. 
 
 What saith Mr. Pecksniff in reply ? or rather 
 let the question be, What leaves he unsaid ? No- 
 thing. More punch is called for, and produced, 
 and drunk. Enthusiasm mounts still higher. 
 Every man comes out freely in his own charac- 
 ter. The gentleman of a theatrical turn recites. 
 The vocal gentleman regales them with a song. 
 Gander leaves the Gander of all former feasts 
 whole leagues behind. He rises to propose a toast. 
 It is, The Father of Todgers's. It is their com- 
 mon friend Jink — it is Old Jink, if he may call 
 him by that familiar and endearing appellation. 
 The youngest gentleman in company utters a fran- 
 tic negative. He won't have it — he can't bear it 
 — it mustn't be. But his depth of feeling is mis- 
 understood. He is supposed to be a little elevat- 
 ed ; and nobody heeds him. 
 
 Mr. Jinkins thanks them from his heart. It is, 
 by many degrees, the proudest day in his humble 
 career. When he looks around him on the pre- 
 sent occasion, he feels that he wants words in 
 which to express his gratitude. One thing he will 
 say. He hopes it has been shown that Todgers's 
 can be true to itself; and, an opportunity arising, 
 that it can come out quite as strong as its neigh- 
 bours — perhaps stronger. He reminds them, 
 amidst thunders of encouragement, that they have 
 heard of a somewhat similar establishment in 
 Cannon street; and that they have heard it prais- 
 ed. He wishes to draw no invidious comparisons ; 
 he would be the last man to do it ; but when that 
 Cannon street establishment shall be able to pro- 
 duce such a combination of wit and beauty as has 
 graced that board that day, and shall be able to 
 serve up (all things considered) such a dinner as 
 that of which they have just partaken, he wiH be 
 happy to talk to it. Until then, gentlemen, he 
 will stick to Todgers's 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 
 
 G5 
 
 More punch, more enthusiasm, more speeches. I 
 Everybody's health is drunk, saving the youngest 
 gentleman's, in company. He sits apart, with nil 
 elbow on the back of a vacant chair, and flam 
 disdainfuily at Jinkins. Gander, in a convulsive 
 . ^ives them the health of Bailey junior; 
 hiccups are heard ; and a glass is broken. .Mr. 
 Jinkins (bell that it is time to join the ladies. He 
 proposes, as a final sentiment, Mrs. Todgers. She 
 is worthy to be remembered separately. Hear, 
 hear. So she is : no doubt of it. They all find 
 fault with her at other times ; but every man feels, 
 now, that he could die in her defence. 
 
 They go up-stairs, whero they are not expected 
 so soon ; for Mrs. Todgers is asleep, Miss Charity 
 is adjusting her hair, and Mercy, who has made 
 a sofa of one of the window-seats, is in a grace- 
 fully-rct ■umhent attitude. She is rising hastily, 
 when Mr. Jinkins implores her, for all their 
 cakes, not to stir; she looks too gracefully and 
 too lovely, he remarks, to be disturbed. She 
 laughs, and yields, and fans herself, and drops her 
 fan, and there is a rush to pick it up. Being now 
 installed, by one consent, as the beauty of the 
 party, she is cruel and capricious, and sends gen- 
 tlemen on messages to other gentlemen, and for- 
 gets all about them before they can return with 
 the answer, and invents a thousand tortures, rend- 
 ing their hearts to pieces. Bailey brings up the 
 tea and coffee. There is a small cluster of ad- 
 mirers round Charity ; but they are only those 
 who cannot get near her sister. The youngest 
 gentleman in company is pale, but collected, and 
 still sits apart; for his spirit loves to hold com- 
 munion with itself, and his soul recoils from noisy 
 revellers. She has a consciousness of his presence 
 and his adoration. He sees it flashing sometimes 
 in the corner of her eye. Have a care, Jinkins, 
 ere you provoke a desperate man to frenzy ! 
 
 Mr. Pecksniff had followed his younger friends 
 up-stairs, and taken a chair at the side of Mrs. 
 Todgers. He had also spilt a cup of coffee over 
 his legs without appearing to be aware of the cir- 
 cumstance ; nor did he seem to know that there 
 was a muffin on his knee. 
 
 "And how have they used you, down-stairs, 
 sir ?" asked the hostess. 
 
 " Their conduct has been 6uch, my dear 
 madam," said Mr. Pecksniff, "as I can never 
 think of withouLemotion, or remember without a 
 tear. Oh, Mrs. Todgers !" 
 
 ** My goodness !" exclaimed that lady. " How 
 low you are in your spirits, sir !" 
 
 " I am a man, my dear madam," said Mr. 
 Pecksniff, shedding tears, and speaking with an 
 imperfect articulation, "hut I am also a father. I 
 am also a widower. My feelings, Mrs. Todgers, 
 wilj not consent to be entirely smothered, like the 
 young children in the Tower. They are grown 
 up, and the more I ^ress the bolster on them, the 
 more they look round the corner of it." 
 
 He auddcnly.bccame conscious* of the bit of 
 muffing and stared at it intently : shaking his head 
 the while, in a forlorn and imbecile manner, as if 
 he regarded it ai hii evil genius, and mildly re- 
 proached it. 
 
 " She was beautiful, Mrs. Todgers," he said, 
 turning his glazed eye again upon her, without the 
 least preliminary notice. " She had a small pro- 
 perty." 
 9 
 
 "So I have heard," cried Mrs. Todgers, with 
 great sympathy. 
 
 " Those are her daughters," said Mr. Pecksniff 
 pointing out the young ladies, with increased 
 emotion. 
 
 Mrs. Todgers had no doubt of it. 
 
 " Mercy and Charily," said Mr. Pecksniff, 
 "Charity and Mercy. Npt unholy MM | 
 
 hope ?" 
 
 " Mr. Pecksniff!" cried Mrs. Todgers, u what 
 a ghastly smile ! Are you ill, sir ?" 
 
 lie pressed his hand upon her arm, and an- 
 swered, in a solemn manner, and a faint voice, 
 "Chronic." | 
 
 "Cholic?" cried the frightened Mrs, Todgers. 
 
 "Chron-ic," he repeated, with some difficulty. 
 " Chronic. A chronic disorder. I have been us 
 victim from childhood. It is carrying me to my 
 grave." 
 
 " Heaven forbid !" cried Mrs. Todgers. 
 
 " Yes it is," said Mr. Pecksniff, reckless with 
 despair. " I am rather glad of it, upon the 
 whole. You are like her, Mrs. Todgers." 
 
 " Don't squeeze me so tight, pray, Mr. Peck- 
 sniff. If any of the gentlemen should notice us." 
 
 "For her sake," said Mr. Pecksniff. "Permit 
 me — in honour of her memory. For the sake of 
 a voice from the tomb. You are very like her, 
 Mrs. Todgers ! What a world this is !" 
 
 " Ah ! Indeed you may say that !" cried Mrs. 
 Todgers. 
 
 " I 'm afraid it 's a vain and thoughtless world," 
 said t Mr. Pecksniff, overflowing with despondency. 
 " These young people about us. Oh ! what sense 
 have they of their responsibilities ? None. Give 
 me your other hand, Mrs. Todgers." 
 
 That lady hesitated, and said "shedid'nt like." 
 
 " Has a voice from the grave no influence ?" 
 said Mr. Pecksniff, with dismal tenderness. u This 
 is irreligious! My dear creature." 
 
 "Hush!" urged Mrs. Todgers. "Really yon 
 mustn't." 
 
 "It's not me," said Mr. Pecksniff "Don't 
 suppose it 's me ; it 's the voice ; it 's her voice." 
 
 Mrs. Pecksniff deceased must have had an un- 
 usually thick and husky voice for a lady ; and 
 rather a stuttering voice ; and to say the truth, 
 somewhat of a drunken voice ; if it had ever 
 borne much resemblance to that in which Mr. 
 Pecksniff spoke just then. But perhaps this was 
 delusion on his part. 
 
 N It has been a day of enjoyment, Mrs. Todgera, 
 but still it has been a day of torture. It has 
 reminded me of my loneliness. What am I in 
 the world?" 
 
 " An excellent gentleman, Mr. Pecksniff," said 
 Mrs. Todgera, 
 
 " There is consolation in that too," cried Mr* 
 Pecksniff. " Am I ?" 
 
 u There ii no better man living," laid Mr*. 
 Todgers, " I am sure " 
 
 Mr. Pecksniff smiled through his tears, and 
 slightly shook hii head. u You are very g*K*d,** 
 he said, " thank you. It is a great happiness to 
 me, Mn. Todgers, to make young people happ/. 
 The happiness of my pupils is my chief object 
 I dote upon 'cm. They dote upon me, too — 
 sometimes." 
 
 " Always," said Mr* Todgers. 
 
 " When they say they haven't improve© 
 
06 
 
 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 ma'am," whispered Mr. Pecksniff, looking at her 
 with profound mystery, and motioning to her to 
 advance her ear a little closer to his mouth. 
 " When they say they haven't improved, ma'am, 
 and the premium was too high, they lie ! I 
 shouldn't wish it to be mentioned ; you will un- 
 derstand me ; but I say to you as to an old friend, 
 they lie." 
 
 " Base wretches they must be !" said Mrs. 
 Todgers. 
 
 "Madam," said Mr. Pecksniff, "you are right. 
 I respect you for that observation. A word in 
 your ear. To Parents and Guardians — This is 
 in confidence, Mrs. Todgers ?" 
 
 " The strictest, of course !" cried that lady. 
 
 " To Parents and Guardians," repeated Mr. 
 Pecksniff. " An eligible opportunity now offers, 
 which unites the advantages of the best practical 
 architectural education with the comforts of a 
 home, and the constant association with some, 
 who, however humble their sphere and limited 
 their capacity — observe ! — are not unmindful of 
 their moral responsibilities." 
 
 Mrs. Todgers looked a little puzzled to know 
 what this might mean, as well she might ; for it 
 was, as the reader may perchance remember, Mr. 
 Pecksniff's usual form of advertisement when he 
 wanted a pupil ; and seemed to have no particular 
 reference, at present, to anything. But Mr. Peck- 
 sniff held up his finger as a caution to her not to 
 interrupt him. 
 
 " Do you know any parent or guardian, Mrs. 
 Todgers," said Mr. Pecksniff, "who desires to avail 
 himself of such an opportunity for a young gen- 
 tleman ? An orphan would be preferred. Do you 
 know of any orphan with three or four hundred 
 pound ?" 
 
 Mrs. Todgers reflected, and shook her head. 
 
 " When you hear of an orphan with three or 
 four hundred pound," said Mr. Peckniff, 'Met that 
 dear orphan's friends apply, by letter post-paid, to 
 S. P., Post-office, Salisbury. I don't know who 
 he is, exactly. Don't be alarmed, Mrs. Todgers," 
 said Mr. Pecksniff, falling heavily against her : 
 "chronic — chronic! Let's have a little drop of 
 something to drink." 
 
 " Bless my life, Miss Pecksniffs !" cried Mrs. 
 Todgers, aloud, "your dear pa 's took very poorly!" 
 
 Mr. Pecksniff straightened himself by a sur- 
 prising effort, as every one turned hastily towards 
 him ; and standing on his feet, regarded the as- 
 sembly with a look of ineffable wisdom. Gra- 
 dually it gave place to a smile; a feeble, helpless, 
 melancholy smile ; bland, almost to sickliness. 
 " Do not repine, my friends," said Mr. Pecksniff, 
 tenderly. " Do not weep for me. It is chronic." 
 And with these words, after making a futile at- 
 tempt to pull off his shoes, he fell into the fire-place. 
 
 The youngest gentleman in company had hirn 
 out in a second. Yes, before a hair upon his 
 head was singed, he had him on the hearth-rug — 
 Her father ! 
 
 She wks almost beside herself. So was her 
 sister. Jinkins consoled them both. They all 
 consoled them. Everybody had something to say 
 except the youngest gentleman in company, who 
 with a noble self-devotion did the heavy work, 
 and held up Mr. Pecksniff's head without being 
 taken any notice of by anybody. At last they 
 f hered round, and agreed to carry him up-stairs 
 
 to bed. The youngest gentleman in company 
 was rebuked by Jinkins for tearing Mr. Peck, 
 sniff's coat ! Ha, ha ! But no matter. 
 
 They carried him up-stairs, and crushed the 
 youngest gentleman at every step. His bedroom 
 was at the top of the house, and it was a long 
 way; but they got him there in course of time. 
 He asked them frequently upon the road for a 
 little drop of something to drink. It seemed an 
 idiosyncrasy. The youngest gentleman in com- 
 pany proposed a draught of water. Mr. Peck- 
 sniff called him opprobrious names for the sug- 
 gestion. 
 
 Jinkins and Gander took the rest upon them- 
 selves, and made him as comfortable as they could, 
 on the outside of his bed ; and when he seemed 
 disposed to sleep, they left him. But before they 
 had all gained the bottom of the staircase, a vision 
 of Mr. Pecksniff, strangely attired, was seen to 
 flutter on the top landing. He desired to collect 
 their sentiments, it seemed, upon the nature of 
 human life. 
 
 " My friends," cried Mr. Pecksniff, looking 
 over the banisters, " let us improve our minds by 
 mutual inquiry and discussion. Let us be moral. 
 Let lis contemplate existence. Where is Jinkins ?" 
 
 " Here," cried that gentleman. " Go to bed 
 again !" 
 
 " To bed !" said Mr. Pecksniff. " Bed ! 'Tis 
 the voice of the sluggard ; I hear him complain ; 
 you have woke me too soon ; I must slumber 
 again. If any young orphan will repeat the re- 
 mainder of that simple piece from Doctor Watts's 
 collection, an eligible opportunity now offers." 
 
 Nobody volunteered. 
 
 " This is very soothing," said Mr. Pecksniff, 
 after a pause. " Extremely so. Cool and refresh- 
 ing ; particularly to the legs ! The legs of the 
 human subject, my friends, are a beautiful pro- 
 duction. Compare them with wooden legs, and 
 observe the difference between the anatomy of 
 nature and the anatomy of art. Do you know," 
 said Mr. Pecksniff, leaning over the banisters, 
 with an odd recollection of his familiar manner 
 among new pupils at home, "that I should very 
 much like to see Mrs. Todgers's notion of a wooden 
 leg, if perfectly agreeable to herself!" 
 
 As it appeared impossible to entertain any rea- 
 sonable hopes of him after this speech, Mr. Jin- 
 kins and Mr. Gander went up-stairs again, and 
 once more got him into bed. But they had not 
 descended to the second floor before he was out 
 again ; nor, when they had repeated the process, 
 had they descended the first flight, before he was 
 out again. In a word, as often as he was shut up 
 in his own room, he darted out afresh, charged 
 with some new moral sentiment, which he conti- 
 nually repeated over the banisters, with extraor- 
 dinary relish, and an irrepressible desire for the 
 improvement of his fellow-creatures that nothing 
 could subdue. 
 
 Under these circumstances, when they had got 
 him into bed for the thirtieth time or so, Mr. Jin- 
 kins held him, while his companion went down- 
 stairs in search of Bailey junior, with whom he 
 presently returned. That youth, having been ap- 
 prised of the service required of him, was in great 
 spirits, and brought up a stool, a candle, and his 
 supper ; to the end that he might keep watch out 
 side the bedroom door with tolerable comfort. 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 
 
 67 
 
 When he had completed his arrangements, they 
 locked Mr. Pecksniff in, and left the key on the 
 outside ; charging the young page to listen atten- 
 tively for symptoms of an apoplectic nature, with 
 which the patient might be troubled, and, in case 
 
 of any such presenting themselves, to summon 
 them without delay : to which Mr. Bailey mo- 
 destly replied that he hoped he knowed wot 
 o'clock it was in gineral, and didn't date his leU 
 ters to his friends, from Todgers'a, for nothing. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 CONTAINING STRANGE MATTER; ON WHICH MANY EVENTS IN THIS 
 HISTORY, MAY, FOR THEIR GOOD OR EVIL INFLUENCE, CHIEFLY DE- 
 PEND. 
 
 But Mr. Pecksniff came to town on business. 
 Had he forgotten that? Was he always taking 
 his pleasure with Todgcrs's jovial brood, unmind- 
 ful of the serious demands, whatever they might 
 be, upon his calm consideration ? No. 
 
 Time and tide will wait for no man, saith the 
 adage. But all men have to wait for time and 
 tide: That tide which, taken at the flood, would 
 lead Seth Pecksniff on to fortune, was marked 
 down in the table, and about to flow. No idle 
 Pecksniff lingered far inland, unmindful of the 
 changes of the stream ; but there, upon the water's 
 edge, over his shoes already, stood the worthy 
 creature, prepared to wallow in the very mud, so 
 that it slid towards the quarter of his hope. 
 
 The trustfulness of his two fair daughters was 
 beautiful indeed. They had that firm reliance on 
 their parent's nature, which taught them to feel 
 certain that in all he did, he had his purpose 
 straight and full before him. And that its noble 
 end and object was himself, which almost of ne- 
 cessity included them, they knew. The devotion 
 of these maids was perfect. 
 
 Their filial confidence was rendered the more 
 touching, by their having no knowledge of their 
 paint's real designs, in the present instance. All 
 that they knew of his proceedings, was, that every 
 morning, after the early breakfast, he repaired to 
 the post-office and inquired for letters. That task 
 performed, his business for the day was over ; and 
 he again relaxed, until the rising of another sun 
 proclaimed the advent of another post 
 
 This went on for four or five days. At length 
 one morning, Mr. Pecksniff returned with a 
 breathless rapidity, strange to observe in him, at 
 other times so calm; and,' seeking immediate 
 speech with his daughters, shut himself up with 
 them in private conference, for two whole hours. 
 Of all that passed in this period, only the following 
 words of Mr. Pecksniff's utterance are known : 
 
 • How he has come to change so very much 
 (if it should turn out as I expect, that he has), we 
 needn't stop to inquire. My dears, I have my 
 thoughts upon the subject, but I will not impart 
 them. It is enough that we will not be proud, 
 il, or unforgiving. If he wants our friend- 
 shall havelt We know our duty, I hope!" 
 
 Th at same day at noon, an old gentleman 
 alighted from a hackney-coach at the post-office, 
 and, giving his name, inquired for a letter ad- 
 dressed to himself, and directed to be left till 
 called for. It had been lying there, some days. 
 The superscription was in Mr. Pecksniff's hand, 
 and ft was sealed with Mr. Pecksniff's seal. 
 
 It was very short, containing indeed nothing 
 more than an address " with Mr. Pecksniff's re- 
 spectful, and (notwithstanding what has passed) 
 
 sincerely affectionate regards." The old gentle- 
 man tore off the direction — scattering the rest in 
 fragments to the winds — and giving it to the 
 coachman, bade him drive as near that place as 
 he could. In pursuance of these instructions be 
 was driven to the Monument ; where he again 
 alighted, dismissed the vehicle, and walked to- 
 wards Todgers's. 
 
 Though the face, and form, and gait of this old 
 man, and even his grip of the stout stick on which 
 he leaned, were all expressive of a resolution not 
 easily shaken, and a purpose (it matters little 
 whether right or wrong, just now) such as in other 
 days might have survived the rack, and had its 
 strongest life in weakest death ; still there were 
 grains of hesitation in his mind, which made him 
 now avoid the house he sought, and loiter to and 
 fro in a gleam of sunlight, that brightened the 
 little church-yard bard by. There may have been 
 in the presence of those idle heaps of dust among 
 the busiest stir of life, something to increase his 
 wavering; but there he walked, awakening the 
 echoes as he paced up and down, until the church 
 clock, striking the quarters for the second time 
 since he had been there, roused him from his 
 meditation. Shaking off his incertitude as the 
 air parted with the sound of the bells, ho walked 
 rapidly to the house, and knocked at the door. 
 
 Mr. Pecksniff was seated in the landlady's lit- 
 tle room, and his visitor found him reading — by 
 an accident: he apologised for it — an excellent 
 theological work. There were cake and wine 
 upon a little table — by another accident, for which 
 he also apologised. Indeed he said, he bad given 
 his visitor up, and was about to partake of that 
 simple refreshment with his children, when he 
 knocked at the door. 
 
 ■ Your daughters are well ?" said old Martin, 
 laying down his hat and stick. 
 
 Mr. Pecksniff endeavoured to conceal his agita- 
 tion as a father, when he answered, Yes, they 
 were. They were good girls, he said, very good. 
 He would not venture to recommend Mr, Chuxde. 
 wit to take the easy chair, or to keep out «f the 
 draught from the door. If he made any auch 
 suggestion, he would expose himself, he fearc*., to 
 most unjust suspicion. He would, therefore, con- 
 tent himself with remarking that there was an 
 easy chair in the room ; and that the door was 
 far from being air-light This latter imperfection, 
 he might perhaps venture to add, was not uncom- 
 monly to be nut with in old houses. 
 
 The old man sat down in the easy chair, and 
 aft( r ■ fi w moment* 1 silence, said : 
 
 41 In the first place, let me thank you for coming 
 to London so promptly, at my almost unexplained 
 request : I need scarcely add, at mv cost " 
 
08 
 
 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 " At your cost, my good sir !" cried Mr. Peck- 
 sniff, in a tone of great surprise. 
 
 " It is not," said Martin, waving his hand im- 
 patiently,"" my habit to put my — well ! my rela- 
 tives — to any personal expense to gratify my 
 caprices." 
 
 " Caprices, my good sir!" cried Mr. Pecksniff. 
 
 "That is scarcely the proper word either, in 
 this instance,"' said the old man. " No. You are 
 right." 
 
 Mr. Pecksniff was inwardly very much relieved 
 to hear it, though he did n't at all know why. 
 
 " You are right," repeated Martin. " It is not 
 a caprice. It is built up on reason, proof, and cool 
 comparison. Caprices never are. Moreover, I am 
 not a capricious man. I never was." 
 
 " Most assuredly not," said Mr. Pecksniff. 
 
 " How do you know ?" returned the other 
 quickly. "You are to begin to kuow it now. 
 You are to test and prove it, in time to come. 
 You and yours are to find that I can be constant, 
 and am not to be diverted from my end. Do you 
 hear ?" 
 
 " Perfectly," said Mr. Pecksniff. 
 
 "I very much regret," Martin resumed, look- 
 ing steadily at him, and speaking in a slow and 
 measured tone : " I very much regret that you 
 and I held such a conversation together, as that 
 which passed between us, at our last meeting. I 
 very much regret that I laid open to you what 
 were then my thoughts of you, so freely as I did. 
 The intentions that I bear towards you, now, are 
 of another kind ; and, deserted by all in whom I 
 have ever trusted, hoodwinked and beset by all 
 who should help and sustain me ; I fly to you for 
 refuge. I confide in you to be my ally ; to attach 
 yourself to me by ties of Interest and Expecta- 
 tion" — he laid great stress upon these words, 
 though Mr. Pecksniff particularly begged him not 
 to mention it ; " and to help me to visit the con- 
 sequences of the very worst species of meanness, 
 dissimulation, and subtlety, on the right heads." 
 
 " My noble sir !" cried Mr. Pecksniff, catching 
 at his outstretched hand. " And you regret the 
 having harboured unjust thoughts of me ! you with 
 those gray hairs !" 
 
 " Regrets," said Martin, " are the natural pro- 
 perty of gray hairs ; and I enjoy, in common with 
 all other men, at least my share of such inherit- 
 ance. And so enough of that. I regret having 
 been severed from you so long. If I had known 
 you sooner, and sooner used you as you well de- 
 serve, I might have been a happier man." 
 
 Mr. Pecksniff looked up to the ceiling, and 
 clasped his hands in rapture. 
 
 " Your daughters," said Martin, after a short 
 silence. " I do n't know them. Are they like 
 you ?" 
 
 " In the nose of my eldest and the chin of my 
 youngest, Mr. Chuzzlewit," returned the widower, 
 " their sainted parent — not myself, their mother — 
 lives again." 
 
 " I do n't mean in person," said the old man. 
 " Morally — morally." 
 
 u 'Tis not for me to say," retorted Mr. Peck- 
 sniff with a gentle smile. K I have done my best, 
 sir." 
 
 " I could wish to see them," said Martin ; " are 
 Miey near at hand ?" 
 They were, very near: for they had, in fact, 
 
 been listening at the door, from the beginning of 
 this conversation until now, when they precipi- 
 tately retired. Having wiped the signs of weak- 
 ness from his eyes, and so given them time to get 
 up stairs, Mr. Pecksniff opened the door, and 
 mildly cried in the passage, 
 
 " My own darlings, where are you ?" 
 " Here, my dear pa !" replied the distant voice 
 of Charity. 
 
 " Come down into the back parlour, if you 
 please, my love," said Mr. Pecksniff, " and bring 
 your sister with you." 
 
 " Yes, my dear pa," cried Mercy ; and down 
 they came directly (being all obedience), singing 
 as they came. 
 
 Nothing could exceed the astonishment of the 
 two Miss Pecksniffs when they found a stranger 
 with their dear papa. Nothing could surpass 
 their mute astonishment when he said, " My 
 children, Mr. Chuzzlewit !" But when he told 
 them that Mr. Chuzzlewit and he were friends, 
 and that Mr. Chuzzlewit had said such kind and 
 tender words as pierced his very heart, the two 
 Miss Pecksniffs cried with one accord, " Thank 
 Heaven for this !" and fell upon the old man's 
 neck. And when they had embraced him with 
 such fervour of affection that no words can de- 
 scribe it, they grouped themselves about his chair, 
 and hung over him : as figuring to themselves no 
 earthly joy like that of ministering to his wants, 
 and crowding into the remainder of his life the 
 love they would have diffused over their whole 
 existence, from infancy, if he — dear obdurate ! — 
 had but consented to receive the precious offer- 
 ing. 
 
 The old man looked attentively from one to the 
 other, and then at Mr. Pecksniff, several times. 
 
 " What," he asked of Mr. Pecksniff, happening 
 to catch his eye in its descent : for until now it 
 had been piously upraised, with something of that 
 expression which the poetry of ages has attributed 
 to a domestic bird, when breathing its last amid 
 the ravages of an electric storm : " What are 
 their names ?" 
 
 Mr. Pecksniff told him, and added, rather has- 
 tily — his calumniators would have said, with a 
 view to any testamentary thoughts that might be 
 flitting through old Martin's mind — " Perhaps, 
 my dears, you had better write them down. Your 
 humble autographs are of no value in themselves, 
 but affection may prize them." 
 
 " Affection," said the old man, " will expend 
 itself on the living originals. Do not trouble 
 yourselves, my girls. I shall not so easily forget 
 you, Charity and Mercy, as to need such tokens 
 of remembrance. Cousin !" 
 
 "Sir!" said Mr. Pecksniff, with alacrity. 
 
 " Do you never sit down ?" 
 
 " Why — yes — occasionally, sir," said Mr. Peck 
 sniff, who had been standing all this time. 
 
 " Will you do so now ?" 
 
 "Can you ask me," returned Mr. Pecksniff, 
 slipping into a chair immediately, " whether I 
 will do anything that you desire ?" 
 
 " You talk confidently," said Martin, " and you 
 mean well ; but I fear you don't know what an 
 old man's humours are. You don't know what it 
 is to be required to court his likings and dislik- 
 ings ; adapt yourself to his prejudices ; do his hid- 
 ding, be it what it may ; bear with his distrusts 
 
7,,,//, 
 
 ///////////V/-//7 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT, 
 
 69 
 
 and jealousies ; and always still be zealous in his 
 service. When I remember how numerous these 
 failings are in me, and judge of their occasional 
 enormity by the injurious thoughts I lately enter- 
 tained of you, I hardly dare to claim you for my 
 friend." 
 
 " My worthy sir," returned his relative, " how 
 can you talk in such a painful strain ! What was 
 more natural than that you should make one 
 slight mistake, when in all other respects you 
 were so very correct, and have had such reason — 
 such very sad and undeniable reason — to judge of 
 erery one about you in the worst light !" 
 
 41 True," replied the other. M You are very 
 lenient with me." 
 
 44 We always said — my girls and I," cried Mr. 
 Pecksniff with increasing obsequiousness, " that 
 while we mourned the heaviness of our misfortune 
 in being confounded with the base and mercena- 
 ry, still we could not wonder at it My dears, you 
 remember ?" 
 
 Oh vividly ! A thousand times ! 
 
 u We uttered no complaint," said Mr. Pecksniff. 
 "Occasionally we had the presumption to console 
 ourselves with the remark that Truth would in 
 the end prevail, and Virtue be triumphant; but 
 not often. My loves, you recollect ?" 
 
 Recollect ! Could he doubt it ? Dearest pa, 
 what strange, unnecessary questions ! 
 
 44 And when I saw you," resumed Mr. Peck- 
 sniff, with still greater deference, " in the little, 
 unassuming village where we take the liberty of 
 dwelling, I said you were mistaken in me, my 
 dear sir: that was all, I think?" 
 
 " No — not all," said Martin, who had been sit- 
 ting with his hand upon his brow for some time 
 past, and now looked up again : " you said much 
 more, which, added to other circumstances that 
 have come to my knowledge, opened my eyes. 
 You spoke to me, disinterestedly, on behalf of — 
 I needn't name him. You know whom I mean." 
 
 Trouble was expressed in Mr. Pecksniff's vis- 
 age, as he pressed his hot hands together, and re- 
 plied, with humility, " Quite disinterestedly, sir, I 
 assure you." 
 
 " I know it," said old Martin, in his quiet way. 
 * I am sure of it. I said so. It was disinterested 
 too, in you, to draw that herd of harpies off from 
 me, and be their victim yourself; most other men 
 would have suffered them to display themselves in 
 all their rapacity, and would have striven to rise, 
 by contrast, in my estimation. You felt for me, 
 and drew them off, for which I owe you many 
 thanks. Although I left the place, I know what 
 passed behind my back, you see !" 
 
 44 You amaze me, sir!" cried Mr. Pecksniff: 
 which was true enough. 
 
 44 My knowledge of your proceedings," said the 
 old man, 44 does not stop at this. You have a new 
 inmate in your house — " 
 
 44 Yes, sir," rejoined the architect, 44 1 have." 
 
 * He must quit it," said Martin. 
 
 44 For— for yours ?" asked Mr. Pecksniff, with 
 a quavering mildness. 
 
 44 For any shelter he can find," the old man an- 
 swered. 44 He has deceived you." 
 
 44 1 hope not," said Mr. Pecksniff, eagerly. 44 1 
 trust not. I have been extremely well disposed to- 
 wards that young man. I hope it cannot be shown 
 that he han forfeited all claim to my protection. 
 
 Deceit— deceit, my dear Mr. Chuzzlewit, would 
 be final. I should hold myself bound, on proof of 
 deceit, to renounce him instantly." 
 
 The old man glanced at both his fair support- 
 ers, but especially at Miss Mercy, whom, indeed, 
 he looked full in the face, with a greater demon- 
 stration of interest than had yet appeared in his 
 features. His gaze again encountered Mr. Peck- 
 sniff, as he said, composedly : 
 
 44 Of course you know that he has made his 
 matrimonial choice ?" 
 
 44 Oh dear !" cried Mr. Pecksniff, rubbing his 
 hair up very stiff upon his head, and staring wild- 
 ly at his daughters. " This is becoming tremen- 
 dous !" 
 
 44 You know the fact ?" repeated Martin. 
 
 "Surely not without his grandfather's consent 
 and approbation, my dear sir !" cried Mr. Peck- 
 sniff. " Don't tell me that. For the honour of 
 human nature, say you're not about to tell me 
 that !" 
 
 44 1 thought he had suppressed it !" said the old 
 man. 
 
 The indignation felt by Mr. Pecksniff at this 
 terrible disclosure, was only to be equalled by the 
 kindling anger of his daughters. What ! Had 
 they taken to their hearth and home a secretly 
 contracted serpent ; a crocodile, who had made a 
 furtive offer of his hand ; an imposition on socie- 
 ty ; a bankrupt bachelor with no effects, trading 
 with the spinster world on false pretences ! And 
 oh, to think that he should have disobeyed and 
 practised on that sweet, that venerable gentleman, 
 whose name he bore ; that kind and tender guar- 
 dian ; his more than father — to say nothing at all 
 of mother — horrible, horrible ! To turn him out 
 with ignominy would be treatment, much too 
 good. Was there nothing else that could be done 
 to him ? Had he incurred no legal pains and pe- 
 nalties ? Could it be that the statutes of the land 
 were so remiss as to have affixed no p"unishment 
 to such delinquency ? Monster ! how basely had 
 they been deceived ! 
 
 44 1 am glad to find you second me so warmly," 
 said the old man, holding up his hand to stay the 
 torrent of their wrath. " I will not deny that it is 
 a pleasure to me to find you so full of zeal. Wo 
 will consider that topic as disposed of." 
 
 44 No, my dear sir," cried Mr. Pecksniff, " not 
 as disposed of, until I have purged my house of 
 this pollution." 
 
 "That will follow," said the old man, "in its 
 own time. I look upon that as done." 
 
 "You arc very good, sir," answered Mr. Peck- 
 sniff, shaking his hand. " You do me honour. 
 You may look upon it as done, I assure you." 
 
 "There is another topic," said Martin, 4< on 
 which I hope you will assist me. You remember 
 Mary, cousin ?" 
 
 44 The young lady that I mentioned to you, my 
 dears, as having interested me so very much," re- 
 marked Mr. Pecksniff. "Excuse my interrupting 
 you, sir." 
 
 44 1 told you her history ;" said the old man. 
 
 "Which I also mentioned, you will recollect, 
 my dears," cried Mr. Pecksniff. "Silly girls, 
 Mr. Chuzzlcwit— quite moved by it, they were!" 
 
 "Why, look now!" said Martin, evidently 
 pleased : " I feared I should have had to urge her 
 case upon you, and ask you to regard her favour 
 
70 
 
 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 ably for my sake. But I find you have no jeal- 
 ousies ! Well ! 'You have no cause for any, to be 
 sure. She has nothing to gain from me, my dears, 
 and she knows it." 
 
 The two Miss Pecksniffs murmured their ap- 
 proval of this wise arrangement, and their cordial 
 sympathy with its interesting object. 
 
 " If I could have anticipated what has come to 
 pass between us four," said the old man, thought- 
 fully : " but it is too late to think of that. You 
 would receive her courteously, young ladies, and 
 be kind to her, if need were ?" 
 
 Where was the orphan whom the two Miss 
 Pecksniffs would not have cherished in their sis- 
 terly bosom ! But when that orphan was com- 
 mended to their care by one on whom the dam- 
 med-up love of years was gushing forth, what ex- 
 haustless stores of pure affection yearned to ex- 
 pend themselves upon her! 
 
 An interval ensued, during which Mr. Chuzzle- 
 wit, in an absent frame of mind, sat gazing at the 
 ground, without uttering a word ; and as it was 
 plain that he had no desire to be interrupted in 
 his meditations, Mr. Pecksniff and his daughters 
 were profoundly silent also. During the whole of 
 the foregoing dialogue, he had borne his part with 
 a cold, passionless promptitude, as though he had 
 learned and painfully rehearsed it all, a hundred 
 times. Even when his expressions were warmest 
 and his language most encouraging, he had re- 
 tained the same manner, without the least abate- 
 ment. But now there was a keener brightness in 
 his eye, and more expression in his voice, as he 
 said, awakening from his thoughtful mood : 
 
 " You know what will be said of this ? Have 
 you reflected?" 
 
 " Said of what, my dear sir ?" Mr. Pecksniff 
 asked. 
 
 " Of this new understanding between us." 
 
 Mr. Pecksniff looked benevolently sagacious, 
 and at the same time far above all earthly mis- 
 construction, as he shook his head, and observed 
 that a great many things would be said of it, no 
 doubt. 
 
 " A great many," rejoined the old man. " Some 
 will say that I dote in my old age ; that illness 
 has shaken me; that I have lost all strength of 
 mind ; and have grown childish. You can bear 
 that ?" 
 
 Mr. Pecksniff answered that it would be dread- 
 fully hard to bear, but he thought he could, if he 
 made a great effort. 
 
 " Others will say — I speak of disappointed, an- 
 gry people only — that you have lied, and fawned, 
 and wormed yourself through dirty ways into my 
 favour ; by such concessions and such crooked 
 deeds, such meannesses and vile endurances, as 
 nothing could repay : no, not the legacy of half 
 the world we live in. You can bear that ?" 
 
 Mr. Pecksniff made no reply that this would 
 be also very hard to bear, as reflecting, in some 
 degree, on the discernment of Mr. Chuzzlewit. 
 Still he had a modest confidence that he could 
 sustain the calumny, with the help of a good con- 
 science, and that gentleman's friendship. 
 
 " With the great mass of slanderers," said old 
 Martin, leaning back in his chair, "the tale, as I 
 clearly foresee, will run thus : That to mark my 
 contempt for the rabble whom I despised, I chose 
 :irom among them the very worst, and made him 
 
 do my will, and pampered and enriched him at 
 the cost of all the rest. That after casting about 
 for the means of a punishment which should ran- 
 kle in the bosoms of these kites the most, and 
 strike into their gall, I devised this scheme at a 
 time when the last link in the qhain of grateful 
 love and duly, that held me to my race, was rough- 
 ly snapped asunder : roughly, for I loved him 
 well ; roughly, for I had ever put my trust in his 
 affection ; roughly, for that he broke it when I 
 loved him most — God help me ! — and he without 
 a pang cuuld throw me off, the while I clung about 
 his heart ! Now," said the old man, dismissing 
 this passionate outburst, as suddenly as he had 
 yielded to it, "is your mind made up to bear tins 
 likewise ? Lay your account with having it to 
 bear, and put no trust in being set right by me." 
 
 " My dear Mr. Chuzzlewit," cried Pecksniff in 
 an ecstasy, " for such a man as you have shown 
 yourself to be this day ; for a man so injured, yet 
 so very humane ; for a man so — I am at a los3 
 what precise term to use — yet at the same time 
 so remarkably — I don't know how to express my 
 meaning ; for such a man as I have described, I 
 hope it is no presumption to say that I, and I am 
 sure I may add my children also (my dears, we 
 perfectly agree in this, I think ?), would bear any- 
 thing whatever !" 
 
 " Enough," said Martin. " You can charge no 
 consequences on me. When do you return home?" 
 
 " Whenever you please, my dear sir. To-night, 
 if you desire it." 
 
 " I desire nothing," returned the old man, " that 
 is unreasonable. Such a request would be. Will 
 you be ready to return at the end of this week ?" 
 
 The very time of all others that Mr. Pecksniff 
 would have suggested if it had been left to him 
 to make his own choice. As to his daughters — 
 the words, " Let us be at home on Saturday, dear 
 pa," were actually upon their lips. 
 
 " Your expenses, cousin," said Martin, taking 
 a folded slip of paper from his pocket-book, " may 
 possibly exceed that amount. If so, let me know 
 the balance that I owe you, when we next meet. 
 It would be useless if I told you where I live just 
 now : indeed, I have no fixed abode. When I 
 have, you shall know it. You and your daugh- 
 ters may expect to see me before long : in the 
 mean time I need not tell you that we keep our 
 own confidence. What you will do when you get 
 home, is understood between us. Give me no 
 account of it at any time ; and never refer to ij; 
 in any way. I ask that, as a favour. I am com- 
 monly a man of few words, cousin ; and all that 
 need be said just now is said, I think." 
 
 "One glass of wine — one morsel of this homely 
 cake ?" cried Mr. Pecksniff, venturing to detain 
 him. " My dears! — " 
 
 The sisters flew to wait upon him. 
 
 " Poor girls !" said Mr. Pecksniff. " You will 
 excuse their agitation, my dear sir. They dre 
 made up of feeling. A bad commodity to go 
 through the world with, Mr. Chuzzlewit ! My 
 youngest daughter is almost as much of a woman 
 as my eldest, is she not, sir ?" 
 
 " Which is the youngest," asked the old man. 
 
 " Mercy, by five 3'ears," said Mr. Pecksniff. 
 " We sometimes venture to consider her rather a 
 fine figure, sir. Speaking as an artist, I may 
 perhaps be permitted to suggest, that its outline 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEW1T. 
 
 7, 
 
 is graceful and correct. I am naturally," said Mr. I 
 Pecksniff, drying his hands upon his hnndker- 
 rihirf and looking anxiously in his cousin's free 
 at almost every word, " proud, if I tnuy iisr tdc 
 i .n, to have a daughter who is constructed 
 upon the best models." 
 
 "She seems to have a lively disposition," ob- 
 
 d Martin. 
 u Dear me !" said Mr. Pecksniff, " that is quite 
 remarkable. You have defined her character, my 
 dear sir, as correctly as if you had known her 
 from her birth. She has a lively disposition. 1 
 assure you, my dear sir t that in our unpretending 
 home, her gaji tv is delightful." 
 
 " No doubt," returned the old man. 
 " Charity, upon the other hand," said Mr. Peck- 
 sniff, " is remarkable for strong sense, and for ra- 
 ther a deep tone of sentiment, if the partiality of a 
 father may be excused in saying so. A wonder- 
 ful affection between them, my dear sir ! Allow 
 •me to drink your health. Bless you!" 
 
 "I little thought," retorted Martin, "but a 
 month ago, that 1 should be breaking bread and 
 pouring wine with you. I drink to you." 
 
 Not at all abashed by the extraordinary abrupt- 
 ness with which these latter words were spoken, 
 Mr. Pecksniff thanked him devoutly. 
 
 " Now let me go," said Martin, putting down 
 the wine when he had merely touched it with his 
 lips. " My dears, good morning !" 
 
 But this distant form of farewell was by no 
 means tender enough for the yearnings of the 
 young ladies, who again embraced him with all 
 their hearts — with all their arms at any rale — to 
 which parting caresses their new-found friend 
 submitted with a better grace than might have 
 been expected from one who, not a moment be- 
 fore, had pledged their parent in a very uncom- 
 fortable manner. These endearments terminated ; 
 he took a hasty leave of Mr. Pecksniff, and with- 
 drew, followed to the door by botb father and 
 daughters, who stood there, kissing their hands, 
 and beaming with affection until he disappeared : 
 though, by the way, he never once looked back, 
 after he Had crossed the threshold. 
 
 When they returned into the house, and were 
 again alone in Mrs. Todgers's room, the two young 
 ladies exhibited an unusual amount of gaiety; in- 
 somuch that they clapped their hands, and laughed, 
 and looked with roguish aspects and a bantering 
 air upon their dear papa. This conduct was so 
 very unaccountable, that Mr. Pecksniff (being 
 singularly grave himself) could scarcely choose 
 but ask them what it meant; and took them to 
 task, in his gentle manner, for yielding to such 
 light emotions. 
 
 "If it was possible to divine any cause for this 
 Detriment, even the most remote," he said, "I 
 should not reprove you. But when you can have 
 none whatever — oh, really, really !" 
 
 This admonition had so little effect on Mercy, 
 that she was obliged to hold her handkerchief be- 
 fore her rosy lips, and to throw herself back in 
 her chair, with every demonstration of extreme 
 amusement ; which want of duty so offended Mr. 
 Pecksniff that he reproved her in set terms, and 
 gave hor his parental advice to correct herself in 
 solitude and contemplation. But at that juncture 
 they were disturbed by the sound of voices in dis- 
 pute ; and as it proceeded from the next room, 
 
 the subject matter of the altercation quickly 
 reached their ears. 
 
 " I don't care that ! Mrs. Todgers," said the 
 young gentleman who had been the youngest 
 fft nth-man in company on the day of the festival ; 
 " I don't care that, ma'am," said he, snapping his 
 ringers, " for Jinkins, Don't suppose I do." 
 
 *• I am quite certain you don't, sir," replied 
 Mrs. Todgers. " You have too independent a 
 spirit, I know, to yield to anybody. And quite 
 right. There is no reason why you should give 
 way to any gentleman. Everybody must be well 
 aware of that." 
 
 " I should think no more of admitting daylight 
 into the fellow," said the youngest gentleman, in 
 a desperate voice, "than if be was a bull-dog." 
 
 Mrs. Todgers did not stop to inquire whether, 
 as a matter of principle, there was any particular 
 reason for admitting daylight even into a bull- 
 dog, otherwise than by the natural channel of his 
 eyes : but she seemed to wring her hands : and 
 she moaned. 
 
 " Let him be careful," said the youngest gen- 
 tleman. " I give him warning. No man shall 
 step between me and the current of my vengeance. 
 I know a Cove — " he used that familiar epithet in 
 his agitation, but corrected himself, by adding, 
 " a gentleman of property, I mean, who practises 
 with a pair of pistols (fellows, too) of his own. If 
 I am driven to borrow 'em, and to send a friend 
 to Jinkins, — a tragedy will get into the papers. 
 That 's all." 
 
 Again Mrs. Todgers moaned. 
 " I have borne this long enough," said the 
 youngest gentleman, " but now my soul rebels 
 against it, and I won't stand it any longer. I left 
 home originally, because I had that within me 
 which wouldn't be domineered over by a sister ; 
 and do vou think I'm going to be put down by 
 Mm ? No." 
 
 " It is very wrong in Mr. Jinkins ; I know it is 
 perfectly inexcusable in Mr. Jinkins, if he intends 
 it," observed Mrs. Todgers. 
 
 "If he intends it!" cried the youngest gentle- 
 man. " Don't he interrupt and contradict me on 
 every occasion ? Does he ever fail to interpose 
 himself between me and anything or anybody that 
 he sees I have set my mind upon ? Docs he make 
 a point of always pretending to forget me, when 
 he 's pouring out the beer ? Does he make brag- 
 ging remarks about his razors, and insulting allu- 
 sions to people who have no necessity to shavo 
 more than once a week? But let him look out; 
 he Ml find himself shaved, pretty close, before long 
 and so I tell him !" 
 
 The young gentleman was mistaken in this 
 closing sentence, inasmuch as he never told it to 
 Jinkins, but always to Mrs. Todg- 
 
 " However," he said, "these are not proper 
 subjects for ladies* ears. All I 've | 
 you, Mrs. Todgers, is, — a week's notice from next 
 Saturday. The same house can't contain that 
 miscreant and mc any longer. If we get ove"r 
 the intermediate time without bloodshed, you 
 may think yourself pretty fortunate. I don't 
 myself expect we shall." 
 
 " Dear, dear !" cried Mrs. Todgers, M what 
 would I have given to have prevented this ! To 
 lose you, sir, would be like losing the hi use's 
 right-hand. So popular as you are among the 
 
72 
 
 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 gentlemen ; so generally looked up to ; and so 
 much liked ! I do hope you '11 think better of it ; 
 if on nobody else's account, on mine." 
 
 " There 's Jinkins," said the youngest gentle- 
 man, moodily. " Your favourite. He '11 console 
 you and the gentlemen too for the loss of twenty 
 such as me. I 'm not understood in this house. 
 I never have been." 
 
 "Don't run away with that opinion, sir!" 
 cried Mrs. Todgers, with a show of honest indig- 
 nation. " Don't make such a charge as that 
 against the establishment, I must beg of you. It 
 is not so bad as that comes to, sir. Make any 
 remark you please against the gentlemen, or 
 against me ; but don't say you 're not understood 
 m this house." 
 
 " I 'm not treated as if I was," said the young- 
 est gentleman. 
 
 " There you make a great mistake, sir," re- 
 turned Mrs. Todgers, in the same strain. " As 
 many of the gentlemen and I have often said, you 
 are too sensitive. That 's where it is. You are 
 of too susceptible a nature ; it 's in your spirit." 
 
 The young gentleman coughed. 
 
 " And as," said Mrs. Todgers, " as to Mr. Jin- 
 kins, I must beg of you, if we are to part, to un- 
 derstand that I don't abet Mr. Jinkins by any 
 means. Far from it. I could wish that Mr. 
 Jinkins would take a lower tone in this establish- 
 ment; and would not be the means of raising 
 differences between me and gentlemen that I can 
 much less bear to part with, than I could with 
 him. Mr. Jinkins is not such a boarder, sir," 
 added Mrs. Todgers, " that all considerations of 
 private feeling and respect give way before him. 
 Quite the contrary, I assure you." 
 
 The young gentleman was so much mollified 
 by these and similar speeches on the part of Mrs. 
 Todgers, that he and that lady gradually changed 
 positions ; so that she became the injured party, 
 and he was understood to be the injurer ; but in 
 a complimentary, not in an offensive sense; his 
 cruel conduct being attributable to his exaked 
 nature, and to that alone. So, in the end, the 
 young gentleman withdrew his notice,* and as- 
 sured Mrs. Todgers of his unalterable regard : 
 and having done so, went back to business. 
 
 " Goodness me, Miss Pecksniffs !" cried that 
 lady, as she came into the back room, and sat 
 wearily down, with her basket on her knees, and 
 her hands folded upon it, " what a trial of temper 
 it is to keep a house like this! You must have 
 heard most of what has just passed. Now did 
 you ever hear the like ?" 
 
 " Never !" said the two Miss Pecksniffs. 
 
 " Of all the ridiculous young fellows that ever 
 I had to deal with," resumed Mrs. Todgers, " that 
 is tne most ridiculous and unreasonable. Mr. 
 Jinluns is hard upon him sometimes, but not 
 half as hard as he deserves. To mention such a 
 gentleman as Mr. Jinkins, in the same breath 
 with him — you krvivv it's too much ! and yet he 's 
 
 as jealous of him, bless you, as if he was his 
 equal." 
 
 The young ladies were greatly entertained by 
 Mrs. Todgers's account, no less than with certain 
 anecdotes illustrative of the youngest gentleman's 
 character, which she went on to tell them. But 
 Mr. Pecksniff looked quite stern and angry : and 
 when she had concluded, said in a solemn voice : 
 
 " Pray, Mrs. Todgers, if I may inquire, what 
 does that young gentleman contribute towards 
 the support of these premises ?" 
 
 " Why, sir, for what he has, he pays about 
 eighteen shillings a week," said Mrs. Todgers. 
 
 " Eighteen shillings a week !" repeated Mr. 
 Pecksniff. 
 
 "Taking one week with another; as near that 
 as possible," said Mrs. Todgers. 
 
 Mr. Pecksniff rose from his chair, folded his 
 arms, looked at her, and shook his head. 
 
 " And do you mean to say, ma'am — is it pos- 
 sible, Mrs. Todgers — that for such a miserable 
 consideration as eighteen shillings a week, a 
 female of your understanding can so far demean 
 herself as to wear a double face, even for an 
 instant ?" 
 
 " I am forced to keep things on the square if I 
 can, sir," faltered Mrs. Todgers. " I must pre- 
 serve peace among tliem, and keep my connection 
 together, if possible, Mr. Pecksniff. The profit 
 is very small." 
 
 "The profit!" cried that gentleman, laying 
 great stress upon the word. "The profit, Mrs. 
 Todgers ! You amaze me !" 
 
 He was so severe, that Mrs. Todgers shed tears. 
 
 " The profit !" repeated Mr. Pecksniff. " Tho 
 profit of dissimulation ! To worship the golden 
 calf of Baal, for eighteen shillings a week!" 
 
 " Don't in your own goodness be too hard upon 
 me, Mr. Pecksniff," cried Mrs. Todgers, taking 
 out her handkerchief. 
 
 " Oh Calf, Calf!" cried Mr. Pecksniff mourn- 
 fully. " Oh Baal, Baal ! oh my friend Mrs. Tqd- 
 gers ! To barter away that precious jewel, self- 
 esteem, and cringe to any mortal creature — for 
 eighteen shillings a week !" 
 
 He was so subdued and overcome by the reflec- 
 tion, that he immediately took down his hat from 
 its peg in the passage, and went out for a walk, 
 to compose his feelings. Anybody passing him 
 in the street might have known him for a good 
 man at first sight ; for his whole figure teemed 
 with a consciousness of the moral homily he had 
 read to Mrs. Todgers. 
 
 Eighteen shillings a week ! Just, most just, 
 thy censure, upright Pecksniff! Had it been for 
 the sake of a ribbon, star, or garter ; sleeves of 
 lawn, a great man's smile, a seat in parliament, a 
 tap upon the shoulder from a courtly sword; a 
 place, a party, or a thriving lie, or eighteen thou- 
 sand pounds, or even eighteen hundred ; — but to 
 worship the golden calf for eighteen shillings a 
 week ! oh pitiful, pitiful! 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEW1T. 
 
 73 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 THEREIN A CERTAIN GENTLEMAN BECOMES PARTICULAR IN HIS ATTEN- 
 TIONS TO A CERTAIN LADY; AND MORE COMING EVENTS THAN ONE, 
 CAST THEIR SHADOWS BEFORE. 
 
 The family were within two or three days of 
 their departure from Mrs. Todgers's, and the 
 commercial gentlemen were to a man despondent 
 and not to be comforted, because of the approach. 
 ing separation, when Bailey junior, at the jocund 
 hour of noon, presented himself before Miss 
 Chanty IV ( ksniff, then sitting with her sister in 
 the banquet-chamber, hemming six new pocket- 
 handkerchiefs for Mr. Jinkins ; and having ex- 
 presccd a hope, preliminary and pious, gave her, 
 in his pleasant way, to understand that a visitor 
 attended to pay his respects to her, and was at 
 that moment waiting in the drawing-room. Per- 
 haps this last announcement showed in a more 
 striking point of view than many lengthened 
 speeches could have done, the trustfulness and 
 faith of Bailey's nature ; since he had, in fact, last 
 seen the visitor upon the door-mat, where,- after 
 signifying to him that he would do well to go up 
 stairs, he had left him to the guidance of his own 
 sagacity. Hence it was at least an even chance 
 that the visitor was then wandering on the roof 
 of the house, or vainly seeking to extricate him- 
 self from a maze of bedrooms; Todgers's being 
 precisely that kind of establishment in which an 
 unpiloted stranger is pretty sure to find himself in 
 some place where he least expects and least desires 
 to be. 
 
 " A gentleman for me !" cried Charity, pausing 
 in her work ; " my gracious, Bailey !" 
 
 u Ah !" said Bailey. " It is my gracious, a'nt 
 it ? Wouldn't I be gracious neither, not if I wos 
 him !" 
 
 The remark was rendered somewhat obscure in 
 itself, by reason (as the reader may hive observed) 
 of a redundancy of negatives ; but accompanied 
 by action expressive of a faithful couple walking 
 arm-in-arm toward a parochial church, mutually 
 exchanging looks of love, it clearly signified this 
 youth's conviction that the caller's purpose was 
 of an amorous tendency. Miss Charity affected 
 to reprove so great a liberty ; but she could not 
 help smiling. He was a strange boy to be sure. 
 There was always some ground of probability and 
 likelihood mingled with his absurd behaviour. 
 That was the best of it ! 
 
 " But I don't know any gentleman, Bailey," 
 siid .Miss Pecksniff. M I think you must have 
 made a mistake." 
 
 Mr. Bailey smiled at the extreme wildness of 
 such a supposition ; and regarded the young ladies 
 with unimpaired affability. 
 
 M My dear Merry," said Charity, " who can it 
 be 7 Isn't it odd 7 I have a great mind not to 
 go to him, really. So very strange, you know !" 
 
 The younger sister plainly considered that this 
 appeal had its origin in the pride of being called 
 apon and asked for; and that this was intended 
 as an assertion of superiority, and a retaliation 
 upon her for having captured the com mere i 
 tleman. Therefore, she replied, with great affec- 
 tion and politeness, that it was, no doubt, very 
 strange indeed ; and that sho was totally at a loss 
 10 
 
 to conceive what the ridiculous person unknown 
 could mean by it 
 
 " Quite impossible to divine !" said Charity, with 
 some sharpness; •' though still, at the same time, 
 you needn't be angry, my dear." 
 
 " Thank you," retorted Merry, singing at her 
 needle. " I am quite aware of that, my love." 
 
 "I am afraid your head is turned, you silly 
 thing," said Cherry. 
 
 " Do you know, my dear," said Merry, with 
 engaging candour, " that I have been afraid of 
 that myself, all along ! So much incense and 
 nonsense, and all the rest of it, is enough to turn 
 a stronger head than mine. What a relief it must 
 j be to you, my dear, to be so very comfortable in 
 that respect, and not to be worried by those odious 
 men ! How do you do it, Cherry ?" 
 
 This artless inquiry might have led to turbulent 
 results, but for the strong emotions of delight 
 evinced by Bailey junior, whose relish in the turn 
 the conversation had lately taken was so acute, 
 that it impelled and forced him to the instantane- . 
 J ous performance of a dancing step, extremely 
 difficult in its nature, and only to be achieved in 
 a moment of ecstasy, which is commonly called 
 The Frogs' Hornpipe. A manifestation so lively, 
 brought to their immediate recollection the great 
 virtuous precept, " Keep up appearances, whatever 
 you do," in which they had been educated. They 
 forbore at once, and jointly signified to Mr. Bailey 
 that if he should presume to practise that figure 
 any more in their presence, they would instantly 
 acquaint Mrs. Todgers with the fact, and would 
 demand his condign punishment at the hands of 
 that lady. The young gentleman having ex 
 pressed the bitterness of his contrition by affecting 
 to wipe away his scalding tears with his apron, 
 and afterwards feigning to wring a vast amount 
 of water from that garment, held the door open 
 while Miss Charity passed out ; and so that dam- 
 sel went in state up stairs to receive her mysteri- 
 ous adorer. 
 
 By some strange concurrence of favourable cir- 
 cumstances he had found out the drawing-room, 
 and was .sitting there alone. 
 
 u Ah, cousin !" he said. " Here I am, you see. 
 You thought I was lost, I '11 be bound. Well ! 
 how do you find yourself by this time ?" 
 
 Miss Charity replied that she was quite well ; 
 I and gave Mr. Jonas Chuzzlewit her hand. 
 
 "That's right," said Mr. Jonas; "and you've 
 got over the fatigues of the journey, have you 7 I 
 say — how 's the other one 7" 
 
 ■ My sister is very well, I believe," returned 
 the young lady. "I have not heard her complain 
 of any indisposition, sir. Perhaps you would like 
 to see her, and ask her yourself?" 
 
 ** No, no, cousin !" said Mr. Jonas, sitting down 
 beside her on the window-seat u Don't be in a 
 hurry. There 's no occasion for that, you know 
 What a cruel girl you are !" 
 
 ** It V impossible for you to jtnow," said Cherry, 
 " whether I am or not." 
 
74 
 
 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 " Well, perhaps it is," said Mr. Jonas. " I say 
 — did you think I was lost ? You haven't told 
 Die that." 
 
 " I didn't think at all about it," answered 
 Cherry. 
 
 " Didn't you though ?" said Jonas, pondering 
 upon this strange reply. " Did the other one ?" 
 
 " I am sure it's impossible for me to say what 
 my sister may, or may not have thought on such 
 a subject," asked Cherry. " She never said any- 
 thing, to roe c.bout it, one way or other." 
 
 " Didn't she laugh about it ?" inquired Jonas. 
 
 " No, She didn't even laugh about it," answer- 
 ed Charity. 
 
 " She 's a terrible one to laugh, an't she ?" said 
 Jonas, lowering his voice. 
 
 " She is very lively," said Cherry. 
 
 " Liveliness is a pleasant thing — when it don't 
 lead to spending money. An't it?" asked Mr. 
 Jonas. 
 
 "Very much so, indeed," said Cherry, with a 
 demureness of manner that gave a very disinter- 
 ested character to her assent. 
 
 " Such liveliness as yours I mean, you know," 
 observed Mr. Jonas, as he nudged her with his 
 elbow. " I should have come to see you before, 
 but I didn't know where you was. How quick 
 you hurried off that morning !" 
 
 " I was amenable to my Papa's directions," 
 said Miss Charity. 
 
 " I wish he had given me his direction," return- 
 ed her cousin, " and then I should have found you 
 out before. Why, I shouldn't have found you 
 even now, if I hadn't met him in the street this 
 morning. What a sleek, sly chap he is! Just 
 like a tom-cat, an't he ?" 
 
 "I must trouble you to have the goodness to 
 speak more respectfully of my Papa, Mr. Jonas," 
 said Charity. " I can't allow such a tone as that 
 even in jest." 
 
 u Ecod, you may say what you like of my fa- 
 ther, then, and so I give you leave," said Jonas. 
 "I think it's liquid aggravation that circulates 
 through his veins, and not regular blood. How 
 old should you think my father was, cousin?" 
 
 " Old, no doubt," replied Miss Charity ; " but a 
 fine old gentleman." 
 
 u A fine old gentleman !" repeated Jonas, giv- 
 ing the crown of his hat an angry knock. " Ah ! 
 It's time be was thinking of being drawn out a 
 little finer too. Why, he 's eighty !" 
 
 " Is he, indeed ?" said the young lady. 
 
 " And ecod," cried Jonas, " now he 's gone so 
 far without giving in, I don't see much to prevent 
 his being ninety; no, nor even a hundred. Why, 
 a man with any feeling ought to be ashamed of 
 being eighty — let alone more. Where 's his reli- 
 gion I should like to know, when he goes flying 
 in the face of the Bible like that? Threescore- 
 dnd-ten 's the mark ; and no man with a con- 
 science, and a proper sense of what's expected 
 of him, has any business to live longer." 
 
 Is any one surprised at Mr. Jonas making such 
 a reference to such a book for such a purpose ? 
 Does any one doubt the old saw, that the Devil 
 (being a layman) quotes Scripture for his own 
 ends ? If he will take the trouble to look about 
 him, he may find a greater number of confirma- 
 tions of the fact, in the occurrences of any single 
 day, than the steam-gun can discharge balls in a 
 minute. 
 
 " But there 's enough of my father," said Jo- 
 nas ; " it 's of no use to go putting one's-self out 
 of the way by talking about him. I called to ask 
 you to come and take a walk, cousin, and see 
 some of the sights; and to come to our house af- 
 terwards, and have a bit of something. Pecksniff 
 will most likely look in in the evening, he says, 
 and bring you home. See, here 's his writing ; I 
 made him put it down this morning; when he 
 told me he shouldn't be back before I came here ; 
 in case you wouldn't believe me. There 's nothing 
 like proof, is there ? Ha, ha 1 I say — you '11 bring ' 
 the other one, you know !" 
 
 Miss Charity cast her eyes upon her father's 
 autograph, which merely said — " Go, my children, 
 with your cousin. Let there be union among us 
 when it is possible ;" and after enough of hesita- 
 tion to impart a proper value to her consent, with- 
 drew, to prepare her sister and herself for the ex- 
 cursion. She soon returned, accompanied by Miss 
 Mercy, who was by no means pleased to leave the 
 brilliant triumphs of Todgers's for the society of 
 Mr. Jonas and his respected father. 
 
 " Aha !" cried Jonas. u There you are, are 
 you ?" 
 
 "Yes, fright," said Mercy, "here I am; and I 
 would much rather be anywhere else, I assure 
 you." 
 
 " You don't mean that," cried Mr. Jonas. " You 
 can't, you know. It isn't possible." 
 
 "You can have what opinion you like, fright," 
 retorted Mercy. " I am content to keep mine ; 
 and mine is that you are a very unpleasant, odi- 
 ous, disagreeable person." Here she laughed 
 heartily, and seemed to enjoy herself very much. 
 
 " Oh, you 're a sharp gal!" said Mr. Jonas. 
 " She 's a regular teazer, an't she, cousin ?" 
 
 Miss Charity replied in effect, that she was un- 
 able to say what the habits and propensities of a 
 regular teazer might be ; and that even if she pos- 
 sessed such information, it would ill-become her 
 to admit the existence of any creature with such 
 an unceremonious name in her family ; far less 
 in the person of a beloved sister., " whatever," add- 
 ed Cherry with an angry glance, " whatever her 
 real nature may be." 
 
 " Well, my dear !" said Mercy, " the only ob- 
 servation I have to make, is, that if we don't go 
 out at once, I shall certainly take my bonnet off 
 again, and stay at home." 
 
 This threat had the desired effect of preventing 
 any farther altercation, for Mr. Jonas immediately 
 proposed an adjournment, and the same being 
 carried unanimously, they departed from the house 
 straightway. On the door-step, Mr. Jonas gave 
 an arm to each cousin ; which act of gallantry 
 being observed by Bailey junior, from the garret 
 window, was by him saluted with a loud and vio- 
 lent fit of coughing, to which paroxysm he was 
 still the victim when they turned the corner. 
 
 Mr. Jonas inquired in the first instance if they 
 were good walkers, and being answered " Yes," 
 submitted their pedestrian powers to a pretty se- 
 vere test ; for he showed them as many sights, in 
 the way of bridges, churches, streets, outsides of 
 theatres, and other free spectacles, in that one 
 forenoon, as most people see in a twelvemonth. 
 It was observable in this gentleman that he had 
 an insurmountable distaste to the insides of build- 
 ings ; and that he was perfectly acquninted with 
 the merits of all shows, in respect of which there 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 
 
 75 
 
 was any charge for admission, which it seemed 
 were every one detestable, and rf thi vtr y lowest 
 grade of merit. He was so thoroughly possessed 
 with this opinion, that when Miss Charity hap- 
 pened to mention the circumstance of their hav- 
 
 n twice or thrice to the theatre with Mr. 
 Jinkins and party, ho inquired, as a matter of 
 course, " where the orders came from ?" and be- 
 ing told that Mr. Jinkins and party paid, was be- 
 yond description entertained, observing that "they 
 must be nice flats, certainly ;" and often in the 
 course of the walk, bursting out again into a per- 
 fect convulsion of laughter at the surpassing silli- 
 ness of those gentlemen, and (doubtless) at his 
 own superior wisdom. 
 
 Whin they had been out for some hours and 
 were thoroughly fatigued, it being by that time 
 twilight, Mr. Jonas intimated that he would show 
 them one of the best pieces of fun with which he 
 was acquainted. This joke was of a practical 
 kind, and its humour lay in taking a hackney 
 coach to the extreme limits of possibility for a 
 shilling. Happily it brought them to the place 
 where Mr. Jonas dwelt, or the young ladies might 
 •have rather missed the point and cream of the 
 jest. 
 
 The old-established firm of Anthony Chuzzle- 
 wit and Son, Manchester Warehousemen, and so 
 forth, had its place of business in a very narrow 
 street somewhere behind the Po*t Office ; where 
 every house was in the brightest summer morn- 
 ing very gloomy ; and where light porters watered 
 the pavement, each before his own employer's 
 premises, in fantastic patterns, in the dog-days ; 
 and where spruce gentlemen with their hands in 
 the pockets of symmetrical trowsers, were always 
 to be seen in warm weather contemplating their 
 undeniable boots in dusty warehouse doorways, 
 which appeared to be the hardest work they did, 
 except now and then carrying pens behind their 
 ears. A dim, dirty, smoky, tumble-down, rotten 
 old house it was, as any body would desire to see ; 
 but there the firm of Anthony Chuzzlewit and 
 Son transacted all their business and their plea- 
 sure too, such as it was; for neither the young 
 man nor the old man had any other residence, or 
 unv care or thought beyond its narrow limits. 
 
 Business, as may be readily supposed, was the 
 main thing in this establishment; insomuch in- 
 deed that it shouldered comfort out of doors, and 
 jostled the doiin stic arrangements at every turn. 
 Thus in the miserable bed-rooms there were files 
 of moth-eaten litters hanging up against the 
 walls; and linen rollers, and fragments of old 
 patterns, and odds and ends of spoiled goods 
 strewn upon the ground ; while the meagre bed- 
 Btead, washing-stands, and scraps of carpet, were 
 huddled away into corners as objects of seconda- 
 ry consideration, not to be thought of but as dis- 
 agreeable necessities, furnishing no profit, and in- 
 truding on the one affair of life. The single sit- 
 ting-room was on the same principle, a chaos of 
 boxes and old papers, and had more counting- 
 house stools in it than chairs: not to mention a 
 : Monster of a desk straddling over the mid- 
 dle of the floor, and an iron safe sunk into the 
 wall above the fireplace. The solitary little table 
 for purposes of refection and social enjoyment, 
 
 tair a proportion to the desk and other 
 business furniture, as the graces and harmless re- 
 
 taxations of life had ever done, in the persons of 
 the old man- and his son, to their pursuit of wealth. 
 It was meanly laid out, now, lor dinner ; and in a 
 chair before the fire, sat Anthony himself, who 
 rose to greet his son and his fair cousins as they 
 entered. 
 
 An ancient proverb warns as that we should 
 not expect to find old heads upon young shoulders; 
 to which it may be added tlwt we seldom meet 
 with* that unnatural combination, but we feel a 
 strong desire to knock them off; merely from an 
 inherent love we have of seeing things in their 
 right places. It is not improbable tliat many men, 
 in no wise choleric by nature, felt this impulse 
 rising up within them, when they first made the 
 acquaintance of Mr. Jonas ; but if they had known 
 him more intimately in his own house, and had 
 sat with him at his own board, it would assuredly 
 have been paramount to all other considerations. 
 
 " Well, ghost !" said Mr. Jonas, dutifully ad- 
 dressing his parent by that title. " Is dinner near- 
 ly ready 7" 
 
 " I should think it was," rejoined the old man. 
 
 " What's the good of that ?" rejoined the son. 
 •'/should think it was. I want to know." 
 
 " Ah ! I don't know for certain," said Anthony. 
 
 "You don't know for certain," rejoined his son 
 in a lower tone. " No. You don't know any thing 
 for certain, you don't Give me your candle here. 
 I want it for the gals." 
 
 Anthony handed him a battered old office can. 
 dlesllck, with which Mr. Jonas preceded the 
 young ladies to the nearest bedroom, where he 
 left them to take off their shawls and bonnets; 
 and returning, occupied himself in opening a bot- 
 tle of wine, sharpening the carving-knife, and 
 muttering compliments to his father, until they 
 and the dinner appeared together. The repast 
 consisted of a hot leg of mutton with greens and 
 potatoes ; and the dishes having been set upon the 
 table by a slipshod old woman, they were left to 
 enjoy it after their own manner. 
 
 " Bachelor's Hall, you know, cousin," said Mr. 
 Jonas to Charity. " I say — the other one will be 
 having a laugh at this when she gets home, won't 
 she ? Here, you sit on the right side of me, and 
 I '11 have her upon the left. Other one, will yo» 
 come here ?" 
 
 " You 're such a fright," replied Mercy, " that 
 | I know I shall have no appetite if I sit so near 
 you ; but I suppose I must" 
 
 " An't she lively ?" whispered Mr. Jonas to the 
 elder sister, with his favourite elbow emphasis. 
 
 "Oh I really don't know!" replied Miss Peck 
 sniff, tartly. " I am tired of being a-sked such 
 ridiculous questions." 
 
 44 What's that precious old father of mine about 
 now?" said Mr. Jonas, seeing that his parent was 
 travelling up and down the room, instead of ta- 
 king his seat at table. " What are you looking 
 for?" 
 
 " I 'vc lost my glasses, Jonas," said old Antho- 
 ny. 
 
 f Sit down without your glasses, can't you ?" 
 returned his son. " You don't eat or drink out 
 of 'em, I think; and w here's that sleepy-headed 
 old Chuffey got to? Now, stupid. Oh ! you know 
 your name, do you ?" 
 
 It would seem that he did n't, for- he did n't 
 come until the father called. As he spukc, the 
 
76 
 
 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 door of a small glass office, which was partitioned 
 off from the rest of the room, was slowly opened, 
 and a little blear-eyed, weazen-faced ancient man 
 came creeping out. He was of a remote fashion, 
 and dusty, like the rest of the furniture; he was 
 dressed in a decayed suit of black; with breeches 
 garnished at the knees with rusty wisps of ribbon, 
 the very paupers of shoe-strings ; on the lower 
 portion of his spindle legs were dingy worsted 
 stockings of the same colour. He looked as if he 
 had been put away and forgotten half a century 
 before, and somebody had just found him in a 
 lumber-closet. 
 
 Such as he was, he came slowly creeping on to- 
 ward the table, until at last he crept into the va- 
 cant chair, from which, as his dim faculties be- 
 came conscious of the presence of strangers, and 
 those strangers ladies, he rose again, apparently 
 intending to make a bow. But he sat down once 
 more, without having made it, and breathing on 
 his shrivelled hands to warm them, remained with 
 his poor blue nose immoveable above his plate, 
 looking at nothing, with eyes that saw nothing, 
 and a face that meant nothing. Take him in that 
 state, and he was an embodiment of nothing. — 
 Nothing else. 
 
 " Our clerk," said Mr. Jonas, as host and mas- 
 ter of the ceremonies: "Old Chuffey." 
 
 " Is he deaf?" inquired one of the young ladies. 
 
 " No, I don't know that he is. He an't deaf, 
 is he father ?" 
 
 " I never heard him say he was," replied the 
 old man. 
 
 " Blind ?" inquired the young ladies. 
 
 "N — no. I never understood that he was at 
 all blind," said Jonas, carelessly. " You don't 
 consider him so, do you father ?" 
 
 "Certainly not," replied Anthony. 
 
 "What is" he then?" 
 
 " Why, I'll tell you what he is," said Jonas, 
 apart to the young ladies, " he's precious old, for 
 one thing; and I an't best pleased with him for 
 that, for I think my father must have caught it of 
 him. He's a strange old chap, for another," he 
 added in a louder voice, "'and don't understand 
 any one hardly, but him .'" He pointed to his 
 honoured parent with the carving-fork, in order 
 that they might know whom he meant. 
 
 " How very strange !" cried the sisters. 
 
 " Why, you see," said Mr. Jonas, "he's been 
 addling his old brains with figures and book-keep- 
 ing all his life ; and twenty years ago or so, he 
 went and took a fever. All the time he was out 
 of his head (which was three weeks) he never left 
 off casting up ; and he got so many millions at 
 last that I don't believe he's ever been quite right 
 since. We don't do much business now though, 
 and he an't a bad clerk." 
 
 " A very good one," said Anthony. 
 
 " Well ! He an't a dear one at all events," ob- 
 served Jonas ; " and he earns his salt, which is 
 enough for our look-out. I was telling you that 
 he hardly understands any one except my father ; 
 he always understands him, though, and wakes 
 up quite wonderful. He's been used to his ways 
 so long, you see ! Why, I've seen him play whist 
 with my father for a partner ; and a good rubber 
 too: when he had no more notion what sort of 
 people he was playing against, than you have." 
 
 " Has he no appetite," asked Merry 
 
 " Oh yes," said Jonas, plying his own knife and 
 fork very fast. " He eats— when he's helped. But 
 he don't care whether he waits a minute or an 
 hour, as long as father's here ; so when I'm at all 
 sharp set, as I am to-day, I come to him after I've 
 taken the edge off my own hunger you know. 
 Now Chuffey, stupid, are you ready ?" 
 
 Chuffey remained immoveable. 
 
 " Always a perverse old file, he was," said Mr. 
 Jonas, coolly helping himself to another slice. 
 " Ask him, father." 
 
 " Are you ready for your dinner, Chuffey ?" 
 asked the old man. 
 
 " Yes, yes," said Chuffey, lighting up into a 
 sentient human creature at the first sound of the 
 voice, so that it was at once a curious and quite a 
 moving sight to see him. " Yes, yes. Quite 
 ready Mr. Chuzzlewit. Quite ready, Sir. All 
 ready, all ready, all ready." With that he stop- 
 ped, smilingly, and listened for some further ad- 
 dress ; but being spoken to no more, the light for- 
 sook his face by little and little, until he was no- 
 thing again. 
 
 " He'll be very disagreeable, mind," said Jonas, 
 addressing his cousins as he handed the old man's 
 portion to his father. " He always chokes him- 
 self when it ain't broth. Look at him now ! Did 
 you ever see a horse with such a wall-eyed ex- 
 pression as he's got ? If it hadn't been for the joke 
 of it, I wouldn't have let him come in to-day ; but 
 I thought he'd amuse you." 
 v The poor old subject of this humane speech, 
 was, happily for himself, as unconscious of its 
 purport, as of most other remarks that were made 
 in his presence. But the mutton being tough, and 
 his gums weak, he quickly verified the statement 
 relative to his choking propensities, and under- 
 went so much in his attempts to dine, that Mr. 
 Jonas was infinitely amused : protesting that he 
 had seldom seen him better company in all his 
 life, and that he was enough to make a man split 
 his sides with laughing. Indeed, he went so far 
 as to assure the sisters, that in this point of view 
 he considered Chuffey superior to his own father ; 
 which, as he significantly added, was saying a 
 great deal. 
 
 It was strange enough that Anthony Chuzzle- 
 wit, himself so old a man, should take a pleasure 
 in these gibings of his estimable son, at the ex- 
 pense of the poor shadow at their table. But he 
 did, unquestionably : though not so much — to do 
 him justice — with reference to their ancient clerk, 
 as in exultation at the sharpness of Jonas. For 
 the same reason, that young man's coarse allu- 
 sions, even to himself, filled him with a stealthy 
 glee; causing him to rub his hands and chuckle 
 covertly, as if he said in his sleeve, " / taught 
 him. I trained him. This is the heir of my 
 bringing up. Sly, cunning, and eovetuous, he'll 
 not "squander my money. I worked for this; I 
 hoped for this; it has been the great end and aim 
 of my life." 
 
 What a noble end and aim it was to contemplate 
 in the attainment truly ! but there be some who 
 manufacture idols after the fashion of themselves, 
 and fail to worship them when they are made ; 
 charging their deformity on outraged nature. An- 
 thony was better than these at any rate. 
 
 Chuffey boggled over his plate so long, that Mr. 
 Jonas, losing patience, took it from him at last 
 

*w 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 
 
 77 
 
 with his own hands, and requested his father to 
 signify to that venerable person that he had better 
 ••peg away at his bread:" which Anthony did. 
 
 44 Ay, ay !" cried the old man, brightening up 
 as before, when this was communicated to him in 
 the same voice : "quite right, quite right. He's 
 your own son, Mr. Chuzzlewit ! Mess him for a 
 sharp lad.! Bless him, bliss him !" 
 
 Mr. Jonas considered this so particularly child- 
 ish — > perhaps with some reason — that he only 
 laughed the more, and told his cousins that ho 
 was afraid one of these fine days ChufFey would 
 be the death of him. The cloth was then removed, 
 and the bottle of wine set upon the tabic, from 
 which .Mr. Jonas filled the young ladies' glasses, 
 calling on them not to spare it, as they might be 
 certain there was plenty more where that came 
 from. But, he added with some haste after this 
 sally, that it was only his joke, and they wouldn't 
 suppose him to be in earnest, he was sure. 
 
 " I shall drink," said Anthony, " to Pecksniff. 
 Your father, my dears. A clever man, Pecksniff. 
 A wary man ! A hypocrite, though, eh ? A 
 hypocrite, girls, eh ! Ha, ha, ha ! Well, so he 
 is. Now, among friends — he is. I don't think 
 the worse of him for that, unless it is that he 
 overdoes it. You may overdo anything, my dar- 
 lings. You may overdo even hypocrisy. Ask 
 Jonas !" 
 
 4< You can't overdo taking care of yourself," ob- 
 served that hopeful gentleman with his mouth full. 
 
 44 Do you hear that, my dears ?" cried Anthony, 
 quite enraptured. 44 Wisdom, wisdom ! A good 
 exception, Jonas. No; it's not easy to overdo 
 that." 
 
 44 Except," whispered Mr. Jonas to his favourite 
 cousin, 44 except when one lives too long. Ha, ha ! 
 Tell the other one that — I say !" 
 
 44 Good gracious me !" said Cherry, in a petu- 
 lant manner. 44 You can tell her yourself, if you 
 wish, can't you !" 
 
 41 She neemi to make such game of one," re- 
 plied Mr. Jonas. 
 
 44 Then why need you trouble yourself about 
 her?" said Charity. 44 1 am sure she doesn't 
 trouble herself much about you." 
 
 " Don't she, though ?" asked Jonas. 
 
 d gracious me, need I tell you that she 
 don't ?" returned the young lady. 
 
 Mr. Jonas made no verbal rejoinder, but he 
 glanced at Mercy with an odd expression in his 
 m1 said (hut would'nt break his heart, she 
 might depend upon it. Then he looked on Charity 
 with even greater favour than before, and besought 
 her, as his polite manner was, to 44 come a little 
 closer." 
 
 44 There's another thing that's not easily over- 
 done, father," remarked Jonas, after a short si- 
 lence. 
 
 "What's that?" asked the father; grinning 
 already in anticipation. 
 
 "A bargain," said the son. ,4 Here 's the rule 
 for bargains — 4 Do other men, for they would do 
 you.* That's the true business precept. All 
 others are counterfeits." 
 
 The delighted father applauded this sentiment 
 to the echo; and was so much tickled by it, that 
 he was at the pains of imparting the same to his 
 ancient clerk, who rubbed his hands, nodded his 
 oalsicd head, winked his watery eyes, and cried 
 
 in his whistling tones, "Good ! good ! Your own 
 son, Mr. ('hn/./.l.'\vit !" with every feeble demon- 
 stration of delight that he was capable of making. 
 But this old man's enthusiasm had the redeeming 
 quality of being felt in sympathy with the only 
 creature to whom he was linked by ties of long 
 association, and by his present helplessness. And 
 if there had been any body there, who cared to 
 think about it, some dregs of a better nature una- 
 wakened, might perhaps have been descried 
 through that very medium, melancholy though it 
 was, yet lingering at the bottom of the worn-out 
 cask, called ChufFey. 
 
 As matters stood, nobody thought or said any- 
 thing upon the subject ; so ChufFey fell back into 
 a dark corner on one side of the fire-place, where 
 he always spent his evenings, and was neither 
 seen nor heard again that night; save once, when 
 a cup of tea was given him, in which he was 
 seen to soak his bread mechanically. There was 
 no reason to suppose that he went to sleep at these 
 seasons, or that he heard, or saw, or felt, or 
 thought. He remained, as it were, frozen up— if 
 any term expressive of such a vigorous process 
 can be applied to him — until he was again thawed 
 for the moment by a word or (ouch from Anthony. 
 
 Miss Charity made tea by desire of Mr. Jonas, 
 and felt and looked so like the lady of the house, 
 that she was in the prettiest confusion imaginable ; 
 the more so, from Mr. Jonas sitting close beside 
 her, and whispering a variety of charming ex- 
 pressions in her ear. Miss Mercy, for her part, 
 felt the entertainment of the evening to be so dis- 
 tinctly and exclusively theirs, that she silently de- 
 plored the commercial gentlemen — at that mo- 
 ment, no doubt, wearying for her return — and 
 yawned over yesterday's newspaper. As to An- 
 thony, he went to sleep outright, so Jonas and 
 Cherry had a clear stage to themselves as long as 
 they chose to keep possession of it. 
 
 When the tea-tray was taken away, as it was 
 at last, Mr. Jonas produced a dirty pack of cards, 
 and entertained the sisters with divers small feats 
 of dexterity : whereof the main purpose of every 
 one was, that you were to decoy somebody into 
 laying a wager with you that you couldn't do it ; 
 and were then immediately to win and pocket his 
 money. Mr. Jonas informed them that these 
 accomplishments were in high vogue in the most 
 intellectual circles, and that large amounts were 
 constantly changing hands on such hazards 
 it may be remarked that he fully believed this ; 
 for there is a simplicity of cunning no less than a 
 simplicity of innocence; and in all matters where 
 a lively faith in knavery and meanness was re- 
 quired as the groundwork of belief, Mr. Jonas 
 was one of the most credulous of men. I 
 norance, which was stupendous, may be taken 
 into account, if the reader pleases, separ si 
 
 This fine young man had all the inclination to 
 be a profligate of the first water, and only lacked 
 the one good trait in the common catalogue of de- 
 bauched vices — open-handedneas — to be a notable 
 vagabond. But there his griping and penurious 
 habits stepped in ; and as one poison will some- 
 times neutralize another, when wholesome rcme- 
 dies would not avail, so he was restrained by a 
 bad passion from quaffing his full measure of evil, 
 when virtue might have sought to hold him bacs 
 in vain. 
 
LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 By the time he had unfolded all the peddling 
 schemes he knew upon the cards, it was growing 
 late in the evening ; and Mr. Pecksniff not ma- 
 king his appearance, the young ladies expressed 
 a wish to return home. But this, Mr. Jonas, in 
 his gallantry, would by no means allow, until they 
 had partaken of some bread and cheese and por- 
 ter ; and even then he was excessively unwilling 
 to allow them to depart; often beseeching Miss 
 Charity to come a little closer, or to stop a little 
 longer, and preferring many other complimentary 
 petitions of that nature, in his own hospitable 
 and earnest way. When all his efforts io detain 
 them were fruitless, he put on his hat and great- 
 coat preparatory to escorting them to Todgers's ; 
 remarking that he knew they would rather walk 
 thither than ride ; and that for his part he was 
 quite of their opinion. 
 
 "Good night," said Anthony. "Goodnight; 
 remember me — ha, ha, ha ! — to Pecksniff. Take 
 care of your cousin, my dears ; beware of Jonas ; 
 he 's a dangerous fellow. Don't quarrel for him, 
 in any case !" 
 
 " Oh, the creature !" cried Mercy. " The idea 
 of quarrelling for him ! You may take him, 
 Cherry, my love, all_to yourself. I make you a 
 present of my share." 
 
 " What ! I 'm a sour grape, am I, cousin ?" 
 said Jonas. 
 
 Miss Charity was more entertained by this re- 
 partee than one would have supposed likely, con- 
 sidering its advanced age and simple character. 
 But in her sisterly affection she took Mr. Jonas 
 to task for leaning so very hard upon a broken 
 reed, and said that he must not be so cruel to 
 poor Mercy any more, or she (Charity) would 
 positively be obliged to hate him. Mercy, who 
 really had her share of good-humour, only retort- 
 ed with a laugh ; and they walked home in con- 
 sequence without any angry passages of words 
 upon the way. Mr. Jonas being in the middle, 
 and having a cousin on each arm, sometimes 
 squeezed the wrong one ; so tightly too, as to 
 cause her not a little inconvenience ; but as he 
 talked to Charity in whispers the whole time, 
 and paid her great attention, no doubt this was 
 an accidental circumstance. When they arrived 
 at Todgers's, and the door was opened, Mercy 
 broke hastily from them, and ran up-stairs ; but 
 Charity and Jonas lingered on the steps talking 
 together for more than five minutes ; so, as Mrs. 
 Todgers observed next morning, to a third party, 
 " It was pretty clear what was going on there, 
 and she wa*s glad of it, for it really was high 
 time Miss Pecksniff thought of settling." 
 
 And now the day was coming on, when that 
 bright vision which had burst on Todgers's so 
 suddenly, and made a sunshine in the shady 
 breast of Jinkins, was to be seen no more ; when 
 it was to be packed like a brown paper parcel, or 
 a fish-basket, or an oyster-barrel, or a fat gentle- 
 man, or any other dull Teality of life, in a stage- 
 coach, and carried down into the country ! 
 
 " Never, my dear Miss Pecksniffs," said Mrs. 
 Todgers, when thev retired to rest on the last 
 night of their stay ; " never have I seen an 
 establishment so perfectly broken-hearted as mine 
 is at this present moment of time. I don't be- 
 lieve the gentlemen will be the gentlemen they 
 were or anything like it — no, not for weeks to 
 
 come. You have a great deal to answer for; 
 both of you." 
 
 They modestly disclaimed any wilful agency 
 in this disastrous state of things, and regretted it 
 very much. 
 
 " Your pious Pa, too !" said Mrs. Todgers. 
 " There 's a loss ! My dear Miss Pecksniffs, your 
 Pa is a perfect missionary of peace and love." 
 
 Entertaining an uncertainty as to the particu- 
 lar kind of love supposed to be comprised in Mr. 
 Pecksniff's mission, the young ladies received 
 this compliment rather coldly. 
 
 " If I dared," said Mrs. Todgers, perceiving 
 this, " to violate a confidence which has been re- 
 posed in me, and to tell you why I must beg of 
 you to leave the little door between your room 
 and mine open to-night, I think you would be 
 interested. But I musn't do it, for I promised 
 Mr. Jinkins faithfully that I would be as silent as 
 the tomb." 
 
 " Dear Mrs. Todgers ! what can you mean ?" 
 
 " Why then, my sweet Miss Pecksniffs," said 
 the lady of the house ; " my own loves, if you 
 will allow me the privilege of taking that free- 
 dom on the eve of our separation, Mr. Jinkins 
 and the gentlemen have made up a little musical 
 party among themselves, and do intend in the 
 dead of this night to perform a serenade upon 
 the stairs outside the door. I could have wished, 
 I own," said Mrs. Todgers, with her usual for&r 
 sight, " that it had been fixed to take place an 
 hour or two earlier; because, when gentlemen sit 
 up late, they drink, and when they drink, they 're 
 not so musical, perhaps, as when they don't. 
 But this is the arrangement ; and I know you 
 will be gratified, my dear Miss Pecksniffs, by 
 such a mark of their attention." 
 
 The young ladies were at first so much excited 
 by the news, that they vowed they couldn't think 
 of going to bed, until the serenade was over. 
 But half an hour of cool waiting so altered their 
 opinion that they not only went to bed, but fell 
 asleep; and were moreover not ecstatically charm- 
 ed to be awakened sometime afterwards by cer- 
 tain dulcet strains breaking in upon the silent 
 watches of the night. 
 
 It was very affecting — very. Nothing more 
 dismal could have been desired by the most fas- 
 tidious taste. The gentleman of a vocal turn 
 was head mute, or chief mourner ; Jinkins took 
 the bass ; and the rest took anything they could 
 get. The youngest gentleman blew his melan- 
 choly into a flute. He didn't blow much out of 
 it, but that was all the better. If the two Miss 
 Pecksniffs and Mrs. Todgers had perished by 
 spontaneous combustion, and the serenade had 
 been in honour of their ashes, it would have been 
 impossible to surpass the unutterable despair ex- 
 pressed in that chorus, "Go where glory waits 
 thee !" It was a requiem, a dirge, a moan, a 
 howl, a wail, a lament ;»an abstract of everything 
 that is sorrowful and hideous in sound. The 
 flute of the youngest gentleman was wild and 
 fitful. It came and went in gusts, like the wind. 
 For a long time together he seemed to have left 
 off, and when it was quite settled by Mrs. Todgers 
 and the young ladies, that, overcome by his feel- 
 ings, he had retired in tears, he unexpectedly 
 turned up again at the very top of the tune, gasp- 
 ing for breath. He was a tremendous performer. 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 
 
 79 
 
 There was no knowing where to have him; and 
 exactly when you thought he was doing nothing 
 at all, then was he doing the very thing that 
 ought to astonish you the most 
 
 There were several of these concerted pieces; 
 perhaps two or three too many, though that, as 
 Todgera said, was a fault on the right side. 
 But even thru, even at that solemn moment, when 
 the thrilling toond! may be presumed to have 
 pmeCrated into the very depths of his rfaturc, if 
 he had any depths, Jinkins couldn't leave the 
 youngest gentleman alone. He asked him dis- 
 tinctly, be tore the second song began — as a per- 
 sonal favour too, mark the villain in that — not to 
 play. Yes ; he said so ; not to play. The brea- 
 thing of the youngest gentleman was heard 
 through the keyholcof the door. He didn't play. 
 What vent was a flute for the passions swelling 
 up within his breast? A trombone would have 
 been a world too mild. 
 
 The serenade approached its close. Its crown- 
 ing interest was at hand. The gentleman of a 
 literary turn had written a song on the departure 
 of the ladies, and adapted it to an old tune. They 
 all joined, except the youngest gentleman in com- 
 pany, who, for the reasons aforesaid, maintained 
 a fearful silence. The song (which was of a classi- 
 cal nature) invoked the oracle of Apollo, and de- 
 manded to know what would become of Todgers's 
 when Charity and Mercy were banished from its 
 walls. The oracle delivered no opinion particu- 
 larly worth remembering, according to the not 
 infrequent practice of oracles from the. earliest 
 ages down to the present time. In the absence 
 of enlightenment on that subject, the strain de- 
 serted it, and went on to show that the Miss 
 Pecksniffs were nearly related to Rule Britannia, 
 and that if Great Britain hadn't been an island 
 there could have been no Miss Pecksniffs. And 
 being now on a nautical tack, it closed with this 
 verse : 
 
 AH hail to the vessel of Pecksniff the sire ! 
 And favouring breezes to fan ; 
 
 While Tritons flock round it, and proudly admire 
 The architect, artist, and man 1 
 
 As they presented this beautiful picture to the 
 imagination, the gentlemen gradually withdrew 
 to bed to give the music the effect of distance ; 
 and so it died away, and Todgers's was left to its 
 repose. 
 
 Mr. Bailey reserved his vocal offering until the 
 morning, when he put his head into the room as 
 the young ladies were kneeling before their 
 trunks, packing up, and treated them to an imita- 
 tion of the voice of a young dog, in trying cir- 
 cumstances: when that animal is supposed by 
 of i lively funcy, to relieve his feelings 
 by calling for pen and ink. 
 
 "Well, young ladies," said the youth, "so 
 you 're a going home, are you ; worse luck ?" 
 
 "Yes, Riil.y, we're going home," returned 
 Mercy. 
 
 " A n't you a going to leave none of 'em a lock 
 of your hair ?" inquired the youth. " It 's real, 
 an'tit?" 
 
 They laughed at this, and told him of course it 
 
 m 
 
 "Oh, is it of course, though?" said Bailev. 
 * I know better than that Hers an't Why, I 
 sec it hanging up once, on that nail by the win- 
 
 I (1< r. Besides I've gone behind her at dinner-time 
 and pulled it; and »he n< v»r know'd. I say, 
 young ladies — I 'm going to leave. I an't a going 
 to stand being called names by her, no Ion 
 
 Miss Mercy inquired what his plans lor the 
 future might be ; in reply to whom, Mr. Bailey in- 
 timated that he thought of going either into top- 
 boots, or into the army. 
 
 " Into the army !'* cried the young ladies, with 
 a laugh. 
 
 "Ah!" said Bailey, "why not? There's a 
 many drummers in the Tower. I 'm acquainted 
 with 'em. Don't their country set a valley on 'em, 
 mind you ! Not at all !" 
 
 " You '11 be shot, I see," observed Mercy. 
 
 "Well!" cried Mr. Bailey, "wot if 1 am ? 
 There 's something gamey in it, young ladies, 
 an't there ? I 'd sooner be hit with a cannon-ball 
 than a rolling-pin, and she's always catching np 
 something of that sort, and throwing it at me, 
 wen the gentlemans appetites is good. Wot" 
 said Mr. Bailey, stung by the recollection of his 
 wrongs, " wot if they do con-sume the per-vi 
 shuns. It an't my fault, is it ?" 
 
 " Surely no one says it is," said Mercy. 
 
 "Don't they, though?" retorted the youth. 
 "No. Yes. Ah ! No one mayn't say it is; but 
 some one knows it is. But I an't a going to have 
 every rise in prices wisited on me. 1 an't a going 
 to be killed, because the markets is dear. I won't 
 stop. And therefore," added Mr. Bailey, relenting 
 into a smile, "wotever you mean to give me, 
 you'd better give me all at once, becos if ever 
 you come back agin, I shan't be here ; and as to 
 the other boy, he won't deserve nothing I know." 
 
 The young ladies, on behalf of Mr. Pecksniff 
 and themselves, acted on this thoughtful advice , 
 and in consideration of their private friendship, 
 presented Mr. Bailey with a gratuity so liberal, 
 that he could hardly do enough to show his grati- 
 tude ; which found but on imperfect vent during 
 the remainder of the day, in divers secret slape 
 upon his pocket, and other such facetious panto- 
 mime. Nor was it confined to these ebullitions; 
 for besides crushing a bandbox, with a bonnet in 
 it, he seriously damaged Mr. Pecksniff's luggage, 
 by ardently hauling it down from the top of the 
 house ; and in short evinced, by every means in 
 his power, a lively sense of the favours he had re- 
 ceived from that gentleman and his family. 
 
 Mr. Pecksniff and Mr Jinkins came home to 
 dinner, arm-in-arm ; for the latter gentleman had 
 made half-holiday, on purpose ; thus gaining an 
 immense advantage over the youngest gentleman 
 and the rest, whose time, as it perversely chanced, 
 was all bespoke, until the evening. The bottle of 
 wine was Mr. Pecksniff's treat and they were 
 very sociable indeed ; though full of lamentations 
 on the necessity of parting. While they were in 
 the midst of their enjoyment old Anthony and 
 his Bon were announced ; much to the surprise 
 of Mr. Pecksniff, and greatly to the discomfiture 
 of Jenkins. 
 
 "Come to say good bye, you see," said \n 
 thony, in a low voice, to Mr. Pecksniff, as they 
 took their seats apart at the table, while the rest 
 conversed among themselves. " Where 's the u-o 
 of a division between you and me ? We are two 
 hplves of a pair of scissors, when apirt Pecksniff 
 but together we are something. Eb ?" 
 
80 
 
 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 " Unanimity, my good sir," rejoined Mr. Peck- 
 sniff, " is always delightful." 
 
 " I don't know about that," said the old man, 
 " for there are- some people I would rather differ 
 from than agree with. But you know my opinion 
 of you." 
 
 Mr. Pecksniff, still having "hypocrite" in his 
 mind, only replied by a motion of his head, which 
 was something between an affirmative bow and a 
 negative shake. 
 
 "Complimentary," said Anthony. "Compli- 
 mentary, upon my word. It was an involuntary 
 tribute to your abilities, even at the time; and it 
 was not a time to suggest compliments either. 
 But we agreed, in the coach, you know, that we 
 quite understood each other." 
 
 "Oh, quite !" assented Mr. Pecksniff, in a man- 
 ner which implied that he himself was misunder- 
 stood most cruelly, but would not complain. 
 
 Anthony glanced at his son as he sat beside 
 Miss Charity, and then at Mr. Pecksniff, and then 
 at his son again, very many times. It happened 
 that Mr. Pecksniff's glances took a similar direc- 
 tion ; but when he became aware of it, he first 
 cast down his eyes, and then closed them ; as if 
 he were determined that the old man should read 
 nothing there. 
 
 " Jonas is a shrewd lad," said the old man. 
 
 " He appears," rejoined Mr. Pecksniff in his 
 most candid manner, " to be very shrewd." 
 
 " And careful," said the old man. 
 
 " And careful, I have no doubt," returned Mr. 
 Pecksniff. 
 
 " Lookye !" said Anthony in his ear. " I think 
 he is sweet upon your daughter." 
 
 "Tut, my good sir," said Mr. Pecksniff, with 
 his eyes still closed; "young people — young 
 people — a kind of cousins, too — no more sweet- 
 ness than is in that, sir." 
 
 " Why, there is very little sweetness in that, 
 according to our experience," returned Anthony. 
 "Isn't there a trifle more here?" 
 
 " Impossible to say," rejoined Mr. Pecksniff. 
 "Quite impossible ! You surprise me." 
 
 " Yes, I know that," said the old man, dryly. 
 " It may last ; I mean the sweetness, not the sur- 
 prise ; and it may die off. Supposing it should 
 last, perhaps (you having feathered your nest pretty 
 well, and I having done the same) we might have 
 a mutual interest in the matter." 
 
 Mr. Pecksniff, smiling gently, was about to 
 speak, but Anthony stopped him. 
 
 " I know what you are going to say. It's quite 
 unnecessary. You have never thought of this for 
 a moment ; and in a point so nearly affecting the 
 happiness of your dear child, you couldn't, as a 
 tender father, express an opinion ; and so forth. 
 Yes, quite right. And like you ! But it seems to 
 me, my dear Pecksniff," added Anthony, laying 
 his hand upon his sleeve, " that if you and I kept 
 up the joke of pretending not to see this, one of 
 us might possibly be placed in a position of dis- 
 advantage ; and as I am very unwilling to be that 
 
 party myself, you will excuse my taking the liberty 
 of putting the matter beyond a doubt, thus early; 
 and having it distinctly understood, as it is now, 
 that we do see it, and do know it. Thank you for 
 your attention. We are now upon an equal foot- 
 ing ; which is agreeable to us both, I am sure." 
 
 He rose as he spoke ; and giving Mr. Pecksniff 
 a nod of intelligence, moved away from him to 
 where the young people were sitting : leaving that 
 good mafi somewhat puzzled and discomfited by 
 such very plain-dealing, and not quite free from 
 a sense of having been foiled in the exercise of his 
 familiar weapons. 
 
 But the night-coach had a punctual character, 
 and it was time to join it at the office ; which was 
 so near at hand, that they had already sent their 
 luggage, and arranged to walk. Thither the 
 whole party repaired, therefore, after no more de- 
 lay than sufficed for the equipment of the Miss 
 Pecksniffs and Mrs. Todgers. They found the 
 coach already at its starting-place, and the horses 
 in ; there, too, were a large majority of the com- 
 mercial gentlemen, including the youngest, who 
 was visibly agitated, and in a state of deep mental 
 dejection. 
 
 Nothing could equal the distress of Mrs. Tod- 
 gers in parting from the young ladies, except the 
 strong emotions with which she bade adieu to Mr. 
 Pecksniff. Never surely was a pocket-handerchief 
 taken in and out of a flat reticule so often as Mrs. 
 Todgers's was, as she stood upon the pavement, by 
 the coach door, supported on either side by a com- 
 mercial gentleman; and by the light of the coach- 
 lamps caught such brief snatches and glimpses of 
 the good man's face, as the constant interposition 
 of Mr. Jinkins allowed. For Jinkins, to the last 
 the youngest gentleman's rock-ahead in life, stood 
 upon the coach-step talking to the ladies. • Upon 
 the other step was Mr. Jonas, who maintained that 
 position in right of his cousinship ; whereas, the 
 youngest gentleman who had been first upon the 
 ground, was deep in the booking-office among the 
 black and red placards, and the portraits of fast 
 coaches, where he was ignominiously harassed by 
 porters, and had to contend and strive perpetually 
 with heavy baggage. This false position, combined 
 with his nervous excitement, brought about the 
 very consummation and catastrophe of his mise- 
 ries ; for when, in the moment of parting, he 
 aimed a flower — a hothouse flower, that had cost 
 money — at the fair hand of Mercy, it reached, in- 
 stead, the coachman of the box, who thanked him 
 kindly, and stuck it in his button-hole. 
 
 They were off now ; and Todgers's was alone 
 again. The two young ladies, leaning back in 
 their separate corners, resigned themselves to 
 their own regretful thoughts. But Mr. Pecksniff, 
 dismissing all ephemeral considerations of social 
 pleasure and enjoyment, concentrated his medita- 
 tions on the one great virtuous purpose before him, 
 of casting out that ingrate and deceiver, whose 
 presence yet troubled his domestic hearth, and was 
 a sacrilege upon the altars of the household gods. 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 
 
 81 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 WILL BE SEEN IN THE LONG RUN, IF NOT IN THE SHORT ONE, TO CONCERN 
 MR. PINCH AND OTHERfl, M:\KLY. M^ PECKSNIFF ASSERTS THE DIGNITY 
 OF OUTRAGED VIRTUE; AND YOUNG MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT FORMS A 
 DESPERATE RESOLUTION. 
 
 Mr.'Pincii and Martin, little dreaming of the 
 stonily weather that impended, made themselves 
 very comfortahle in the Pecksniffian halls, and 
 improved their friendship daily. Martin's facility, 
 both of invention and execution, being remarkable, 
 the grammar-school proceeded with great vigour; 
 and Tom repeatedly declared, that if there were 
 anything like certainty in human affairs, or im- 
 partiality in human judges, a design so new and 
 full of merit could not fail to carry off the first 
 prize when the time of competition arrived. With- 
 out being quite so sanguine himself, Martin had 
 his hopeful anticipations too; and they served to 
 make him brisk and eager at his task. 
 
 " If I should turn out a great architect, Tom," 
 said the new pupil one day, as he stood at a little 
 distance from his drawing, and eyed it with much 
 complacency, " I '11 tell you what should be one 
 of the things I'd build." 
 
 "Ay!" cried Tom. "What?" 
 
 " Why, your fortune."- 
 
 M No !" said Tom Pinch, quite as much delight- 
 ed as if the thing were done. " Would you 
 though ? How kind of you to say so !" 
 
 " 1 'u build it up, Tom," returned Martin, " on 
 such a strong foundation, that it should last your 
 life — ay, and your children's lives too, and their 
 children's after them. I'd be your patron, Tom. 
 I 'd take you under my protection. Let me see 
 the man who should give the cold shoulder to 
 anybody I chose to protect and patronize, if I 
 were at the top of the tree, Tom!" 
 
 " Now, J don't think," said Mr. Pinch, " upon 
 my word, that I was ever more gratified than by 
 -Jiis. I really don't." 
 
 "Oh! I mean what I say," retorted Martin, 
 <vith a manner as free and easy in its condescen- 
 «on to, not to say in its compassion for, the other, 
 as if he were already First Architect in Ordinary 
 to all the Crowned Heads in Europe. " I'd do it 
 — I'd provide for you." 
 
 " I am afraid," said Tom, shaking his head, 
 " that I should be a mighty awkward person to 
 provide for." 
 
 " Pooh, pooh !" rejoined Martin. "Never mind 
 that. If I took it in my head to say, ' Pinch is a 
 clever fellow ; I approve of Pinch ;' I should like 
 to know the man who would venture to put him- 
 self in opposition to me. Besides, confound it 
 Tom, you could be useful to me in a hundred 
 
 " If I were not useful in one or two, it shouldn't 
 be for want of trying," said Tom. 
 
 "For instance," pursued .Martin, after a short 
 reflection, " you'd be a capital fellow, now, to see 
 that my ideas Were properly carried out ; and to 
 overlook the works in their progress before they 
 were sufficiently advanced to be very interesting 
 to me ; and to take all that sort of plain sailing. 
 Then you'd be a splendid fellow to show people 
 over my studio, and to talk about Art to tin, 
 when I couldn't be bored myself, and all that kind 
 11 
 
 of thing. For it would be develish creditable, 
 Tom, (I'm quite in earnest, I give you my word.) 
 to have a man of your information about one 
 instead of some ordinary blockhead. Oh, I'd take 
 care of you. You'd be useful, rely upon it!" 
 
 To say that Tom had no idea of playing fiist 
 fiddle in any social orchestra, but was always quite 
 satisfied to be set down for the hundred and fiftieth 
 violin in the band, or thereabouts, is to express his 
 modesty in very inadequate terms. He was much 
 delighted, therefore, by these observations. 
 
 " I should be married to her then Tom, of 
 course," said Martin. 
 
 What was that which checked Tom Pinch so 
 suddenly, in the high flow of his gladness: bring- 
 ing the blood into his honest cheeks, and a re- 
 morseful feeling to his honest heart, as if he were 
 unworthy of his friend's regard ! 
 
 " I should be married to her then," said Martin, 
 looking with a smile toward the light: "and we 
 should have, I hope, children about us. They 'd 
 be very fond of you, Tom." 
 
 But not a word said Mr. Pinch. The words he 
 would have uttered, died upon his lips, and found 
 a life more spiritual in self-denying thoughts. 
 
 " All the children hereabouts are fond of you, 
 Tom ; and mine would be, of course,'* pursued 
 Martin. " Perhaps I might name one of 'em after 
 you. Tom, eh ? Well, I don't know ; Tom 's not 
 a bad name. Thomas Pinch Chuzzlewit. T. P. C. 
 on his pinafores; no objection to that, I should say." 
 
 Tom cleared his throat, and smiled. 
 
 "She would like you, Tom, I know," said Martin. 
 
 " Ay !" cried Tom Pinch, faintly. 
 
 "I can tell exactly what she would think of 
 you," said Martin, leaning his chin upon his hand, 
 and looking through the window -glass as if he 
 read there what he said; "I know her so well. 
 She would smile, Tom, often at first when you 
 spoke to her, or when she looked at you — merrily 
 too — but you wouldn't mind that. A brighter 
 smile you never saw !" 
 
 "No, no," said Tom, " I wouldn't mind that." 
 
 " She would be as tender with you, Tom," said 
 Martin, " as if you were a child yourseltl So yoi 
 are almost, in some things, an't you Tom ?" 
 
 Mr. Pinch nodded his entire assent. 
 
 "She would always he kind and good-humoured, 
 and glad to see you," said Martin ; " and when 
 she found out exactly what sort of (elk 
 were (which she 'd do, very soon,) she would pre- 
 tend togiveyou little commissions to execute, and 
 to ask little services of you, which she kr>' 
 were burning to render; so that when si- 
 pleased you most, she would try to make you 
 think you most pleased her. She would take to 
 'you uncommonly, Tom; and would understand 
 you far more delicately than I ever shall ; -nd 
 would often say, I know, that you were a harm- 
 less, gentle, well-intentioned, good fellow." 
 
 How silent Tom Pinch 
 
 " In honour of old times," said Martin, " and »/ 
 
82 
 
 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 her having heard you play the organ in this damp 
 little church down here — for nothing too — we 
 will have one in the house. I shall build an archi- 
 tectural music-room on a plan of my own, and 
 it '11 look rather knowing in a recess at one end. 
 There you shall play away, Tom, till you tire 
 yourself; and, as you like to do so in the dark, it 
 shall be dark ; and many's the summer evening 
 she and I will sit and listen to you, Tom ; be sure 
 of that!" 
 
 It may have required a stronger effort on Tom 
 Pinch's part to leave the seat on which he sat, and 
 shake his friend by both hands, with nothing but 
 serenity and grateful feeling painted on his face; 
 it may have required a. stronger effort to perform 
 this simple act with a pure heart, than to achieve 
 many and many a deed to which the doubtful 
 trumpet blown by Fame has lustily resounded. 
 Doubtful, because from its long hovering over 
 scenes of violence, the smoke and steam of death 
 have clogged the keys of that brave instrument ; 
 and it is not always that its notes are either true 
 or tuneful. 
 
 "It's a proof of the kindness of human na- 
 ture," said Tom, characteristically putting himself 
 quite out of sight in the matter, " that everybody 
 who comes here, as you have done, is more con- 
 siderate and affectionate to me than I should have 
 any right to hope, if I were the most sanguine 
 creature in the world ; or should have any power 
 to express, if I were the most eloquent. It really 
 overpowers me. But trust me," said Tom, " that 
 I am not ungrateful — that I never forget — and 
 that, if I can ever prove the truth of my words to 
 you, I will." 
 
 " That 's all right," observed Martin, leaning 
 back in his chair with a hand in each pocket, and 
 yawning drearily. " Very fine talking, Tom ; but 
 I 'm at Pecksniff's, I remember, and perhaps a 
 mile or so out of the high-road to fortune just at 
 this minute. So you 've heard again this morning 
 from what's his name, eh ?" 
 
 " Who may that be ?" asked Tom, seeming to 
 enter a mild protest on behalf of the dignity of an 
 absent person. 
 
 u You know. What is it? North key." 
 
 " Westlock," rejoined Tom, in rather a louder 
 tome than usual. 
 
 " Ah ! to be sure," said Martin, " Westlock. I 
 knew it was something connected with a point of 
 the eoaipass and a door. Well ! and what says 
 Westlock ?" 
 
 " Oh ! he has come into his property," answered 
 Tom, nodding his head, and smiling. 
 
 " He 's a lucky dog," said Martin. " I wish it 
 were mine instead. Is that all the mystery you 
 were to tell me ?" 
 
 " No," said Tom ; " not all." 
 
 " What is the rest ?" asked Martin. 
 
 " For the matter of that," said Tom, " it 's no 
 mystery, and you won't think much of it; but 
 it 's very pleasant to me. John always used to 
 say when he was here, 'Mark my words, Pinch. 
 When my father's executors cash up' — he used 
 strange expressions now and then, but that was 
 nis way." 
 
 " Cash-up 's a very good expression," observed 
 Martin, " when other people don't apply it to you." 
 Weli ! What a slow fellow you are, Pinch !" 
 
 14 Yes, I am I know," said Tom ; u but you '11 
 
 make me nervous if you tell me so. I 'm afraid 
 you have put me out a little now, for I torget what 
 I was going to say." 
 
 " When John's father's executors cashed up"' — 
 said Martin impatiently. 
 
 " Oh, yes, to be sure," cried Tom ; "yes. ' Then,' 
 says John, ' I '11 give you a dinner, Pinch, and 
 come down to Salisbury on purpose.' Now, when 
 John wrote the other day — the morning Pecksniff 
 left, you know — ho said his business was on the 
 point of being immediately settled, and as he was 
 to receive his money directly, when could I meet 
 him at Salisbury ? 1 wrote and said, any day this 
 week ; and I told him besides, that there was a 
 new pupil here, and what a fine fellow you were, 
 and what friends we had become. Upon which 
 John writes back this letter" — Tom produced it — 
 " fixes to-morrow ; sends his compliments to you; 
 and begs that we three may have the pleasure of 
 dining together — not at the house where you and 
 I were, either ; but at the very first hotel in the 
 town. Read what he says." 
 
 " Very well," said Martin, glancing over it with 
 his customary coolness ; " much obliged to him. 
 I 'm agreeable." 
 
 Tom could have wished him to be a little more 
 astonished, a little more pleased, or in some form 
 or other a little more interested in such a great 
 event. But he was perfectly self-possessed : and, 
 falling into his favourite solace of whistling, took 
 another turn at the grammar-school, as if nothing 
 at all had happened. 
 
 Mr. Pecksniff's horse being regarded in the 
 light of a sacred animal, only to be driven by him, 
 the chief priest of that temple, or by some person 
 distinctly nominated for the time being to that 
 high office by himself, the two young men agreed 
 to walk to Salisbury ; and so, when the time came, 
 they set off on foot ; which was, after all, a better 
 mode of travelling than in the gig, as the weather 
 was very cold and very dry. 
 
 Better ! a rare strong, hearty, healthy walk — 
 four statute miles an hour — preferable to that 
 rumbling, tumbling, jolting, shaking, scraping, 
 creaking, villanous old gig ? Why, the two things 
 will not admit of comparison. It is an insult to 
 the walk, to set them side by side. Where is an 
 instance of a gig having ever circulated a man's 
 blood, unless when, putting him in danger of his 
 neck, it awakened in his veins and in his ears, 
 and all along his spine, a tingling heat, much 
 more peculiar than agreeable ? When did a gig 
 ever sharpen anybody's wits and energies, unless 
 it was when the horse bolted, and, crashing madly 
 down a steep hill with a stone wall at the bottom, 
 his desperate circumstances suggested to the only 
 gentleman left inside, some novel and unheard-of 
 mode of dropping out behind ? Better than the gig ! 
 
 The air was cold, Tom ; so it was, there is no 
 denying it ; but would it have been more genial 
 in the gig ? The blacksmith's fire burned very 
 bright, and leaped up high, as though it wanted 
 men to warm ; but would it have been less tempt- 
 ing, looked at from the clammy cushions of a gig ? 
 The wind blew keenly, nipping the features of 
 the hardy wight who fought his way along ; blind 
 ing him with his own hair if he had enough o r 
 it, and with wintry dust if he hadn't ; stopping his 
 bre,ath as though he had been soused in a cold 
 bath ; tearing aside his wrappings-up, and whist 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEVVIT. 
 
 ling in the very marrow of his bones; but it 
 would have done all this a hundred times more 
 fiercely to a man in a gig, wouldn't it ? A fig for 
 gigs! 
 
 r than the gig ! When were traveller* by 
 •vhcels and hoofs seen with such red-hot cheeks 
 as those ? when were they so good-humourcdly 
 *nd merrily bloused ? when did their laughter 
 ring upon the air, as they turned them round, 
 what time the strong gusts came sweeping up; 
 and facing round again as they passed by, dashed 
 oa in such a glow of ruddy health as nothing 
 could keep pace with, but the high spirits it en- 
 gendered? Better than a gig! Why here is a 
 man in a gig coming the same way now. Look 
 at him as he passes his whip in his left hand, 
 chafes his numbed right fingers on his granite 
 leg, and beats those marble toes of his upon the 
 footboard. Ha, ha, ha ! Who would exchange 
 this rapid hurry of the blood for yonder stagnant 
 misery, though its pace were twenty miles for one ? 
 
 Better than the gig ! No man in a gig could 
 have such interest in the milestones. No man in 
 a gig could see, or feel, or think, like merry users 
 of their legs. How, as the wind sweeps on, upon 
 these breezy downs, it tracks its flights in darken- 
 ing ripples on the grass, and smoothest shadows 
 on the hills ! Look round and round upon this 
 bare bleak plain, and see even here, upon a win- 
 ter's day, how beautiful the shadows are ! Alas, 
 it is the nature of their kind to be so. The love- 
 liest things in life, Tern, are but shadows; and 
 they come and go, and change, and fade away, as 
 rapidly as these ! 
 
 Another mile, and then begins a fall of snow, 
 making the crow, who skims away so close above 
 the ground to shirk the wind, a blot of ink upon 
 the landscape. But though it drives and drifts 
 against them as they walk, stiffening on their 
 skirts, and freezing in the lashes of their eyes, 
 they wouldn't have it fall more sparingly, no, not 
 so much as by a single flake, although they had 
 to go a score of miles. And, lo ! the towers of 
 the Old Cathedral rise before them, even now ! 
 and by and by they come into the sheltered streets, 
 made strangely silent by their white carpet ; and 
 so to the Inn for which they are bound ; where 
 they present such flushed and burning faces to the 
 cold waiter, and are so brimful of vigour, that he 
 almost feels assaulted by their presence , and, 
 having nothing to oppose to the attack (being 
 fresh, or rather stale, from the blazing fire in the 
 coffee-room,) is quite put out of his pale counte- 
 nance. 
 
 A famous Inn ! the hall a very grove of dead 
 game, and dangling joints of mutton ; and in one 
 corner an illustrious larder, with glass doors, de- 
 veloping cold fowls and noble joints, and tarts 
 wherein the raspberry jam coyly withdrew itself, 
 as such a precious creature should, behind a lat- 
 tice-work of pastry. And behold, on the first 
 floor, at the court-end of the house, in a room with 
 all the window-curtains drawn, a fire piled half- 
 way up the chimney, plates warming before it, 
 wax candles gloaming everywhere, and a table 
 spread for three, with silver and glass enough for 
 thirty— John Westlock ; not the old John of Feck- 
 sniff's, but a proper gentleman : looking another 
 and a grander person, with the consciousness of 
 being his own master and having money in the 
 
 bank ; and yet, in some respects, the old John too, 
 for ho seized Tom Pioch by both his hands the 
 instant he appeared, and fairly hugged him, in his 
 cordial welcome. 
 
 "And this," saftd John, " is Mr. Chuzzlewit I 
 am very glad to see him !" John had an off- 
 hand manner of his own ; so they shook hands 
 warmly, and were friends in no time. 
 
 "Stand off a moment, Tom," cried the old 
 pupil, laying one hand on each of Mr. Pinch's 
 shoulders, and holding him out at arms' length, 
 "Let me look at you! Just the same! Nut a 
 bit changed !" 
 
 " Why, it's not so very long ago, you know," 
 said Tom Pinch, " after all." 
 
 " It seems an age to me," cried John ; " and so 
 it ought to seem to you, you dog." And then be 
 pushed Tom down into the easiest chair, and 
 clapped him on the back so heartily, and so like 
 his old self in their old bed-room at old Peck. 
 sniff's, that it was a toss-up with Tom Pinch 
 whether he should laugh or cry. Laughter won 
 it ; and they all three laughed together. 
 
 " I have ordered everything for dinner that we 
 used to say we 'd have, Tom," observed John 
 Westlock. 
 
 " No!" said Tom Pinch, " Have you?" 
 
 " Every thing. Don't laugh if you can help it 
 before the waiters, /couldn't when I was order- 
 ing it. It '8 like a dream." 
 
 John was wrong there, because nobody ever 
 dreamed such a soup as was put upon the table 
 directly afterwards ; or such fish ; or such side- 
 dishes ; or such a top and bottom ; or such a 
 course of birds and sweets ; or in short anything 
 approaching the reality of that entertainment, at 
 ten-and-sixpence a head, exclusive of wines. As 
 to them, the man who can dream such iced- cham- 
 pagne, claret, port, or sherry, had better go to bed 
 and stop there. 
 
 But perhaps the finest feature of the banquet 
 was, that nobody was half so much amazed by 
 every thing as John himself, who, in his high de- 
 light, was constantly bursting into fits of laughter, 
 and then endeavouring to appear preternaturally 
 solemn, lest the waiters should conceive he wasn't 
 used to it. Some of the things they brought him 
 to carve, were such outrageous practical jokes, 
 though, that it was impossible to stand it; and 
 when Tom Pinch insisted, in spite of the deferen- 
 tial advice of an attendant, not only on breaking 
 down the outer wall of a raised pie with a table 
 spoon, but on trying to eat it afterwards, John lost 
 all dignity, and sat behind the gorgeous dish-cover 
 at the head of the table, roaring to that extent that 
 he was audible in the kitchen. Nor had he the 
 least objection to laugh at himself, as he demon- 
 strated when they had all three gathered round 
 the fire, and the dessert was on the table ; at 
 which period the head waiter inquired with re- 
 spectful solicitude whether that port, being a light 
 and tawny wine, was suited to his taste, or whe- 
 ther he would wish to try a fruity port with 
 greater body. To this John gravely answered, 
 that he was well satisfied with what he had, which 
 he esteemed, as one might say, a pretty tidy vint- 
 age ; for which the waiter thanked him ana with- 
 drew, and then John told his friends, with a broad 
 grin, that he supposed it was all right, but didn* 
 know ; and went off into a perfect shout. 
 
84 
 
 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 They were very merry and full of enjoyment 
 the whole time, but not the least pleasant part of 
 the festival was, when they all three sat about the 
 fire, cracking nuts, drinking wine, and talking 
 cheerfully. It happened that Tom Pinch had a 
 word to say to his friend the organist's assistant, 
 and so deserted his warm corner for a few minutes 
 at this season, lest it should grow too late; leaving 
 the other two young men together. 
 
 They drank his health in his absence of course; 
 and John Westlock took that opportunity of say- 
 ing 1 , that he had never had even a peevish word 
 with Tom during the whole term of their resi- 
 dence in Mr. Pecksniff's house. This naturally 
 led him to dwell upon Tom's character, and to 
 hint that Mr. Pecksniff understood it pretty well. 
 He only hinted this, and very distantly ; knowing 
 that it pained Tom Pinch to have that gentleman 
 disparaged, and thinking it would be as well to 
 leave the new pupil to his own discoveries. 
 
 " Yes," said Martin. " It's impossible to like 
 Pinch better than I do, or to do greater justice to 
 his good qualities. He's the most willing fellow 
 I ever saw." 
 
 " He's rather too willing," observed John, who 
 was quick in observation. " It's quite a fault in 
 him." 
 
 " So it is," said Martin. " Very true. There 
 was a fellow only a week or so ago — a Mr. Tigg 
 — who borrowed all the money he had, on a pro- 
 mise to repay it in a few days. It was but half a 
 sovereign, to be sure ; but it's well it was no more, 
 for he'll never see it again." 
 
 " Poor fellow !" said John, who had been very 
 attentive to these few words. " Perhaps you have 
 not had an opportunity of observing that, in his 
 own pecuniary transactions, Tom's proud." 
 
 " You don't say so ! No, I hav'nt. What do 
 you mean ? Won't he borrow ?" 
 
 John Westlock shook his head. 
 
 " That's very odd," said Martin, setting down 
 his empty glass. " He's a strange compound, to 
 be sure." 
 
 "As to receiving money as a gift," resumed 
 John Westlock, " I think he'd die first." 
 
 " He's made up of simplicity," said Martin. 
 " Help yourself." 
 
 " You, however," pursued John, filling his own 
 glass, and looking at his companion with some 
 curiosity, " who are older than the majority of 
 Mr. Pecksniff's assistants, and have evidently had 
 much more experience, understand him, I have 
 no doubt, and see how liable he is to be imposed 
 upon." 
 
 "Certainly," said Martin, stretching out his 
 legs, and holding his wine between his eye and 
 the light, " Mr. Pecksniff knows that too. So do 
 his daughters. Eh ?" 
 
 John Westlock smiled, but made no answer. 
 
 " By the bye," said Martin, " that reminds me. 
 What's your opinion of Pecksniff? How did he 
 use you ? What do you think of him now ? Cool- 
 ly, you know, when it's all over ?" 
 
 " Ask Pinch," returned the old pupil. " He 
 knows what my sentiments used to be upon the 
 subject. They are not changed, I assure you." 
 
 " No, no," said Martin, " I'd rather have them 
 from you." 
 
 " But Pinch says they are unjust," urged John 
 with a smile. 
 
 " Oh ! well ! Then I know what course they 
 take beforehand," said Martin ; " and, therefore, 
 you can have no delicacy in speaking plainly. 
 Don't mind me, I beg. I don't like him, I tell you 
 frankly. I am with him because it happens from 
 particular circumstances to suit my convenience. 
 I have some ability, I believe, in that way ; and 
 the obligation, if any, will most likely be on his 
 side and not mine. At the lowest mark, the balance 
 will be even and there'll be no obligation at all. 
 So you may talk to me, as if I had no connection 
 with him." 
 
 " If you press me to give my opinion" — return- 
 ed John Westlock. 
 
 " Yes, I do," said Martin. " You'll oblige me." 
 
 " I should say," resumed the other, " that he is 
 the most consummate scoundrel on the face of the 
 earth." 
 
 " Oh !" said Martin, as coolly as ever. " That's 
 rather strong." 
 
 " Not stronger than he deserves," said John ; 
 " and if he called upon me to express my opinion 
 of him to his face, I would do so in the very same 
 terms, without the least qualification. His treat- 
 ment of Pinch is in itself enough to justify them ; 
 but when I look back upon the five years I passed 
 in that house, and remember the hypocrisy, the 
 knavery, the meanness, the false pretences, the lip 
 service of that fellow, and his trading in saintly 
 semblance for the very worst realities ; when I re- 
 member how often I was the witness of all this, 
 and how often I was made a kind of party to it, 
 by the fact of being there, with him for my teach- 
 er ; I swear to you, that I almost despise myself." 
 
 Martin drained his glass, and looked at the fire. 
 
 " I don't mean to say, that it is a right feeling," 
 pursued John Westlock, " because it was no fault 
 of mine ; and I can quite understand — you, for in- 
 stance, fully appreciating him, and yet being forced 
 by circumstances to remain there. I tell you sim- 
 ply what my feeling is ; and even now, when, as 
 you say, it's all over ; and when I have the satis . 
 faction of knowing that he always hated me, and 
 we always quarrelled, and I always told him my 
 mind ; even now, I feel sorry that I didn't yield 
 to an impulse I often had, as a boy, of running 
 away from him and going abroad." 
 
 " Why abroad ?" asked Martin, turning his eyes 
 upon the speaker. 
 
 " In search," replied John Westlock, shrugging 
 his shoulders, V of the livelihood I couldn't have 
 earned at home. There would have been some- 
 thing spirited in that. But, come — fill your glass, 
 and let us forget him." 
 
 " As soon as you please," said Martin. " In re- 
 ference to myself and my connection with him, I 
 have only to repeat what I said before, I have 
 taken my own way with him so far, and shall con- 
 tinue to do so, even more than ever ; for the fact 
 is — to tell you the truth — that I believe he looks to 
 me to supply his defects, and couldn't afford to 
 lose me. I had a notion of that, in going there. 
 Your health !" 
 
 "Thank you," returned young Westlock. — 
 " Yours. And may the new pupil turn out as well 
 as you can desire !" 
 
 " What new pupil?" 
 
 " The unfortunate youth, born under an auspi- 
 cious star," returned John Westlock, laughing ; 
 " whose parents, or guardians, are destined to be 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT, 
 
 85 
 
 hooked by tho advertisement What ! don't you 
 know that he has advertised again ?" 
 
 « No." 
 
 "Oh, yes. I read it just before dinner in the 
 old newspaper. I know it to be his ; having some 
 reuson to remember the style. Hush! Hip's 
 Finch. Strange, is it not, thut the more lie likes 
 Pecksniff' (if he can like him better than he does) 
 the greater reason one has to like him? Not a 
 wowl more, or we shall spoil his whole enjoy- 
 menu" 
 
 Tom entered as the word.s were spoken, with a 
 radiant smile upon his face ; and rubbing his 
 hands, more from a sense of delight than because 
 he was cold (for he hud been running fast,) sat 
 down in his warm corner again, and was as happy 
 as — as only Tom Pinch could be. There is no 
 other simile that will express his state of mind. 
 
 " And so," he said, when he had gazed at his 
 friend for some time in silent pleasure, " so you 
 reully are a gentleman at last, John. Well, to be 
 sure !" 
 
 " Trying to be, Tom ; trying to be," he rejoin- 
 ed good-humouredly. " There is no saying what 
 I may turn out, in time." 
 
 " I suppose you wouldn't carry your own box 
 to the mail, now," said Tom Pinch, smiling : " al- 
 though you lost it altogether by not taking it" 
 
 "Wouldn't I?" retorted John. "That's all 
 you know about it, Pinch. It must be a very 
 heavy box that I wouldn't carry to get away from 
 Pecksniff's, Tom." 
 
 " There !" cried Pinch, turning to Martin, " I 
 told you so. The great fault in his character is 
 his injustice to Pecksniff. You musn't mind a 
 word he says on that subject. His prejudice is 
 most extraordinary." 
 
 "The absence of anything like prejudice on 
 Tom's part y°u know," said John Westlock, 
 laughing heartily, as he laid his hand on Mr. 
 Pinch's shoulder, " is perfectly wonderful. If one 
 man ever had a profound knowledge of another, 
 and saw him in a true light and in his own pro- 
 per colours, Tom has that knowledge of Mr. Peck- 
 sniff." 
 
 " Why, of course I have," cried Tom. " That's 
 exactly what I have so often said to you. If you 
 knew him as well as I do— John, I 'd give almost 
 any money to bring that about — you'd admire, 
 respect and reverence him. You couldn't help 
 it. Oh, how you wounded his feelings when you 
 went away !" 
 
 " If I had known whereabout his feelings lay," 
 retorted young Westlock, " I 'd have done my 
 best, Tom, with that end in view, you may depend 
 upon it. But as I couldn't wound him in what ho 
 has not, nnd in what he knows nothing of, except 
 in his ability to probe them to the quick in other 
 people, I am afraid I can lay no claim to your 
 compliment." 
 
 Mr. Pinch, being unwilling to protract a dis- 
 cussion which might possibly corrupt Martin, 
 forbore to say anything in reply to this speech ; 
 but John Westlock, whom nothing short of an 
 iron gag would have silenced when Mr. Peck- 
 sniff's merits were once in question, continued 
 notwithstanding. 
 
 "//»* feelings ! Oh, he 's a tender-hearted man. 
 His feelings ! Oh, ho 's a considerate, conscien- 
 
 tious self examining, moral vagabond, he is! Hit 
 feelings ! Ofa ! what 's the matter, Tom !" 
 
 Mr. Pinch wan by this time erect upon the 
 hearth-rug, buttoning his coat with great energy. 
 
 " I can't bear it," said Tom, shaking his head. 
 "No. I really cannot You must eicuse me, 
 John. I have a great esteem and friendship for 
 you ; I love you very mock; and have been per- 
 fectly charmed and overjoyed to-day, to find you 
 just the same as ever; but I cannot listen to this." 
 
 " Why, it 's my old way, Tom ; and you say 
 yourself that you are glad to find me unchanged." 
 
 " Not in this respect," said Tom Pinch. ** You 
 must excuse me, John. I cannot really ; I will 
 not It 's very wrong ; you should be more guard, 
 ed in your expressions. It was bad enough when 
 you and I used to be alone together; but under 
 existing circumstances, I can't endure it, really. 
 No. I cannot, indeed !" 
 
 "You are quite right!" exclaimed the other, 
 exchanging looks with Martin ; " and I am quite 
 wrong, Tom. I don't know how the deuce we 
 fell on this unlucky theme. I beg your pardon 
 with all my heart." 
 
 " You have a free and manly temper, I know,** 
 said Pinch ; " and therefore, your being so unge- 
 nerous in this solitary instance, only grieves me 
 the more. It's not my pardon you have to ask. 
 John. You have done me nothing but kind- 
 nesses." 
 
 " Well ! Pecksniff's pardon, then," said young 
 Westlock. "Anything, Tom, or anybody. Peck- 
 sniff's pardon — will that do ? Here, let us drink 
 Pecksniff's health !" 
 
 " Thank you," cried Tom, shaking hands with 
 him eagerly, and filling a bumper. " Thank you ; 
 I 'll;4rink it with all my heart, John. Mr. Peck- 
 sniff s health, and prosperity to him !" 
 
 John Westlock echoed the sentiment, or nearly 
 so; for he drank Mr. Pecksniff's health, and 
 Something to him — but what, was not quite audi- 
 ble. The general unanimity being then com- 
 pletely restored, they drew their chairs closer 
 round the fire, and conversed in perfect harmony 
 and enjoyment until bed-time. 
 
 No slight circumstance, perhaps, could have 
 better illustrated the difference of character be- 
 tween John Westlock and Martin Chuzzlewit, 
 than the manner in which each of the young men 
 contemplated Tom Pinch, after the little rupture 
 just described. There was a certain amount of 
 jocularity in the looks of both, no doubt but there 
 all resemblance ceased. The old pupil could not 
 do enough to show Tom how cordially he felt to- 
 ward him, and his friendly regard seemed of a 
 graver and more thoughtful kind than before. 
 The new one, on the other hand, had no impulse 
 but to laugh at the recollection of Tom's extreme 
 absurdity ; and mingled with his amusement there 
 was something slighting and contemptuous, indi- 
 cative, as it appeared, of his opinion that Mr. 
 Pinch was much too far gone in simplicity, to be 
 admitted as the friend on serious and equal terms 
 of any rational man. 
 
 John Westlock, who did nothing by halves, if 
 he could help it had provided beds for his two 
 guests in the hotel ; and after a very happy eve- 
 ning, they retired. Mr. Pinch was sitting on the 
 side of his bed with his cravat and shoes dtf ru 
 
86 
 
 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 minating on the manifold good qualities of his old 
 friend, when he was interrupted hy a knock at his 
 chamber door, and the voice of John himself. 
 
 " You 're not asleep yet, are you, Tom ?" 
 
 u Bless you, no ! not I. I was thinking- of you," 
 replied Tom, opening the door. "Come in-." ' 
 
 " I am not going to detain you," said John ; 
 " but I have forgotten all the evening a little com- 
 mission I took upon myself; and I am afraid I 
 may forget it again, if I fail to discharge it at 
 once. You know a Mr. Tigg, Tom, I believe ?" 
 
 " Tigg !" cried Tom, " Tigg ! The gentleman 
 who borrowed some money of me ?" 
 
 " Exactly," said John Westlock. " He begged 
 me to present his compliments, and to return it 
 with many thanks. Here it is. I suppose it's a 
 good one, but he is rather a doubtful kind of cus- 
 tomer, Tom." 
 
 Mr. Pinch received the little piece of gold with 
 a face whose brightness might have shamed the 
 metal ; and said he had no fear about that. He 
 was glad, he added, to find Mr. Tigg so prompt 
 and honourable in his dealings; very glad. 
 
 " Why, to tell you the truth, Tom," replied his 
 friend, " he is not always so. If you '11 take my 
 advice, you '11 avoid him as much as you can, in 
 the event of your encountering him again. And 
 by no means, Tom — pray bear this in mind, for I 
 am very serious — by no means lend him money 
 any more." 
 
 " Ay, ay !" said Tom, with his eyes wide open. 
 
 " He is very far from being a reputable ac- 
 quaintance," returned young Westlock ; " and the 
 more you let him know you think so, the better 
 for you, Tom." 
 
 " I say, John," quoth Mr. Pinch, as his coun- 
 tenance fell, and he shook his head in a dejected 
 manner, *" I hope you 're not getting into bad'com- 
 pany." 
 
 " No, no," he replied, laughing. " Don't be un- 
 easy on that score." 
 
 " Oh, but I am uneasy," said Tom Pinch; u I 
 can't help it, when I hear you talking in that way. 
 If Mr. Tigg is what you describe him to be, you 
 have no business to know him, John. You may 
 laugh, but I don't consider it by any means a 
 laughing matter, I assure you." 
 
 " No, no," returned his friend, composing his 
 features. " Quite right. It is not, certainly." 
 
 "You know, John," said Mr. Pinch, "your 
 very good nature and kindness of heart make you 
 thoughtless ; and you can't be too careful on such 
 a point as this. Upon my word, if I thought you 
 were falling among bad companions, I should be 
 quite wretched, for I know how difficult you would 
 find it to shake them off. I would much rather 
 have lost this money, John, than I would have had 
 it back again on such terms." 
 
 " I tell you, my dear good old fellow," cried his 
 friend, shaking him to and fro with both hands, 
 and smiling at him with a cheerful, open counte- 
 nance, that would have carried conviction to a 
 mind much more suspicious than Tom's; "I tell 
 you there is no danger." 
 
 "Well," cried Tom, "I am glad to hear it; I 
 am overjoyed to hear it. I am sure there is not, 
 when you say so in that manner. You won't take 
 It ill, John, that I said what I did ju«t now?" 
 
 "■ 111 !" said the other, giving his hand a hearty 
 Bqueeze ; " why what do you think I am made of? 
 
 Mr. Tigg and I are not on such an intimate foot- 
 ing that you need be at all uneasy ; I give you 
 my solemn assurance of that, Tom. You are 
 quite comfortable now ?" 
 
 " Quite," said Tom. 
 
 " Then, once more, good night." 
 
 " Good night !" cried Tom ; " and such pleasant 
 dreams to you, as should attend the sleep of the 
 best fellow in the world !" 
 
 " Except Pecksniff," said his friend, stopping 
 at the door for a moment, and looking gayly back. 
 
 " Except Pecksniff," answered Tom, with great 
 gravity ; " of course." 
 
 And thus they parted for the night ; John West- 
 lock full of light-heartedness and good humour ; 
 and poor Tom Pinch quite satisfied, though still, 
 as he turned over on his side in bed, he muttered 
 to himself, " I really do wish, for all that, though, 
 that he wasn't acquainted with Mr. Tigg!" 
 
 They breakfasted together very early next morn- 
 ing, for the two young men desired to get back 
 again in good season ; and John Westlock was to 
 return to London by the coach that day. As he 
 had some hours to spare, he bore them company 
 for three or four miles on their walk ;.and only 
 parted from them at last in sheer necessity. The 
 parting was an unusually hearty one, not only as 
 between him and Tom Pinch, but on the side of 
 Martin also, who had found in the old pupil a very 
 different sort of person from the milksop he had 
 prepared himself to expect. 
 
 Young Westlock stopped upon a rising ground, 
 when he had gone a little distance, and looked 
 back. They were walking at a brisk pace, and 
 Tom appeared to be talking earnestly. Martin 
 had taken off his great-coat, the wind being now 
 behind them, and carried it upon his arm. As he 
 looked, he saw Tom relieve him of it, after a faint 
 resistance, and, throwing it upon his own, encum- 
 ber himself with the weight of both. This trivial 
 incident impressed the old pupil mightily, for he 
 stood there, gazing after them, until they were 
 hidden from his view; when he shook his head, as 
 if he were troubled by some uneasy reflection, 
 and thoughtfully retraced his steps to Salisbury. 
 
 In the mean time, Martin and Tom pursued 
 their way, until they halted, safe and sound, at Mr. 
 Pecksniff's house, where a brief epistle from that 
 good gentleman to Mr. Pinch, announced the fa- 
 mily's return by that night's coach. As it would 
 pass the corner of the lane at about six o'clock in 
 the morning, Mr. Pecksniff requested that the gig 
 might be in waiting at the finger-post about that 
 time, together with a cart for the luggage. And 
 to the end that he might be received with the 
 greater honour, the young men agreed to rise 
 early, and be upon the spot themselves. 
 
 It was the least cheerful day they had yet pass- 
 ed together. Martin was out of spirits and out 
 of humour, and took every opportunity of com- 
 paring his condition and prospects with those of 
 young Westlock; much to his own disadvantage 
 always. This mood of his depressed Tom ; and 
 neither the morning's parting, nor yesterday's din- 
 ner, helped 'to mend the matter. So the hours 
 dragged on heavily enough ; and they were glad 
 to go to bed early. 
 
 They were not quite so glad to get up again at 
 half-past four o'clock, in all the shivering discom- 
 fort of a dark winter's morning ; but they turned 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 
 
 8? 
 
 out punctually, and were at the finger-post full 
 half-an-hour before the appointed time. It was 
 not by any means a lively nx.nnnir, lor the sky 
 was black and cloudy, and it ruined hard ; but 
 Mrtlli said there was soa lion in seeing 
 
 iteofa horse (by thi?, be mount Mr. Peck- 
 sniff's Arab Bleed) getting very wel ; and that he 
 rejoiced, on his account, that it rained so fast. 
 From this it may be interred, that Martin's spirits 
 had not improved, as indeed tin v had not ; for 
 while he and Mr. Pinch stood waiting un a hedge, 
 looking at the rain, the gig, the cart, and its Ht k- 
 ing driver, he did nothing but grumble; and, but 
 that it ii inilir-pensuble to any dispute that there 
 should be two parties to it, he would certainly 
 have picked a quarrel with Tom. 
 
 At length the noise of wheels was faintly audi- 
 ble in the distance, and presently the coach came 
 splashing through the mud and mire, with one 
 miserable outside passenger crouching down 
 among wet straw, under a saturated umbrella ; 
 ond the coachman, guard, and horses in a fellow- 
 ship of dripping wretchedness. Immediately on 
 its stopping, Mr. Pecksniff let down the window- 
 glass and hailed Tom Pinch. 
 
 44 Dear me, Mr. Pinch ! is it possible that you 
 are out upon this very inclement morning ?" 
 
 " Yes, sir," cried Tom, advancing eagerly, 
 " Mr. Chuzzlewit and I, sir " 
 
 " Oh I" said Mr. Pecksniff, looking.not so much 
 at Martin ns at the spot on which he stood. " Oh ! 
 Indeed ! Do me the favour to see to the trunks, 
 if you please, Mr. Pinch." 
 
 Then Mr. Pecksniff descended, and helped his 
 daughters to alight; but neither he nor the young 
 ladies took the slightest notice of Martin, who had 
 advaaced to offer his assistance, but was repulsed 
 by Mr. Pecksniff's standing immediately before 
 his person, with his back toward him. In the 
 same manner, and in profound silence, Mr. Peck- 
 sniff handed his daughters into the gig ; and fol- 
 lowing himself and taking the reins, drove off 
 home. 
 
 Lost in astonishment, Martin stood staring at 
 the coach ; and when the coach had driven away, 
 at Mr. Pinch and the luggage ; until the cart mov- 
 ed off too ; when he said to Tom ; 
 
 44 Now, you will have the goodness to tell me 
 what this portends?" 
 
 " What'" asked Tom. 
 
 "This fellow's behaviour — Mr. Pecksniff's I 
 mean. You saw it ?" 
 
 44 No. Indeed I did not," cried Tom. 44 1 was 
 busy with the trunks." 
 
 44 It is no matter," said Martin. 44 Come ! Let 
 us make haste back." And without another word 
 he started off at such a pace, that Tom had some 
 difficulty in keeping up with him. 
 
 lie had no care where he went, but walked 
 through little heaps of mud and little pools of wa- 
 ter with the utmost indifference ; looking straight 
 before him, and sometimes laughing in a strange 
 manner within himself. Tom felt that anything 
 he could say would only render him the more 
 obstinate, and therefore trusted to Mr. Pecksniff's 
 manner when they reached the house, to remove 
 the mistaken impression under which he felt con- 
 vinced so great a favourite as the new pupil must 
 unquestionably be labouring. Put he was not a 
 
 little amazed himself, when they did reach it, and 
 enhnd the parlour where Mr. Pecksniff was sit- 
 ting alone before the fire, drinking some hot tea* 
 to find, that instead of taking favourable notice 
 of his relative, and keeping him, Mr. Pinch, in 
 the back-ground, he did exactly the reverse, and 
 was so lavish in his attentions that Tom was tho- 
 roughly confounded. 
 
 " 'Jake some tea, Mr. Pinch — take some tea," 
 suid Pecksniff, stirring the fire. " You must be 
 very cold and damp. Pray take some lea, and 
 come into a warm place, Mr. Pinch." 
 
 Tom saw that Martin looked at Mr. Pecksniff 
 as though he could have easily found it in his 
 heart to give him an invitation to a very warm 
 place ; but he was quite silent, and standing op. 
 positc that gentleman at the table, regarded him 
 attentively. 
 
 44 Take a chair, Pinch," said Pecksniff. 44 Take 
 a chair, if you please. How have things gone in 
 our absence, Mr. Pinch ?" 
 
 44 You — you will be very much pleased with the 
 grammar-school, sir," said Tom. "It's nearly 
 finished." 
 
 44 If you will have the goodness, Mr. Pinch," 
 said Pecksniff, waving his hand and smiling, "we 
 will not discuss anything connected with tluit 
 question at present. What have you been doing, 
 Thomas, humph !" 
 
 Mr. Pinch looked from master to pupil, and 
 from pupil to master, and was so perplexed and 
 dismayed, that he wanted presence of mind to 
 answer the question. In this awkward interval, 
 Mr. Pecksniff (who was perfectly conscious of 
 Martin's gaze, though he had never once glanced 
 toward him) poked the fire very much, and when 
 he couldn't do that any more, drank tea, assidu- 
 ously. 
 
 44 Now, Mr. Pecksniff," said Martin at last, in 
 a very quiet voice, 44 if you have sufficiently re- 
 freshed and recovered yourself, I shall be glad to 
 hear what you mean by this treatment of me." 
 
 44 And what," said Mr. Pecksniff, turning his 
 eyes on Tom Pinch, even more placidly and gen- 
 tly than before, " what have you been doing, Tho- 
 mas, humph?" 
 
 When he had repeated this inquiry, he looked 
 round the walls of the room as if he were curi- 
 ous to see whether any nails had been left thero 
 by accident in former times. 
 
 Tom was almost at his wits' end what to say 
 between the two, and had already made a gesture 
 as if he would call Mr. Pecksniff's attention to 
 the gentleman who had last addressed him, wIicm 
 Martin saved him further trouble, by doing so 
 himself. 
 
 44 Mr. Pecksniff," he said, softly rapping the 
 table twice or thrice, tnd moving a step or two 
 nearer, so that he could have touched him with 
 his hand ; 44 you heard what I said just now. Do 
 me the favour to reply, if you please. I ask you" 
 — he raised his voice a little here — "what you 
 mean by this ?" 
 
 " I will talk to you sir," said Mr. Pecksniff in 
 a severe voice, as he looked at him for the first 
 time, " presently." 
 
 44 You are very obliging," returned Martin ; 
 " presently will not do. I must trouble you to 
 talk to me at om 
 
88 
 
 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 Mr. Pecksniff made a feint of being deeply 
 interested in his pocketbook, but it shook in his 
 hands; he trembled so. 
 
 "Now," retorted Martin, rapping the table 
 again. " Now. Presently will not do. Now !" 
 i " Do you threaten me, sir ?" cried Mr. Peck- 
 sniff. 
 
 Martin looked at him, and made no answer ; 
 but a curious observer might have detected an 
 ominous twitching at his mouth, and perhaps an 
 involuntary attraction of his right hand in the 
 direction of Mr. Pecksniff's cravat. 
 
 " I lament to be obliged to say, sir," resumed 
 Mr. Peoksniff, * that it would be quite in keeping 
 with your character if you did threaten me. You 
 have deceived me. You have imposed upon a 
 nature which you knew to be confiding and un- 
 suspicious. You have obtained admission, sir," 
 said Mr. Pecksniff rising, "to this house, on per- 
 verted statements, and on false pretences." 
 
 "Go on," said Martin with a scornful smile. 
 " I understand you now. What more ?" 
 
 " Thus much more, sir," cried Mr. Pecksniff, 
 trembling from head to foot, and trying to rub his 
 hands, as though he were only cold. " Thus 
 much more, if you force me to publish your 
 shame before a third party, which I was unwill- 
 ing and indisposed to do. This lowly roof, sir, 
 must not be contaminated by the presence of one, 
 who has deceived, and cruelly deceived, an honour- 
 able and beloved, a venerated and venerable gen- 
 tleman ; and who wisely suppressed that deceit 
 from me when he sought my protection and 
 favour, knowing that, humble as I am, I am an 
 honest man, seeking to do my duty in this carnal 
 universe, and setting my face against all vice and 
 treachery. I weep for your depravity, sir," said 
 Mr. Pecksniff, " I mourn over your corruption,- I 
 pity your voluntary withdrawal of yourself from 
 the flowery paths of purity and peace ;" here he 
 struck himself upon his breast, or moral garden ; 
 " but I cannot have a leper and a serpent for an 
 inmate. Go forth," said Mr. Pecksniff, stretch- 
 ing out his hand : " go forth, young man ! Like 
 all who know you, I renounce you !" 
 
 With what intention Martin made a stride for- 
 ward at these words, it is impossible to say. It 
 is enough to know that Tom Pinch caught him 
 in his arms, and that at the same moment Mr. 
 Pecksniff stepped back so hastily, that he missed 
 his footing, tumbled over a chair, and fell in a 
 sitting posture on the ground; where he remain- 
 ed without an effort to get up again, with his 
 head in a corner ; perhaps considering it the 
 safest place. 
 
 " Let me go, Pinch !" cried Martin, shaking 
 him away. " Why do you hold me! Do you 
 think a blow could make him a more abject crea- 
 ture than he is ? Do you think that if I spat 
 upon him, I could degrade him to a lower level 
 
 than his own? Look at him. Look at him, 
 Pinch." 
 
 Mr. Pinch involuntarily did so. Mr. Pecksniff 
 sitting, as has been already mentioned, on the 
 carpet, with his head in an acute angle of the 
 wainscot, and all the damage and detriment of an 
 uncomfortable journey about him,- was not exact- 
 ly a model of all that is prepossessing and digni- 
 fied in man, certainly. Still he was Pecksniff; 
 it was impossible to deprive him of that unique 
 and paramount appeal to Tom. And he returned 
 Tom's glance, as if he would have said, " Ay, 
 Mr. Pinch, look at me ! Here I am ! You know 
 what the poet says about an honest man ; and an 
 honest man is one of the few great works that 
 can be seen for nothing ! Look at Me !" 
 
 " I tell you," said Martin, " that as he lies 
 there, disgraced, bought, used ; a cloth for dirty 
 hands ; a mat for dirty feet ; a lying, fawning, 
 servile hound ; he is the very last and worst 
 among the vermin erf the world. And mark me, 
 Pinch. The day will come — he knows it : see it 
 written on his face, the while I speak — when even 
 you will find him out, and will know him as I do, 
 and as he knows I do ! He renounce me ! Cast 
 your eyes on the Renouncer, Pinch, and be the 
 wiser for the recollection !" 
 
 He pointed at him as he spoke, with unutter- 
 able contempt, and flinging his hat upon his head, 
 walked from the room and from the house. He 
 went so rapidly that he was already clear of the 
 village, when he heard Tom Pinch calling breath- 
 lessly after him in the distance. 
 
 " Well ! what now ?" he said, when Tom came 
 up. 
 
 " Dear, dear !" cried Tom, " are you going ?" 
 
 " Going !" he echoed. " Going !" 
 
 " I didn't so much mean that, as were you going 
 now at once — in this bad weather — on foot — with- 
 out your clothes — with no money ?" cried Tom. 
 
 " Yes," he answered sternly, " I am." 
 
 " And where ?" cried Tom. " Oh where will 
 you go ?" 
 
 " I don't know," he said. " Yes I do. I'll go 
 to America !" 
 
 " No, no," cried Tom, in a kind of agony. — 
 " Don't go there. Pray don't ! Think better of 
 it. Don't be so dreadfully regardless of yourself. 
 Don't go to America !" 
 
 "My mind is made up," he said. "Your friend 
 was right. I'll go to America. God bless you, 
 Pinch !" 
 
 " Take this !" cried Tom, pressing a book upon 
 him in great agitation. " I must make haste back, 
 and can't say anything I would. Heaven be with 
 you. Look at the leaf I have turned down. Good 
 bye, good bye !" 
 
 The simple fellow wrung him by the hand with 
 tears stealing down his cheeks ; and they parted 
 hurriedly upon their separate ways. 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEVVIT. 
 
 89 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 SHOWING WHAT BECAME OF MARTIN AND HTS DESPERATE RESOLVE, AF- 
 TER HE LEFT MR. PECKSNIFF'S HOUSE; WHAT PERSONS HE EN< 
 TERED; WHAT ANXIETIES HE SUFFERED; AND WHAT NEWS HE HEARD. 
 
 Carrying Tom Pinch's book quite unconscious- 
 ly under hi* arm, and not even buttoning his coat 
 as a protection against the heavy rain, Martin 
 went doggedly forward at the same quick pace, 
 until he had passed the finger-post, and was on 
 the high road to London. He slackened very lit- 
 tle in his speed even then, but he began to think, 
 and look about him, and to disengage his senses 
 from the coil of angry passions which hitherto 
 had held them prisoner. 
 
 It must be confessed that, at that moment, he 
 had no very agreeable employment either for his 
 moral or Lis physical perceptions. The day was 
 dawning from a patch of watery light in the east, 
 and sullen clouds came driving up before it, from 
 which the rain descended ir% a thick, wet mist. 
 It streamed from every twig and bramble in the 
 hedge ; made little gullies in the path ; ran down 
 a hundred channels in the road ; and punched 
 innumerable lioles into the face of every pond 
 and gutter. It fell with an oozy, slushy sound 
 among the grass; and made a muddy kennel of 
 every furrow in the ploughed fields. No living 
 creature was anywhere to be seen. The prospect 
 could hardly have been more desolate if animated 
 nature had been dissolved in water, and poured 
 down upon the earth again in that form. 
 
 The range of view within the solitary traveller 
 was quite as cheerless as the scene without. 
 Friendless and penniless ; incensed to the last de- 
 gree ; .deeply wounded in his pride and self-love ; 
 full of independent schemes ; and perfectly desti- 
 tute of any means of realizing them, his most 
 vindictive enemy might have been satisfied with 
 the extent of his troubles. To add to his other 
 miseries, he was by this time sensible of being 
 wet to the skin, and cold at his very heart 
 
 In this deplorable condition, he remembered 
 Mr. Pinch's book ; more because it was rather 
 troublesome to carry, than from any hope of being 
 comforted by that parting gift. He looked at the 
 dingy lettering on the back, and finding it to be 
 an odd volume of the " Bachelor of Salamanca," 
 in the French tongue, cursed Tom Pinch's folly 
 twenty times. He was on the point of throwing 
 i* away, in his ill-humour and vexation, when he 
 l/cthought himself that Tom had referred him to 
 a leaf, turned down ; and opening it at that place, 
 that he might have additional cause of complaint 
 against him for supposing that any cold scrap of 
 the Bachelor's wisdom could cheer him in such 
 circumstance?, found — 
 
 Well, well! not much, but Tom's all. The 
 half sovereign. He bad wrapped it hastily in a 
 piece of paper, and pinned it to the leaf. These 
 words were scrawled in pencil on the inside: "I 
 d<m't want it; indeed, I should not know what to 
 do with it, if I had it." 
 
 There are some falsehoods, Tom, on which men 
 mount, as on bright wings, towards bemveo. 
 There arc some truths, cold, bitter, taunting truths, 
 12 
 
 wherein your worldly scholars are very apt and 
 punctual, which bind men dowfl to earth with 
 leaden chains. Who would not rather have $o 
 fan him, in his dying hour, the lightest feather of 
 a falsehood such as thine, than all the quills that 
 have been plucked from the shay), porcupine, re- 
 proachful truth, since time began ! 
 
 Martin felt keenly for himself, and he felt this 
 good deed of Tom's keenly. After a few minutes 
 it had the effect of raising his spirits, and remind- 
 ing him that he was not altogether destitute, as 
 he had left a fair stock of clothes behind him, and 
 wore a gold hunting-watch in his pock. t. lf u 
 found a curious gratification, too, in thinking 
 what a winning fellow he must be to have made 
 such an impression upon Tom ; and in reflecting 
 how superior he was to Tom; and how much 
 more likely to make his way in the world. Ani- 
 mated by these thoughts, and strengthened in 
 his design of endeavouring to push his fortune in 
 another country, he resolved to get to London as 
 a rallying-point, in the best way he could ; and to 
 lose no time about it. 
 
 He was ten good miles from the village made 
 illustrious by being the abiding-plar e of Mr. Peck- 
 sniff, when he stopped to breakfast at a little road- 
 side alehouse ; and resting upon a high-backed 
 settle before the fire, pulled off his coat, and hung 
 it before the cheerful blaze, to dry. It was a \cry 
 different place from the last tavern in which he 
 had regaled : boasting no greater extent of accom- 
 modation than the brick-floored kitchen yielded: 
 but the mind so soon accommodates itself to the 
 necessities of the body, that this poor wagoner's 
 house-of-call, which he would have despised yes- 
 terday, became now quite a choice hotel ; while 
 his dish of eggs and bacon, and his mug of beer, 
 were not by any means the coarse fire he had sup- 
 posed, but fully bore out the inscription on the 
 window-shutter, which proclaimed those viands 
 to be "Good entertainment for Traveller-." 
 
 He pushed away his empty plate ; and with a 
 second mug upon the hearth before him, looked 
 thoughtfully at the fire until his eyes ached. Then 
 he looked at the highly-coloured scripture pieces on 
 the walls, in little black frames like common shav- 
 ing glasses, and saw how the Wise Men (\»itfj a 
 strong family likeness among them) worshipped in 
 a pink manger ; and how the Prodigal Sun came 
 home in red rags to a purple father, and alrcadj 
 feasted his imagination on a sea-green calf. Then 
 he glanced through tho window at the falling rain, 
 coming down aslant upon the signpost over against 
 the house, and overflowing the horse-trough ; and 
 then he looked at the fire again, and seemed to 
 descry a doubly-distant London, retreating among 
 the fragments "of the burning wood. 
 
 He had repeated this process in just the same 
 order, many times, as if it were a matter of ue 
 cessity, when the sound of wheels called his at 
 tcntion to the window, out of its regular turn 
 
90 
 
 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 and there he beheld a kind of light van drawn by 
 four horses, and laden, as well as he could see (for 
 it was covered in), with corn and straw. The 
 driver, who was alone, stopped at the door to wa- 
 ter his team, and presently came stamping and 
 shaking- the wet off his hat and coat, into the 
 room where Martin sat. 
 
 He was a red-faced burly young fellow ; smart 
 in his way, and with a good-humoured counte- 
 nance. As he advanced towards the fire, he touch- 
 ed his shining forehead with the forefinger of his 
 stiff leather glove, by way of Salutation ; and said 
 (rather unnecessarily) that it was an uncommon 
 wet day. 
 
 " Very wet," said Martin. 
 
 " I don't know as ever I see a wetter." 
 
 " I never felt one," said Martin. 
 
 The driver glanced at Martin's soiled dress, and 
 nis damp shirt-sleeves, and his coat hung up to 
 dry ; and said, after a pause, as he warmed his 
 harids : 
 
 " You have been caught in it, sir ?" 
 
 " Yes," was the short reply. 
 
 " Out riding, may be?" said the driver. 
 
 " I should have been if I owned a horse ; but I 
 don't," returned Martin. 
 
 "•That's bad," said the driver. 
 
 " And may be worse," said Martin. 
 
 Now, the driver said " That's bad," not so much 
 because Martin didn't own a horse, as because he 
 said he didn't with all the reckless desperation of 
 his mood and circumstances, and so left a great 
 deal t6 be inferred. Martin put his hands In his 
 pockets and whistled, when he had retorted on the 
 driver : thus giving him to understand that he 
 didn't care a pin for Fortune ; that he was above 
 pretending to be her favourite when he was not; 
 and that he snapped his fingers at her, the driver, 
 and everybody else. 
 
 The driver looked at him stealthily for a min- 
 ute or so; and in the pauses of his warming, 
 whistled too. At length he asked, as he pointed 
 his thumb towards the road, 
 
 " Up or down ?" 
 
 " Which is up ?" said Martin. 
 
 " London, of course," said the driver. 
 
 "Up then," said Martin. He tossed his head 
 in a careless manner afterwards, as if he would 
 have added, " Now you know all about it ;" put 
 his hands deeper into his pockets; changed his 
 tune, and whistled a little louder. 
 
 " J'm going up," observed the driver ; " Houns- 
 low, ten miles this side London." 
 
 " Are you ?" cried Martin, stopping short and 
 looking at him. 
 
 •The driver sprinkled the fire with his wet hat 
 until it hissed again, and answered, ' Ay ; to be 
 sure he was.' 
 
 " Why, then," said Martin, " I '11 be plain with 
 you. You may suppose from my dress that I 
 have money to spare. I have not. All I can af- 
 ford for coach-hire is a crown, for I have but two. 
 If you can take me for that, and my waistcoat, 
 or this silk handkerchief, do. If you can't, leave 
 it aione. ' 
 
 "Short and sweet," remarked the driver. 
 
 "You want more?" said Martin. "Then I 
 haven't got more, and I can't get it, so there's an 
 end of that." Whereupon he began to whistle 
 again. 
 
 " I didn't say I wanted more, did I ?" asked 
 the driver, with something like indignation. 
 
 " You didn't say my offer was enough," re- 
 joined Martin. 
 
 "Why how could I, when you wouldn't let me ? 
 In regard to the waistcoat, I wouldn't have a 
 man's waistcoat, much less a gentleman's waist- 
 coat, on my mind, for no consideration ; but the 
 silk handkerchief's another thing ; and if you 
 was satisfied when we got to Hounslow, I shouldn't 
 object to that as a gift." 
 
 " Is it a bargain, then ?" said Martin. 
 
 " Yes, it is," returned the other. 
 
 " Then finish this beer," said Martin, hand- 
 ing him the mug, and pulling on his coat with 
 great alacrity ; " and let us be off as soon as you 
 like." 
 
 In two minutes more he had paid his bill, which 
 amounted to a shilling; was lying at full length 
 on a truss of straw, high and dry at the top of 
 the van, with the tilt a little open in front for the 
 convenience of talking to his new friend ; and 
 was moving along in the right direction with a 
 most satisfactory and encouraging briskness. 
 
 The driver's narfte, as he soon informed Mar- 
 tin, was William Simmons, better known as Bill; 
 and his spruce appearance was sufficiently ex- 
 plained by his connexion with a large stage-coach- 
 ing establishment at Hounslow, whither he was 
 conveying his load from a farm belonging to the 
 concern in Wiltshire. He was frequently up and 
 down the road on such errands, he said, and to 
 look after the sick and rest horses, of which ani- 
 mals he had much to relate that occupied a long 
 time in the telling. He aspired to the dignity of 
 the regular box, and expected an appointment on 
 the first vacancy. He was musical besides, and 
 had a little key-bugle in his pocket, on which, 
 whenever the conversation flagged, he played the 
 first part of a great many tunes, and regularly 
 broke down in the second. 
 
 "Ah!" said Bill, with a sigh, as he drew the 
 back of his hand across his lips, and put this in- 
 strument in his pocket, after screwing off the 
 mouthpiece to drain it; "Lummy Ned of the 
 Light Salisbury, he was the one for musical tal- 
 ents. He was a guard. What you maj call a 
 Guardian Angel, was Ned." 
 
 "Is he dead ?" asked Martin. 
 
 " Dead !" replied the other, with a contemptu- 
 ous emphasis. " Not he. You won't catch Ned 
 a dying easy. No, no. He knows better than 
 that." 
 
 "You spoke of him in the past tense," ob- 
 served Martin, " so I supposed he was no more." 
 
 "He's no more in England," said Bill, "if 
 that's what you mean. He went to the U-nitcd 
 States." 
 
 " Did he ?" asked Martin, with sudden interest. 
 « When ?" 
 
 " Five year ago, or thenabout," said Bill. " He 
 had set up in the public line here, and couldn't 
 meet his engagements, so he cut off to Liver- 
 pool one day without saying anything about it, 
 and went and shipped himself for the U-nited 
 States." 
 
 " Well ?" said Martin, 
 
 " Well ! as he landed there without a penny to 
 bless himself with, of course they was very glad 
 to see him in the U-nited States." 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEVVIT. 
 
 91 
 
 "What do you mean?" asked Martin, with 
 Rome scorn. 
 
 - What do I mean ?" said Bill. " Why, that. 
 AH men are alike in the U-nked States, an't they? 
 It makes no odds whether a man has a thousand 
 pound*, or nothing, there — particular : n New 
 York, I 'rn told, where Ned landed." 
 
 * New York, was it ?" asked Martin, thought- 
 
 ftrilr. 
 
 * Yes," said Bill. "New York. I know that, 
 becautre ho sent word home that it brought Old 
 York to his mind quite wivid in consequence of 
 being so exactly unliko it in every respect. I 
 don't understand wot particular business Ned 
 turned his mind to, when he got there; but he 
 wrote home that him and his friends was always 
 a singing Ale Columbia, and blowing up the Pre- 
 sident, so I suppose it was something in the public 
 line, or free.and-easy way, again. Any how, he 
 made his fortune." 
 
 44 No !" cried Martin. 
 
 " Yes he did," said Bill. « I know that, be- 
 cause he lost it all the day after, in six-and-twenty 
 banks as broke. He settled a lot of tho notes on 
 his father, when it was ascertained that they was 
 really stopped, and sent 'em over with a dutiful 
 letter. 1 know that, because they was shown 
 down our yard for the old gentleman's benefit, 
 that he might treat himself with tobacco in the 
 workus." 
 
 " He was a foolish fellow not to take care of 
 his money when he had it," said Martin, indig- 
 nantly. 
 
 " There you 're right," said Bill, " especially as 
 it was all in paper, and he might have took care of 
 it so very easy, by folding it up in a small parcel." 
 
 Martin said nothing in reply, but soon after- 
 ward fell asleep, and remained so for on hour or 
 more. When he awoke, finding it had ceased to 
 rain, he took his seat beside the driver, and asked 
 him several questions, as how long had the for- 
 tunate guard of the Light Salisbury been in cross- 
 ing the Atlantic ; at what time of the year had 
 he sailed ; what was the name of the ship in which 
 he made the voyage ; how much had he paid for 
 passage-money; did he suffer greatly from sea- 
 sickness ? and so forth. But on these points of 
 detail, his friend was possessed of little or no in- 
 formation ; either answering obviously at random, 
 or acknowledging that he had never heard, or had 
 forgotten ; nor, although he returned to the charge 
 vsry often, could he obtain any useful intelligence 
 on these essential particulars. 
 
 They jogged on all d:iy, and slopped so often — 
 now to refresh, now to change their team of horses, 
 now to exchange or bring away a set of harness, 
 now on one point of business, and now upon an- 
 other, connected with the coaching on that line 
 of road — that it was midnight when they reached 
 Hounslow. A little short of the stables for which 
 the van wai bound, Martin got down, paid his 
 crown, and forced his silk handkerchief upon his 
 honest friend, notwithstanding the many protesta- 
 tions that he didn't wish to deprive him of it, with 
 which he tried to give the lie to his longing looks. 
 TJiat dune, they parted company; and ulim the 
 vun had driven into its own yard, and the gates 
 were closed, Martin stood in the dark street, with 
 u pretty strong sense of being shut oat, alone, 
 upon the dreary world, without the key of it. 
 
 But in this moment of despondency, and often 
 afterward, thj recollection of Mr. Pecasnitf ope- 
 rated as a cordial to him, awakening in his breast 
 an indignation that wan very wholesome in nerving 
 him to obstinate endurance. Under the influence 
 of this fiery dram ho started off for London with- 
 out more ado ; and, arriving there in the midtile 
 of the night, and not knowing where to find a 
 tavern open, was fain to stroll about the streets 
 and market-places until morning. 
 
 He found himself, about an hour before dawn, 
 in the humble regions of the Adelphi ; and ad- 
 dressing himself to a man in a fur cap, who was 
 taking down the/ shutters of an obscure public 
 house, informed him that ho was a stranger, and 
 inquired if he could have a bed there. It happen, 
 cd, by good luck, that he could. Though none 
 of the gaudiest, it was tolerably clean, and Martin 
 felt very glad and grateful when he crept intodt, 
 for warmth, rest, and forgetfulness. 
 
 It was quite late in the afternoon when he 
 awoke ; and by the time he had washed, and 
 dressed, and broken his fast, it was growing dusk 
 again. This was all the better, for it was a matter 
 of absolute necessity that he should part With his 
 watch to some obliging pawn-broker ; and he 
 would have waited until after dark for this pur- 
 pose, though it had been the longest day in the 
 year, and he had begun it without a breakfast. 
 
 He passed more Golden Balls than all the jug- 
 glers in Europe have juggled with, in the course 
 of their united performances, before he could de- 
 termine in favour of any particular shop where 
 those symbols were displayed. In the end, he 
 came back to one of the first he had seen, and 
 entering by a side-door in a court, where the 
 three balls, with the legend " Money Lent," were 
 repeated in a ghastly transparency, passed into 
 one of a series of little closets, or private boxes, 
 erected for the accommodation of the more bash- 
 ful and uninitiated customers. He bolted himself 
 in ; pulled out his watch ; and laid it on the coun- 
 ter. 
 
 *' Upon my life and soul !" said a low voice in 
 the next box to the shopman who was in treaty 
 with him, u you must make it more: you must 
 make it a trifle more, you must indeed ! You 
 must dispense with one half-quarter of an onnce 
 in weighing out your pound of flesh, my best of 
 friends, and make it two-and-six." 
 
 Martin drew back involuntarily, for he knew 
 the voice at once. 
 
 41 You 're always full of your chaff," said the 
 shopman, rolling up the article (which looked 
 like a shirt) quite as a matter of course, and nib- 
 bing his pen upon the counter. 
 
 44 1 shall never be full of my wheat,** s^.ci Mr 
 TlrfT, " as long as I come here. Ha, ha ! Not 
 had ! Make it two-and-six, my dear friend, posi- 
 tively for this occasion only. Half-a-crown is a 
 delightful coin — Two-and-six ! (Joing at two-and 
 six ! For the last time, at two-and 
 
 1 It 'II never be the last time till it 's quite worn 
 out," rejoined the shopman. ** Its grown yellow 
 in the service, as it is." 
 
 44 Its master has grown yellow in the scrvire 
 
 if you mean that, my Irirnd," said Mr. Tigf ; M ill 
 
 the patriotic service of an ungrateful country 
 
 You arc making it two-and-six, I think?" 
 
 41 1 'in making it," returned the shopman, u wha» 
 
92 
 
 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 it always has been — two shillings. Same name as I 
 usual, I suppose ?" ^ 
 
 "Still the same name," said Mr. Tigg; " my 
 claim to the dormant peerage not being yet esta- 
 blished by the House of Lords." 
 
 " The old address ?" 
 
 " Not at all," said Mr. Tigg ; " I have removed 
 my town establishment from thirty-eight, May- 
 fair, to number fifteen -hundred -and -forty -two, 
 Park-lane." 
 
 " Come, I 'm not going to put down that, you 
 know," said the shopman, with a grin. 
 
 " You may put down what you please, my 
 friend," quoth Mr. Tigg. " The fact is still the 
 same. The apartments for the under-butler and 
 the fifth footman being of a most confounded low 
 and vulgar kind at thirty-eight, Mayfair, I have 
 been compelled, in my regard for the feelings 
 which do them so much honour, to take on lease, 
 for seven, fourteen, or twenty-one years, renewa- 
 ble at the option of the tenant, the elegant and 
 commodious family mansion, number fifteen-hun- 
 dred-and-forty-two, Park-lane. Make it two-and- 
 six, and come and see me !" 
 
 The shopman was so highby entertained by this 
 piece of humour, that Mr. Tigg himself could not 
 repress some little show of exultation. It vented 
 itself, in part, in a desire to see how the occupant 
 of the next box received his pleasantry ; to ascer- 
 tain which, he glanced round the partition, and 
 immediately, by the gaslight, recognised. Martin. 
 
 " I wish I may die," said Mr. Tigg, stretching 
 out his body so far that his head was as much in 
 Martin's little cell as Martin's own head was, 
 "but this is one of the most tremendous meetings 
 in Ancient or Modern History ! How are you ? 
 What is the news from the agricultural districts ? 
 How are our friends the P.'s ? Ha, ha ! David, 
 pay particular attention to this gentleman, imme- 
 diately, as a friend of mine, I beg." 
 
 " Here ! Please to give me the most you can 
 for this," said Martin, handing the watch to the 
 shopman, " I want money sorely." 
 
 " He wants money sorely !" cried Mr. Tigg, 
 with excessive sympathy. " David, you will have 
 the goodness to do your very utmost for my friend, 
 who wants money sorely. You will deal with my 
 friend as if he were myself. A gold hunting- 
 watch, David, engine-turned, capped and jewelled 
 in four holes, escape movement, horizontal lever, 
 and warranted to perform correctly, upon my 
 personal reputation, who have observed it nar- 
 rowly for many years, under the most trying cir- 
 cumstances — " here he winked at Martin, that he 
 might understand this recommendation would 
 have an immense effect upon the shopman: — 
 " what do you say, David, to my friend ? Be very 
 particular to deserve my custom and recommen- 
 dation, David." 
 
 "I can lend you three pound on this, if you 
 like," said the shopman to Martin, confidentially. 
 " It 's very old-fashioned. I couldn't say more." 
 
 " And devilish handsome, too," cried Mr. Tigg. 
 * Two-twelve-six for the watch, and seven-and-six 
 for personal regard. I am gratified : it may be 
 weakness, but I am. Three pound will do. We 
 take it. The name of my friend is Smivey : 
 Chicken Smivey, of Holborn, twenty-six-and-a- 
 half B: lodger." Here he winked at Martin 
 again, to apprise him that all the forms and cere- 
 
 monies prescribed by law were now complied 
 with, and nothing remained but the receipt of the 
 money. 
 
 In point of fact, this proved to be the case ; for 
 Martin, who had no resource but to take what 
 was offered him, signified his acquiescence by a 
 nod of his head, and presently came out with the 
 cash in his pocket. He was joined in the entry 
 by Mr. Tigg, who warmly congratulated him, as 
 he took his arm and accompanied him into the 
 street, on the successful issue of the negociation. 
 
 "As far my part in the same," said Mr. Tigg, 
 " don't mention it. Don't compliment me, for I 
 can't bear it !" 
 
 " I have no such intention, I assure you," re- 
 torted Martin, releasing his arm, and stopping. 
 
 " You oblige me very much," said Mr. Tigg. 
 " Thank you." 
 
 "Now, sir," observed Martin, biting his lip, 
 "this is a large town, and we can easily find dif- 
 ferent ways in it. If you will show me which is 
 your way, I will take another." 
 
 Mr. Tigg was about to speak, but Martin inter- 
 posed : 
 
 " I need scarcely tell you, after what you have 
 just seen, that I have nothing to bestow upon 
 your friend, Mr. Sly me. And it is quite as unne- 
 cessary for me to tell you that I don't desire the 
 honour of your company." 
 
 " Stop!" cried Mr. Tigg, holding out his hand. 
 " Hold ! There is a most remarkably long-headed, 
 flowing-bearded, and patriarchal proverb, which 
 observes that it is the duty of a man to be just 
 before he is generous. Be just now, and you can 
 be generous presently. Do not confuse me with 
 the man Sly me. Do not distinguish the man 
 Slyme as a friend of mine, for he is no such thing. 
 I have been compelled, sir, to abandon the party 
 whom you call Slyme. I have no knowledge of 
 the party whom you call Slyme. " I am, sir," 
 said Mr. Tigg, striking himself upon the breast, 
 "a premium tulip, of a very different growth and 
 cultivation from the cabbage Slyme, sir." 
 
 " It matters very little to me," said Martin, 
 coolly, " whether you have set up as a vagabond 
 on your own account, or are still trading on behalf 
 of Mr. Slyme. I wish to hold no correspondence 
 with you. In the devil's name, man," said Mar- 
 tin, scarcely able despite his vexation to repress a 
 smile, as Mr. Tigg stood leaning his back against 
 the shutters of a shop-window, adjusting his hair 
 with great composure, " will you go one way or 
 other?" 
 
 " You will allow me to remind you, sir," said 
 Mr. Twigg, with sudden dignity, " that you — not 
 I — that you — I say emphatically, you — have re- 
 duced the proceedings of this evening to a cold 
 and distant matter of business, when I was dis- 
 posed to place them on a friendly footing. It be- 
 ing made a matter of business, sir, I beg to say 
 that I expect a trifle (which I shall bestow in 
 Charity) as commission upon the pecuniary ad- 
 vance, in which I have rendered you my humble 
 services. After the terms in which you have ad- 
 dressed me, sir," concluded Mr. Tigg, "you will 
 not insult me, if you please, by offering more than 
 half a crown." 
 
 Martin drew that piece of money from his 
 pocket, and tossed it towards him. Mr. Tigg 
 caught it, looked at it to assure himself of its 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 
 
 goodness, spun it in the air after the manner of 
 u pieman, and buttoned it up. Finally, he rsjftted 
 his hat an inch or two from his head, with a 
 military air, and, after pausing a moment with 
 deep gravity, as to decido in which direction he 
 should go, and to what Earl or Marquis among 
 his friends ho should give the preference in his 
 next call, stuck his hands in his skirt-pockets and 
 swaggered round the corner. Martin took the 
 directly opposite course ; -and so, to his great con- 
 tent, they parted company. 
 
 It was with a bitter sense of humiliation that 
 he cursed, again and again, the mischance of 
 having encountered this man in the pawnbro- 
 ker's shop. The only comfort he had in the re- 
 collection was Mr. Tigg's voluntary avowal of a 
 separation between himself and Slyme, that would 
 at least prevent his circumstances (so Martin ar- 
 gued) from being known to any member of his 
 Family, the bare possibility of which filled him 
 with shame and wounded pride. Abstractedly, 
 there was greater reason, perhaps, for supposing 
 any declaration of Mr. Tigg's to be false, than 
 for attaching the least credence to it; but remem- 
 bering the terms on which the intimacy«between 
 that gentleman and his bosom friend had sub- 
 sisted, and the strong probability of Mr. Tigg's 
 having established an independent business of his 
 own on Mr. Slyme's connexion, it had a reason- 
 able appearance of probability : at all events, 
 Martin hoped so ; and that went a long way. 
 
 His first step, now that he had a supply of 
 ready money for his present necessities, was to 
 retain his bed at the public-house until farther 
 notice, and to write a formal note to Tom Pinch* 
 {for he knew Pecksniff would see it), requesting 
 to have his clothes forwarded to London by coach, 
 with a direction to be left at the office until called 
 for. These measures taken, he passed the interval 
 before the box arrived — three days — in making 
 inquiries relative to American vessels, at the 
 offices of various shipping-agents in the city ; and 
 in lingering about the docks and wharves, with 
 the faint hope of stumbling upon some engage- 
 ment for the voyage, as clerk or supercargo, or 
 custodian of something or somebody, which would 
 enable him to procure a free passage. But finding 
 soon that no such means of employment were 
 likely to present themselves, and dreading the 
 consequences of delay, he drew up a short ad- 
 vertisement, stating what he wanted, and inserted 
 it in the leading newspapers. Pending the receipt 
 of the twenty or thirty answers which he vaguely 
 expected, he reduced his wardrobe to the nar- 
 rowest limits consistent with decent respectability, 
 and carried the overplus at different times to the 
 pawnbroker's shop, for conversion into money. 
 
 And it was strange, very strange, even to him- 
 self, to find how, by quick though almost imper- 
 ceptible degrees, lie lost his delicacy and self- 
 respect, a^j gradually came to do that as a matter 
 of course, without the least compunction, which 
 but a few short days before had galled him to the 
 quick. The first time he visited the pawnbroker's, 
 he felt on his way there as if every person whom 
 he passed suspected whither he was going ; and 
 on his way back again, as If the whole human 
 tide he stemmed knew well where he had come 
 from. When did he care to think of their dis- 
 cernment now ! In his first wanderings up and 
 
 down the weary streets, he counterfeited the walk 
 of one who had an object in view ; but soon there 
 came upon him the sauntering, ilip-ihod gait of 
 listless idleness, and the lounging at - 
 and plucking and biting at stray bits of *traw, 
 and strolling up and down the same pi . 
 looking into the same shop-windows, with a 
 miserable indifference, fifty times a day. At first, 
 he came out from his lodging with an uneasy 
 sense of being observed — even by those chance 
 passers-by, on whom he had never looked before, 
 and hundreds to one would never see again — is- 
 suing in the morning from a public-house; but 
 now, in his comings-out and goings-in he did not 
 mind the lounge about the door, or to stand sun- 
 ning himself in careless thought beside the wooden 
 stem, studded from head to heel with pegs, on 
 which the beer-pots dangled like so many boughs 
 upon a pewter tree. And yet it took but five 
 weeks to reach the lowest round of this tall ladder ! 
 
 Oh, moralists, who treat of happiness and self- 
 respect, innate in every sphere of life, and shed- 
 ding light on every grain of dust in God's high- 
 way, so smooth below your carriage-wheels, so 
 rough beneath the tread of naked feet, — bethink 
 yourselves in looking on the swift descent of men 
 who have lived in their own esteem, that there 
 are scores of thousands breathing now, and breath- 
 ing thick with painful toil, who in that high re- 
 spect have never lived at all, or had a chance of 
 lifo! Go ye, who re9t so placidly upon the sacred 
 Bard who had been young, and when he strung 
 his harp was old, and had never seen the righteous 
 forsaken, or his seed begging their bread ; go t 
 Teachers of content and honest pride, into the 
 mine, the mill, the forge, the squalid depths of 
 deepest ignorance, and uttermost abyss of man's 
 neglect, and say can any hopeful plant spring up 
 in air so foul that it extinguishes the soul's bright 
 torch as fast as it is kindled ! And, oh ! ye Pha- 
 risees of the nineteen hundredth year of Christian 
 Knowledge, who soundingly appeal to human 
 nature, see that it be human first. Take heed it 
 has not been transformed, during your slumber 
 apd the sleep of generations, into the nature of 
 the Beasts! 
 
 Five weeks ! Of all the twenty or thirty an- 
 swers, not one had come. His money — even the 
 additional stock he had raised from the disposal 
 of his spare clothes (and that was not mueh, for 
 clothes, though dear to buy, are cheap to pawn) — 
 was fast diminishing. Yet what could lie do? 
 At times an agony came over him in which he 
 darted forth again, though he was but newly 
 home, and, returning to some place where he had 
 been already twenty times, made some new at- 
 tempt to gain his end, but always unsuccessfully 
 He was years and years too old for a cabin-boy 
 and years upon years too inexperienced to be ac- 
 cepted as a common seaman. His dress and 
 manner, too, militated fatally against any such 
 proposal as the latter; and yet he was reduced to 
 making it; for even if he could have contemplated 
 the being set down in America, totally without 
 money, he had not enough left now for a steerage 
 passage and the poorest provisions upon the 
 
 VOV:i^e. 
 
 It is an illustration of a very common tendency 
 in the mind of man, thai all thi* time he nevei 
 once doubted, one may almost say the certainty 
 
LIFE AND ADVENTIRES OF 
 
 of doing great things in the New World, if he 
 could only get there. In proportion as he became 
 more and more dejected by his present circum- 
 stances, and the means of gaining America re- 
 ceded from his grasp, the more he fretted himself 
 with the conviction that that was the Only place 
 in which he could hope to achieve any high end, 
 and worried his brain with the thought that men 
 going there in the meanwhile might anticipate 
 him in the attainment of those objects which were 
 dearest to his heart. He often thought of John 
 Westlock, and besides looking out for him on all 
 occasions, actually walked about London for three 
 days together, fpr the express purpose of meeting 
 with him. But, although he failed in this ; and 
 although he would not have scrupled to borrow 
 money of him ; and although he believed that 
 John would have lent it; yet still he could not 
 bring his mind to write to Pinch and inquire 
 where he was to be found. For although, as we 
 have seen, he was fond of Tom after his own 
 fashion, he could not endure the thought (feeling 
 so superior to Tom) of making him the stepping- 
 stone to his fortune, or being anything to him but 
 a patron ; and his pride so revolted from the idea, 
 that it restrained him, even now. 
 
 It might have yielded, however: and no doubt 
 must have yielded soon, but for a very strange 
 and unlooked-for occurrence. 
 
 The five weeks had quite run out, and he was 
 in a truly desperate plight, when one evening, 
 having just returned to his lodging, and being in 
 the act of lighting his candle at the gas jet in the 
 bar before stalking moodily up stairs to his own 
 room, his landlord called him by his name. Now, 
 as he had never told it to the man, but had scru- 
 pulously kept it to himself, he was not a little 
 startled by this ; and so plainly showed his agi- 
 tation, that the landlord, to reassure him, said "it 
 was only a letter." 
 
 " A letter !" cried Martin. 
 
 " For Mr. Martin Chuzzlewit," said the land- 
 lord, reading the superscription of one he held in 
 his hand. "Noon. Chief Office. Paid." 
 
 Martin took it from him, thanked him, and 
 walked up stairs. It was not sealed, but pasted 
 close ; the handwriting was quite unknown to 
 him. He opened it, and found enclosed, without 
 any name, address, or other inscription or expla- 
 nation of any kind whatever, a Bank of England 
 note for Twenty Pounds. 
 
 To say that he was perfectly stunned with 
 astonishment and delight; that he looked again 
 and again at the note and the wrapper ; that he 
 hurried below stairs to make quite certain that 
 the note was a good note ; and then hurried up 
 again to satisfy himself for the fiftieth time that 
 he had not overlooked some scrap of writing on 
 the wrapper ; that he exhausted and bewildered 
 himself with conjectures ; and could make nothing 
 of it but that there the note was, and he was sud- 
 denly enriched ; would be only to relate so many 
 matters of course, to no purpose. The final up- 
 shot of the business at that time was, that he 
 resolved to treat himself to a comfortable but 
 frugal meal in his own chamber ; and having 
 ordered a fire to be kindled, went out to purchase 
 »t forthwith. 
 
 He bought some cold beef, and ham, and French 
 bread, and butter, and came back with his pockets 
 
 pretty heavily laden. It was somewhat of a 
 damping circumstance to find the room full of 
 smoke, which was attributable to two causes: 
 firstly, to the flue being naturally vicious and a 
 smoker; and secondly, to their having forgotten, 
 in lighting the fire, an odd sack or two and some 
 other trifles, which had been put up the chimney 
 to keep the rain out. They had already remedied 
 this oversight, however ; and propped up the win. 
 dow-sash with a bundle of firewood to keep it 
 open ; so that,^xcept in being rather inflamma- 
 tory to the eyes and choking to the lungs, the 
 apartment was quite comfortable. 
 
 Martin was in no vein to quarrel with it, if it 
 had been in less tolerable order, especially when 
 a gleaming pint of porter was set upon the table, 
 and the servant-girl withdrew, bearing with her 
 particular instructions relative to the production 
 of something hot, when he should ring the bell. 
 The cold meat being wrapped in a play-bill, 
 Martin laid the cloth by spreading that document 
 on the little round table with the print downwards ; 
 and arranging the collation upon it. The foot of 
 the bed, which was very close to the fire, answered 
 for a sideboard ; and when he had completed these 
 preparations, he squeezed an old arm-chair into 
 the warmest corner, and sat down to enjoy him- 
 self. 
 
 He had begun to eat with a great appetite, 
 glancing round the room meanwhile with a tri- 
 umphant anticipation of quitting it for ever on 
 the morrow, when his attention was arrested by 
 a stealthy footstep on the stairs, and presently by 
 a knock at his chamber door, which although it 
 was a gentle knock enough, communicated such 
 a start to the bundle of firewood that it instantly 
 leaped out of window, and plunged into the 
 street. 
 
 " More coals, I suppose," said Martin. " Come 
 in!" 
 
 " It an't a liberty, sir, though it seems so," 
 rejoined a man's voice. " Your servant, sir. 
 Hope you 're pretty well, sir." 
 
 Martin stared at the face that was bowing in 
 the doorway : perfectly remembering the features 
 and expression, but quite forgetting to whom they 
 belonged. 
 
 "Tapley, sir," said his visitor. " Him as for- 
 merly lived at the Dragon, sir, and was forced to 
 leave in consequence of a want of jollity, sir." 
 
 "To be sure!" cried Martin. "Why, how 
 did you come here ?" 
 
 " Right through the passage and up the stairs, 
 sir," said Mark. 
 
 " How did you find me out, I mean ?" asked 
 Martin. 
 
 " Why, sir," said Mark, " I 've passed you once 
 or twice in the street if I 'm not mistaken ; and 
 when I was a looking in at the beef-and-ham 
 shop just now, along with a hungry sweep, as 
 was very much calculated to make <x0nan jolly, 
 sir — I see you a buying that." 
 
 Martin reddened as he pointed to the table, 
 and said, somewhat hastily : 
 
 "Well! what then?" 
 
 " Why then, sir," said Mark, " I made bold to 
 foller ; and as I told 'em down stairs that you 
 expected me, I was let up." 
 
 " Are you charged with any message, that you 
 told them you were expected ?" inquired Martin 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 
 
 95 
 
 , sir, I a'n't" said Mark. "That was 
 what you may call a pious fraud, sir, thabwas." 
 
 Martin last an angry look ut linn : but tore 
 was something in the fellow's imrry face-, and in 
 his manner— which with all its ohcerAtmen was 
 
 far from being obtrusive or familiar — that $uite 
 disarmed trim. He had lived a solitary life too, 
 for many weeks, and the voice was pleasant in 
 
 44 Taplev," ho said, " I '11 deal openly with you. 
 From all that I can judge, and from all I have 
 heard of you through Pinch, you are not a likely 
 kind of fellow to have been brought here by im- 
 pertinent euriosity or any other offensive motive. 
 Sit down. I 'in glad to sec you." 
 
 14 Thankee, sir," said Mark. "I'daslieve stand." 
 
 "If you don't sit down," retorted Martin, "I'll 
 not talk to you." 
 
 44 Very good, sir," observed Mark. 4t Your 
 will's a law, sir. Down it is ;" and he sat down 
 accordingly upon the bedstead. 
 
 44 Help yourself," said Martin, handing him 
 the only knife. 
 
 44 Thankee, sir," rejoined Mark. "After you 've 
 done." 
 
 44 If you don't take it now, you'll not have 
 any," said Martin. 
 
 44 Very good, sir," rejoined Mark. " That being 
 your desire — now it is." With which reply he 
 gravely helped himself, and went on eating. 
 Martin having done the like for a short time in 
 silence, said, abruptly, 
 
 44 What are you doing in London ?" 
 
 " Nothing at all, sir," rejoined Mark. 
 
 44 How 's that ?" asked Martin. 
 
 44 1 want a place," said Mark. 
 
 44 1 am sorry for you," said Martin. 
 
 44 — To attend upon a single gentleman," re- 
 sumed Mark. 44 If from the country, the more 
 desirable. Make-shifts would be preferred. Wages 
 no object." 
 
 1 1 -a^id this so pointedly, that Martin stopped 
 in his eating, and said, "If you mean me — " 
 
 44 Yes, I do, sir," interposed Mark. 
 
 44 Then you may judge from my style of living 
 here, of my means of keeping a man-servant. 
 Besides, I am going to America immediately." 
 
 44 Well, sir," returned Mark, quite unmoved by 
 this intelligence, "from all that ever I heard 
 about it, I should say America 's a very likely 
 sort of a place for me to be jolly in!" 
 
 Again Martin looked at him angrily; and again 
 his anger melted away in spite of himself. 
 
 44 Lord bless you, sir," said Mark, " what is the 
 use of us a going round and round, and hiding 
 behind the corner, and dodging up and down, 
 when we can come straight to the point in six 
 words ! I 've had my eye upon you any time 
 this fortnight. I see well enough that there 's a 
 screw loose in your affairs. I know'd well 
 enoogh the first time I see you down at the Dra- 
 
 frnn that it ritust be so, sooner or later. Now, sir, 
 lere I am without a sitiwation ; without any 
 want of wages for a year to come ; for I saved up 
 (I didn't mean to do it, but I Couldn't help it) at 
 the Dragon — here am I with a liking for wh.t's 
 lome and a liking for you, and a wish to 
 come out strong under circumstances as would 
 keep oilier men down : and will you take me, or 
 will you leave me?" 
 
 44 How can I take you?" cried Martin. 
 
 44 When I say take," rejoined Murk, " I mean 
 will you let me go; and when I say will you let 
 mogo, I mean will you let me go along with you; 
 for go I will, somehow or another. Now that 
 you've said America, I see clear at once that 
 the place for me to be jolly in. Therefore, 
 if I don't pay my own passage in the ship you go 
 in, sir, I 'II pay my own passage in another. And 
 mark my words : if I go alone, it shall be, to 
 carry out the principle, iu the rottenest, craziest, 
 leak ingest tub of a vessel that a place can be got 
 in for love or money. So, if 1 'm lost upon the 
 way, sir, there '11 be a drowned man at your door, 
 and always a knocking double knocks at it, too, 
 or never trust me !" 
 
 "This is mere folly," said Martin. 
 
 "Very good, sir," returned Mark. " I 'm glad 
 to hear it, because if you don't mean to let me go, 
 you '11 be more comfortable, perhaps, on account 
 of thinking so. Therefore, 1 contradict no gen- 
 tleman. But all I say is, that if I don't emignte 
 to America, in that case, in the beastlie?'. old 
 cockleshell as goes out of port, 1 'm — " 
 
 44 You don't mean what you say, I 'm sure ?" 
 said Martin. 
 
 44 Yes I do," cried Mark. 
 
 44 1 tell you I know better," rejoined Martin. 
 
 44 Very good, sir," said Mark, with the same 
 air of perfect satisfaction. " Let it stand that 
 way at present, sir, and wait to see how it turns 
 out Why, love my heart alive ! the only doubt 
 I have is, whether there's any credit in going 
 with a gentleman like you, that's as certain to 
 make his way there as a gimlet is to go through 
 soft deal." 
 
 This was touching Martin on his weak point, 
 and having him at a great advantage. He could 
 not help thinking, either, what a brisk fellow this 
 Mark was, and how great a change he had 
 wrought in the atmosphere of the dismal little 
 room already. 
 
 " Why, certainly, Mark," he said, " I have 
 hopes of doing well there, or I shouldn't go. I 
 may have the qualifications for doing well, per- 
 haps." 
 
 "Of course you have, sir," returned Mark 
 Tapley. " Everybody knows that" 
 
 44 You see," said Martin, leaning his chin upon 
 his hand, and looking at the fire, " ornamental 
 architecture applied to domestic purposes, can 
 hardly fail to be in great request in that country ; 
 for men are constantly changing their residences 
 there, and moving further off; and it's clear they 
 must have houses to live in." 
 
 "I should say, sir," observed Mark, "that 
 that 's a state of things as opens one of the jolliest 
 look-outs for domestic architecture that ever I 
 heerd tell on." 
 
 Martin glanced at him hastily, not feeling quite 
 free from a suspicion that this romark implied a 
 doubt of the successful issue of his plans. But 
 Mr. Tapjey was eating the boiled beef and bread 
 with such entire good faith and singleness of 
 purpose expressed in his visage, that he could not 
 but be satisfied. Another doubt arose in his mind, 
 however, as this one disappeared. He produced 
 the blank cover in which the note had been en- 
 closed, and fixing his eyes on Mark as he put it 
 in his hands, said, 
 
90 
 
 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 M Now tell me the truth. Do you know any- 
 thing about that ?" 
 
 Mark turned it over and over ; held it near his 
 eyes ; held it away from him at arm's length ; 
 held it with the superscription upwards, and with 
 the superscription downwards; and shook his 
 head with such a genuine expression of astonish- 
 ment at being asked the question, that Martin 
 /aid, as he took it from him again : 
 
 " No, I see you don't. How should you ! 
 Though, indeed, your knowing about it would not 
 be more extraordinary than its being here. Come, 
 Tapley," he added, after a moment's thought, 
 " I '11 trust you with my history, such as it is, 
 and then you '11 see, more clearly, what sort of 
 fortunes you would link yourself to, ifyou followed 
 me." 
 
 " I beg your pardon, sir," said Mark ; " but 
 afore you enter upon it, will you take me if I 
 choose to go? Will you turn off me — Mark 
 Tapley — formerly of the Blue Dragon, as can be 
 well recommended by Mr. Pinch, and as wants a 
 gentleman of your strength of mind to look up to; 
 or will you, in elimbing the ladder as you 're 
 certain to get to the top of, take me along with 
 you at a respectful distance ? Now, sir," said Mark, 
 " it 's of very little importance to you, I know — 
 there 's the difficulty ; but it 's of very great im- 
 portance to me ; and will you be so good as to 
 consider of it?" 
 
 If this were meant as a second appeal to Mar- 
 tin's weak side, founded on his observation of the 
 effect of the first, Mr. Tapley was a skilful and 
 shrewd observer. Whether an intentional or an 
 accidental shot, it hit the mark full ; for Martin, 
 relenting more and more, said, with a condescen- 
 sion which was inexpressibly delicious to him, 
 after his recent humiliation :m 
 
 " We '11 see about it, Tapley. You shall tell 
 me in what disposition you find yourself to-mor- 
 row.-" 
 
 " Then, sir," said Mark, rubbing his hands, 
 " the job's done. Go on, sir, ifyou please. I'm 
 all attention." 
 
 Throwing himself back in his arm-chair, and 
 looking at the fire, with now and then a glance at 
 Mark, who at such times nodded his head sagely, 
 to express his profound interest and attention ; 
 Martin ran over the chief points in his history, to 
 the same effect as he had related them, weeks 
 before, to Mr. Pinch. But he adapted them, ac- 
 cording to the best of his judgment, to Mr. Tap- 
 ley's comprehension ; and with that view made 
 as light of his love affair as he could, and referred 
 to it in very few words. But here he reckoned 
 without his host ; for Mark's interest was keenest 
 in this part cf the business, and prompted him to 
 ask sundry questions in relation to it ; for which 
 he apologised as one in some measure privileged 
 to do so, from having seen (as Martin explained 
 to him) the young lady at the Blue Dragon. 
 
 " And a young lady as any gentleman ought to 
 feel more proud of being in love with," said Mark, 
 " don't draw breath." 
 
 u Ay ! You saw her when she was not happy," 
 ti.ud Martin, gazing at the fire again. " If you 
 had. seen her in the old times, indeed — " 
 
 "Why, she certainly was a little down-hearted, 
 sir, and something paler in her colour than I 
 could have wished," said Mark, " but none the 
 
 worse in her looks for that. I think she seemed 
 better, sir, after she come to London." 
 
 Martin withdrew his eyes from the fire ; stared 
 at Mark as if he thought he had suddenly gone 
 mad ; and asked him what he meant. 
 
 " No offence intended, sir," urged Mark. " I 
 don't mean to say she was any the happier, with- 
 out you ; but I thought she was a looking better, 
 sir." 
 
 " Do you mean to tell me she has been in Lon- 
 don ?'* asked Martin, rising hurriedly, and push- 
 ing back his chair. 
 
 " Of course I do," said Mark, rising too, in 
 great amazement, from the bedstead. 
 
 " Do you mean to tell me she 's in London 
 now?" 
 
 " Most likely, sir. I mean to say she was a 
 week ago." 
 
 " And you know where ?" 
 
 " Yes !" cried Mark. " What ! Don't you ?" 
 
 " My good fellow !" exclaimed Martin, clutch- 
 ing him by both arms, " I have never seen her 
 since I left my grandfather's house." 
 
 " Why then !" cried Mark, giving the little 
 table such a blow with his clenched fist that the 
 slices of beef and ham danced upon it, while all 
 his features seemed, with delight, to be going up 
 into his forehead, and never coming back again 
 any more, "if I an't your nat'ral born servant, 
 hired by Fate, there an't such a thing in natur' 
 as a Blue Dragon. What ! when I was a ram- 
 bling up and down a old churchyard in the city, 
 getting myself into a jolly state, didn't I see your 
 grandfather a toddling to and fro for pretty nigh 
 a mortal hour ! Didn't I watch him into Cod- 
 gers's commercial boarding-house, and watch 
 him out, and watch him home to his hotel, and go 
 and tell him as his was the service for wj money, 
 and I had said so, afore I left tho Dragon! 
 Wasn't the young lady a sitting with him then, 
 and didn't she fall a laughing in a manner as was 
 beautiful to see ! Didn't your grandfather say, 
 ' Come back again next week ;' and didn't I go 
 next week ; and didn't he say that he couldn't 
 make up his mind to trust nobody no more, and 
 therefore wouldn't engage me ; but at the same 
 time stood something to drink as was handsome ! 
 Why," cried Mr. Tapley, with a comical mixture 
 of delight and chagrin, " where 's the credit of a 
 man's being jolly under such circumstances ! who 
 could help it, when things come about like this !" 
 
 For some moments, Martin stood gazing at 
 him, as if he really doubted the evidence of his 
 senses, and could not believe that Mark stood 
 there, in the body, before him. At length he 
 asked him whether, if the young lady were still 
 in London, he thought he could contrive to de- 
 liver a letter to her secretly. 
 
 " Do I think I can !" cried Mark. " Think I 
 can ! Here, sit down, sir. Write it out, sir !" 
 
 With that he cleared the table by the summa- 
 ry process of tilting everything* upon it into the 
 fire-place ; snatched some writing materials from 
 the mantel-shelf; set Martin's chair before them ; 
 forced him down into it; dipped a pen into the 
 ink ; and put it in his hand. 
 
 " Cut away, sir !" cried Mark. " Make # it 
 strong, sir. Let it be wery pointed, sir. Do I 
 think so ? J should think so. Go to work, sir !" 
 
 Martin required no further adjuration, but went 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 
 
 07 
 
 to work at a great rate ; while Mr. Tapley, in- 
 stalling himtel? without any more forraalh 
 
 the fbhctuMM of Ills v>lct and general attendant, 
 
 limsclf of hi* coat, and wmt on to clear 
 
 the firc-jilacf and arrange tiro room: talking to 
 
 Ir" in a low voice the whole ' 
 
 "Jolly sort ot* lodjjrngs," said Mark, rubbing 
 
 his note with the knob at the end of the fire- 
 
 shovel, in. I looking around the poor chamber; 
 
 "that 's a comfort. The rain 'a come through the 
 
 roof too. That an't bad. A lively old bi 
 
 I Ml be bound ; popilatcd by /ots of wampires, no 
 doubt. Come ! my spirits is a getting up again. 
 An uncommon ragged night A itry 
 
 good sign. We shall do yet! 1!' r . J me, my 
 dear," calling down the stairs, "bring up that 
 there hot tumbler for my master, as was a mixing 
 when I come in. That's right, sir,". to Martin. 
 " Go at it as if you meant it, sir. Be very ten- 
 der, sir, if you please. You can*t make it too 
 strong, sir v* 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 IN WHICH MARTIN BIDS ADIEU TO THE LADY OF HIS LOVE; AND HONOURS 
 AN OBSCURE INDIVIDUAL WHOSE FORTUNE HE INTENDS TO MAKE, BY 
 COMMENDING HER TO HIS PROTECTION. 
 
 Tire letter being duly signed, sealed, and de- 
 livered, was handed to Mark Tapley, for imme- 
 diate conveyance if possible. And he succeeded 
 bo well in his embassy as to be enabled to return 
 that same night, just as the house was closing, 
 with the welcome intelligence that he had sent it 
 up stairs to the young lady, enclosed in a small 
 manuscript of his own, purporting to contain liis 
 farther petition to be engaged in Mr. Chuzzlewit's 
 service ; and that she had herself come down and 
 told him, in gteat haste and agitation, that she 
 would meet the gentleman at eight o'clock to- 
 morrow morning in St. James's Park. It was then 
 agreed between the new master and the new man, 
 that Mark should be in waiting near the hotel in 
 good time, to escort the young lady to the place 
 of appointment ; and when they had parted for 
 the night with this understanding, Mark took up 
 his pen again ; and before he went to bed wrote 
 another letter, whereof more will be seen pre- 
 sently. 
 
 He was up before daybreak, and came upon the 
 park with the morning, which was clad in the 
 least engaging of the three hundred and sixty-five 
 dresses in the wardrobe of the year. It was raw, 
 damp, dark, and dismal; the clouds were as 
 muddy as the ground ; and the short perspective 
 of every street and avenue was closed up by the 
 mist as by a filthy curtain. 
 
 " Fine weather, indeed," Martin bitterly solilo- 
 quized, " to be walking up and down here in, like 
 a thief! Fine weather indeed, for a meeting of 
 in the open air, and in a public walk ! I 
 need be departing with all speed for another coun- 
 try ; for I have come to a pretty pass in this !" 
 
 He might perhaps have gone on to reflect that 
 of all mornings in the year, it was not the best 
 calculated for a young lady's coming forth on 
 such an errand, either. But he was stopped on 
 the rood to this refb-ction, if his thoughts tended 
 that way, l/y her appearance at a short distance, 
 on whieli he hurried forward to meet her. Her 
 
 Mr. Tapley, at the same time till <\\ 
 back, and surveyed the fog above him with an ap- 
 pearance of nttentive interest. 
 
 ■ Mv dear Martin!" said Mary. 
 
 '• M I deal Mary !" said Martin ; and lovers are 
 such a singular kind of people that this is all they 
 
 did say just then, though Martin took her arm, 
 and her hand too, and they paced up and down a 
 short walk, that was least exposed to observation, 
 half a dozen times. 
 
 M If you have changed at all, my love, sinee we 
 parted," said Martin nt length, as be looked upon 
 her with a proud delight, "it is ooly to be more 
 beautiful than ever !" 
 
 Had she been of the common metal of love- 
 worn young ladies, she would have denied this in 
 her most interesting manner ; and would have 
 told him that she knew she had become a perfect 
 fright ; or that she had wasted away with weeping 
 and anxiety ; or that her mental sufferings were 
 Unspeakable ; or would, either by tears or words, 
 or a mixture of both, have furnished him with 
 some other information to that effect, and made 
 him as miserable as possible. But she had been 
 reared up in a sterner school than the minds of 
 most young girls are formed in; she bad had her 
 nature strengthened by the hands of hard endu- 
 rance and necessity ; had come out from lier young 
 trials constant, self-denying, earnest, and devoted; 
 had acquired in her maidenhood — whether hap- 
 pily in the end, for herself or him, is foreign to 
 our present purpose to inquire — something of that 
 nobler quality of gentle hearts which is developed 
 often by the sorrows and struggles of matronly 
 years, but often by their lessons only. Unspoiled, 
 unpamfKjred in her joys or grief*; with frank, 
 and full, and deep affection for tho object of her 
 early love; she saw in him one who for her sake 
 was an outcast from his home and fortune, and 
 she had no more idea of bestowing thai love upon 
 him in other than cheerful and sustaining words, 
 full of high hope and grateful t rust fulness, than 
 she hud ot* being unworthy of it, iu her lightest 
 thought or deed, for any base temptation I 
 world could oflir. 
 
 u What change is there in you, Martin," she re- 
 plied; " for that concerns? me m un >t ? Yop look 
 more anxious and more thought i used." 
 
 " Why as to that, my love," said Mirtin, as he 
 drew her waist within his arm, first looking round 
 to sec that there were no observers near, and U» 
 holding Mr. T intent than ever on th« 
 
 fog ; " it would be strange if I did not ; for my life 
 —especially of late— has been a hard one.* 
 
98 
 
 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 " I know it must have been," she answered. 
 'When have I forgotten to think of it and you?" 
 
 " Not often, I hope," said Martin. " Not often, 
 I am sure. N6t often, I have some right to ex- 
 pect, Mary ; foV I have undergone a great deal of 
 vexation and privation, and I naturally look for 
 that return, you know." 
 
 "A very, very poor return," she answered with a 
 fainter smile. "But you have it, and will have it 
 always. You have paid a dear price for a poor 
 heart, Martin ; but it is at least your own and a 
 *rue one." 
 
 , " Of course I feel quite certain of that," said 
 Martin, u or I should n't have put myself in my 
 present position. And don't say a poor heart, 
 Mary, for I say a rich one. u Now, I am about 
 to break a design to you, dearest, which will 
 startle you at first, but which is undertaken for 
 your sake. I am going," he added slowly, look- 
 ing far into the deep wonder of her dark bright 
 eyes, " abroad." 
 
 "Abroad, Martin!" 
 
 " Only to America. See now — how you droop 
 directly !" 
 
 Mf I do, or, I hope I may say, if I did," she 
 answered, raising her head after a short silence, 
 and looking once more into his face, " it was for 
 grief to think of what you are resolved to undergo 
 for me. I would not venture to dissuade you, 
 Martin ; but it is a long, long distance ; there is a 
 wide ocean to be crossed ; illness and want are sad 
 calamities in any place, but in a foreign country 
 dreadful to endure. Have you thought of all this ?" 
 
 "Thought of it!" cried Martin, abating in his 
 fondness — and he was very fond of her — hardly 
 an iota of his usual impetuosity. " What am I 
 to do? It's very well to say, Have I thought of 
 it ? my love ; but you should ask me in the same 
 breath, have I thought of starving at home; have 
 I thought of doing porter's work for a living ; 
 have I thought of holding horses in the street to 
 earn my roll of bread from day to day ? Come, 
 come," he added, in a gentler tone, " do not hang 
 down your head, my dear, for I need the en- 
 couragement that your sweet face alone can give 
 me. Why, that 's well ! Now you are brave 
 again !" 
 
 " I am endeavouring to be," she answered, 
 smiling through her tears. 
 
 " Endeavouring to be anything that 's good, 
 and being it, is, with you, all one. Don't I know 
 that of old ?" cried Martin, gaily. " So ! That's 
 famous ! Now I can tell you all my plans as 
 cheerfully as if you were my little wife already, 
 Mary." 
 
 She hung more closely on his arm, and looking 
 upward in his face, bade him speak on. 
 
 " You see," said Martin, playing with the little 
 hand upon his wrist, " that my attempts to advance 
 myself at home have been baffled and rendered 
 abortive. I will not say by whom, Mary, for that 
 would give pain to us both. But so it is. Have 
 you heard him speak of late of any relative of 
 mine or his, called Pecksniff? Only tell me 
 what I ask you, no more." 
 
 ■ I have heard to my surprise, that he is a bet- 
 ter man than was supposed." 
 
 * I thought so," interrupted Martin. 
 
 "And that it is likely we may come to know 
 iiim, if not to visit and reside with him and — I 
 
 think — his daughters. He has daughters, has he, 
 love ?" 
 
 "A pair of them," Martin answered. A pre. 
 cious pair ! Gems of the first water !" 
 " Ah ! You are jesting 1" 
 
 " There is a sort of jesting which is very much 
 in earnest, and includes some pretty serious dis- 
 gust," said Martin. " I jest in reference to Mr. 
 Pecksniff (at whose house I have been living as 
 his assistant, and at whose hands I have received 
 insult and injury), in that vein. Whatever be- 
 tides, or however closely you may be brought into 
 communication with his family, never forget that, 
 Mary ; and never for an instant, whatever appear- 
 ances may seem to contradict rfte, lose sight of 
 this assurance — Pecksniff is a scoundrel." 
 " Indeed !" 
 
 " In thought, and in deed, and in everything 
 else. A scoundrel from the topmost hair of his 
 head, to the nethermost atom of his heel. Of his 
 daughters I will only say that, to the best of my 
 knowledge and belief, they are dutiful young la- 
 dies, and take after their father, closely. This is 
 a digression from the main point, and yet it brings 
 me to what I was going to say." 
 
 He stopped to look into her eyes again, and 
 seeing, in a hasty glance over his shoulder, that 
 there was no one near, and that Mark was still 
 intent upon the fog, not only looked at her lips 
 too, but kissed them into the bargain. 
 
 " Now, I am going to America, with great 
 prospects of doing well, and of returning home 
 myself very soon ; it may be to take you there 
 for a few years, but, at all events, to claim you 
 for my wife ; which, after such trials, I should do 
 with no fear of your still thinking it a duty to 
 cleave to him who will not suffer me to live (for 
 this is true) if he can help it, in my own land 
 How long 'I may be absent is, of course, uncer- 
 tain ; but it shall not be very long. Trust me for 
 that." 
 
 " In the meantime, dear Martin " 
 
 "That's the very thing I am coming to. In 
 the meantime you shall hear, constancy, of all 
 my goings-on. Thus." 
 
 He paused to take from his pocket the letter he 
 had written over-night, and then resumed : 
 
 " In this fellow's employment, and living in 
 this fellow's house, (by fellow, I mean Mr. Peck- 
 sniff, of course), there is a certain person of the 
 name of Pinch — don't forget it ; a poor, strange, 
 simple oddity, Mary ; but thoroughly honest and 
 sincere ; full of zeal ; and with a cordial regard 
 for me ; which I mean to return one of these 
 days, by setting him up in life in some way or 
 other." 
 
 " Your old kind nature, Martin !" 
 " Oh !" said Martin, that's not worth speaking 
 of, my love. He 's very grateful and desirous to 
 serve me ; and I am more than repaid. Now one 
 night I told this Pinch my history, and all about 
 myself and you ; in which he was not a little in- 
 terested, I can tell you, for he knows you ! Ay, 
 you may look surprised — and the longer the bet- 
 ter, for it becomes you — but you have heard him 
 play the organ in the church of that village before 
 now ; and he has seen you listening to his music , 
 and has caught his inspiration from you, too !" 
 
 " Was he the organist ?" cried Mary. " I lhank 
 him from my heart." 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 
 
 90 
 
 " Yes, lie was," naid Martin, " and is, and jets 
 nothing f>r it either. There never wai such a 
 •iinplt; fellow! Quite an hifaut! But a very 
 good sort of creature, I assure you." 
 
 "I am sure ot'ihit," she said, with great 
 earnestness. 4l He must be!" 
 
 "Oh, yes, no doubt afall about it," rejoined 
 Martin, in his usual careless way. ** Ho is. 
 Well ! It has occurred to me — but stay, rf I read 
 
 ou what I have written and intend sending to 
 ear Coin ich.' That's rather familiar, per- 
 
 im by posl to-night, it will explain itself. 'My 
 
 bap*,* 1 s»W .Martin, suddenly remembering that 
 he was proud when they had last met, u but I call 
 him my dear Tom Pinch, because he likes it, 
 and it pleases him." 
 
 44 Very right, and very kind," said Mary. 
 
 44 Exactly so !" cried Martin. 44 It 's as well to 
 be kind whenever one can ; and, as I said before, 
 he really is an excellent fellow. 4 My dear Tom 
 Pinch, — I address this under cover to Mrs. Lupin, 
 at the Blue Dragon, and have begged her in a 
 short note to deliver it to you without saying 
 anything about it elsewhere ; and to do the same 
 with all future letters she may receive from me. 
 My reason for so doing will be at once apparent 
 to you.' I don't know that it will be, by the 
 bye,' said Martin, breaking off, 44 for he's slow 
 of comprehension, poor fellow ; but he '11 find it 
 out in time. My reason simply is, that I don't 
 want my letters to be read by other people ; and 
 particularly by the scoundrel whom he thinks an 
 angel." 
 
 44 Mr. Pecksniff again ?" asked Mary. 
 
 44 The same," said Martin: 444 — will be at 
 once apparent to you. I have completed my 
 arrangements for going to America ; and you 
 will be surprised to hear that I am to be accom- 
 panied by Mark Tapley, upon whom I have 
 6tumbled strangely in London, and who insists 
 on putting himself under my protection' — mean- 
 ing, my love," said Martin, breaking off again, 
 44 our friend in the rear, of course." 
 
 She was delighted to hear this, and bestowed a 
 kind glance upon Mark, which he brought his 
 eye* down from the fog to encounter, and receiv- 
 ed with immense satisfaction. She said in his 
 hearing, too, that he was a good soul and a merry 
 creature, and would be faithful, she was certain ; 
 commendations which Mr. Tapley inwardly re- 
 solved to deserve, from such lips, if he died for it. 
 
 44 4 Now, my dear Pinch,' " resumed Martin, 
 proceeding with his letter; 444 I am going to re- 
 pose great trust in you, knowing that I may do 
 s<> with perfect reliance on your honour and 
 secrecy, and huving nobody else just now tc^trust 
 in.' " 
 
 44 1 don't think I would say that, Martin." 
 
 "Wouldn't you? Well! I'll take that out. 
 It 's perfectly true, though." 
 
 44 But it might seem ungracious, perhaps." 
 
 ' 4 Oh, I don't mind Pinch." said Martin. 
 44 There 's no occasion to stand on any ceremony 
 with him. However, I '11 take it out, as you 
 wish it, and raako the full stop 4 at secrecy.' 
 Very well ! 4 1 shall not only' — this is tho letter 
 ifBtn, vou know." 
 
 44 I understand." 
 
 " ' I shall not only enclose my letters to the 
 young ludy of whom I have told you to your 
 
 charge, to be fiprwarded as she may request, but 
 I most earnestly commit her, the young lady 
 herself, to your care and regard, in the event of 
 yoer meeting in my absence. 1 have reason to 
 think that the probabilities of encountering each 
 other — perhaps very frequently^-are now neither 
 remote nor few ; and although in your position 
 you can do very little to lessen the uneasiness of 
 hers, I trust to you implicitly to do that much 
 and so deserve the confidence I have reposed in 
 you.' You see, my dear Mary," said Martin, 
 44 It will be a great consolation to you to have 
 anybody, no matter how simple, with whom you 
 can speak about me; and the very first time yon 
 talk to Pinch, you 'II feel at once that there is no 
 more occasion for any embarrassment or hesita- 
 tion in talking to him, than if he were an old 
 woman." 
 
 44 However that may be," she returned, smiling, 
 44 he is your friend, and that is enough." 
 
 44 Oh, yes, he is my friend," said Martin, 44 cer- 
 tainly. In fact, I havo told him in so many 
 " words that we '11 always take notice of him, and 
 protect him ; and it 's a gpod trait in his charac- 
 ter that he 's grateful — very grateful indeed. 
 You '11 like him of all things, my love, I know. 
 You '11 observe very much that 's comical and 
 oldfashioned about Pinch, but you needn't mind 
 laughing at him ; for he '11 not eare about it. 
 He '11 rather like it, indeed." 
 
 44 1 don't think I shall ptu that to the test, 
 Martin." 
 
 44 You won't if you can help it, of course," be 
 said, 44 but I think you'll find him a little toe 
 much for your gravity. However, that's neither 
 here nor there, and it certainly is not the letter, 
 which ends thus: 4 Knowing that I need not im- 
 press the nature and extent of that confidence 
 upon you at any greater length, as it is already 
 sufficiently established in your mind, I will only 
 say in bidding you farewell, and looking forward 
 to our next meeting, that I shall charge myself 
 from this time, through ail changes for the better, 
 with your advancement and happiness, as if they 
 were my own. You may rely upon that. And 
 always believe me, my dear Tom Pinch, faith- 
 fully your friend, Martin ChuzzlewiL P. S. I 
 enclose the amount which you so kindly' — Oh," 
 said Martin, checking himself, and folding up 
 the letter, ** that 's nothing!" 
 
 At this crisis Mark Tapley interposed, with an 
 apology for remarking that the clock of the 
 Horse Guards was striking. 
 
 44 Which I shouldn't have said nothing about, 
 sir," added Mark, 44 if the young lady hadn't 
 begged rac to be particular in mentioning it." 
 
 44 1 did," said Mary. «, Thank you. You are 
 quite right In another minute I shall be ready 
 to return. We have time for a very few words 
 more, dear Martin, and although 1 had much lo 
 say, it must remain unsaid until the happy time 
 of our next meeting. Heaven send it may cotne 
 speedily and prosperously ! But I ' have no fear 
 of that." 
 
 "Fear!" cried Martin. "Why, who has? 
 What are a few months ? What is a whole year f 
 When I come gaily back, with a road through 
 life hewn out before me, then indeed, looking 
 back upon this parting, it may seem a dismal 
 one. But now ! I swear I wouldn't have it hap- 
 
100 
 
 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 pen under more favourable auspices, if I could : 
 for then I should be less inclined to go, and less 
 impressed with the necessity." 
 
 "Yes, yes. I feel that too. When do you 
 go?" 
 
 " To-night. We leave for Liverpool to-night. 
 A vessel sails from that port, as I hear, in three 
 days. In a month, or less, we shall be there. 
 Why, what's a month! How many months 
 have flown by since our last parting !" 
 
 " Long to look back upon," said Mary, echoing 
 his cheerful tone, " but nothing in their course !" 
 
 "Nothing at all!" cried Martin. "I shall 
 have change of scene and change of place ; 
 change of people, change of manners, change of 
 cares and hopes! Time will wear wings indeed ! 
 I can bear anything, so that I have swift action, 
 Mary." 
 
 Was he thinking solely of her care for him, 
 when he took so little heed of her share in the 
 separation ; of her quiet monotonous endurance, 
 and her slow anxiety from day to day ? Was 
 there nothing jarring and discordant even in his 
 tone of courage, with«this one note self for ever 
 audible, however high the strain ? Not in her 
 ears. It had been better otherwise, perhaps, but 
 so it was. She heard the same bold spirit which 
 had flung away as dross all gain and profit for 
 her sake, making light of peril and privation that 
 she might be calm and happy ; and she heard no 
 more. That heart where self has found no place 
 and raised no throne, is slow to recognise its ugly 
 presence when it looks upon it. As one possess- 
 ed of an evil spirit was held in old time to be 
 alone conscious of the lurking demon in the 
 breasts of other men, so kindred vices know each 
 other in their hiding-places every day, when Vir- 
 tue is incredulous and blind. 
 
 " The quarter 's gone !" cried Mr. Tapley, in a 
 voice of admonition. 
 
 " I shall be ready to return immediately," she 
 said. " One thing, dear Martin, I am bound to 
 tell you 1 . You intreated me a few minutes since 
 only to answer what you asked me in reference 
 to one theme, but you should and must know — 
 otherwise I could not be at ease — that since that 
 separation of which I was the unhappy occasion, 
 he has never once uttered your name ; has never 
 coupled it, or any faint allusion to it, with passion 
 or reproach ; and has never abated in his kind- 
 ness to me." 
 
 "I thank him for that last act," said Martin, 
 " and for nothing else. Though on consideration 
 I may thank him for his other forbearance also, 
 inasmuch as I neither expect nor desire that he 
 will mention my name again. He may once, 
 perhaps — to couple it with reproach — in his will. 
 Let him, if he please ! By the time it reaches 
 me, he will be in his grave : a satire on his own 
 anger, God help him !" 
 
 "Martin! If you would but sometimes, in 
 some quiet hour ; beside the winter fire ; in the 
 summer air ; when you hear gentle music, or 
 think of Death, or Home, or Childhood ; if you 
 would at such a season resolve to think, but once 
 a month, or even once a year, of him, or any one 
 who ever wronged you, you would forgive him 
 in your heart, I know !" 
 
 " If I believed that to be true, Mary," he re- 
 plied, " I would resolve at no such time to bear 
 
 him in my mind : wishing to spare myself the 
 shame of such a weakness. I was not born to 
 be the toy and puppet of any man, far less his ; 
 to whose pleasure and caprice, in return for any 
 good he did me, my whole youth was sacrificed. 
 It became between us two a fair exchange — a 
 barter — and no more : and there is no such bal- 
 ance against me that I need throw in a mawkish 
 forgiveness to poise the scale. He has forbidden 
 all mention of me to you, I know," he added 
 hastily. " Come ! Has he not ?" 
 
 "That was long ago," she returned; "imme- 
 diately after your parting; before you had left 
 the house. He has never done so since." 
 
 " He has never done so since, because he has 
 seen no occasion," said Martin ; "but that is of 
 little consequence, one way or other. Let all 
 allusion to him between you and me be interdict- 
 ed from this time forth. And therefore, love — " 
 he drew her quickly to him, for the time of part- 
 ing had now come — " in the first letter that you 
 write to me through the Post-office, addressed to 
 New York ; and in all the others that you send 
 through Pinch ; remember he has no existence, 
 but has become to us as one who is dead. Now, 
 God bless you ! This is a strange^place for such 
 a meeting and such a parting ; but our next 
 meeting shall be in a better, and our next and 
 last parting in a worse." 
 
 " One other question, Martin, I must ask. 
 Have you provided money for this journey ?" 
 
 " Have I ?" cried Martin ; it might have been 
 in his pride ; it might have been in his desire to 
 set her mind at ease : " Have I provided money ? 
 Why, there 's a question for an emigrant's wife ! 
 How could I move on land or sea without it, 
 love ?" 
 
 " I mean, enough." 
 
 " Enough ! More than enough. Twenty times 
 more than enough. A pocket-full. Mark and 
 I, for all essential ends, are quite as rich as if we 
 had the purse of Fortunatus in our baggage." 
 
 " The half-hour 's a going!" cried Mr. Tapley. 
 
 "Good bye a hundred times!" cried Mary, in 
 a trembling voice. 
 
 But how cold the comfort in Good bye ! Mark 
 Tapley knew it perfectly. Perhaps he knew it 
 from his reading, perhaps from his experience, 
 perhaps from intuition. It is impossible to say; 
 but however he knew it, his knowledge instinc- 
 tively suggested to him the wisest course of pro- 
 ceeding that any man could have adopted under 
 the circumstances. He was taken with a violent 
 fit of sneezing, and was obliged to turn his head 
 another way. In doing which, he, in a manner, 
 fenced and screened the lovers into a corner by 
 themselves. 
 
 There was a short pause, but Mark had an 
 undefined sensation that it was a satisfactory one 
 in its way. Then Mary, with her veil lowered, 
 passed him with a quick step, and beckoned him 
 to follow. She stopped once more before they 
 lost that corner ; looked back ; and waved her 
 hand to Martin. He made a start towards them 
 at the moment as if he had some other farewell 
 words to say; but she only hurried off the faster 
 and Mr. Tapley followed as in duty bound. 
 
 When he rejoined Martin again in his own 
 chamber, he found that gentleman seated moodily 
 before the dusty grate, with his two feet on the 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 
 
 101 
 
 fender, his two elbows on his knees, and his chin 
 supported, in a not very ornamental manner, on 
 the palms of his hands. 
 II, Mark?" 
 
 u Well, sir," said Mark, taking a long breath, 
 u I see the young lady safe home, and I feel 
 pretty comfortable ail. r it. Sfie sent a lot of kind 
 words, sir, and this," handing him a ring, ** for a 
 parting keepsake." 
 
 ** Diamonds !" said Martin, kissing it — let us 
 do him justice, it was for her sake, not theirs — 
 and putting it on his little finger. " Splendid dia- 
 monds. My grandfather is a singular character, 
 Mark. He must have given her this, now." 
 
 Mark Tapley knew as well that she had bought 
 it, to the and that that unconscious speaker might 
 carry some article of sterling value with him in 
 his necessity ; as he knew that it was day, and 
 not night Though he had no more acquaintance 
 of his own knowledge with the history of the glit- 
 tering trinket on Martin's outspread finger, than 
 Martin himself had, he was as certain that in its 
 
 Eurchase she had /expended her whole stock of 
 oarded money, as if he had seen it paid down 
 coin by coin. Her lover's Btrange obtuseness in 
 relation to this little incident, promptly suggested 
 to Mark's mind its real cause and root ; and from 
 that moment he had a clear and perfect insight 
 
 into the one absorbing principle of Martin'a 
 character. 
 
 *8hc is worthy of the sacrifices I have made," 
 said Martin, folding his arms, and looking at the 
 ashes in the stove, as if in resumption of some 
 . former thoughts. •* Well worthy of them. No 
 riches," — here he stroked his cbin, and mused — 
 " could have compensated for the 'loss of such a 
 nature. Not to mention that in gaining her affec- 
 tion, I have followed the bent of my own wishes, 
 and balked the selfish schemes of others who 
 had no right to form them. She is quite worthy — 
 more than worthy — of the sacrifices I have made. 
 Yes, she is. No doubt of it." 
 
 These ruminations might or might not have 
 reached Mark Tapley ; for though they were by 
 no means addressed to him, yet they were softly 
 uttered. In any case, he stood there, watching 
 Martin, with an indescribable and most involved 
 expression on his visage, until that young man 
 roused himself and looked towards him ; when he 
 turned away, as being suddenly intent on certain 
 preparations for the journey, and, without giving 
 vent to any articulate sound, smiled with surpass- 
 ing ghastliness, and seemed by a twist of his 
 features and a motion of his lips, to release him- 
 self of this word : 
 
 "Jolly!" 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 THE BURDEN WHEREOF, IS HAIL COLUMBIA! 
 
 A dark and dreary nigbt ; people nestling in 
 their beds or circling late about the fire ; Want, 
 colder than Charity, shivering at the street cor- 
 ners; ehurch-towers humming with the faint 
 vibration of their own tongues, but newly resting 
 from the ghostly preachment * One !" The earth 
 covered with a sable pall as for the burial of yes- 
 terday ; the clumps of dark trees, its giant plumes 
 of funeral featherB waving sadly to and fro : all 
 hushed, all noiseless, and in deep repose, save the 
 swift clouds that skim across the moon, and the 
 cautious wind, as, creeping after them upon the 
 ground, it stops to listen, and goes rustling on, 
 and stops again, and follows, like a savage on the 
 trail. 
 
 Whither go the clouds and wind so eagerly ? 
 If like guilty spirits they repair to some dread 
 conference with powers like themselves, in what 
 wild region do the elements hold council, or 
 where unbend in terrible disport? 
 
 Here ! Free from that cramped prison called 
 the earth, and out upon the waste of waters. 
 Here, roaring, raging, shrieking, howling, all 
 night long. Hither come the sounding voices 
 from the caverns on the coast of that small island, 
 sleeping a thousand miles away so quietly in the 
 midst of angry waves; and hither, to meet them, 
 rush the blasts from unknown desert places of the 
 world. Here, in the fury ' of their unchecked 
 liberty, they storm and buffet with each other, 
 until the sea, lashed into passion like their own, 
 leaps up in ravings mightier than theirs, and the 
 whole scene is whirling madness. 
 
 On, on, on, over the countless miles of angry 
 
 I space roll the long, heaving billows. Mountains 
 and caves are here, and yet are not; for what 
 is now the one, is now the other ; then all is but 
 a boiling heap of rushing water. Pursuit, and 
 flight, and mad return of wave on wave, and 
 savage struggle, ending in a spouting-up of foam 
 that whitens the black night ; incessant change 
 of place, and form, and hue; constancy in nothing 
 but eternal strife ; on, on, on, they roll, and darker 
 grows the night, and louder howl the winds, and 
 more clamorous and fierce become the million 
 voices in the sea, when the wild cry goes forth 
 upon the storm " A ship !" 
 
 Onward she comes, in gallant combat with 
 the elements, her taH masts trembling, and her 
 timbers starting on the strain ; onward she 
 comes, now high upon the curling billows, now 
 low down in the hollows of the sea, as hiding for 
 the moment from its fury ; and every storm-voice 
 in the air and water cries more loudly yet, u A 
 ship !" 
 
 Still she comes striving on: and at her bold- 
 ness and the spreading cry, the angry waves rise 
 up above each other's hoary heads to look; and 
 round about the vessel, far as the mariner* on 
 her decks can pierce into the gloom, tltcy press 
 upon her, forcing each other down, and starting 
 up, and rushing forward from afar, in dreadful 
 curiosity. High over her they break ; and round 
 her surge and roar ; and giving place to others, 
 moaniugly depart, and dash themselves to frag- 
 ments in their bullied anger : still she comes 
 onward bravely. And though the eager multi 
 tude crowd thick and last upon her t!Z the night. 
 
102 
 
 LIFE AND ADVENTURED OF 
 
 and dawn of day discovers the untiring train yet 
 bearing down upon the ship in an eternity of 
 troubled water, onward she comes, with dim lights 
 burning in her hall, and people there asleep : as 
 if no deadly element were peering in at every 
 seam and clink, and no drowned seamen's grave, 
 with but a plank to cover it, were yawning in the 
 unfathomable depths below. 
 
 Among these sleepy voyagers were Martin and 
 Mark Tapley, who, rocked into a heavy drowsi- 
 ness by the unaccustomed motion, were as insen- 
 sible to the foul air in which they lay, as to the 
 uproar without. It was broad day, when the 
 latter awoke with a dim idea that he was dream- 
 ing of having gone to sleep in a four-post bed- 
 stead which had turned bottom upwards in the 
 course of the night. There was more reason in 
 this loo, than in the roasting of eggs ; for the first 
 objects Mr. Tapley recognised when he opened 
 his eyes w r ere his own heels — looking down at 
 him, as he afterwards observed, from a nearly 
 perpendicular elevation. 
 
 "Well!" said Mark, getting himself into a 
 sitting posture, after various ineffectual struggles 
 with the rolling of the ship. " This is the first 
 time as* ever I stood on my head all night." 
 
 "You shouldn't go to sleep upon the ground 
 with your head to leeward, then," growled a man 
 in one of the berths. 
 
 " With my head to where ?" asked Mark. 
 
 The man repeated his previous sentiment. 
 
 " No, I won't another time," said Mark, " when 
 I know whereabouts on the map that country is. 
 In the meanwhile I can give you a better piece 
 of advice. Don't you nor any other friend of mine 
 never go to sleep with his head in a ship, any 
 more." 
 
 The man gave a grunt of discontented acqui- 
 escence, turned over in his berth, and drew his 
 blanket over his head. 
 
 "For," said Mr. Tapley, pursuing the theme by 
 way of soliloquy, in a low tone of voice ; "the sea 
 is as nonsensical a thing as anything going. It 
 never knows what to do with itself. It hasn't got 
 no employment for its mind, and is always in a 
 state of vacancy. Like them Polar bears in the 
 wild-beast-shows as is constantly a nodding their 
 heads from side to side, it never can be quiet. 
 Which is entirely owing to its uncommon 
 stupidity." 
 
 " Is that you, Mark ?" asked a faint voice from 
 another berth. 
 
 " It's as much of me as is left, sir, after a fort- 
 night of this work," Mr. Tapley replied. " What 
 with leading the life of a fly ever since I 've been 
 aboard — for 1 've been perpetually holding-on to 
 something or other, in a upside-down position — 
 what with that, sir, and putting a very little into 
 myself, and taking a good deal out in various 
 ways, there an't too much of me to swear by. 
 How do you find yourself this morning, sir ?" 
 
 "Very miserable," said Martin, with a peevish 
 groan. " Ugh ! This is wretched, indeed !" 
 
 " Creditable," muttered Mark, pressing one 
 nand upon his aching head, and looking round 
 him with a rueful grin. " That 's the great com- 
 fort It is creditable to keep up one's spirits 
 here. Virtue 's its own reward. So 's jollity." 
 
 Mark was so far right, that unquestionably any 
 man who retained his cheerfulness among the 
 
 steerage accommodations of that noble and fast 
 sailing line of packet-sl.ip, " The Screw," was 
 solely indebted to his own resources, and shipped 
 his good humour, like his provisions, without any 
 contribution or assistance from the owners. A 
 dark, low, stifling cabin, surrounded by berths all 
 filled to overflowing with men, women, and chil- 
 dren, in various stages of sickness and misery, is 
 not the liveliest place of assembly at any time ; 
 bul when it is so crowded (as the steerage cabin 
 of the " Screw" was, every passage out,) that 
 mattrasses and beds are heaped upon the floor, to 
 the extinction of everything like comfort, cleanli- 
 ness, and decency, it is liable to operate not only 
 as a pretty strong barrier against amiability of 
 temper, but as a positive encourager of selfish and 
 rough humours. Mark felt this, as he s% looking 
 about him ; and his spirits rose proportionately. 
 
 There were English people, Irish people, Welsh 
 people, and Scotch people there.; all with their 
 little store of coarse food and shabby clothes ; and 
 nearly all, with their families of children. There 
 were children of all ages ; from the baby at the 
 breast, to the slattern-girl who was as much a 
 grown woman as her mother. Every kind of 
 domestic suffering that is bred in poverty, illness, 
 banishment, sorrow, and long travel in bad weather, 
 was crammed into the little space ; and yet was 
 there infinitely less of complaint and querulous- 
 ness, and infinitely more of mutual assistance and 
 general kindness to be found in that unwhole- 
 some ark, than in many brilliant ball-rooms. 
 
 Mark looked about him wistfully, and his face 
 brightened as he looked. Here an old grandmo- 
 ther was crooning over a sick child, and rocking 
 it to and fro, in arms hardly more wasted than its 
 own young limbs ; here a poor woman with an 
 infant in her lap, mended another little creature's 
 clothes, and quieted another who was creeping up 
 about her from their scanty bed upon the floor. 
 Here were old men awkwardly engaged in little 
 household offices, wherein they would have been 
 ridiculous but for their good-will and kind pur- 
 pose ; and here were swarthy fellows — giants in 
 their way — doing such little acts of tenderness for 
 those about them, as might have belonged to gen- 
 tlest-hearted dwarfs. The very idiot in the corner 
 who sat mowing there, all day, had his faculty of 
 imitation roused by what he saw about him ; and 
 snapped his fingers, to amuse a crying child. 
 
 " Now, then," said Mark, nodding to a woman 
 who was dressing her three children at no great 
 distance from him — and the grin upon his face 
 had by this time spread from ear to ear — " Hand 
 over one of them young uns, according to custom." 
 
 "I wish you'd get breakfast, Mark, instead cf 
 worrying with people who don*t belong to you," 
 observed Martin, petulantly. 
 
 "All right," said Mark. "SAe'll do that. It's 
 a fair division of labour, sir. I wash her boys, and 
 she makes our tea. 1 never could make tea, but 
 any one can wash a boy." 
 
 The woman, who was delicate and ill, felt and 
 understood his kindness, as well she might, for 
 she had been covered every night with his great, 
 coat, while he had had for his own bed the bare 
 boards and a rug. But Martin, who seldom got 
 up or looked about him, was quite incensed by the 
 folly of this speech, and expressed his dissatis- 
 faction by an impatient groan. 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 
 
 103 
 
 "So it is, certainly," said Mark, brushing the 
 child's hair as coolly as if he had bet n bofa am! 
 ored a barber. 
 
 " What are you talking about now ?" asked 
 Martin. 
 
 " W, at you said," replied Mark; "or what 
 you meant, when you IIT6 that there dismal vent 
 to your feelings, i quite go along with it, sir. It 
 is very hard upon 
 
 "What is?" 
 
 ** Making the voyage by hcrpclf along with 
 these young impediments here, and going such a 
 way at such a time of year to join her husband. 
 If you don't want to be driven mad with yellow 
 soap in v Mir eve, young man," said Mr. Tapley 
 to the second urchin, who was by this time under 
 Li- h mis at the basin, "you'd better shut it." 
 
 "Where does she join her husband?" asked 
 Martin, yawning. 
 
 " Why, I 'in very much afraid," said Mr. Tap- 
 Icy, in a low voice, "that she don't know. I hope 
 she mayn't miss him. But she sent her last letter 
 by hand, and it don't seem to have been very 
 clearly understood between *em without it, and" if 
 •he don't see him a waving his pocket-handker- 
 chief on the shore, like a picter out of a song- 
 book, my opinion is, she '11 break her heart." 
 
 " Why, how, in Folly's name, docs the woman 
 come to be on board ship on such a wild-goose 
 venture !" cried Martin. 
 
 Mr. Tapley glanced at him for a moment as he 
 lay prostrate in his berth, and then said, very 
 quietly, 
 
 "Ah! How, indeed! I can't think! He's 
 been away from her for two year ; she 's been 
 very poor and lonely in her own country ; and 
 has always been a looking forward to meeting 
 him. It 's very strange she should be here. 
 Quite amazing ! A little mad, perhaps! There 
 can't be no other way of accounting for it." 
 
 Martin was too far gone in the lassitude of sea- 
 sickness to make any reply to these words, or 
 even to attend to them as they weri spoken. And 
 the subject of their discourse returning at this 
 crisis with some hot tea, effectually put a stop to 
 any resumption of the theme by Mr. Tapley ; 
 who, when the meal was over and he had adjust- 
 ed Martina's bed, went up on the deck to wash 
 the break last service, which consisted of two half- 
 pint tin mugs, and a shaving-pot of the same 
 metal. 
 
 It is due to Mark Tapley to state, that he 
 suffered at least as much from sea-sickness as 
 any man, woman, or child, on board; and that 
 he had a peculiar faculty of knocking himself 
 about on the smallest provocation, and losing his 
 Ugs at every lurch of the ship. JJut n solved, in 
 his iivu ,| phrase, fca "er.me nut strouu-" under dis- 
 advantageous circumstances, he was the life and 
 soul of the steerage, arid faftde ■■<> more of stop- 
 ping in the middle of a facetious conversation to 
 iy and be excessively ill hv himself, and 
 afterwards c ■■'■■■.■ -\ and gave! 
 
 of tempers to resume K, thill ifeoeh a course ef 
 proceeding had been the « in Ihe 
 
 world. 
 
 It cannot l>e said that as his illness wore off, 
 his cheerfulness and good-nature increased, be- 
 
 iey would hardly admit of aiicm. | 
 but his cheerfulness among the weaker members 
 
 of the party was much enlarged ; and at all times 
 and seasons then be was exerting U. If a gleam 
 of sun shone out of the dark sky, down Mark, 
 tumbled into the cabin, and presently up tie eeme 
 again with a woman in his arms, or half * dozen 
 childr- -n, or a man, or a bed, or a saucepan, or & 
 basket, or something animate or inanimate, that 
 he thought would be the better for the air. If 
 an hour or two of fine weather in the middle 
 of the day tempted those who seldom or never 
 came on deck at other, times, to crawl into the 
 long-boat, or lie down upon the spare spars, and 
 try to eat, there in the centre of the group wae 
 Mr. Tapley, handing about salt beef and biscuit, 
 or dispensing tastes of grog, or cutting up the 
 children's provisions with his pocket-knife, for 
 their greater ease and comfort, or reading aloud 
 from a venerable newspaper, or singing some 
 roaring old song to a select party, or writing the 
 beginning of letters to their friends at home for 
 people who couldn't write, or cracking jokes with 
 the crew, or nearly blown over the side, or emer- 
 ging, half-drowned, from a shower of spray, or 
 lending a hand somewhere or other ; but always 
 doing something for the general entertainment. 
 At night, when the cooking-fire was lighted on 
 the deck, and the driving sparks that flew among 
 the rigging, and the cloud of sails, seemed to 
 menace the ship with certain annihilation by 
 fire, in case the elements of air and water failed 
 to compass her destruction ; there again was 
 Mr. Tapley, with his coat off and his shirt- 
 sleeves turned up to his elbows, doing all kinds 
 of culinary offices; compounding the strangest 
 dishes; recognized by every one as an estah. 
 ed authority; and helping all parties to achieve 
 something, which, left to themselves, they never 
 could have done, and never would have dreamed 
 of. In short, there never was a more popular 
 character than Mark Tapley became on board 
 that noble and fast-sailing line-of-packet ship, the 
 Screw ; and he attained at last to such a pitch of 
 universal admiration, that he began to have grave 
 doubts within himself whether a man might 
 reasonably claim any credit for being jolly under 
 such exciting circumstances. 
 
 " If this was going to last," said Mr. Tapley, 
 " there 'd be no great difference, as I can perceive, 
 between the Screw and the Dragon. I never am 
 to get any credit, I think. I begin to be afraid 
 that the Fates is determined to make the world 
 easy to me." 
 
 " Well, Mark," said Martin, near whose berth 
 he had ruminated to this effect, * when will this 
 be over ?" 
 
 u Another week, they say, sir," returned Mark, 
 " will most likely bring us into port Tlie ship's 
 going along at present, as sensible as a ship can, 
 sir ; though I don't mean to say as that 's any 
 very high praise." 
 
 " I don't think it is, indeed," '■! irtia 
 
 " You'd feel all the better lor it, sir, if you was 
 to turn out," observed Mark. 
 
 "And be seen by the ladies and gentlemen ou 
 the after-deck," returned Martin, with a scornful 
 emphasis upon the words, "mingling with the 
 beggarly crowd that are stowed away in this vilo 
 hole. I should be greatly the better for that, im 
 doubt !" 
 
 " I 'm thankful that I can't say from my own 
 
304 
 
 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 experience what the feelings of a gentleman may 
 be," said Mark, " but I should have thought, sir, 
 trs a gentleman would feel a deal more uncom- 
 fortable down here, than up in the fresh air, es- 
 pecially when the ladies and gentlemen in the 
 after-cabin know just as much about him as he 
 does about them, and are likely to trouble their 
 heads about him in the same proportion. I should 
 have thought that, certainly." 
 
 " I tell you, then," rejoined Martin, " you 
 would have thought wrong, and do think wrong." 
 
 " Very likely, sir," said Mark, with imperturb- 
 able good temper. " I often do." 
 
 " As to lying here," cried Martin, raising him- 
 self on his elbow, and looking angrily at his fol- 
 lower. " Do you suppose it 's a pleasure to lie 
 here ?" 
 
 "All the mad-houses in the world," said Mr. 
 Tapley, "couldn't produce such a maniac as the 
 man must be who could think that." 
 
 " Then why are you for ever goading and urg- 
 ing me to get up ?" asked Martin. " I lie here 
 because I do not wish to be recognised in the 
 Letter days to which I aspire, by any purse-proud 
 citizen, as the man who came over with him 
 among the steerage passengers. I lie here, be- 
 cause I wish to conceal my circumstances and 
 myself, and not to arrive in a new world badged 
 and ticketed as an utterly poverty-stricken man. 
 If I could have afforded a passage in the after- 
 cabin, I should have held up my head with the 
 rest. As I couldn't, I hide it. Do you under- 
 stand that?" 
 
 " I am very sorry, sir," said Mark. " I didn't 
 know you took it so much to heart as this comes to." 
 
 " Of course you' didn't know," returned his 
 master. " How should you know, unless I told 
 you ? It 's no trial to you, Mark, to make your- 
 self comfortable and to bustle about. It's as na- 
 tural for you to do so under the circumstances as 
 it is for me not to do so. Why, you don't suppose 
 there is a living creature in this ship who can by 
 possibility have half so much to undergo on board 
 of her as / have ? Do you ?" he asked, sitting 
 upright in his berth and looking at Mark, with 
 an expression of great earnestness not unmixed 
 with wonder. 
 
 Mark twisted his face into a tight knot, and 
 with his head very much on one side pondered 
 upon this question as if he felt it an extremely 
 difficult one to answer. He was relieved from 
 his embarrassment by Martin himself, who said, 
 as he stretched himself upon his back again and 
 resumed the book he had been reading : 
 
 "But what is the use of my putting such a 
 case to ) 7 ou, when the very essence of what I 
 have been saying, is, that you cannot by possi- 
 bility understand it! Make me a little brandy- 
 and-water — cold and very weak — and give me a 
 biscuit, and tell your friend, who is a nearer 
 neighbour of ours than I could wish, to try and 
 keep her children a little quieter to-night than 
 she did last night, that 's a good fellow." 
 
 Mr. Tapley set himself to obey these orders 
 »vith great alacrity, and pending their execution, 
 it may be presumed his flagging spirits revived : 
 masmueh as he several times observed, below his 
 breath, that in respect of its power of imparting a 
 ••redit to jollity, the Screw unquestionably had | 
 »ime decided advantages over the Dragon. He j 
 
 also remarked, that it was a high gratification to 
 him to reflect that he would carry its main ex- 
 cellence ashore with him, and have it constantly 
 beside him wherever he went; but what he meant 
 by these consolatory thoughts he did not explain. 
 
 And now a general excitement began to prevail 
 on board ; and various predictions relative to the 
 precise day, and even the precise hour at which 
 they would reach New York, were freely broach 
 ed. There was infinitely more crowding on deck 
 and looking over the ship's side than there had 
 been before ; and an epidemic broke out for pack- 
 ing up things every morning, which required un- 
 packing again every night. Those who had any 
 letters to deliver, or any friends to meet, or any 
 settled plans of going anywhere or doing any- 
 thing, discussed their prospects a hundred times 
 a day ; and as this class of passengers was very 
 small, and the number of those who had no pros- 
 pects whatever was very large, there were plent) 
 of listeners and few talkers. Those who had been 
 ill all along got well now, and those who had 
 been well got better. An American gentleman 
 in the afters-cabin, who had been wrapped up \n 
 fur and oilskin the whole passage, unexpectedly 
 appeared in a very shiny, tall, black hat, and con- 
 stantly overhauled a very little valise of pale 
 leather, which contained his clothes, linen, 
 brushes, shaving apparatus, books, trinkets, and 
 other baggage. He likewise stuck his hands 
 deep into his pockets, and walked the deck with 
 his nostrils dilated, as already healing the air of 
 Freedom which carries death to all tyrants, and 
 can never, (under any circumstances worth men- 
 tioning) be breathed by slaves. An English gen- 
 tleman who was strongly suspected of having run 
 away from a bank, with something in his posses- 
 sion belonging to its strong-box besides the key, 
 grew eloquent upon the subject of the rights of 
 man, and hummed the Marseillaise Hymn con- 
 stantly. In a word, one great sensation pervaded 
 the whole ship, and the soil of America lay close 
 before them :»so close at last, that, upon a certain 
 starlight night, they took a pilot on board, and 
 within a few hours afterwards lay to until the 
 morning, awaiting the arrival of a steam-boat in 
 which the passengers were to be conveyed 
 ashore. 
 
 Off she came, soon after it was light next 
 morning, and, lying alongside an hour or more — 
 during which period the very firemen were ob- 
 jects of hardly less interest and curiosity, than if 
 they had been so many angels, good or bad — 
 took all her living freight aboard. Among them, 
 Mark, who still had his friend and her three 
 children under his close protection ; and Mar- 
 tin, who had once more dressed himself in his 
 usual attire, but wore a soiled, old cloak abovo 
 his ordinary clothes, until such time as he should 
 separate for ever from his late companions. 
 
 The steamer — which, with its machinery on 
 deck, looked, as it worked its long slim legs, like 
 some enormously magnified insect or antediluvian 
 monster — dashed at a great speed up a beautiful 
 bay ; and presently they saw some heights, and 
 islands, and a long, flat, straggling city. 
 
 "And this," said Mr. Tapley, looking far 
 ahead, " is the Land of Liberty, is it ? Very well. 
 I 'm agreeable. Any land will do for me, after 
 so much water !" 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 
 
 105 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 M\RTIN DISEMBARKS FROM THAT NOBLE AND FAST-SAILING LINE OF 
 PACKET SHIP, TUB SQRfiW, AT THE PORT OF NE\V YORK, IN THE 
 UNITED STATUS OF AMERICA. HE MAKES 80|f£ ACQUAINTANCES, AND 
 DINES AT A BOARDING-HOUSE. THE PARTICULARS OF THOSE Tfi 
 
 ACTIONS. 
 
 Some trifling excitement prevailed upon the 
 very brink ninl margin of the land of liberty; for 
 on alderman had been elected the day before ; and 
 Party Feeling naturally running rather high on 
 such an exciting occasion, the friends of the dis- 
 appointed candidate had found it necessary to 
 iisM-rt the great principles of Purity of Election 
 and Freedom of Opinion by breaking a few legs 
 and arms, and furthermore pursuing one obnoxi- 
 ous gentleman through the streets with the design 
 ot" slitting his nose. These good-humoured little 
 outbursts of the popular fancy were not in them- 
 selves sufficiently remarkable to create any great 
 stir, after the lapse of a whole night ; but they 
 found fresh life and notoriety in the breath of the 
 news-boys, who not only proclaimed them with 
 shrill yells in all the highways and byeways of 
 the town, upon the wharves and among the ship- 
 ping but on the deck and down in the cabins of 
 the steam-boat ; which, before she touched the 
 shore, was boarded and overrun by a legion of 
 those young citizens. 
 
 "Here's this morning's New York Sewer!" 
 cried one. "Here's this morning's New York 
 Stabber ! Here 's the New York Family Spy ! 
 Here 's the New York Private Listener ! Here 's 
 the New York Peeper ! Here 's tho New York 
 Plunderer! Here's the New York Keyhole Re- 
 porter ! Here's the New York Rowdy Journal! 
 Here's all the New York papers! Here's full 
 particulars of the patriotic loco-foco movement 
 yesterday, in which the whigs was 60 chawed up; 
 and the last Alabama gouging case ; and the in- 
 teresting Arkansas doocl with Bowie knives; and 
 all the Political, Commercial, and Fashionable 
 News. Here they are ! Here they are! Here's 
 the papers, here's the papers!" 
 
 " Here's the Sewer !" cried another. " Here's 
 the New York Sewer ! Here's some of the twelfth 
 thousand of to-day's Sewer, with the best accounts 
 of the markets, and all the shipping news, and 
 <l>ur whole columns of country correspondence, 
 and a full account of the Ball at Mrs. White's last 
 night, where all the beauty and fashion of New 
 York was assembled, with the Sewer's own par- 
 ticulars of the private lives of all the ladies that 
 was tin ■ r ! Here's some of 
 
 the twelfth thousand of the New York Sewer ! 
 Here's the Sewer's exposure of the Wall Street 
 Gang, and the Sower's exposure of the Washing. 
 ig, and the Sewer's exclusive account of a 
 flagrant net of dishonesty committed by the Se- 
 cretary <>•' St.iti: whin he was eight years old; 
 now communi' sated, at a great expense, by his 
 own nurse. Il< n's the Sewor ! Here's the New 
 York Sewer, in its twelfth thousand, with I 
 whole column of New Yorkers to be shown up, 
 and nil their names printed ! Here's the Sewer's 
 article npon the Judge that tried hirn, day afore 
 vesterdav, for libel, and the Sewer's tribute to the 
 
 14 
 
 j independent Jury that didn't convict him, and ths 
 Sewer's account of what they might ha\ 
 if they had ! Here's the Sower, here's the - 
 Here's the wide-awake Sewer; always on the 
 look-out; the leading Journal of the United States, 
 now in its twelfth thousand, and still a printing 
 off:— Here's the New York Sewer !" 
 
 " It is in such enlightened means," said a 
 voice, almost in Martin's ear, " that the bubbling 
 passions of my country find a vent" 
 
 Martin turned involuntarily, and saw, standing 
 close at his side, a sallow gentleman, with sunken 
 cheeks, black hair, small twinkling eyes, and a 
 singular expression hovering about that region of 
 his face, which was not a frown, nor a leer, and 
 yet might have been mistaken at the first glance 
 for cither. Indeed it would have been difficult on 
 a much closer acquaintance, to describe it in any 
 more satisfactory terms than as a mixed expres- 
 sion of vulgar cunning and conceit. This gentle- 
 man wore a rather broad-brimmed hat for the 
 greater wisdom of his appearance ; and bad his 
 arms folded for the greater impressiveness of his 
 attitude. He was somewhat shabbily dressed in 
 a blue surtout reaching nearly to his ancles, short 
 loose trousers of the same colour, and a faded buff 
 waistcoat, through which a discoloured shirt-frih 
 struggled to force itself into notice, as asserting 
 an equality to civil rights with the other portions 
 of his dress, and maintaining a declaration of In- 
 dependence on its own account. His feet, which 
 were of unusually large proportions, were l 
 crossed before him as he half leaned against, half 
 sat upon, the steam-boat's side; and his thick 
 cane, shod with a mighty ferrule at one end and 
 armed with a great metal knob at the other, de- 
 pended from a line-and-tassel on his wrist. Thus 
 attired, and thus composed into an aspect of great 
 profundity, the gentleman twitched up the right- 
 hand corner of his mouth and his right eye, 
 simultaneously, and said, once more : 
 
 " It is in such enlightened means, that the 
 bubbling passions of my country find a vent." 
 
 As he looked at Martin, and nobody else was 
 by, Martin inclined his head, and said: 
 
 " You allude to—" 
 
 " To the Palladium of rational Liberty at horns, 
 sir, and the dread of Foreign oppression abro.id," 
 returned the gentleman, as he pointed with his, 
 cane to an uncommonly dirty news-boy .with one 
 eye. " To the Envy of tho world, sir, and the 
 leaders of Human Civilisation. Lit me a 
 sir," he added, bringing the ferrule of his stick 
 heavily upon the deck with the air of a man who 
 must not be equivocated with, " how do you like 
 my Country ?" 
 
 " I am hardly prepared to answer that question 
 yet," said Martin, " seeing that I have not been 
 ashore." 
 
 " Well, I should expect you were not urcpared 
 
106 
 
 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 ?ir," said the gentleman, " to behold such signs 
 of National Prosperity as those?" 
 
 He pointed to the vessels lying at the wharves; 
 and then gave a vague flourish with his stick, as 
 ,f he would include the air and water, generally, 
 in this remark. 
 
 "Really," said Martin, "I don't know. Yes. 
 I think 1 was." 
 
 The gentleman glanced at him with a knowing 
 look, and said he liked his policy. It was natu- 
 ral, he said, and it pleased him as a philosopher to 
 observe the prejudices of human nature. 
 
 " You have brought, I see, sir," he said, turn- 
 ing round towards Martin, and resting his chin 
 on the top of his stick, " the usual amount of 
 misery and poverty, and ignorance and crime, to 
 be located in the bosom of the Great Republic. 
 Well, sir ! let 'em come on in ship-loads from the 
 old country : when vessels are about to founder, 
 the rats are said to leave 'em. There is con- 
 siderable of truth, I find, in that remark." 
 
 " The old ship will keep afloat a year or two 
 longer yet, perhaps," said Martin with a smile, 
 partly occasioned by what the gentleman said, 
 and partly by his manner of saying it, which was 
 odd enough, for he emphasized all the small 
 words and syllables in his discourse, and left the 
 others to take care of themselves : as if he thought 
 the larger parts of speech could be trusted alone, 
 but the little ones required to be constantly looked 
 alter. 
 
 " Hope is said by the poet, sir," observed the 
 gentleman, " to be the nurse of Young Desire." 
 
 Martin signified that he had heard of the car- 
 dinal virtue in question serving occasionally in 
 that domestic capacity. 
 
 M She will not rear her infant in the present 
 instance, sir, you '11 find," observed the gentleman. 
 
 " Time will show," said Martin. 
 
 The gentleman nodded his head, gravely ; and 
 said " What is your name, sir ?" 
 
 Martin told him. 
 
 " How old are you, sir ?" 
 
 Martin told him. 
 
 " What 's your profession, sir ?" 
 
 Martin told him that, also. 
 
 " W r hat is your destination, sir?" inquired the 
 gentleman. 
 
 "Really," said Martin, laughing, "I can't 
 satisfy you in that particular, for I don't know it 
 myself." 
 
 " Yes ?" said the gentleman. 
 
 " No," said Martin. 
 
 The gentleman adjusted his cane under his left 
 arm, and took a more deliberate and complete 
 survey of Martin than he had yet had leisure to 
 make. When he had completed his inspection, 
 he put out his right hand, shook Martin's hand, 
 and said : 
 
 " My name is Colonel Diver, sir. I am the 
 Editor of the New York Rowdy Journal." 
 
 Martin received the communication with that 
 degree of respect which an announcement so dis- 
 tinguished appeared to demand. 
 
 " The New York Rowdy Journal, sir," resumed 
 the colonel, " is, as I expect you know, the organ 
 oi our aristocracy in this city." 
 
 " Oh ! there is an aristocracy here, then ?" said 
 Martin. " Of what is it composed ?" 
 
 " Of intelligence, sir," replied the colonel ; " of J 
 
 intelligence and virtue. And of their nscessary 
 consequence in this republic — dollars, sir," 
 
 Martin was very glad to hear this, feeling well 
 assured that if intelligence and virtue led, as a 
 matter of course, to the acquisition of dollars, he 
 would speedily become a great capitalist. He 
 was about to express the gratification such news 
 afforded him, when he Was interrupted by the 
 captain of the ship, who came up at the moment 
 to shake hands with the colonel ; and who, seeing 
 a well-dressed stranger on deck (for Martin had 
 thrown aside his cloak), shook hands with him 
 also. This was an unspeakable relief to Martin, 
 who, in spite of the acknowledged supremacy of 
 Intelligence and Virtue in that happy country, 
 would have been deeply mortified to- appear before 
 Colonel Diver in the poor character of a steerage 
 passenger. 
 
 " Well, cap'en !" said the colonel. 
 
 " Well, colonel !" cried the captain. " You 're 
 looking most uncommon bright, sir. I can hardly 
 realise its being you, and that 's a fact." 
 
 " A good passage, cap'en?" inquired the colonel, 
 taking him aside. 
 
 " Well now ! It was a pretty spanking run, 
 sir," said, or rather sung, the captain, who was a 
 genuine New Englander : " con-siderin' the 
 weather." 
 
 " Yes ?" said the colonel. 
 
 " Well ! It was, sir," said the captain. " I 've 
 just now sent a boy up to your office with the 
 passenger-list, colonel." 
 
 " You haven't got another boy to spare, p'raps, 
 cap'en ?" said the colonel, in a tone almost 
 amounting to severity. 
 
 " I guess there air a dozen if you want 'em, 
 colonel," said the captain. 
 
 "One moderate big 'un could convey a dozen 
 of champagne, perhaps" observed the colonel, 
 musing, " to my office. You said a spanking 
 run, I think ?" 
 
 "Well ! so I did," was the reply. 
 
 " It's very nigh, you know," observed the colo- 
 nel. " I 'in glad it was a spanking run, cap'en. 
 Don't mind about quarts, if you 're short of 'em. 
 The boy can as well bring four-and-twenty pints, 
 and travel twice as once. — A first-rate spanker, 
 cap'en, was it ? Yes ?" 
 
 " A most e — tarnal spanker," said the skipper. 
 
 " I admire at your good fortune, cap'en. You 
 might loan me a cork-screw at the same time, and 
 half-a-dozen glasses, if you liked. However bad 
 the elements combine against my country's noble 
 packet-ship the Screw, sir," said the colonel, turn- 
 ing to Martin, and drawing a flourish on the sur- 
 face of the deck with his cane, "her passage 
 either way, is almost certain to eventuate d 
 spanker !" 
 
 The captain, who had the Sewer below at that 
 moment, lunching expensively in one cabin, while 
 the amiable Stabber was drinking himself into a 
 state of blind madness in another, took a cordial 
 leave of his friend and captain the colonel, and 
 hurried away to despatch the champagne: well- 
 knowing (us it afterwards appeared) that if ho 
 failed to conciliate the editor of the Rowdy Jour- 
 nal, that potentate would denounce him and his 
 ship in large capitals before he was- a day older , 
 and would probably assault the memory of his 
 mother also, who had not been dead more than 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 
 
 107 
 
 twenty years. The colonel being; again left alone 
 with Martin, checked htm as he 1 was moving 
 :nl offered, in consideration of his being 
 ■'ishinan, to show htm the town, and to 
 introduce him, if such were his desire, to a gen- 
 tee! boarding-house. But before they enter- d on 
 these preoa dings (he said), he would beseech tin- 
 honour of his company at the office of the Rowdy 
 Journal, to partake of a bottle of champagne of 
 his own importation. 
 
 All this was so extremely kind and hospitable, 
 I rtin, though it was quite early in the 
 morning, readily acquiesced. So, instructing 
 M irk, who was deeply engaged with his friend 
 and her three children, — when he had done assist- 
 ing them, and had cleared the baggage, to wait 
 for further orders at the Rowdy Journal Office, — 
 he accompanied his new friend on shore. 
 
 They made their way as they best could through 
 the melahcholy crowd of emigrants upon the wharf 
 — who, grouped about their beds and boxes with 
 the bare ground below them and the bare sky 
 above, might have fallen from another planet, for 
 anything they knew of the country — and walked 
 for some short distance along a busy street, 
 hounded on one side by the quays and shipping; 
 and on the other by a long row of staring red- 
 brick storehouses and offices, ornamented with 
 more black boards and white letters, and more 
 white boards and black letters, than Martin had 
 ever seen before, in fifty times the space. Pre- 
 sently they turned up a narrow street, and pre- 
 sently into other narrow streets, until at last they 
 stopped before a house whereon was painted in 
 great characters, "Rowdy Jour-nat,." 
 
 The colonel, who had walked the whole way 
 with one hand in his breast, his head occasionally 
 wagging from side to side, and his hat thrown 
 back upon his ears — like a man who was op- 
 pressed to inconvenience by a sense of his own 
 greatness — led the way up a dark and dirty flight 
 of stairs into a room of similar character, all lit- 
 tered and bestrewn with odds and ends of news, 
 papers and other crumpled fragments, both in 
 proof and manuscript. Behind a mangy old 
 writing table in this apartment, sat a figure with 
 the stump of a pen in its mouth and a great pair 
 of scissors in its right hand, clipping and slicing 
 at a file of Rowdy Journals ; and it was such a 
 laughable figure that Martin had some difficulty 
 in preserving |]j s gravity, though conscious of the 
 close observation of Colonel Diver. 
 
 The individual who sat clipping and slicing as 
 aforesaid at the Rowdy Journals, was a small 
 young gentleman of very juvenile appearance, and 
 unwhole oiiiclv pale in the face; pirtly, perhaps, 
 from intense thought, but partly, there is no doubt, 
 from the excessive use of tobacco, which he was 
 at that moment chewing vigorously. Fie wore 
 his shirt-collar turned down over a black ribbon, 
 and his lank hair — a fragile emp — was not only 
 smoothed and parted back from his brow, that 
 none of the Poetry of his aspect mi^ht be lost, 
 but had here and there been grubbed up by the 
 roots ; which accounted for his loftiest develop- 
 ments being somewhat pimply. He had that 
 urder of nose on which the envy of mankind has 
 bestowed the appellation "snub," and it was very 
 much turned up at the end, as with a lofty scorn. 
 L'uon the upper lip of this young gentleman, were 
 
 tokens of a sandy down — so very, vcr? smooth 
 and scant, that though encouraged to the utmost* 
 it looked more like a recent trace of gingerbread, 
 than the fair promise of a moustache; and this 
 conjecture, his apparently tender age went far to 
 strengthen. He was intent upon his work ; and 
 every time he snapped the great pair of scissors, 
 he made a corresponding motion with his jaws, 
 which gave him a very terrible appearance. 
 
 Martin was not long in determining within 
 hiin-elf that this must bo Colonel Diver's son; 
 the hope of the family, and future mainspring of 
 the Rowdy Journal. Indeed he had begun trt say 
 that he presumed this was the colonel's little boy, 
 and that it was very pleasant to see him playing 
 at Editor in all the gntlclessness of childhood, 
 when the colonel proudly interposed, and said: 
 
 "My War Correspondent, sir — Mr. Jefferson 
 Brick !" 
 
 Martin could not help starting at this unex- 
 pected announcement, and the consciousness of 
 the irretrievable mistake he had nearly made. 
 
 Mr. Brick seemed pleased with tl»e sensation 
 he produced upon the stranger, and shook hands 
 with him with an air of patronage designed to 
 reassure him, and to let him know that there was 
 no occasion to be frightened, for he (Brick) 
 wouldn't hurt him. 
 
 " You have heard of Jefferson Brick I see, air," 
 quoth the colonel, with a smile. " England has 
 heard of Jefferson Brick. Europe has heard of 
 Jefferson Brick. Let me see. When did you 
 leave England, sir ?" 
 
 " Five weeks ago," said Martin. • 
 
 " Five weeks ago," repeated the colonel, thought- 
 fully ; as he took his seat upon the table, and 
 swung his legs. " Now let me ask you, sir, which 
 of Mr. Brick's articles had become at that time 
 the most obnoxious to the British'Parliament and 
 the court of Saint James's?" 
 
 " Upon my word," said Martin, " I—" 
 
 " I have reason to know, sir," interrupted the 
 colonel, "that the aristocratic circles of your 
 country quail before the name of Jefferson Brick. 
 I should like to be informed, sir, from your lips, 
 which of his sentiments has struck the deadliest 
 blow—" 
 
 " — At the hundred heads of the Hydra of Cor- 
 ruption now grovelling in the dust beneath the 
 lance of Reason, and spouting up to the universal 
 arch above us, its sanguinary gore," said Mr. 
 Brick, putting on a blue cloth cap with a glazed 
 front, and quoting his last article. 
 
 "The libation of freedom, Brick" — hinted the 
 colonel. 
 
 « — MmA sometimes be quaffed in blood, colo- 
 nel," cried Brick. And when he said * blood,' 
 he gave the great pair of scissors a sharp snap, as 
 if they said blood too, and were quite of his opin- 
 ion. 
 
 This done they both looked at Martin, pausing 
 for a reply. 
 
 " Upon my life," said Martin, who hid by this 
 time quite recovered his usual co o l n e w, " I can't 
 give you any satisfactory information about it ; 
 for the truth is that I—" 
 
 " Stop !" cried the colonel, glancing sternly at 
 his war correspondent, and giving his head on»J 
 shake after every sentence. "That yon never 
 heard of Jefferson Brick, sir. That you never 
 
108 
 
 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 read Jefferson Brick, sir. That you never saw I 
 the Rowdy Journal, sir. That you never knew, 
 sir, of its mighty influence upon the cahinets of 
 Europe — Yes?" 
 
 " That's what I was about to observe, certain- 
 ly," said Martin. 
 
 " Keep cool, Jefferson," said the colonel gravely. 
 " Don't bust ! oh you Europeans ! Arter that, 
 let's have a glass of wine !" So saying, he got 
 down from the table, and produced from a basket 
 outside the door, a bottle of champagne, and three 
 glasses. 
 
 " Mr. Jefferson Brick, sir," said the colonel, fill- 
 ing Martin's glass and his own, and pushing the 
 bottle to that gentleman, " will give us a senti- 
 ment." 
 
 " Well, sir !" cried the war correspondent, u since 
 you have concluded to call upon me, I will re- 
 spond. I will give you, sir, The Rowdy Journal 
 and its bretheren ; the well of Truth, whose wa- 
 ters are black from being composed of printers' 
 ink, but are quite clear enough for my country to 
 behold the shadow of her Destiny reflected in." 
 
 " Hear, hear !" cried the colonel, with great 
 complacency. "There are flowery components, 
 sir, in the language of my friend ?" 
 
 " Very much so, indeed," said Martin. 
 
 " There is to-day's Rowdy, sir," observed the 
 eolonel, handing him a paper. " You '11 find Jef- 
 ferson Brick at his usual post in the van of hu- 
 man civilisation and moral purity." 
 
 The colonel was by this time seated on the table 
 again. Mr. Brick also took up a position on that 
 same piece of furniture ; and they fell to drinking 
 pretty hard. They often looked at Martin as he 
 read the paper, and then at each other ; and when 
 he laid it down, which was not until they had fin- 
 ished a second bottle, the colonel asked him what 
 he thought of it* 
 
 " Why, it 's horribly personal," said Martin. 
 
 The colonel seemed much flattered by this re- 
 mark ; and said he hoped it was. 
 
 " We are independent here, sir," said Mr. Jef- 
 ferson Brick. " We do as we like." 
 
 " If I may judge from this specimen," returned 
 Martin, " there must be a few thousands here ra- 
 ther the reverse of independent, who do as they 
 don't like. 
 
 " Well ! They yield to the mighty mind of the 
 Popular Instructor, sir," said the colonel. " They 
 rile up, sometimes ; but in general we have a hold 
 upon our citizens, both in public and in private 
 life, which is as much one of the ennobling insti- 
 lutions of our happy country as — " 
 
 " As nigger slavery itself," suggested Mr. Brick. 
 
 " En — tirely so," remarked the colonel. 
 
 " Pray," said Martin, after some hesitation, 
 " may I venture to ask, with reference to a case I 
 observe in this paper of yours, whether the Popu- 
 lar Instructor often deals in — I am at a loss to ex- 
 press it without giving you offence — in forgery ? 
 In forged letters, for instance," he pursued, for 
 the colonel was perfectly calm and quite at his 
 ease, "solemniy purporting to have been written 
 at recent periods by living men ?" 
 
 " Weli, sir !" replied the colonel. " It does, 
 now and then." 
 
 "And the popular instructed — what do they 
 do?" asked Martin. 
 
 ••' Buy 'em :" said the colonel. 
 
 Mr. Jefferson Brick expectorated and laughed 
 the former copiously, the latter approvingly. 
 
 "Buy 'em by hundreds of thousands," resumed 
 the colonel. " We are a smart people here, and 
 can appreciate smartness." 
 
 " Is smartness American for forgery ?" asked 
 Martin. 
 
 " Well !" said the colonel, " I expect it 's Ame- 
 rican for a good many things that you call by 
 other names. But you can't help yourselves in 
 Europe. We can." 
 
 " And do, sometimes," thought Martin. " You 
 help yourselves with very little ceremony, too I" 
 
 "At all events, whatever name we choose to 
 employ," said the colonel, stooping down to roll 
 the third empty bottle into a corner after the other 
 two, " I suppose the art of forgery was not in- 
 vented here, sir ?" 
 
 " I suppose not," replied Martin. 
 
 "Nor any other kind of smartness, I reckon ?" 
 
 u Invented ! No, I presume not." 
 
 " Well !" said the colonel ; " then we got it all 
 from the old country, and the old country 's to 
 blame for it, and not the new 'un. There's an 
 end of tJiat. Now if Mr. Jefferson Brick and you 
 will be so good as clear, I '11 come out last, and 
 lock the door." 
 
 Rightly interpreting this as the signal for their 
 departure, Martin walked down stairs after the 
 war correspondent, who preceded him with great 
 majesty. The colonel following, they left the 
 Rowdy Journal Office and walked forth into the 
 streets : Martin feeling doubtful whether he ought 
 to kick the colonel for having presumed to speak 
 to him, or whether it came within the bounds of 
 possibility that he and his establishment could be 
 among the boasted usages of that regenerated land. 
 
 It was clear that Colonel Diver, in the security 
 of his strong position, and in his perfect under- 
 standing of the public sentiment, cared very little 
 what Martin or anybody else thought about him. 
 His high-spiced wares were made to sell, and they 
 sold ; and his thousands of readers could as ra- 
 tionally charge their delight in filth upon him, as 
 a glutton can shift upon his cook the responsibi- 
 lity of his beastly excess. Nothing would have 
 delighted the colonel more than to be told that no 
 such man as he could walk in high success the 
 streets of any other country in the world : for that 
 would only have been a logical assurance to him 
 of the correct adaptation of his labours to the 
 prevailing taste, and of his being strictly and pe- 
 culiarly a national feature of America. 
 
 They walked a mile or more along a handsome 
 street which the colonel said was culled Broadway, 
 and which Mr. Jefferson Brick said " whipped the 
 universe." Turning, at length, into one of the 
 numerous streets which branched from this main 
 thoroughfare, they stopped before a rather mean- 
 looking house with jalousie blinds to every win 
 dow ; a flight of steps before the green street-door ; 
 a shining white ornament on the rails on either 
 side like a petrified pine-apple, polished ; a little 
 oblong plate of the same material over the knocker, 
 whereon the name of "Pawkins" was engraved; 
 and four accidental pigs looking down the area. 
 
 The- colonel knocked at this house with the air 
 of a man who livea there ; and an Irish girl pop- 
 ped her head out of one of the top windows to see 
 who it was. Pending her journey down stairs 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 
 
 109 
 
 the pigs were joined by two or three friends from 
 the next street, in company with whom they lay 
 down sociably in the gutter. 
 
 M Is the major in-doors ?" inquired the colonel, 
 as he entered. 
 
 44 Is it the master, sir W returned the girl, with 
 a hesitation which seemed to imply that they 
 were rather flush of majors in that establish- 
 ment 
 
 44 The master !" said colonel Diver, stopping 
 short and looking round at his war correspon- 
 dent 
 
 44 Oh ! The depressing institutions of that Bri- 
 tish empire, colonel !" said Jefferson Brick. 
 " .Master !" 
 
 M What's the matter with the word?" asked 
 Martin. 
 
 44 1 should hope it was never heard in our coun- 
 try, sir : that 's all," said Jefferson Brick : * 4 ex- 
 cept when it is used by some degraded Help, as 
 new to the blessings of our form of government, 
 as this Help is. There are no masters here." 
 
 44 All 4 owners,' are they ?" said Martin. 
 
 Mr. Jefferson Brick followed in the Rowdy 
 Journal's footsteps without returning any answer. 
 Martin took the same course, thinking as he went, 
 that perhaps the free and independent citizens, 
 who in their moral elevation, owned the colonel 
 for their master, might render belter homage to 
 the goddess, Liberty, in nightly dreams upon the 
 oven of a Russian Serf. 
 
 The colonel led the way into a room at the back 
 of the house upon the ground-floor, light, and of 
 fair dimensions, but exquisitely uncomfortable : 
 having nothing in it but the four cold white walls 
 and ceiling, a mean carpet, a dreary waste of 
 dining-table reaching from end to end, and a be- 
 wildering collection of cane-bottomed chairs. In 
 the further region of this banqueting-hall was a 
 stove, garnished on either side with a great brass 
 spittoon, and shaped in itself like three little iron 
 barrels set up on end in a fender, and joined to- 
 gether on the principle of the Siamese Twins. 
 Before it, swinging himself in a rocking-chair, 
 lounged a large gentleman with his hat on, who 
 amused himself by spitting alternately into the 
 spittoon on the right hand the stove, and the spit- 
 toon on the left, and then working his way back 
 again in the same order. A negro lad in a soiled 
 white jacket was busily engaged in placing on 
 the table two long rows of knives and forks, re- 
 lieved at intervals by jugs of water ; and as he 
 travelled down one side of this festive board, he 
 straightened with his dirty hands the dirtier cloth, 
 which was all askew, and had not been removed 
 since breakfast The atmosphere of this room 
 was rendered intensely hot and stifling by the 
 stove; but being further flavoured by a sickly 
 gush of soup from the kitchen, and by such re- 
 mote suggestions of tobacco as lingered within 
 the brazen receptacles already mentioned, it be- 
 came, to a stranger's senses, almost insupport- 
 able. 
 
 The gentleman in the rocking-chair having his 
 back towards them, and being much engaged in 
 his intellectual pastime, was not aware of their 
 approach until the colonel walking up to the stove, 
 contributed his mite towards the support of the 
 left-hand spittoon, just as the major — for it was 
 the major — bore down upon it. Major Pawkins 
 
 then reserved his fire, and looking upward, said, 
 with a peculiar air of quiet weariness, like a man 
 who had been up all Mgfcfl — an air which Martin 
 had already observed both in the colonel and Mr 
 Jefferson Brick — 
 
 44 Well, colonel !" 
 II e is a gentleman from England, major," 
 the colonel replied, M who has concluded to locate 
 himself here if the amount of compensation suits 
 bim." 
 
 44 1 am glad to see you, sir," observed the major, 
 shaking hands with Martin, and not moving a 
 muscle of his face. ** You are pretty bright I 
 hope ?" 
 
 44 Never better," said Martin. 
 
 44 You are never likely to be," returned the 
 major. " You will see the sun shine here" 
 
 44 1 think I remember to have seen it shine at 
 home, sometimes," said Martin, smiling. 
 
 44 1 think not," replied the major. He Mid so 
 with a stoical indifference certainly, but still in a 
 tone of firmness which admitted of no further dis- 
 pute on that point. When he had thus settled the 
 question, he put his hat a little on one side for the 
 greater convenience of scratching his head, and 
 saluted Mr. Jefferson Brick with a lazy nod. 
 
 Major Pawkins (a gentleman of Pennsylvania^ 
 origin) was distinguished by a very large skull, 
 and a great mass of yellow forehead ; in deference 
 to which commodities, it was currently held in 
 bar-rooms and other such places of resort, that the 
 major was a man of huge sagacity. He was f ir- 
 ther to be known by a heavy eye and a dull slow 
 manner; and for being a man of that kind who— 
 mentally speaking — requires a deal of room to 
 turn himself in. But in trading on his stock of 
 wisdom, he invariably proceeded on the principle 
 of putting all the goods ho had (and more) into 
 his window ; and that went a great way with his 
 constituency of admirers. It went a great way 
 perhaps, with Mr. Jefferson Brick, who took oc- 
 casion to whisper in Martin's ear : 
 
 44 One of the most remarkable men in our coun- 
 try, sir !" 
 
 It must not be supposed, however, that the per- 
 petual exhibition in the marketplace of all his 
 stock in trade for sale or hire, was the major's 
 sole claim to a very large share of sympathy and 
 support. He was a great politician ; and the one 
 article of his creed, in reference to all public obli- 
 gations involving the good faith and integrity of 
 his country, was, 44 run a moist pen slick through 
 everything, and start fresh." This made him a 
 patriot. In commercial affairs he was a bold spe- 
 culator. In plainer words he hnd a most distin 
 guished genius for swindling, and could start a 
 bank, or negociate a loan, or form a land-jobbing 
 company (entailing ruin, |>estilen' se, and death, on 
 hundreds of families), with any gifted creature in 
 the Union. This made him an admirable man 
 of business. He could hang about a bar-room, 
 discussing the affairs of the nation, for twelve 
 hours together ; and in that time could hob! forth 
 with more intolerable dulness, chew moro tobacco, 
 smoke more tobacco, drink more rum-toddy, mint 
 julep, gin-sling, and cocktail, than any private 
 gentleman of his acquaintance. Thki made him 
 an orator and a man of the people. In a word, 
 the major was a rising character and a popular 
 character, and was in a fair way to be sent bv :!»«» 
 
110 
 
 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 popular party to the State House of New York, 
 if not in the end to Washington itself. But as a 
 man's private prosperity does not always keep 
 pace with his patriotic devotion to public affairs; 
 and as fraudulent transactions have their downs 
 as well as ups ; the major was occasionally under 
 a cloud. Hence, just now, Mrs. Pawkins kept 
 a boarding-house, and Major Pawkins rather 
 "loafed'" his time away, than otherwise. 
 
 " You have come to visit our country, sir, at a 
 season of great commercial depression," said the 
 major. 
 
 "At. an alarming crisis," said the colonel. 
 
 " At a period of unprecedented stagnation," 
 said Mr. Jefferson Brick. 
 
 M I am sorry to hear that," returned Martin. 
 " It's not likely to last, I hope?" 
 
 Martin knew nothing about America, or he 
 would have known perfectly w*ell that if its in- 
 dividual citizens, to a man, are to be believed, it 
 always is depressed, and always is stagnated, and 
 always is at an alarming crisis, and never was 
 otherwise ; though as a body they are ready to 
 make oath upon the Evangelists at any hour of 
 the day or night, that it is the most thriving and 
 prosperous of all countries on the habitable globe. 
 
 " It 's not likely to last, I hope?" said Martin. 
 
 " Well !" returned the major, " I expect we 
 shall get along somehow, and come right in the 
 3 nd." • 
 
 " We are an elastic country," said the Rowdy 
 Journal. 
 
 " We are a young lion," said Mr. Jefferson 
 Brick. 
 
 " We have revivifying and vigorous principles 
 within ourselves," observed the major. " Shall 
 we drink a bitter afore dinner, colonel ?" 
 
 The colonel assenting to this proposal with 
 great alacrity, Major Pawkins proposed an ad- 
 journment to a neighbouring bar-room, which, 
 as he observed, was " only in the next block." 
 He then referred Martin to Mrs. Pawkins for all 
 particulars connected with the rate of board and 
 lodging, and informed him that he would have 
 the pleasure of seeing that lady at dinner, which 
 would soon be ready, as the dinner hour was two 
 o'clock, and it only wanted a quarter now. This 
 reminded him that if the bitter were to be taken 
 at all, there was no time to lose ; so he walked 
 off without more ado, and left them to follow if 
 they thought proper. 
 
 When the major rose from his rocking-chair 
 before the stove and so disturbed the hot air and 
 balmy whiff of soup which fanned their brows, 
 the odour of stale tobacco became so decidedly 
 prevalent as to leave no doubt of its proceeding 
 mainly from that gentleman's attire. Indeed as 
 Martin walked behind him to the bar-room, he 
 could not help thinking that the great square 
 major, in his listlessness and languor, looked 
 very much like a stale weed himself, such as 
 might be hoed out of the public garden with 
 great advantage to the decent growth of that 
 preserve, and tossed on some congenial dunghill. 
 
 They encountered more weeds in the bar-room, 
 fcome of whom (being thirsty souls as well as 
 airty) were pretty stale in one sense, and pretty 
 fresh in another. Among them was a gentle- 
 man, who, as Martin gathered from the conversa- 
 tion that took place over the bitter, started that 
 
 afternoon for the Far West on a six months' 
 business tour; and who, as his outfit and equip- 
 ment for this journey, had just such another shiny 
 hat and just such another little pale valise, as had 
 composed the luggage of the gentleman who 
 came from England in the Screw. 
 
 They were walking back very leisurely ; Mar- 
 tin arm-in-arm with Mr. Jefferson Brick, and the 
 major and the colonel slde-by-side before them ; 
 when, as they came within a house or two of the 
 major's residence, they heard a bell ringing vio 
 lently. The instant this sound struck upon their 
 ears, the colonel and the major darted off, dashed 
 up the steps and in at the street-door (which stood 
 ajar) like lunatics ; while Mr. Jefferson Brick, 
 detaching his arm from Martin's, made a precipi- 
 tate dive in the same direction, and vanished 
 also. 
 
 " Good Heaven !" thought Martin, " the pre- 
 mises are on fire ! It was an alarm-bell !" 
 
 But there was no smoke to be seen, nor any 
 flame, nor was there any smell of fire. As Mar- 
 tin faltered on the pavement, three more gentle- 
 men, with horror and agitation depicted in their 
 faces, came plunging wildly round the street 
 corner ; jostled each other on the steps ; struggled 
 for an instant ; and rushed into the house in a 
 confused heap of arms and legs. Unable to bear 
 it any longer, Martin followed. Even in his 
 rapid progress, he was run down, thrust aside, 
 and passed, by two more gentlemen, stark mad. 
 as it appeared, with fierce excitement. 
 
 " Where is it ?" cried Martin, breathlessly, to 
 a negro whom he encountered in the passage. 
 
 " In a eatin-room sa. 'Kernel sa, him kept a 
 seat 'side himself sa." 
 
 " A seat !" cried Martin. 
 
 " For a dinnar sa." 
 
 Martin stared at him for a moment, and burst 
 into a hearty laugh ; to which the negro, out of 
 his natural good humour and desire to please, so 
 heartily responded, that his teeth shone like a 
 gleam of light. " You 're the pleasantest fellow 
 I have seen yet," said Martin, clapping him on 
 the back, " and give me a better appetite than 
 bitters." 
 
 With this sentiment he walked into the dining- 
 room and slipped into a chair next the colonel, 
 which that gentleman (by this time nearly 
 through his dinner) had turned down, in reserve 
 for him, with its back against the table. 
 
 It was a numerous company — eighteen or 
 twenty, perhaps. Of these, some five or six were 
 ladies, who sat wedged together in a little pha- 
 lanx by themselves. All the knives and forks 
 were working away at a rate that was quite 
 alarming ; very few words were spoken; and 
 everybody seemed to eat his utmost in self-defence, 
 as if a famine were expected to set in before 
 breakfast time to-morrow morning, and it had 
 become high time to assert the first law of nature. 
 The poultry, which may perhaps be considered 
 to have formed the staple of the entertainment — 
 for there was a turkey at the top, a pair of ducks 
 at the bottom, and two fowls in the middle — dis- 
 appeared as rapidly as if every bird had had the 
 use of its wings, and had flown in desperation 
 down a human throat. The oysters, stewed and 
 pickled, leaped from their capacious reservoir* 
 and slid by scores into the mouths of the assem 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 
 
 Ill 
 
 bly. Tho sharpest pickles vanished; whole 
 
 cucumbers at once, like sugar-plumbs ; and no 
 
 nked his *vc Greet li.Tips <>t* indlgeeti- 
 
 Iter melted away as ice before tho sun. It 
 
 was a solemn and an awful thing to see. Dys- 
 
 individuals bolted their food in v. ■ 
 feeding, not themselves, but broods of nightmares, 
 who \vi re continually standing ■! livery within 
 tliem. Spire men, with lank and rigid checks, 
 came out im-.iti.sfied from the destruction of heavy 
 dishes, and flared with watchful eyes upon the 
 pftsiry. What Mrs. Pawkins felt each day at 
 dinner-time is hidden from all human knowledge. 
 Hut she had one comfort. It was very soon over. 
 
 When the colonel had finished his dinner, which 
 event took place while Martin, who had sent his 
 plate, for some turkey, was waiting to begin, he 
 asked him what he thought of the boarders, who 
 were from all parts of the Union, and whether he 
 would like to know any particulars concerning 
 them. 
 
 " Pray," said Martin, " who is that sickly little 
 girl opposite, with the tight round eyes ? I don't 
 sec any body here, who looks like her mother, or 
 who seems to have charge of her." 
 
 " Do you mean the matron in blue, sir ?" asked 
 the colonel, with emphasis. "That is Mrs. Jef- 
 ferson Brick, sir." 
 
 " No, no," said Martin, " I mean the little girl, 
 like a doll — directly opposite." 
 
 " Well, sir !" cried the colonel. "That is Mrs. 
 Jefferson Brick." 
 
 Martin glanced at the colonel's face, but he was 
 quite serious. 
 
 " Bless my soul ! I suppose there will be a young 
 Brick then, one of these days?" said Martin. 
 
 "There are two young Bricks already, sir," 
 returned the colonel. 
 
 The matron looked so uncommonly like a child 
 herself, that Martin could not help saying as 
 much. " Yes, sir," returned the colonel, " but 
 some institutions develop human natur : others 
 retard it." 
 
 " Jefferson Brick," he observed, after a short 
 silence, in commendation of his correspondent, 
 " is one of the most remarkable men in our 
 country, sir." 
 
 This had passed almost in a whisper, for the 
 distinguished gentleman alluded to, sat on Mar- 
 tin's other hand. 
 
 u Pray Mr. Brick," said Martin, turning to him, 
 and asking a question more for conversation's 
 sake than from any feeling of interest in its sub- 
 
 i'ect, " who is that" he was going to say " young" 
 at thought it prudent to eschew the word — " that 
 very short gentleman yonder, with the red nose ?" 
 
 " That is Pro — feasor Mullet, sir," replied Jef- 
 ferson. 
 
 " .May I ask what he is Professor of?" asked 
 Martin. 
 
 "Of education, sir," said Jefferson Brick. 
 
 " A sort of schoolmaster, possibly ?" Martin 
 ventured to observe. 
 
 • I h is a man of fine moral elements, sir, and 
 not commonly endowed," said the war corres- 
 pondent. " He felt it necessary, at the last elec- 
 ; President, to repudiate and denounce his 
 father, who voted on the wront: mt.n -t. He has 
 since written some powerful pamphlets, under the 
 ngnature of ' Suturb,' or Brutus reversed. He is 
 
 one of the most remarkable men in our country, 
 sir." 
 
 " Thero seem to be plenty of 'em," thought 
 Martin, " at any rate." 
 
 Pursuing his inquiries, Martin found that there 
 > fewer than four majors present, two 
 colonels, one general and a captain, so that lie 
 could not help thinking how strongly offieeped 
 the American militia must be; and wondering 
 very much whether the officers commanded each 
 other; or if they did not, where on earth the pri- 
 vates came from. There seemed to be no man 
 there without a title : for those who had not 
 attuincd to military honours were either doctors, 
 professors, or reverends. Three very hard and 
 disagreeable gentlemen were on missions from 
 neighbouring States ; one on monetary affairs, 
 one on political, one on sectarian. Among the 
 ladies, there were Mrs. Pawkins, who was very 
 straight, bony, and silent; and a wiry-faced oki 
 damsel, who held strong sentiments touching the 
 rights of women, aiid had diffused the same in 
 lectures ; but the rest were strangely devoid of 
 individual traits of character, insomuch that any 
 one of them might have changed minds with the 
 other, and nobody would have found it out. These, 
 by the way, were the only members of the party 
 who did not appear to be among the most remark, 
 able people in the country. " 
 
 Several of the gentlemen got up, one by one, 
 and walked off as they swallowed their last mor- 
 sel ; pausing generally by the stove for a minute 
 or so to refresh themselves at the brass spittoons. 
 A few sedentary characters, however, remained 
 at the table full a quarter of an hour, and did not 
 rise until the ladies rose, when all stood up. 
 
 " Where are they going ?" asked Martin, in the 
 ear of Mr. Jefferson Brick. 
 
 " To their bed-rooms, sir." 
 
 " Is there no dessert, or other interval of conver- 
 sation ?" asked Martin, who was disposed to en- 
 joy himself after his long voyage. 
 
 " We are a busy people here, sir, and have no 
 time for that," was the reply. 
 
 So the ladies passed out in single file, Mr. 
 Jefferson Brick and such other married gentle- 
 men as were left, acknowledging the departure ot 
 their other halves by a nod ; and tliere was an 
 end of them. Martin thought this an uncomforta- 
 ble custom, but he kept his opinion to himself for 
 the present, being anxious to hear, and inform 
 himself by the conversation of the busy gentle, 
 men, who now lounged about the stove as if a 
 great weight had been taken off their minds by 
 the withdrawal of the other sex ; and who made 
 a plentiful use of the spittoons and their tooth 
 picks. 
 
 It was rather barren of interest, to say the 
 truth ; and the greater part of it may be summed 
 up in one word — dollars. All their cares, hopes, 
 joys, affections, virtues, and associations, seemed 
 to be melted down into dollars. Whatever the 
 chance contributions that fell into the slow caul 
 dron of their talk, they made the gruel thick and 
 slab with dollars. Men were weighed by theii 
 dollars, measures gauged by their dollars ; lift 
 was auctioneered, appraised, put up, and knocked 
 down for its dollars. The next respectable thing 
 to dollars was any venture having their attain- 
 ment for its end. The more of that worthless 
 
112 
 
 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 ballast, honour and fair-dealing, which any man 
 cast overboard from the ship of his Good Name 
 and Good Intent, the more ample stowage-room 
 he had for dollars. Make commerce one huge 
 lie and mighty theft. Deface the banner of the 
 nation for an idle rag ; pollute it star by star ; and 
 cut out stripe by stripe as from the arm of a de- 
 graded soldier. Do anything for dollars ! What 
 is a flag to them ! 
 
 One who rides at all hazards of limb and life in 
 the chase of a fox, will prefer to ride recklessly at 
 most times. So it was with these gentlemen. 
 He was the greatest patriot, in their eyes, who 
 brawled the loudest, and who cared the least for 
 decenoy. He was their champion, who in the 
 brutal fury of his own pursuit, could cast no stig- 
 ma upon them, for the hot knavery of theirs. 
 Thus, Martin learned in the five minutes' strag- 
 gling talk about the stove, that to carry pistols 
 into legislative assemblies, and swords in sticks, 
 and other such peaceful toys ; to seize opponents 
 by the throat, as dogs or rats might do ; to bluster, 
 bully, and overbear by personal assailment ; were 
 glowing deeds. Not thrusts and stabs at Free- 
 dom, striking far deeper into her House of Life 
 than any sultan's scimetar could reach; but rare 
 incense on her altars, having a grateful scent in 
 patriotic nostrils, and curling upward to the se- 
 venth heaven of Fame. 
 
 Once or twice, when there was a pause, Martin 
 asked such questions as naturally occurred to 
 him, being a stranger, about the national poets, 
 the theatre, literature, and the arts. But the 
 information which these gentlemen w 7 ere in a 
 condition to give him on such topics, did not 
 extend beyond the effusions of such master-spirits 
 of the time, as Colonel Diver, Mr. Jefferson Brick, 
 and others ; renowned, as it appeared, for excel- 
 lence in the achievement of a peculiar style of 
 broadside-essay called " a screamer." 
 
 " We are a busy people, sir," said one of the 
 captains, who was from the West, " and have no 
 time for reading mere notions. We don't mind 
 'em if they come to us in newspapers along with 
 almighty strong stuff of another sort, but darn 
 your books." 
 
 Here the general, who appeared to quite grow 
 faint at the bare thought of reading anything 
 which was neither mercantile nor political, and 
 was not in a newspaper, inquired "if any gentle- 
 man would drink some ?" Most of the company, 
 considering this a very choice and seasonable idea, 
 lounged out one by one to the bar-room in the 
 next block. Thence they probably went to their 
 stores and counting-houses ; thence to the bar- 
 room again, to talk once more of dollars, and 
 enlarge their minds with the perusal and discus- 
 sion of screamers ; and thence each man to snore 
 in the bosom of his own family. 
 
 " Which would seem," said Martin, pursuing 
 the current of his own thoughts, "to be the prin- 
 cipal recreation they enjoy in common." With 
 that, he fell a-musing again on dollars, dema- 
 gogues, and bar-rooms ; debating within himself 
 whether busy people of this class were really as 
 busy as they claimed to be, or only had an inap- 
 titude for social and domestic pleasure. 
 
 It was a difficult question to solve ; and the 
 mere fact of its being strongly presented to his 
 mind by all that he had seen and heard, was not 
 
 I encouraging. He sat down at the deserted board 
 and becoming more and more despondent, as he 
 thought of all the uncertainties and difficulties of 
 his precarious situation, sighed heavily. 
 
 Now, there had been at the dinner-table a mid- 
 die-aged man with a dark eye and a sunburnt 
 face, who had attracted Martin's attention by 
 having something very engaging and honest in 
 the expression of his features ; but of whom he 
 could learn nothing from either of his neighbours, 
 who seemed to consider him quite beneath their 
 notice. He had taken no part in the conversation 
 round the stove, nor had he gone forth with the 
 rest; and now, when he heard Martin sigh for 
 the third or fourth time, he interposed with some 
 casual remark, as if he desired, without obtrud- 
 ing himself upon a stranger's notice, to engage 
 him in cheerful conversation if he could. His 
 motive was so obvious, and yet so delicately ex- 
 pressed, that Martin felt really grateful to him, 
 and showed him so, in the manner of his reply. 
 
 " I will not ask you," said this gentleman 
 with a smile, as he rose and moved towards him, 
 "how you like my country, for I can quite antici- 
 pate your real feeling on that point. But, as I 
 am an American, and consequently bound to 
 begin with a question, I '11 ask you how do you 
 like the colonel ?" 
 
 "You are so very frank," returned Martin, 
 " that I have no hesitation in saying I don't like 
 him at all. Though I must add that I am be- 
 holden to him for his civility in bringing me 
 here — and arranging for my stay, on pretty 
 reasonable terms, by the way," he added : remem- 
 bering that the colonel had whispered him to that, 
 effect, before going out. 
 
 "Not much beholden," said the stranger drily. 
 " The colonel occasionally boards packet-ships, I 
 have heard, to glean the latest information for his 
 journal ; and he occasionally brings strangers to 
 board here, I believe, with a view to the little per- 
 centage which attaches to those good offices ; and 
 which the hostess deducts from his weekly bill. 
 I don't offend you, I hope ?" he added, seeing 
 that Martin reddened. 
 
 " My dear sir," returned Martin, as they shook 
 hands, " how is that possible ! to tell you the 
 truth, I — am—" 
 
 " Yes ?" said "the gentleman, sitting down 
 beside him. 
 
 " I am rather at a loss, since I must speak 
 plainly," said Martin, getting the better of his 
 hesitation, " to know how this colonel escapes 
 being beaten." 
 
 " Well ! He has been beaten once or twice," 
 remarked the gentleman quietly. " He is one of 
 a class of men, in whom our own Franklin, so 
 long ago as ten years before the close of the last 
 century, foresaw our danger and disgrace. Per- 
 haps you don't know that Franklin, in very severe 
 terms, published his opinion that those who were 
 slandered by such fellows as this colonel, having 
 no sufficient remedy in the administration of this 
 country's laws, or in the decent and right-minded 
 feeling of its people, were justified in retorting on 
 such public nuisances by meansof a stout cudgel ?" 
 
 " I was not aware of that," said Martin, " but 
 I am very glad to know it, and I think it worthy 
 of his memory ; especially" — here he hesitated 
 again. 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 
 
 113 
 
 "Go on," said the other, smiling as if he knew 
 what stuck in Martin's throat. 
 
 ** Especially," pursued Martin, "as I can al- 
 ready understand that it may have required great 
 eotiMfe, • vt n in hit time, to write freely on any 
 
 Si which was nut a party one in this very 
 fee country." 
 
 44 Some courage, no doubt," returned his new 
 friend. u Do you think it would require any to 
 do so, now ?" 
 
 44 Indeed, I think it would ; and not a little," 
 said Martin. 
 
 44 You are right So very right, that I believe 
 no satin.-t could breathe this air. If another 
 Juvenal or Swift could rise up among us to- 
 morrow, he would be hunted down. If you have 
 any knowledge of our literature, and can give me 
 the name of any man, American born and bred, 
 who has anatomised our follies as a people, and 
 not as this or that party ; and has escaped the 
 foulest and most brutal slander, the most invete- 
 rate hatred and intolerant pursuit; it will be a 
 strange name in my ears, believe me. In some 
 cases I could name to you, where a native writer 
 has ventured on the most harmless and good-hu- 
 moured illustrations of our vices or defects, it has 
 been found necessary to announce, that in a se- 
 cond edition the passage has been expunged, or 
 altered, or explained away, or patched into praise." 
 
 44 And how has this been brought about?" askec 
 Martin, in dismay. 
 
 44 Think of what you have seen and heard to 
 day, beginning with the colonel," said his friend, 
 "and ask yourself. How ikffJ came about is 
 a n othe r question. Heaven forbid that they should 
 be samples of the intelligence and virtue of 
 America, but they come uppermost; and in gre::t 
 numbers too; and too often represent iu Will 
 you walk ?" 
 
 There was a cordial candour in his manner 
 and an engaging confidence that it would not be 
 abused ; a manly bearing on his own part, and a 
 simple reliance on the manly faith of a stranger 
 which Martin had never seen before. He linked 
 his arm readily in that of the American gentleman, 
 and they walked out together. 
 
 It was perhaps to men like this, his new com- 
 panion, that a traveller of honoured name, who 
 trod those shores now nearly forty years ago, and 
 woke npon that soil, as many have done since, to 
 blots and stains upon its high pretensions, which 
 in the brightness of his distant dreams were lost 
 to view, appealed in these words— 
 
 Oh hut for such Columbia's days were done ; 
 Rank without ripeness, quickened without sun. 
 Crude at the surface, rotten at the core. 
 Her fruits would fall before her Spring were o'er. 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 MARTIN ENLARGES HIS CIRCLE OF ACQUAINTANCE; INCREASES HIS STOCK 
 OF WISDOM; AND HAS AN EXCELLENT OPPORTUNITY OF COMPARING 
 HIS OWN EXPERIENCES WITH THOSE OF LUMMY NED OF THE LIGHT 
 SALISBURY, AS RELATED BY HIS FRIEND MR. WILLIAM SIMMONS. 
 
 It was characteristic of Martin, that all this 
 while he had either forgotten Mark Tapley as com- 
 pletely as if there had been no such person in ex- 
 istence, or, if for a moment the figure of that 
 gentleman rose before his mental vision, had dis- 
 missed it as something by no means of a pressing 
 nature, which might be attended to by-and-by, 
 and could wait his perfect leisure. But being 
 now in the streets again, it occurred to him, as 
 just coming within the bare limits of possibility, 
 that Mr. Tapley might, in course of time, grow 
 tired of waiting on the threshold of the Rowdy { 
 Journal Office; so he intimated to his new friend, ' 
 that if they could conveniently walk in that direc- 
 tion, he would be glad to get this piece of business 
 off his mind. 
 
 4i And speaking of business," said Martin, "may 
 I ask, in order that I may not be behind-hand 
 with qw ther, whether your occupation 
 
 holds you to this city, or T like myself, you are a 
 visitor here ?" 
 
 M A visitor," replied his friend. " I was 'raised 1 
 in the State of Massachusetts, ami reside there 
 still. My home is in a quiet country town. I am 
 not often in these busy ulaecs ; and my inclina- , 
 tion to vinit them does not increase with our bet- 
 ter scquaial . 1 wire you. 
 
 •' You have beeq abroad 7" asked Martin. 
 
 "Oh 
 
 " Aim), '.i.r ii..-» •■■■■ ': iy< . bare be- 
 
 come more than ever attached to your home and 
 native country," said Martin, eyeing him cu- 
 riously. 
 
 44 To my home — yes," rejoined his friend. "To 
 my native country as my home — yes, also." 
 
 " You imply some reservation," said Martin. 
 
 44 Well," returned his new friend, " if you ask 
 me whether I came back here with a 
 relish for my country's faults ; with a greater 
 fondness for those who claim (at the rate of so 
 many dollars a day) to be her friends; with a 
 cooler indifference to the growth of principles 
 among us in respect of public matters and of pri- 
 vate dealings between man and man, the advo- 
 cacy of wlflch, beyond the foul atmosphere of a 
 criminal trial, would disgrace your own < )ld 
 Bailey lawyers; why, then I answer plainlv, 
 No." 
 
 "Oh!" said Martin ; in so exactly the same 
 key as his friend's No, that it sounded like an 
 echo. 
 
 44 If you ask me," his companion p6 
 44 whether I came back here better satisfied with, 
 a state of things which broadly divides society 
 into two classes — whereof one, tin- great mass, 
 asserts a spurious independence, most miserably 
 dependent for its mean • i the disre- 
 
 gard of humanisipg eqnfentionaljtie* of manner 
 and social custom, so that the coarser a man '.» 
 pie more distinctly it shall appeal to his ta<u> 
 
114 
 
 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 while the other, disgusted with the low standard 
 thus set up and made adaptable to everything, 
 takes refuge among the graces and refinements it 
 can bring lo bear on private life, and leaves the 
 public weal to such fortune as may betide it in 
 the press and uproar of a general scramble — then 
 again I answer No." 
 
 And again Martin said " Oh !" in the same odd 
 way as before, being anxious and disconcerted ; 
 not so much, to say the truth, on public 
 grounds, as with reference to the fading prospects 
 of domestic architecture. 
 
 " In a word," resumed the other, " I do not 
 find and cannot believe, and therefore will not al 
 low that we are a model of wisdom, and an ex- 
 ample to the world, and the perfection of human 
 reason ; and a great deal more to the same pur- 
 pose, which you may hear any hour in the day ; 
 simply because we began our political life with 
 two inestimable advantages." 
 
 "What were they?" asked Martin. 
 
 "One, that our history commenced at so late a 
 period as to escape the ages of bloodshed and 
 cruelty through which other nations have passed ; 
 and so had all the light of their probation, and 
 none of -its darkness. The other, that we have a 
 vast territory, and not — as yet — too many people 
 on it. These facts considered, we have done little 
 enough, I think." 
 
 " Education ?" suggested Martin, faintly. 
 
 " Pretty welt on that head," said the other, 
 shrugging his shoulders, "still no mighty matter 
 to boast of; for old countries, and despotic coun- 
 tries too, have done as much, if not more, and 
 made less noise about it. We shine out brightly 
 in comparison with England, certainly, but hers 
 is a very extreme case. You complimented me 
 on my frankness, you know," he added, laughing. 
 
 " Oh ! I am not at all astonished at your speak- 
 ing thus openly when my country is in question," 
 returned Martin. " It is your plain-speaking in 
 reference to your own that surprises me." 
 
 " You will not find it a scarce quality here, I 
 assure you, saving among the Colonel Divers, and 
 Jefferson Bricks, and Major Pawkinses — though 
 the best of us are something like the man in 
 Goldsmith's Comedy, who wouldn't suffer any- 
 body but himself to abuse his master. Come !" 
 he added, " let us talk of something else. You 
 have come here on some design of improving 
 your fortune, I dare say ; and I should grieve to 
 put you out of heart. I am some years older than 
 you, besides ; and may, on a few trivial points, 
 advise you, perhaps." t 
 
 There was not the least curiosity or imperti- 
 nence Tn the manner of this offer, which w T as 
 open-hearted, unaffected, and good-natured. As it 
 was next to impossible that he should not have his 
 confidence awakened by a deportment so prepos- 
 sessing and kind, Martin plainly stated what had 
 brought him into those parts, and even made the 
 very difficult avowal that he was poor. He did 
 not say how poor, it must be admitted, rather 
 throwing off the declaration with an air which 
 might have implied that he had money enough 
 for six months, instead of as many weeks; but 
 poor he said he was, and grateful he said he would 
 be, for any counsel that his friend would give him. 
 
 It would not have been very difficult for any 
 'one to see ; but it was particularly easy for Mar- 
 
 tin, whose perceptions were sharpened by his cir- 
 cumstances, to discern ; that the stranger's face 
 grew infinitely longer as the domestic-architecture 
 project was developed. Nor, although he made a 
 great effort to be as encouraging as possible, could 
 he prevent his head from shaking once involun- 
 tarily, as if it said in the vulgar tongue, upon its 
 own account, " No go !" But he spoke in a 
 cheerful tone, and said, that although there was 
 no such opening as Martin wished in that city, 
 he would make it matter of immediate considera- 
 tion and enquiry where one was most likely to 
 exist; and then he made Martin acquainted with 
 his name, which was Bevan ; and with his pro- 
 fession, which was physic, though he seldom or 
 never practised ; and with other circumstances 
 connected with himself and family, which fully 
 occupied the time, until they reached the Rowdy 
 Journal Office. 
 
 Mr. Tapley appeared to be taking his ease on 
 the landing of the first-floor ; for sounds as of 
 some gentleman established in that region, whist- 
 ling "Rule Britannia" with all his might and 
 main, greated their ears before they reached the 
 house. On ascending to the spot from whence 
 this music proceeded, they found him recumbent 
 in the midst of a fortification of luggage, appa» 
 rently performing his national anthem for the 
 gratification of a grey-haired black man, who sat 
 on one of the outworks (a portmanteau), staring 
 intently at Mark, while Mark, with his head re- 
 clining on his hand, returned the compliment in 
 a thoughtful manner, and whistled all the time. 
 He seemed to have recently dined, for his knife, 
 a case-bottle, and certain broken meats in a hand- 
 kerchief, lay near at hand. He had employed a 
 portion of his leisure in the decoration of the 
 Rowdy Journal door, wmereon his own initials 
 now appeared in letters nearly half a foot long 
 together with the day of the month in smaller 
 type : the whole surrounded by an ornamental 
 J border, and looking very fresh and bold. 
 
 " I was a'most afraid you was lost, sir !" cried 
 Mark, rising, and stopping the tune at that point 
 where Britons generally are supposed to declare 
 (when it is whistled) that they never, never, 
 never, — 
 
 " Nothing gone wrong, I hope, sir." 
 
 " No, Mark. Where 's your friend ?" 
 
 "The mad woman, sir?" said Mr. Tapley. 
 " Oh ! she 's all right, sir." 
 
 " Did she find her husband ?" 
 
 "Yes, sir. Least w T ays she's found his re- 
 mains," said Mark correcting himself. 
 
 "The man's not dead, I hope?" 
 
 " Not altogether dead, sir," returned Mark ; 
 
 j * but he's had more fevers and agues than is quite 
 
 reeoncileable with being alive. When she didn't 
 
 see him a waiting for her, I thought she'd have 
 
 died herself, I did !" 
 
 " Was he not here, then !" 
 
 u He wasn't here. There was a feeble old sha- 
 dow come a creeping down at last, as much like 
 his substance when she know'd him, as your 
 shadow when it's drawn out to its very finest and 
 longest by the sun, is like you. But it was his 
 remains, there's no doubt about that. She took 
 on with joy, poor thing, as much as if it had been 
 all of him!" 
 
 " Had he bought land ?" asked Mr. Bevan. 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 
 
 115 
 
 " A!i ! He 'd bought land," said Mark, shaking 
 
 his head, "and paid tor it too. Every sort of 
 
 ri.itcral advantage was connected with it, the 
 
 said; and there certainly was one, quite 
 
 unlimited. No end to the water !" 
 
 *It*e a thing he could n't have done without, 
 I suppose," observed Martin, peevishly. 
 
 tinly not, sir. There it was, any way; 
 always turned on, and no water-rate. Indepen- 
 dent of throe or four slimy old rivers close by, 
 it varied on the farm from four to six foot deep in 
 the dry season. He could n't say how deep it 
 the rainy time, for he never had any thing 
 long' enough to sound it with." 
 
 lis true?" asked Martin of his companion. 
 
 " IvUrrnicly probable," he answered. "Some 
 Mississippi or Missouri lot, I dare say." 
 
 " However," pursued Murk, " he came from I- 
 don't-know-where-and-all, down to New York 
 here to meet his wife and children ; and they 
 started off again in a steamboat this blessed after- 
 noon, as happy to be along with each other, as if 
 they was going to Heaven. I should think they 
 was, pretty straight, if I may judge from the 
 poor man's looks." 
 
 " And may I ask," said Martin, glancing, but 
 not with any displeasure, from Mark to the ne- 
 gro, " who this gentleman is ? Another friend of 
 yours?" 
 
 " Why, sir," returned Mark, taking him aside, 
 and speaking confidentially in his ear, " he 's a 
 mm of colour, sir." 
 
 " Do you take me for a blind man," asked Mar- 
 tin, somewhat impatiently, " that you think it 
 necessary to tell me that, when his face is the 
 blackest that ever was seen ?" 
 
 "No, no; when I say a man of colour," re- 
 turned Mark, " I mean that he 's been one of them 
 as there 's picters of in the shops. A man and a 
 brother, you know, sir," said Mr. Tapley, favour- 
 ing his master with a significant indication of 
 the figure so often represented in tracts and cheap 
 
 " A slave !" cried Martin, in a whisper. 
 
 " Ah !" said Mark, in the same tone. " Nothing 
 else. A slave. Why, when that there man was 
 young — don't look at him, while I 'm telling it — 
 he was shot in the leg- ; gashed in the arm ; scored 
 in his live limbs, like pork; beaten out of shape; 
 had his neck galled with an iron collar, and wore 
 iron rings oj>on his wrists and ancles. The 
 marks are on him to this day. When I was 
 having my dinner just now, he stripped off his 
 coat, and took away my appetite." 
 
 " Is (am true ?" asked Martin of his friend, who 
 stood beside them. 
 
 " I have no reason to ionbt it," he answered, 
 looking down, and shaking his head. " It very 
 often l 
 
 u Bless yoa," said Mark, 1 1 know it is, from 
 hearing his whole story. That master died ; so 
 did his second master from having his head cut 
 open with n hatchet by another slave, who, when 
 he 'd done it, went and drowned himself: then he 
 got a better one : in years and years he saved up 
 a little money, and bought his freedom, which be 
 got pretty cheap at last, on account of his strength 
 being nearly gone, and he being ill. Then lie 
 come here. And now he's a saving up to treat 
 himself afore he dies to one small purchase— it \s 
 
 nothing to speak of; only his own daughter ; 
 that 's all !" erred Mr. Tapiey, becoming eacited. 
 " Liberty for ever ! Hurruh :" 
 
 1 I i^li!" cried Martin, clapping his hand upon 
 his mouth : ■ and don't be an idiot What is he 
 doing here?" 
 
 iting to take our luggage off upon a 
 truck," said Mark. " He 'd have come for it by- 
 aud-by, but I engaged him for a very reasonable 
 charge — out of my own pocket— to sit along with 
 me and make me jolly ; and I am jolly; and if 
 I was rich enough to contract with him to wait 
 jpon me once a day, to be looked at I 'd never 
 be any thing else." 
 
 The fact may cause a solemn impeachment of 
 Mark's veracity, but it must be admitted never- 
 theless, that there was that in his face and man- 
 ner at the moment, which militated strongly 
 against this emphatic declaration of the state of 
 his mind. 
 
 " Lord love you, sir," he added, " they *re so 
 j fond of Liberty in this part of the globe, that 
 they buy her and sell her and carry her to market 
 with 'em. They 've such a passion for Liberty, 
 that they can't help taking liberties with her. — 
 That 's what it 's owing to." 
 
 " Very well," said Martin, wishing to change 
 the theme. " Having come to (hat conclusion, 
 Mark, perhaps you'll attend to me. The place 
 to which the luggage is to go, is printed on this 
 card. Mrs. Pawkins's Boarding House." 
 
 " Mrs. Pawkins's boarding-house," repeated 
 Mark. " Now Cicero." 
 
 " Is that his name ?" asked Martin. 
 " That 's his name sir," rejoined Mark. And 
 the negro grinning assent from under a leathern 
 portmanteau, than which his own face was many 
 shades deeper, hobbled down stairs with his por- 
 tion of their worldly goods : Mark Tapley having 
 already gone before with his share. 
 
 Martin and hi6 friend followed them to the door 
 below, and were about to pursue their walk, when 
 the latter stopped, and asked, with some hesita- 
 tion, whether that young man was to be trusted. 
 " Mark ! Oh certainly ! with any thing." 
 " You don't understand me, — I think he had 
 better go with us. He is an honest fellow, and 
 speaks his mind so very plainly." 
 
 " Why, the fact is," said Martin, smiling, "that 
 being unaccustomed to a free republic, he is used 
 to do so." 
 
 " I think he had better go with us," returned 
 the other. " He may get into some trouble other- 
 wise. This is not a slave State; but 1 am 
 ashamed to say that the spirit of Tolerance is not 
 so common any where in these latitudes as the 
 form. We are not remarkable for behaving very 
 temper itely to each other when we differ : but to 
 stringers ! no, I really think he had better go 
 with u 
 
 Martin called to him immediately to be of their 
 party ; so Cicero and the truck went ono way , 
 and they three went another. 
 
 They walked about the city for two or three 
 hours ; seeing it from the best points of view, and 
 pausing in 1 d streets, and before such 
 
 public buildings i in pointed out Night 
 
 then coining on apace, .Martin proposed that thjey 
 should adjourn to Mrs. Pawkins's establishment 
 for coffee; but in this he was overruled by hit 
 
116 
 
 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 new acquaintance, who seemed to have set his 
 heart on carrying him, though it were only for an 
 hour, to the house of a friend of his who lived 
 hard by. Feeling (however disinclined he was, 
 being weary) that it would be in bad taste, and 
 not very gracious, to object that he was unintro- 
 duced, when this open-hearted gentleman was so 
 >-eady to be his sponsor, Martin — for once in his 
 life, at all events — sacrificed his own will and 
 pleasure to the wishes of another, and consented 
 with a fair grace. So travelling had done him 
 that much good, already. 
 
 Mr. Bevan knocked at the door of a very neat 
 house of moderate size, from the parlour windows 
 of which, lights were shining brightly into the 
 now dark street. It was quickly opened by a man 
 with such a thoroughly Irish face, that it seemed 
 as if he ought, as a matter of right and principle, 
 to be in rags, and could have no sort of business 
 to be looking cheerfully at anybody out of a whole 
 suit of clothes. 
 
 Commending Mark to the care of this pheno- 
 menon — for such he may be said to have been in 
 Martin's eyes — Mr. Bevan led the way into the 
 room which had shed its cheerfulness upon the 
 street, to whose occupants he introduced Mr. 
 Chuzzlewit as a gentleman from England, whose 
 acquaintance he had recently had the pleasure to 
 make. They gave him welcome in all courtesy 
 and politeness; and in less than five minutes' 
 time he found himself sitting very much at his 
 case, by the fireside, and becoming vastly well 
 acquainted with the whole family. 
 
 There were two young ladies — one eighteen ; 
 the other twenty — both very slender, but very 
 pretty ; their mother, who looked, as Martin 
 thought, much older and more faded than she 
 ought to have looked ; and their grandmother, a 
 little sharp-eyed, quick old woman, who seemed 
 to have got past that stage, and to have come all 
 right again. Besides these, there were the young 
 ladies' father, and the young ladies' brother ; the 
 first engaged in mercantile affairs ; the second, a 
 student at college — both, in a certain cordiality 
 of manner, like his own friend ; and not unlike 
 him in face, which was no great wonder, for it 
 soon appeared that he was their near relation. 
 Martin could not help tracing the family pedigree 
 from the twj young ladies, because they were 
 foremost in his thoughts : not only from being, as 
 aforesaid, very pretty, but by reason of their wear- 
 ing miraculously small shoes, and the thinnest 
 possible silk stockings : the which their rocking- 
 chairs developed to a distracting extent. 
 
 There is no doubt that it was a monstrous 
 comfortable circumstance to be sitting in a snug 
 well-furnished room, warmed by a cheerful fire, 
 and full of various pleasant decorations, including 
 four small shoes, and the like amount of silk 
 
 stockings, and' yes, why not? — the feet 
 
 and legs therein enshrined. And there is no 
 doubt that Martin was monstrous well-disposed to 
 regard his position in that light, after his recent 
 experience of the Screw, and of Mrs. Pawkins's 
 boarding-house. The consequence was, that he 
 made himself very agreeable indeed ; and by the 
 time the tea and coffee arrived (with sweet pre- 
 serves, and cunning tea-cakes in its train), was in 
 a highly genial state, and much esteemed by the 
 vrhole family. 
 
 Another delightful circumstance turned up be- 
 fore the first cup of tea was drunk. The whole 
 family had been in England. There was a plea- 
 sant thing ! But Martin was not quite so glad of 
 this, when he found that they knew all the great 
 dukes, lords, viscounts, marquesses, duchesses, 
 knights, and baronets, quite affectionately, and 
 were beyond everything interested in the least 
 particular concerning them. However, when 
 they asked after the wearer of this or that coronet, 
 and said 4 Was he quite well ?' Martin answered 
 ' Yes, oh yes. Never better ;' and when they said 
 his Lordship's mother, 'the Duchess, was she 
 much changed ?' Martin said, ' Oh dear no, they 
 would know her anywhere if they saw her to- 
 morrow ;' and so got on pretty well. In like man 
 ner when the young ladies questioned him touch 
 ing the Gold Fish in that Grecian fountain in such 
 and such a nobleman's conservatory, and whether 
 there were as many as there used to be, he gravely 
 reported, after mature consideration, that there 
 must be at least twice as many : and as to the 
 exotics, ' Oh ! well ! it was of no use talking about 
 them; they must be seen to be believed;' which 
 improved state of circumstances reminded the 
 family of the splendour of that brilliant festival 
 (comprehending the whole British Peerage and 
 Court Calendar) to which they were specially in- 
 vited, and which indeed had been partly given in 
 their honour: and recollections of what Mr. 
 Norris the father had said to the Marquess, and 
 of what Mrs. Norris the mother had said to the 
 Marchioness, and of what the Marquess and 
 Marchioness had both said, when they said that 
 upon their words and honours they wished Mr. 
 Norris the father and Mrs. Norris the mother, and 
 the Misses Norris the daughters, and Mr. Norris 
 Junior, the son, would only take up their perma- 
 nent residence in England, and give them the 
 pleasure of their everlasting friendship, occupied 
 a very considerable time. 
 
 Martin thought it rather strange, and in some 
 sort inconsistent, that during the whole of these 
 narrations, and in the very meridian of their en. 
 joyment thereof, both Mr. Norris the father, and 
 Mr. Norris Junior, the son (who corresponded, 
 every post, with four members of the English 
 Peerage), enlarged upon the inestimable advan- 
 tage of having no such arbitrary distinctions in 
 that enlightened land, where there were no noble- 
 men but nature's noblemen, and all society was 
 based on one broad level of brotherly love and 
 natural equality. Indeed Mr. Norris the father 
 gradually expanding into an oration on this swell- 
 ing theme was becoming tedious, when Mr. Bevan 
 diverted his thoughts, by happening to make some 
 casual inquiry relative to the occupier of the next 
 house ; in reply to which, this same Mr. Norris 
 the father observed, that " that person entertained 
 religious opinions of which he couldn't approve ; 
 and therefore he hadn't the honour of knowing 
 the gentleman." Mrs. Norris the mother added 
 another reason of her own, the same in effect, but 
 varying in words ; to wit, that she believed tho 
 people were well enough in their way, but they 
 Were not genteel. 
 
 Another little trait came out, which impressed 
 itself on Martin forcibly. Mr. Bevan told them 
 about Mark and the negro, and then it appeared 
 that all the Norrises were abolitionists. It was a 
 
-MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT, 
 
 117 
 
 ►rrfnt relief to hear this, and Martin waa so much I 
 jiieouraged on finding himself in such company, 
 that hf expressed his sympathy with the oppressed 
 and wn t< Ik (1 hi tcks. Now, one of the young 
 Indies — tin- prettiest and most delicate one — was 
 mightily amused at the earnestness with which he. 
 spoke ; and on his craving leave to ask her why, 
 was quite unable fur a time to speak for laughing. 
 As soon, however, as she could, she told him that 
 the negroes were such a funny people ; so excess- 
 ively ludicrous in their manners and appearance; 
 that it was wholly impossihlc for those who knew 
 them well, to associate any serious ideas with 
 such a very absurd part of the creation. Mr. 
 Norris the father, and Mrs. Norris the mother, 
 and Miss Norris the sister, and Mr. Norris Junior 
 the hrother, and, even Mrs. Norris Senior the 
 grandmother, were all of this opinion, and laid it 
 down as an absolute matter-of-fact — as if there 
 were nothing in suffering and slavery grim enough 
 to cast a solemn air on any human animal; though 
 it were as ridiculous, physically, as the most gro- 
 tesque of apes; or, morally, as the mildest Nim- 
 rod among tuft-hunting republicans! 
 
 " In short," said Mr. Norris the father, settling 
 the question comfortably, " there is a natural 
 antipathy between the races." 
 
 " Extending," said Martin's friend, in a low 
 voice, " to the cruellest of tortures, and the bar. 
 gain and sale of unborn generations." 
 
 Mr. Norris the son said nothing ; but he made 
 a wry face, and dusted his fingers as Hamlet 
 might after getting rid of Yorick's skull : just as 
 though he had that moment touched a negro, and 
 some of the black had come off upon his hands. 
 
 In order that their talk might fall again into 
 its former pleasant channel, Martin dropped the 
 subject, with a shrewd suspicion that it would be 
 a dangerous theme to revive under the best of 
 circumstances; and again addressed himself to 
 the young ladies, who were very gorgeously 
 attired in very beautiful colours, and had every 
 article of dress on the same extensive scale as the 
 little shoes and the thin silk stockings. This sug- 
 gested to him that they were great proficients in 
 the French fashions, which soon turned out to be 
 the case, for though their information appeared 
 to be none of the newest, it was very extensive : 
 and the elder sister in particular, who was distin- 
 guished by a talent for metaphysics, the laws of 
 hydraulic pressure, and the rights of human kind, 
 had a novel way of combining these acquirements 
 and bringing them to bear on any subject from 
 Millinery to the Millennium, both inclusive : 
 which was at once- improving and remarkable, — 
 so much so,- in short, that it was usually observed 
 to reduce foreigners to a state of temporary 
 insanity in five minutes. 
 
 .Martin felt his reason going; and as a means 
 of saving himself, besought the other sister (seeing 
 a piano in the room) to sing. With this request 
 Bhe willingly complied ; and a bravura concert, 
 solely sustained by the Misses Norris, presently 
 began. They nag in all languages except their 
 own. Gerrtaa, l'r. tvh, Italian, Spanish, Portu- 
 guese, Swiss ; but nothing native ; nothing so low 
 as native. For in this respect languages are like 
 many other travellers — ordinary and common- 
 place enough at home, but 'specially genteel 
 abroad. 
 
 There is little doubt that in course of time the 
 Misses Norris would have come to Hebrew, if 
 they had not been interrupted by an announce 
 ment from the Irishman, who Hinging open the 
 door, cried in a loud voice — 
 
 "JiniralFladdock!" 
 
 M My !" cried the sisters, desisting suddenly 
 " The General come back !" 
 
 As they made the exclamation, the General, 
 attired in iiill uniform for a ball, came darting in 
 with such precipitancy that, hitching his boot in 
 the carpet, and getting his sword between his 
 legs, he came headlong, and presented a curious 
 little bald place on the crown of his head to the 
 eyes of the astonished company. Nor was this 
 the worst of it ; for being rather corpulent and 
 very tight, the General, being down, could net get 
 up again, but lay there, writhing and doing such 
 things with his boots, as there is no other instance 
 of in military history. 
 
 Of course there was an immediate rush to his 
 assistance; and the General was promptly raised! 
 But his uniform was so fearfully and wonderfully 
 made that he came up stiff* and without a bend 
 in him, like a dead Clown, and had no command 
 whatever of himself until he was put quite flat 
 upon the soles of his feet, when he became ani- 
 mated as by a miracle, and moving edgewise that 
 he might go in a narrower compass and be in 
 less danger of fraying the gold lace on his epau- 
 lettes by brushing them against anything, ad- 
 vanced with a smiling visage to salute the lady 
 of the house. 
 
 To be sure, it would have been impossible for 
 the family to testify purer delight and joy than at 
 this unlooked-for appearance of General Fladdock ! 
 The General was as warmly received as if New 
 York had been in a state of siege, and no othqj 
 General was to be got, for love or money. He 
 shook hands with the Norrises three times all 
 round, and then reviewed them from a little dis- 
 tance, as a brave commander might, with his 
 ample cloak drawn forward over the right shoul- 
 der and thrown back upon the left side to reveal 
 his manly breast. 
 
 41 And do I then," cried the General, "once 
 again behold the choicest spirits of my country !" 
 
 " Yes," said Mr. Norris the father. w Here we 
 are, General." 
 
 Then all the Norrises pressed round the 
 General, inquiring how and where he had been 
 since the date of his last letter, and how he had 
 enjoyed himself in foreign parts, and, particularly 
 and above all, to what extent he had become 
 acquainted with the great dukes, lords, viscounts, 
 marquesses, duchesses, knights, and baronets, in 
 whom the people of those benighted countries had 
 delight. 
 
 " Well then, don't ask me," said the General, 
 holding up his hand. " I was among 'era ail the 
 time, and have got public journals in my trunk 
 with my name printed*' — he lowered his voice 
 and was very impressive here — " among the fash 
 ionable news ! But, oh, tlic conventionalities of 
 that a-mazing Europe !" 
 
 " Ah !" cried Mr. Norris the father, giving his 
 head a melancholy shake, and looking towards 
 Martin ns though ho would say, " I can't deny 
 it, sir. I would if I could." 
 
 " The limited di Fusion of a moral sense in thai 
 
118 
 
 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 country !" exclaimed the General. " The absence 
 of a moral dignity in man !" 
 
 " Ah !" sighed all the Norrises, quite over- 
 •whelmed with despondency. 
 
 " I couldn't have realised it," pursued the Gen- 
 eral, " without being located on the spot. Norris, 
 your imagination is the imagination of a strong 
 man, but you couldn't have realised it, without 
 being located on the spot ?" 
 
 " Never," said Mr. Norris. • 
 
 " The ex-clusiveness, the pride, the form, the 
 ceremony," exclaimed the General, emphasizing 
 the article more vigorously at every repetition. 
 " The artificial barriers set up between man and 
 man ; the division of the human race into court 
 cards and plain cards, of every denomination, 
 into clubs, diamonds, spades — anything but 
 hearts !" 
 
 " Ah !" cried the whole family. " Too true, 
 General !" 
 
 " But stay !" cried Mr. Norris, the father, 
 taking him by the arm. " Surely you crossed in 
 the Screw, General ?" 
 
 "Well! so I did," was the reply. 
 
 " Possible !" cried the young ladies. " Only 
 think !" 
 
 The General seemed at a loss to understand 
 why his having come home in the Screw should 
 occasion such a sensation, nor did he seem at all 
 clearer on the subject, when Mr. Norris, intro- 
 ducing him to Martin, said — 
 
 " A fellow-passenger of yours, I think ?" 
 
 "Of mine !" exclaimed the General; "No!" 
 
 He had never seen Martin, but Martin had 
 seen him, and recognised him, now that they 
 stood face to face, as the gentleman who had 
 stuck his hands in his pockets towards the end 
 df the voyage, and walked the deck with his nos- 
 trils dilated. 
 
 Everybody looked at Martin. There was no 
 help for it. The truth must out. 
 
 " I came over in the same ship as the Gen- 
 eral," said Martin, " but not in the same cabin. 
 It being necessary for me to observe strict econo- 
 my, I took my passage in the steerage." 
 
 If the General had been carried up bodily to a 
 loaded cannon, and required to let it off that mo- 
 ment, he could not have been in a state of greater 
 consternation than when he heard these words. 
 He, Fladdock, — Fladdock in full militia uniform, 
 Fladdock the General, Fladdock t! e caressed of 
 foreign noblemen, — expected to know a fellow 
 who had come over in the steerage of a line-of- 
 packet ship, at a cost of four pound ten ! and 
 meeting that fellow in the very sanctuary of New 
 York fashion, and nestling in the bosom of the 
 New York aristocracy ! He almost laid his hand 
 upon his sword. 
 
 A death-like stillness fell upon the Norrises. 
 If this story should get wind, their country rela- 
 tion had, by his imprudence, for ever disgraced 
 them. They were the bright particular stars of 
 an exalted New York sphere. There were other 
 fashionable spheres above them, and other fash- 
 ionable spheres below, and none of the stars in 
 any one of these spheres had anything to say to 
 the stars in any other of these" spheres. But, 
 .nrough all the spheres it would go forth, that 
 the Norrises, deceived by gentlemanly manners 
 and appearances, had, falling from their high 
 
 estate, " received" a dollarless and unknown man. 
 O guardian eagle of the pure Republic, had they 
 lived for this ! 
 
 " You will allow me," said Martin, after a 
 terrible silence, " to take my leave. I feel that I 
 am the cause of at least as much embarrassment 
 here, as I have brought upon myself. But I am 
 bound, before I go, to exonerate this gentleman, 
 who, in introducing me to such society, was 
 quite ignorant of my unworthiness, I assure 
 you." 
 
 With that he made his bow to the Norrises, 
 and walked out like a man of snow, very cool 
 externally, but pretty hot within. 
 
 " Come, come," said Mr. Norris, the father, 
 looking with a pale face on the assembled circle 
 as Martin closed the door, " the young man lias 
 this night beheld a refinement of social manner, 
 and an easy magnificence of social decoration, to 
 which he is a stranger in his own country. Let 
 us hope it may awake a moral sense within 
 him." 
 
 If that peculiarly ttansatlantic article, a moral 
 sense, — for if native statesmen, orators, and 
 pamphleteers, are to be believed, America quite 
 monopolizes the commodity, — if that peculiarly 
 transatlantic article be supposed to include a 
 benevolent love of all mankind, certainly Mar- 
 tin's would have borne just then a deal of waking: 
 for as he strode along the street, with Mark at 
 his heels, his immoral sense was in active opera- 
 tion ; prompting him to the utterance of some 
 rather sanguinary remarks, which it was well for 
 his own credit that nobody overheard. He had 
 so far cooled down, however, that he had begun 
 to laugh at the recollection of these incidents, 
 when he heard another step behind him, and 
 turning round, encountered his friend Bevan, 
 quite out of breath. 
 
 He drew his arm through Martin's, and entreat- 
 ing him to walk slowly, was silent for some 
 minutes. At length he said : 
 
 " I hope you exonerate me in another sense ?" 
 
 " How do you mean ?" asked Martin. 
 
 " I hope you acquit me of intending or fore 
 seeing the termination of our visit. But I scarce 
 ly need ask you that." 
 
 " Scarcely indeed," said Martin. " I am the 
 more beholden to you for your kindness, when 1 
 find what kind of stuff the good citizens here are 
 made of." 
 
 " I reckon," his friend returned, "that they are 
 made of pretty mu^.h the same stuff as other 
 folks, if they would but own it, and not set up 
 on false pretences." 
 
 " In good faith, that's true," said Martin 
 
 " I dare say," resumed his friend, " you might 
 have such a scene as that in an English comedy, 
 and not detect any gross improbability or ano- 
 maly in the matter of it ?" 
 
 " Yes, indeed !" 
 
 " Doubtless it is more ridiculous here than 
 anywhere else," said his companion ; " but our 
 professions are to blame for that. So far as I 
 myself am concerned, I may add that I was per- 
 fectly aware from the first that 3*011 came over in 
 the steerage, for I had seen the list of passengers, 
 and knew it did not comprise your name." 
 
 " I feel more obliged to you than before," said 
 Martin. 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 
 
 119 
 
 "Norris is a very good fellow in his way 
 ■ 
 
 " Is ha t" Mid Martin drily. 
 
 "Oh yes! there are a hundred good pom's 
 
 about liim. If you or any body else addressed 
 
 him as another order of being, and sued to him 
 
 i poi/peria, ho would be all kindness apd 
 
 Consideration." 
 
 "I neednlt have travelled three thousand mil. s 
 from home to find "such a character as that'' said 
 
 Martin. Neither lie nor his friend said anything 
 hack; each appearing to find 
 sufficient occupation in his own tin 
 
 The tea, or the supper, or whatever else they 
 
 called the evening meal, was over when they 
 
 the .Major's; but the cloth, ornamented 
 
 with a lew additional smears and stains, was '■til! 
 
 upon the table. At one end of the board .Mrs. 
 
 n Brick and two other ladies were drink- 
 
 — out of the ordinary course, evidently, for 
 
 thej were bonneted and shawled, and seemed to 
 
 have just come home. By the light of three 
 
 flaring candles of different lengths, in as many 
 
 candlesticks of different patterns, the room showed 
 
 to almost as little advantage as in broad day. 
 
 ladies were all three talking together in 
 a very loud tone when Martin and his friend 
 entered ; but, seeing those gentlemen, they stopped 
 directly, and became exceedingly genteel, not to 
 «ay frosty. As they went on to exchange some 
 few remarks in whispers, the very water in the 
 tea-pot might have fallen twenty degrees in tern- 
 perature beneath their chilling coldness. 
 
 "Have you been to meeting, Mrs. Brick?" 
 
 isked Martin's friend, with something of a 
 roguish twinkle in his eye. 
 
 " To lecture, sir." 
 
 " I beg your pardon. I forgot. You don't go 
 to meeting, I think ?" 
 
 Here the lady on the right of Mrs. Brick gave 
 a pious cough, as much as to say "/ do !" — as, 
 indeed, she did, nearly every night in the week, 
 good discourse, ma'am ?" asked Mr. Bevan, 
 addressing this lady. 
 
 The lady raised her eyes in a pious manner, 
 and answered " Yes." She had been much com- 
 forted by some good, strong, peppery doctrine, 
 which satisfactorily disposed of all her friends and 
 acquaintances, and quite settled their business. 
 Her bonnet, too, had far outshone every bonnet 
 in the congregation : so she was tranquil on all 
 accounts. 
 
 • W rit course of lectures are you attending 
 now, ma'am ?" said Martin's friend, turning again 
 to Mrs. Brick. 
 
 "The Philosophy of the Soul — on Wednes- 
 days." 
 
 "On Mondays?" 
 
 "Tnc Philosophy- of Crime." 
 
 "On Fridays?" 
 
 "The Philosophy of Vegetables." 
 
 "You have forgotten Thursdays— The Philo- 
 sophy of Government, my dear," observed the 
 third lady. 
 
 "No," said Mrs. Brick. " That's Tuesdays." 
 
 "So it is !" cried the lady. " The Philosophy 
 r on Thursdays, of course." 
 
 "You see, Mr. Chuzzlcwit, our ladies are fully 
 employed," said Bevan. 
 
 " Indeed you have reason to say so," answered 
 
 ob- I Martin. "Between these very grave pursuits 
 iibro;id, and family duties at home, their time must 
 be pretty well engrossed." 
 
 Martin stopped here, lor he saw that the ladies 
 regarded him with no very great favour, though 
 what he had don. to deserve the disdainful expres- 
 sion which aj);»- .red in their faces he was ate 
 loss to divine. But on their going up stairs to 
 their bed-rooms — which they vory soon did — Mr 
 Bevan informed him that domestic drudgery was 
 far beneath the exalted range of these Philoso- 
 phers, and that the chances were a hundred to 
 one that neither of the three could perform the 
 easiest woman's work for herself, or make the 
 simplest article of dress for any of her children. 
 
 "Though whether they might not be better 
 employed with even such bluut instruments as 
 knitting-needles, than with these «dge.tools," be 
 said, " is another question ; but I can answer for 
 one thing — they don't often cut themselves. De- 
 votions and lectures are our balls and concerts. 
 They go to these places of resort, as an escape 
 from monotony ; look at each other's clothes ; and 
 come home again. 
 
 " When you say ' home,' do you mean a house 
 like this ?" 
 
 " Very often. But I see you are tired to death, 
 and will wish you good night. We will discuss 
 your projects in the morning. You cannot but 
 feel already that it is useless staying here, with 
 any hope of advancing them. You will have to 
 go farther." 
 
 "And to fare worse?" said Martin, pursuing 
 the old adage. 
 
 " Well, I hope not. But sufficient for the day, 
 you know — Good night !" 
 
 They shook hands heartily, and separated. As 
 soon as Martin was left alone, the excitement *f 
 novelty and change which had sustained him 
 through all the fatigues of the day, departed; and 
 he felt so thoroughly dejected and worn out, that 
 he even lacked the energy to crawl up stairs to 
 bed. 
 
 In twelve or fifteen hours, how great a change 
 had fallen on his hopes and sanguine plans ! New 
 and strange as he was to the ground on which he 
 stood, and to the air he breathed, he could not- 
 recalling all that he had crowded into that one 
 day — but entertain a strong misgiving that his 
 enterprise was doomed. Rash and ill-con 
 as it had often looked on ship-board, but had never 
 seemed on shore, it wore a dismal aspoct now that 
 frightened hirn. Whatever thoughts he called up 
 to his aid, they came upon him in depressing and 
 discouraging shapes, and gave him no 
 Even the diamonds on his finger sparkled with 
 the brightness of tears, and had no ray of hope in 
 all their brilliant lustre. 
 
 He continued to sit in gloomy rumination by 
 the stove — unmindful of the boarders who d 
 1n one by one from their stores and tjou 
 houses, or the neighbouring bar-room-*, .md aAcr 
 taking long pulls from a great white wutcr-jug 
 upon the sideboard, and lingering with a kind of 
 hideous fascination near the brass spittoons, 
 lounged heavily to bed — until at length Mark 
 Tapley came and shook him by the arm, suppos- 
 ing him osleep. 
 * Mark !" he cried, starting. 
 "All right, sir," said that cheerful fellow 
 
120 
 
 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 snuffing with his fingers the candle he bore. " It 
 ain't a very large bed, your'n, sir; and a man 
 as wasn't thirsty might drink, afore breakfast, 
 all the water you've got to wash in, and after- 
 wards eat the towel. But you 'II sleep without 
 rocking to-night, sir." 
 
 w I feel as if the house were on the sea," said 
 Martin, staggering when he rose ; " and am ut- 
 terly wretched." 
 
 " I'm as jolly as a sandboy, myself, sir," said 
 Mark. " But, Lord, I have reason to be ! I ought 
 to have been born here ; that's my opinion. Take 
 care how you go" — for they were now ascending 
 the stairs. " You recollect the gentleman aboard 
 the Screw as had the very small trunk, sir ?" 
 
 " The valise ? Yes." 
 
 " Well, sir, there 's been a delivery of clean 
 clothes from the wash to-night, and they 're put 
 outside the bed-room doors here. If you take 
 notice as wc go up, what a very few shirts there 
 are, and what a many fronts, you'll penetrate the 
 mystery of his packing." 
 
 But Martin was too weary and despondent to 
 take heed of anything, so had no interest in this 
 discovery. Mr. Tapley, nothing dashed by his 
 indifference, conducted him to the top of the house, 
 and into the bed-chamber prepared for his recep- 
 tion : which was a very little narrow room, with 
 half a window in it ; a bedstead like a chest with- 
 out a lid ; two chairs ; a piece of carpet, such as 
 shoes are commonly tried upon at a ready-made 
 establishment in England ; a little looking-glass 
 nailed against the wall ; and a washing-table, 
 with a jug and ewer, that might have been mis- 
 taken for a milk-pot and slop-basin. 
 
 u I suppose they polish themselves with a dry 
 cloth in this country," said Mark. " They 've 
 certainly got a touch of the 'phoby, sir." 
 
 " I wish you would pull off my boots for me," 
 said Martin, dropping into one of the chairs. "I 
 am quite knocked up — dead beat, Mark." 
 
 " You won't say that to-morrow morning, sir," 
 returned Mr. Tapley; "nor even to-night, sir, 
 when yon've made a trial of this." With which 
 he produced a very large tumbler, piled up to the 
 brim with little blocks of clear transparent ice, 
 through which one or two thin slices of lemon, 
 and a golden liquid, of delicious appearance, ap- 
 peared from the still depths below, to the loving 
 eye of the spectator. 
 
 " What do you call this?" said Martin. 
 
 But Mr. Tapley made no answer : merely 
 plunging a reed into the mixture — w T hich caused a 
 pleasant commotion among the pieces of ice — and 
 signifying by an expressive gesture that it was to 
 be pumped up through that agency by the enrap- 
 tured drinker. 
 
 Martin took the glass with an astonished look ; 
 applied his lips to the reed; and cast up his eyes 
 once in ecetacy. He paused no more until the 
 goblet was drained to the last drop. 
 
 "There, sir!" said Mark, taking it from him 
 with a triumphant face ; " If ever you should hap. 
 pen to be dead beat again, when I ain't in the 
 way, all you 've got to do is, to ask the nearest 
 man to go and fetch a cobbler." 
 
 " To go and fetch a cobbler !" repeated Martin. 
 
 " This wonderful invention, sir," said Mark, 
 tenderly patting the empty glass, " is called a 
 cobbler. Sherry cobbler when you name it long ; 
 cobbler, when you name it short. Now you 're 
 equal to having your boots took off, and are, in 
 every particular worth mentioning, another man." 
 
 Having delivered himself of this solemn pre- 
 face, he brought the boot-jack. 
 
 " Mind ! I am not going to relapse, Mark," 
 said Martin ; " but good Heaven, if we should be 
 left in some wild part of this country without 
 goods or money !" 
 
 " Well, sir !" replied the imperturbable Tapley ; 
 " from what we 've seen already, I don't know 
 whether, under those circumstances, we shouldn't 
 do better in the wild parts than in the tame ones." 
 
 "Oh Tom Pinch, Tom Pinch!" said Martin, 
 in a thoughtful tone ; " what would I give to be 
 again beside you, and able to hear your voice, 
 though it were even in the old bed-room at Peck- 
 sniff's !" 
 
 "Oh, Dragon, Dragon !" echoed Mark cheer- 
 fully, " if there warn't any water between you 
 and me, and nothing faint-hearted like in going 
 back, I don't know that I mightn't say the same. 
 But here am I, Dragon, in New York, America; 
 and there are you in Wiltshire, Europe ; and 
 there's a fortune to make, Dragon, and a beauti- 
 ful young lady to make it for ; and whenever you 
 go to see the Monument, Dragon, you mustn't 
 give in on the door-steps, or you '11 never get up 
 to the top !" 
 
 " Wisely said, Mark," cried Martin. " We must 
 look forward." 
 
 " In all the story-books as ever I read, sir, the 
 people as looked backward was turned into stones," 
 replied Mark ; " and my opinion always was, that 
 they brought it on themselves, and it served 'em 
 right I wish you good night, sir, and pleasant 
 dreams f* 
 
 " They must be of home, then," said Martin, 
 as he lay down in bed. 
 
 " So I say, too," whispered Mark Tapley, when 
 he was out of hearing and in his own room ; " for 
 if there don't come a time afore we 're well out 
 of this, when there'll be a little more credit in 
 keeping up one's jollity, I 'm a United States- 
 man !" 
 
 Leaving them to blend and mingle in their 
 sleep the shadows of objects afar off, as they take 
 fantastic shapes upon the wall in the dim light 
 of thought without control, be it the part of this 
 slight chronicle — a dream within a dream — as 
 rapidly to change the scene, and cross the ocean 
 to the English shore. 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEVVIT. 
 
 121 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 DOES BUSINESS WITH THE HOUSE OF ANTHONY CHUZZLEWfT AND SON, 
 FROM WHICH ONE OF THE PARTNERS RETIRES UNEXPECTEDLY. 
 
 Change begets change. Nothing propagate* so 
 fast. If ii man habituated to | narrow circle of 
 cares and pleasures, out of which he seldom tra. 
 vels, step beyond it, though for never so brief a 
 space, his departure from the monotonous scene 
 on which he has been an actor of importance, 
 would seem to be the signal for instant confusion. 
 As if, in the gap he had left, the wedge of change 
 were driven to the head, rending what was a solid 
 mass to fragments; things cemented and held to- 
 gether by the usages of years, burst asunder in as 
 many weeks. The mine which Time has slowly 
 dug beneath familiar objects, is sprung in an in- 
 stant ; and what was rock before, becomes but 
 sand and dust. 
 
 Most men at one time or other have proved this 
 in some degree. The extent to which the natural 
 laws of change asserted their supremacy in that 
 limited sphere of action which Martin had de- 
 serted, shall be faithfully set down in these pages. 
 
 ■ What a cold spring it is !" whimpered old An- 
 thony, drawing near the evening fire. " It was a 
 warmer season, sure, when I was young !" 
 
 44 You needn't go scorching your clothes into 
 holes, whether it was or not," observed the amia- 
 ble Jonas, raising his eyes from yesterday's news- 
 paper. " Broadcloth ain't so cheap as that comes 
 to." 
 
 44 A good lad !" cried the father, breathing on 
 his cold hands, and feebly chafing them against 
 each other. " A prudent lad ! He never delivered 
 himself up to the vanities of dress. No, no !" 
 
 " I don't know but I would though, mind you, 
 if I could do it for nothing," said his son, as he 
 resumed the paper. 
 
 44 Ah !" chuckled the old man. 4l If, indeed ! — 
 But it 's very cold." 
 
 44 Let the fire be !" cried Mr. Jonas, stopping his 
 honoured parent's hand in the use of the poker. 
 44 Do you mean to come to want in your old age, 
 that you take to wasting now ?" 
 
 44 There 's not time for that, Jonas," said the 
 old man. 
 
 "Not time for what?" bawled his heir. 
 
 44 For me to come to want. I wish there was !" 
 
 44 You always were as selfish an old blade as 
 need be," said Jonas, in a voice too low for him 
 to hear, and looking at him with an angry frown. 
 44 You act up to your character. You wouldn't 
 mind coming to want, wouldn't you ? I dare say 
 you wouldn't. And your own flesh and blood 
 might come to want too, might they, for anything 
 you cared ? Oh you precious old flint !" 
 
 After this dutiful address, he took his tea-cup 
 in his hand — for that meal was in progress, and 
 the father and son and Chuffey were partakers of 
 it Then, looking steadfustly at his father, and 
 stopping now and then to carry a spoonful of tea 
 to his lips, he proceeded in the same tone, thus: 
 
 44 Want, indeed ! You 're a nice old man to 1k< 
 
 talking of want at this time of day. Beginning 
 
 to talk of want are you ? Well, I declare ! There 
 
 isn't time? No, I should hope not. But you'd 
 
 II 
 
 live to be a couple of hundred if you could ; afid 
 after all he discontented. / know you !" 
 
 The old man sighed, and still sat cowering be- 
 fore the fire. Mr. Jonas shook his Briltania-metal 
 teaspoon at him, and taking a loftier position went 
 on to argue the point on high moral grounds. 
 
 44 If you 're in such a stale of mind as that," he 
 grumbled, but in the same subdued key, "why 
 don't you make over your property ? Buy an 
 annuity cheap, and make your life interesting to 
 yourself and everybody else that watches the 
 speculation. But no, that wouldn't 6uit you. 
 That would be natural conduct to your own son, 
 and you like to be unnatural, and to keep him out 
 of his rights. Why, I should be ashamed of my- 
 self if I was you, and glad to hide my head in the 
 what you may call it." 
 
 Possibly this general phrase supplied the place 
 of grave, or tomb, or sepulchre, or cemetery, or 
 mausoleum, or other such word which the filial 
 tenderness of Mr. Jonas made him delicate of 
 pronouncing. He pursued the theme no further; 
 for Chuffey, somehow discovering, from his old 
 corner by the fireside, that Anthony was in the 
 attitude of a listener, and that Jonas appeared to 
 be speaking, suddenly cried out, like one inspired : 
 
 44 He is your own son, Mr. Chuzzlewit. Your 
 own son, sir !" 
 
 Old Chuffey little suspected what depth of ap- 
 plication these words had, or that, in the bitter 
 satire which they bore, they might have sunk into 
 the old man's very soul, could he have known 
 what words were hanging on his own son's lips, 
 or what was passing in his thoughts. But the 
 voice diverted the current of Anthony's reflections, 
 and roused him. 
 
 44 Yes, yes, Chuffey, Jonas is a chip of the old 
 block. It's a very old block now, Chuffey," said 
 the old man, with a strange look of discomposure. 
 
 44 Precious old," assented Jonas. 
 
 44 No, no, no," said Chuffey. 44 No, Mr. Chuz- 
 zlewit. Not old at all, sir." 
 
 44 Oh ! He 's worse than ever, you know !" cried 
 Jonas, quite disgusted. 44 Upon my soul, father, 
 he's getting too bad. Hold your tongue, will 
 you ?" 
 
 44 He says you 're wrong !" cried Anthony to 
 the old clerk. 
 
 44 Tut, tut !" was Chuffey's answer. " I know 
 better. I say he '« wrong. I say Ae's wrong. 
 He 's a boy. That 's what he is. So are v 
 Chuzzlewit — a kind of boy. Ha ! ha I ha ! You're 
 quite a boy to many I have known; you 're a boy 
 to me ; you 're a boy to hundred* of us. Don't 
 mind him !" 
 
 With which extraordinary speech — for in the 
 case of Chuffey this was a burst of eloquence 
 without a parallel — the poor old shadow drew 
 through h s palsied arm his master's hand, and 
 held it tli- re, with his own folded upon it, as if be 
 would defend him. 
 
 •* I grow deafer every day, Chuff," said An 
 thony, with as much softness of manner, or, ti> 
 
122 
 
 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 ucscribe it more correctly, with as little hardness 
 is he was capable of expressing. 
 
 '* No, no," cried Chuffey. " No you don't. 
 What it" you did? I've been deaf this twenty 
 year." 
 
 " I grow blinder, too," said the old man, shak- 
 ing his head. 
 
 " That 's a good sign !" cried Chuffey. " Ha ! 
 ha ! The best sign in the world ! You saw too 
 well before." 
 
 He patted Anthony upon the hand as one might 
 comfort a child, and drawing the old man's arm 
 still further through his own, shook his trembling 
 fingers towards the spot where Jonas sat, as 
 though he would wave him off. But Anthony 
 remaining quite still and silent, he relaxed his 
 hold by slow degrees and lapsed into his usual 
 niche in the corner : merely putting forth his 
 hand at intervals and touching his old employer 
 gently on the coat, as with the design of assuring 
 himself that he was yet beside him. 
 
 Mr. Jonas was so very much amazed by these 
 proceedings that he could do nothing but stare at 
 the two old men, until Chuffey had fallen into his 
 usual state, and Anthony had sunk into a doze ; 
 when he gave some vent to his emotions by going 
 close up to the former personage, and making as 
 though he would, in vulgar parlance, " punch his 
 head." 
 
 " They 've been carrying on this game," thought 
 •Jonas in a brown study, " for the last two or three 
 weeks. I never saw my father take so much no- 
 tice of him as he has in that time. What! You're 
 legacy-hunting are you, Mister Chuff? Eh ?" 
 
 But Chuffey was as little conscious of the 
 thought as of the bodily advance of Mr. Jonas's 
 clenched fist, which hovered fondly about his ear. 
 When he had scowled at him to his heart's con- 
 tent, Jonas took the candle from the table, and 
 walking into the glass office, produced a bunch 
 of keys from his pocket. With one of these he 
 opened a secret drawer in the desk: peeping 
 stealthily out, as he did so, to be certain that the 
 two old men were still before the fire. 
 
 44 All as right as ever," said Jonas, propping the 
 lid of the desk open with his forehead, and un- 
 folding a paper. " Here 's the will, Mister Chuff. 
 Thirty pound a year for your maintenance, old 
 boy, and all the rest to his only son, Jonas. You 
 needn't trouble yourself to be too affectionate. 
 You won't get anything by it. What's that?" 
 
 It was startling, certainly. A face on the other 
 side of the glass partition looking curiously in : 
 and not at him but at the paper in his hand. For 
 the eyes were attentively cast down upon the 
 writing, and were swiftly raised when he cried 
 out. Then they met his own, and were as the 
 i,yes of Mr. Pecksniff. 
 
 Suffering the lid of the desk to fall with a loud 
 noise, but not forgetting even then to lock it, Jo- 
 nas, pale and breathless, gazed upon this phantom. 
 It moved, opened the door, and walked in. 
 
 "What's the matter?" cried Jonas, falling 
 back. " Who is it? Where do you come from? 
 What do you "want?" 
 
 " Matter !" cried the voice of Mr. Pecksniff, as 
 Pecksniff in the flesh smiled amiably upon him. 
 "The matter Mr. Jonas !" 
 
 " What are you prying and peering about here 
 for ?" said Jonas, angrily. " What do you mean 
 
 by coming up to town in this way, and taking 
 one unawares ? It 's precious odd a man can't 
 read the — the newspaper in his own office with- 
 out being startled out of his wits by people com 
 ing in without notice. Why didn't you knock at 
 the door ?" 
 
 " So I did, Mr. Jonas," answered Pecksniff, 
 " but no one heard me. I was curious," he added 
 in his gentle way as he laid his hand upon the 
 young man's shoulder, " to find out what part of 
 the newspaper interested you so much ; but the 
 glass was too dim and dirty." 
 
 Jonas glanced in haste at the partition. Well. 
 It wasn't very clean. So far he spoke the truth. 
 
 "Was it poetry now?" said Mr. Pecksniff, 
 shaking the forefinger of his right hand with an 
 air of cheerful banter. " Or was it politics ? or 
 was it the price of stocks? The main chance Mr. 
 Jonas, the main chance I suspect." 
 
 " You ain't far from the truth," answered Jo- 
 nas, recovering himself and snuffing the candle: 
 " but how the deuce do you come to be in London 
 again ? Ecod ! it 's enough to make a man stare 
 to see a fellow looking at him all of a sudden, 
 who he thought wds sixty or seventy miles 
 away." 
 
 " So it is," said Mr. Pecksniff. " No doubt of 
 it my dear Mr. Jonas. For while the human mind 
 is constituted as it is — " 
 
 " Oh bother the human mind," interrupted Jo- 
 nas with impatience, u what have you come up 
 for ?" 
 
 " A little matter of business," said Mr. Peck- 
 sniff, " which has arisen quite unexpectedly." 
 
 "Oh!" cried Jonas, "is that all? Well! Here's 
 father in the next room. Hallo father, here 's 
 Pecksniff! He gets more addle-pated every day 
 he lives, I do believe," muttered Jonas, shaking 
 his honoured parent roundly. " Don't I tell you 
 Pecksniff's here, stupid-head?" 
 
 The combined effects of the shaking and this 
 loving remonstrance soon awoke the old man, 
 who gave Mr. Pecksniff a chuckling welcome, 
 which was attributable in part to his being glad 
 to see that gentleman, and in part to his unfading 
 delight in the recollection of having called him a 
 hypocrite. As Mr. Pecksniff had not yet taken 
 tea (indeed he had but an hour before arrived in 
 London) the remains of the late collation, with a 
 rasher of bacon, were served up for his entertain- 
 ment; and as Mr. Jonas had a business appoint- 
 ment in the next street, he stepped out to keep it: 
 promising to return before Mr. Pecksniff could 
 finish his repast. 
 
 "And now my good sir," said Mr. Pecksniff to 
 Anthony : "now that we are alone, pray tell me 
 what I can do for you. I say alone, because I 
 believe that our dear friend Mr. Chuffey is, meta- 
 physically speaking, a — shall I say a dummy ?" 
 asked Mr. Pecksniff with his sweetest smile, and 
 his head very much on one side. 
 
 " He neither hears us," replied Anthony, "nor 
 sees'us." 
 
 " Why then," said Mr. Pecksniff, " 1 will be 
 bold to say, with the utmost sympathy for his 
 afflictions, and the greatest admiration of tho?e 
 excellent qualities which do equal honour to his 
 head and to his heart, that he is what is playfully 
 termed a dummy. You were going to observe, 
 1 my dear sir — " 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT, 
 
 123 
 
 4 * I was not going to make any observation that 
 I know of," replied the old man. 
 
 '• / was," said Mr. Pecksniff, mildly. 
 
 " Oh ! i/im were f What was it ?" 
 
 "That I never," -aid .Mr. Pecksniff, pft 
 rising to see that the door was shut, and arrang- 
 ing his chair when he came buck, so that it could 
 not be opened in the least without his immedi itett 
 becoming aware of the circumstance; "that I 
 never in my life was so astonished as by the re- 
 ceipt of your letter yesterday. That you should 
 do me the honour to wish to take counsel with me 
 on any matter, amazed me; but that you should 
 desrre to do so to the exclusion even of Mr. Jonas, 
 showed an amount of confidence in one to whom 
 you had done a verbal injury — merely a verbal 
 injiirv, you were anxious to repair — which grati- 
 fied, which moved, which overcame me." 
 
 He was always a glib speaker, but he delivered 
 this short address very glibly, having been at 
 some pains to compose it outside the coach. 
 
 Although he paused for a reply, and truly said 
 that he wee there at Anthony's request, the old 
 man sat gating at him in profound silence, and 
 with a peiltctly blank face. Nor did he seem to 
 have the least desire or impulse to pursue the con- 
 versation, though Mr. Pecksniff looked towards 
 the door, and pulled out his watch, and gave him 
 many other hints that their time was short, and 
 Juiias, if he kept his word, would soon return. But 
 the strangest incident in all this strange behaviour 
 was, that of a sudden — in a moment — so swiftly 
 that it was impossible to trace how, or to observe 
 any process of change — his features fell into their 
 old expression, and he cried, striking his hand 
 passionately upon the table, as if no interval at all 
 had taken place : 
 
 " Will you hold your tongue, sir, and let me 
 speak ?" 
 
 Mr. Pecksniff deferred to him with a submis- 
 sive bow, and said within himself, " I knew his 
 hand was changed, and that his writing staggered. 
 I said so yesterday. Ahem ! Dear me !" 
 
 "Jonas is sweet upon your daughter, Peck- 
 sniff," said the old man, in his usual tone. 
 
 ** We spoke of that, if you remember, sir, at 
 Mrs. Todgers's," replied the courteous architect. 
 
 " You need n't speak so loud," retorted Anthony. 
 " I'm not so deaf as that." 
 
 Mr. Pecksniff had certainly raised his voice 
 pretty high ; not so much because he thought 
 Anthony was deaf, as because he felt convinced 
 that his perceptive faculties were waxing dim; 
 but this qui'k resentment of his considerate beha- 
 viour greatly disconcerted him, and, not knowing 
 what tuck to shape his course upon, he made an- 
 other inclination of the head, yet more submissive 
 than the last. 
 
 "I have said," repeated the old man, "that 
 Jonas is sweet opon your daughter." 
 
 " A charming girl, sir," murmured Mr. Pcck- 
 sniff, teeing lh.it he waited tor an answer. "A 
 dear j?irl, Mr. Chuzzlewit, though I say it, who 
 should not." 
 
 " You know better," cried the old man, advan- 
 cing his weazen face at least a yard, and starting 
 forward in his ehiir to de it. "Yen lie! What, 
 you will be a hypocrite, will you ?" 
 
 . good sir," Mr. Pecksniff be<„' m. 
 
 " Don't call me a good sir,** retorted Anthony, 
 
 "and don't claim to be ore yourself. If your 
 daughter was what you would have me believe, 
 she wouldn't do for Jonas. Being what she is, I 
 think she will. He might be deceived in a wife. 
 She might run riot, contract debts, and waste hid 
 nee. Now, when I am dead — " 
 
 1 lis face altered so horribly as he said the word, 
 that Mr. Pecksniff really was fain to look another 
 way. 
 
 ** It will be worse for me to know of such 
 doings than if I was alive; for to be tormented 
 for getting that together, which, even while I 
 suffer for its acquisition, is flung into the very 
 kennels of the streets, would be insupportable 
 torture. No," said the old man hoarsely ; M let 
 that be saved, at least — let there be something 
 gained, and kept fast hold of, when so much is 
 lost." 
 
 "My dear Mr. Chuzzlewit," said Pecksniff, 
 "these are unwholesome fancies; quite unneces- 
 sary, sir, quite uncalled for, I am sure. The truth 
 is, my dear sir, that you are not well !" 
 
 "Not dying, though!" cried Anthony, with 
 something like the snarl of a wild animal. "Not 
 yet ! There are years of life in me. Why, look 
 at him," pointing to his feeble clerk. " Death has 
 no right to leave him standing, and to mow me 
 down." 
 
 Mr. Pecksniff was so much afraid of the old 
 man, and so completely taken aback by the state 
 in which he found him, that he had not even pre- 
 sence of mind enough to call up a scrap of mo- 
 rality from the great storehouse within his own 
 breast. Therefore he stammered out that no 
 doubt it was, in fairness and decency, Mr. Chuf- 
 fey's turn to expire; and that from all he had 
 heard of Mr. Chuffey, and the little he had the 
 pleasure of knowing of that gentleman personally, 
 he felt convinced, in his own mind, that he would 
 see the propriety of expiring with as little delay 
 as possible. 
 
 * Come here !" said the old man, beckoning him 
 to draw nearer. "Jonas will be my heir, Jonas 
 will be rich, and a great catch for you. You know 
 that. Jonas is sweet upon your daughter." 
 
 " I know that too," thought Mr. Pecksniff, "for 
 you have said it often enough." 
 
 " He might get more money than with her," 
 said the old man, " but she will help him to take 
 care of what they have. She is not too young or 
 heedless, and comes of a good hard griping stock. 
 But don't you play too fino a game. She only 
 holds him by a thread ; and if you draw it too 
 tight, (I know his temper,) it'll snap. Bind him 
 when lie's in the mood, Pecksniff; biud him. 
 You 're too deep. In your way of leading him 
 on, you 'II leave him miles behind. Bah, you man 
 of oil, have I no eyes to see how you have ang.ed 
 with him from the first?" 
 
 44 Now I wonder," thought Mr. Pecksniff, look- 
 lag at him with a wistful face, u whether this is 
 all he has to say !" 
 
 Old Anthony rubbed his hands, and muttered to 
 himself; complained again that he was cold ; drew 
 his chair before the fire; and, sitting with his 
 back to Mr. Pecksniff, and his chin sunk down 
 ujion his bn i-t, wa«, in another minute, quite 
 regardless or forgetful of his presence. 
 
 Uncouth and unsatisfactory as this short infer 
 view had beon.it had furnished Mr. Peokxntfl 
 
124 
 
 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 with a hint which, supposing nothing further 
 were imparted to him, repaid the journey up, and 
 home again. For the good gentleman had never 
 (for want of an opportunity) dived into the depth 
 of Mr. Jonas ? s nature ; and any recipe for catch- 
 ing such a son-in-law (much more, one written 
 on a leaf out of his own father's book) was worth 
 the having. In order that he might lose no 
 chance of improving so fair an opportunity by 
 allowing Anthony to fall asleep before he had 
 finished all he had to say, Mr. Pecksniff, in the 
 disposal of the refreshments on the table — a work 
 to which he now applied himself in earnest — re- 
 sorted to many ingenious contrivances for attract- 
 ing his attention, such as coughing, sneezing, 
 clattering the teacups, sharpening the knives, 
 dropping the loaf, and so forth. But all in vain, 
 for Mr. Jonas returned, and Anthony had said 
 no more. 
 
 " What ! my father asleep again ?" he cried, as 
 he hung up his hat, and cast a look at him. "Ah! 
 and snoring. Only hear!" 
 
 " He snores very deep," said Mr. Pecksniff. 
 
 " Snores deep ?" repeated Jonas. " Yes ; let 
 him alone for that. He '11 snore for six, at any 
 time." 
 
 " Do you know, Mr. Jonas," said Pecksniff, 
 " that I think your father is — don't let me alarm 
 
 you- 
 
 -breaki 
 
 Oh, is he though," replied Jonas, with a shake 
 of the head which expressed the closeness of his 
 dutiful observation. " Ecod, you don't know how 
 tough he is. He ain't upon the move yet." 
 
 *It struck me that he was changed, both in 
 his appearance and manner," said Mr. Pecksniff. 
 
 " That 's all you know about it," returned 
 Jonas, seating himself with a melancholy air. 
 "He never was better than he is now. How are 
 they all at home ? How 's Charity ?" 
 
 " Blooming, Mr. Jonas, blooming." 
 
 "And the other one — how 's she ?" 
 
 "Volatile trifler !" said Mr. Pecksniff, fondly 
 musing. " She is well — she is well. Roving 
 from parlour to bed-room, Mr. Jonas, like the 
 bee; skimming from post to pillar, like the but- 
 terfly ; dipping her young beak into our currant 
 wine, like the humming-bird ! Ah ! were she a 
 little less giddy than she is ; and had she but the 
 sterling qualities of Cherry, my young friend !" 
 
 " Is she so very giddy, then ?" asked Jonas. 
 
 "Well, well!" said Mr. Pecksniff, with great 
 feeling ; " let me not be hard upon my child. 
 Beside her sister Cherry she appears so. A 
 strange noise that« Mr. Jonas !" 
 
 " Something wrong in the clock, I suppose," 
 said Jonas, glancing towards it. " So the other 
 one ain't your favourite, ain't she ?" 
 
 The fond father was about to reply, and had 
 already summoned into his face a look of the in- 
 tensest sensibility, when the sound he had already 
 noticed was repeated. 
 
 " Upon my word, Mr. Jonas, that is a very ex- 
 traordinary clock," said Pecksniff. 
 
 It would have been, if it had made the noise 
 which startled them ; but another kind of time- 
 yiece was fast running down, and from that the 
 sound proceeded. A scream from Chuffey, ren- 
 dered a hundred times more loud and formidable 
 by his silent habits, made the house ring from 
 roof to cellar ; and, looking round, they saw An- 
 
 thony Chuzzlewit extended on the floor, with the 
 old clerk upon his knees beside him. 
 
 He had fallen from his chair in a fit, and lay 
 there, battling for each gasp of breath, with every 
 shrivelled vein and sinew starting in its place, as 
 it were bent on bearing witness to his age, and 
 sternly pleading with Nature against his reco- 
 very. It was frightful to see how the principle 
 of life, shut up within his withered frame, fought 
 like a strong devil, mad to be released, and rent 
 its ancient prison-house. A young man in the 
 fulness of his vigour, struggling with so much 
 strength of desperation, would have been a dismal 
 sight; but an old, old, shrunken body, endowed 
 with preternatural might, and giving the lie in 
 every motion of its every limb and joint to its 
 enfeebled aspect, was a hideous spectacle indeed. 
 
 They raised him up, and fetched a surgeon 
 with all haste, who bled the patient, and applied 
 some remedies; but the fits held him so long, 
 that it was past midnight when they got him — 
 quiet now, but quite unconscious and exhausted — 
 into bed. 
 
 " Don't go," said Jonas, putting his ashy lips 
 to Mr. Pecksniff's ear, and whispering across the 
 bed. " It was a mercy you were present when 
 he was taken ill. Some one might have said it 
 was my doing." 
 
 "Your doing!" cried Mr. Pecksniff. 
 
 " I don't know but they might," he replied, 
 wiping the moisture from his white face. " Peo- 
 ple say such things. How does he look now ?" 
 
 Mr. Pecksniff shook his head. 
 
 " I used to joke, you know," said Jonas : " but 
 I — I never wished him dead. Do you think he 's 
 very bad ?" 
 
 "The doctor said he was. You heard," was 
 Mr. Pecksniff's answer. 
 
 " Ah ! but he might say that to charge us 
 more, in case of his getting well," said Jonas. 
 " You mustn't go away, Pecksniff. Now it 's 
 come to this, I wouldn't be without a witness for 
 a thousand pound." 
 
 Chuffey said not a word, and heard not a word. 
 He had sat himself down in a chair at the bed- 
 side, and there he remained, motionless ; except 
 that he sometimes bent his head over the pillow, 
 and seemed to listen. He never changed in this. 
 Though once in the dreary night Mr. Pecksniff, 
 having dozed, awoke with a confused impression 
 that he had heard him praying, and strangely 
 mingling figures — not of speech, but arithmetic — 
 with his broken prayers. 
 
 Jonas sat there, too, all night: not where his 
 father could have seen him, had his consciousness 
 returned, but hiding, as it were, behind him, and 
 only reading how he looked in Mr. Pecksniff's 
 eyes. He, the coarse upstart, who had ruled the 
 house so long — the craven cur, who was afraid 
 to move, and shook so that his very shadow flut- 
 tered on the wall ! 
 
 It was broad, bright, stirring day when, leav- 
 ing the old clerk to watch him, they went down 
 to breakfast. People hurried up and down the 
 street; windows and doors were opened; thieves 
 and beggars took their usual posts ; workmen 
 bestirred themselves ; tradesmen set fortli their 
 shops ; bailiffs and constables were on the watch ; 
 all kinds of human creatures strove, in their 
 several ways, as hard to live, as the one sick old 
 
I ■* GAMP 
 
 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 
 
 125 
 
 man who combated for every grain of sand in j 
 his fast-emptying glass, as eagerly as if it were 
 an empire. 
 
 " If anything happens, Pecksniff," said Jonas, 
 "you must promise rnc to stop here till it's all 
 over. You shall see that I do what's right." 
 
 *• I know that you will do what's right, Mr. 
 Jonas," said Pecksniff. 
 
 u Yes, yes, hut I won't be doubted. No one 
 shall have it in his power to say a syllable against 
 me," he returned. "1 know how people will 
 talk. — Just as if ho wasn't old, or I had the secret 
 of keeping him alive !" 
 
 ."Mr. Pecksniff promised that he would remain, 
 if circumstances should render it in his esteemed 
 friend's opinion desirable ; and they were finish- 
 ing their meal in silence, when suddenly an ap- 
 parition stood before them, so ghastly to the view, 
 that Jonas shrieked aloud, and both recoiled in 
 horror. 
 
 Old Anthony, dressed in his usual clothes, was 
 in the room — beside the table. He leaned upon 
 the shoulder of his solitary friend ; and on his 
 
 livid face, and on his horny hands, and in his 
 glassy eyes, and traced by an eternal finger in 
 the very drops of sweat upon his brow, was one 
 word — Death. 
 
 He spoke to them — in something of his own 
 voice too, but sharpened and made hollow, like a 
 dead man's face. What he would have said, God 
 knows. He seemed to utter words, but they were 
 such as man had never heard. And this was the 
 most fearful circumstance of all, to see him stand- 
 ing there, gabbling in an unearthly tongue. 
 
 "He's better now," said Chuffcy. "Better 
 now. Let him sit in his old chair, and he 'II be 
 well again. I told him not to mind. J said so, 
 yesterday." 
 
 They put him in his easy-chair, and wheeled 
 it near the window ; then setting open the door, 
 exposed him to the free current of morning air. 
 But not all the air that is, nor all the winds that 
 ever blew 'twixt Heaven and Earth, could have 
 brought new life to him. Plunge him to the 
 throat in golden pieces now, and his heavy fingers 
 should not close on one. 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 THE READER IS BROUGHT INTO COMMUNICATION WITH SOME PROFES 
 SIONAL PERSONS, AND SHEDS A TEAR OVER THE FILIAL PIETY OF GOOD 
 MR. JONAS. 
 
 Mr. Pecksniff was in a hackney cabriolet, for 
 Jonas Chuzzlewit had said "Spare no expense." 
 Mankind is evil in its thoughts and in its base 
 constructions, and Jonas was resolved it should 
 not have an inch to stretch into an ell against 
 him. It never should be charged upon his fa- 
 ther's son that he had grudged the money for his 
 father's funeral. Hence, until the obsequies should 
 be concluded, Jonas had taken for his motto 
 " Spend, and spare not !" 
 
 Mr. Pecksniff had been to the undertaker, and 
 was now upon his way to another officer in the 
 train of mourning — a female functionary, a nurse, 
 and watcher, and performer of nameless offices 
 about the persons of the dead — whom he had re- 
 commended. Her name, as Mr. Pecksniff had 
 gathered from a scrap of writing in his hand, was 
 Gamp; her residence in Kingsgate Street, High 
 Holborn. So Mr. Pecksniff, in a hackney cab, 
 was rattling over Holborn stones, in quest of 
 Mrs. Gamp. 
 
 This lady lodged at a bird-fancier's ; next door 
 but one to the celebrated mutton-pie shop, and 
 directly opposite to the original cat's meat ware- 
 house ; the renown of which establishments was 
 duly heralded on their respective fronts. It was 
 a little house, and this was the more convenient; 
 for .Mrs. Gamp being, in her highest walk of art, 
 a monthly nurse, or, as her sign-board boldly had 
 it, " Midwife," and lodging in the first-floor-front, 
 was easily assailable at night by pebbles, walking- 
 sticks, and fragments of tobacco-pi pe: all much 
 more efficacious than the street-door knocker, 
 which was so constructed as to wake the street 
 with ease, and even spread alarms of fire in Hol- 
 born, without making the smallest impression on 
 the premises to which it was addressed. 
 
 It chanced on this particular occasion that 
 Mrs. Gamp had been up all the previous night, in 
 attendance upon a ceremony to which the usago 
 of gossips has given that name which expresses, 
 in two syllables, the curse pronounced on Adam. 
 It chanced that Mrs. Gamp had not been regu- 
 larly engaged, but had been called in at a crisis, 
 in consequence of her great repute, to assist an- 
 other professional lady with her advice ; and thus 
 it happened that, all points of interest in the case 
 being over, Mrs. Gamp had come home again to 
 the bird-fancier's, and gone to bed. So when Mr 
 Pecksniff drove up in the hackney cab, Mrs, 
 Gamp's curtains were drawn close, and Mrs. 
 Gamp was fast asleep behind them. 
 
 If the bird-fancier had been at home, as he 
 ought to have been, there would have been no 
 great harm in this ; but he was out, and his shop 
 was closed. The shutters were down certainly; 
 and in every pane of glass there was at least one 
 tiny bird in a tiny bird-cage, twittering and hop- 
 ping his little ballet of despair, and knocking his 
 head against the roof; while one unhappy gold- 
 finch who lived outside a red villa with in- 
 on the door, drew the water for his own drinking, 
 and mutely appealed to some good man to drop a 
 farthing's worth of poison in it Still, the door 
 was shut Mr. Pecksniff tried the latch, and 
 shook it, causing a cracked bell inside to ring 
 most mournfully ; but no one came. The bird- 
 t.uirii r was an easy shaver also, and a fashiona 
 blc hairdresser also; and perhaps he hud been 
 sent for, express, from the court end of the town, 
 to trim a lord, or cut and curl a lady ; but however 
 that might be, there, upon his own ground, he 
 was not; nor was there any more distinct tracts 
 of him to assist the imagination of an inquirer. 
 
126 
 
 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 than a professional print or emblem of his calling 
 (much favoured in the trade), representing a hair- 
 dresser of easy manners curling a lady of distin- 
 guished fashion, in the presence of a patent up- 
 right grand piano. 
 
 Noting these circumstances, Mr. Pecksniff, in 
 the innocence of his heart, applied himself to the 
 knocker ; but at the very first double knock, every 
 window in the street became alive with female 
 heads ; and before he could repeat the perform- 
 ance, whole troops of married ladies (some about 
 to trouble Mrs. Gamp themselves, very shortly) 
 came flocking round the steps : all crying out 
 with one accord, and with uncommon interest, 
 M Knock at the winder, sir, knock at the winder. 
 Lord bless you, don't lose no more time than you 
 can help — knock at the winder 1" 
 
 Acting upon this suggestion, and borrowing 
 the driver's whip for the purpose, Mr. Pecksniff 
 soon made a commotion among the first-floor 
 flower-pots, and roused Mrs. Gamp, whose voice 
 — to the great satisfaction of the matrons — was 
 heard to say, " I 'm coming." 
 • "He's as pale as a muffin," said one lady, in 
 allusion to Mr. Pecksniff. 
 
 " So he ought to be, if he 's the feelings of a 
 man," observed another. 
 
 A third lady (with her arms folded) said she 
 wished he had chosen any other time for fetching 
 Mrs. Gamp, but it always happened so with her. 
 
 It gave Mr. Pecksniff much uneasiness to find 
 from these remarks that he was supposed to have 
 come to Mrs. Gamp upon an errand touching — 
 not the close of life, but the other end. Mrs. 
 Gamp herself was under the same impression, for 
 throwing open the window, she cried behind the 
 curtains, as she hastily attired herself — 
 
 44 Is it Mrs. Perkins ?" 
 
 " No !" returned Mr. Pecksniff, sharply, " no- 
 thing of the sort." 
 
 " What, Mr. Whilks !". cried Mrs. Gamp. "Don't 
 eay it \s you, Mr. Whilks, and that poor creetur 
 Mrs. Whilks with not even a pincushion ready. 
 Don't say it 's you, Mr. Whilks !" 
 
 "It isn't Mr. Whilks," said Pecksniff. "I don't 
 know the man. Nothing of the kind. A gentle- 
 man is dead ; and some person being wanted in 
 the house, you have been recommended by Mr. 
 Mould, the undertaker." 
 
 As she was by this time in a condition to ap- 
 pear, Mrs. Gamp, who had a face for all occasions, 
 looked out of the window with her mourning 
 Countenance, and said she would be down directly. 
 But the matrons took it very ill, that Mr. Peck- 
 sniff's mission was of so unimportant a kind ; 
 and the lady with her arms folded rated him in 
 good round terms, signifying that she would be 
 glad to know what he meant by terrifying deli- 
 cate females " with his corpses ;" and giving it as 
 her opinion that he was quite ugly enough to 
 know better. The other ladies were not at all 
 behind-hand in expressing similar sentiments; 
 and the children, of whom some scores had now 
 collected, hooted and defied Mr. Pecksniff quite 
 savagely. So when Mrs. Gamp appeared, the 
 unoffending gentleman was glad to hustle her 
 with very little ceremony into the cabriolet, and 
 drive off overwhelmed with popular execration. 
 
 Mrs. Gamp had a large bundle with her, a pair 
 of pattens, and a species of gig umbrella ; the lat- 
 
 ter article in colour like a faded leaf, except 
 where a circular patch of a lively blue had been 
 dexterously let in at the top. She was much 
 flurried by the haste she had made, and laboured 
 under the most erroneous views of cabriolets, 
 which she appeared to confound with mail-coaches 
 or stage-wagons, inasmuch as she was constantly 
 endeavouring for the first half mile to force her 
 luggage through the little front window, and cla- 
 mouring to the driver to " put it in the boot." 
 When she was disabused of this idea, her whole 
 being resolved itself into an absorbing anxiety 
 about her pattens, with which she played innu- 
 merable games at quoits, on Mr. Pecksniff's legs. 
 It was not until they were close upon the house 
 of mourning that she had enough composure to 
 observe — 
 
 " And so the gentleman 's dead, sir ! Ah ! The 
 
 I more 's the pity" — she didn't even know his 
 
 I name. " But it 's what we must all come to. 
 
 It's as certain as being born, except that we can't 
 
 make our calculations as exact. Ah ! Poor 
 
 dear!" 
 
 She was a fat old woman, this Mrs. Gamp, 
 with a husky voice and a moist eye, which she 
 had a remarkable power of turning up, and only 
 showing the white of. Having very little neck, 
 it cost her some trouble to look over herself, if 
 one may say so, at those to whom she talked. 
 She wore a very rusty black gown, rather the 
 worse for snuff, and a shawl and bonnet to corre- 
 spond. In these dilapidated articles of dress she 
 had, on principle, arrayed herself, time out of 
 mind, on such occasions as the present; for this 
 at once expressed a decent amount of veneration 
 for the deceased, and invited the next of kin to 
 present her with a fresher suit of weeds : an ap- 
 peal so frequently successful, that the very fetch 
 and ghost of Mrs. Gamp, bonnet and all, might 
 be seen hanging up, any hour in the day, in at 
 least a dozen of the second-hand clothes shops 
 about Holborn. The face of Mrs. Gamp — the nose 
 in particular — was somewhat red and swoln, and 
 it was difficult to enjoy her society without be- 
 coming conscious of a smell of spirits. Like 
 most persons who have attained to great eminence 
 in their profession, she took to hers very kindly ; 
 insomuch, that setting aside her natural predilec- 
 tions as a woman, she went to a lying-in or a 
 laying-out with equal zest and relish. 
 
 " Ah !" repeated Mrs. Gamp ; for it was always 
 a safe sentiment in cases of mourning. " Ah 
 dear ! When Gamp was summoned to his long 
 home, and I see him a-lying in Guy's Hospital 
 with a penny-piece on each eye, and his wooden ^ 
 leg under his left arm, I thought I should have 
 fainted away. But I bore up." 
 
 If certain whispers current in the Kingsgate 
 Street circles had any truth in them, she had in- 
 deed borne up surprisingly; and had exerted such 
 uncommon fortitude, as to dispose of Mr. Gamp's 
 remains for the benefit of science. But it should 
 be added, in fairness, that this had happened 
 twenty years ago ; and that Mr. and Mrs. Gamp 
 had long been separated, on the ground of incom- 
 patibility of temper in their drink. 
 
 " You have become indifferent since then, I 
 suppose ?" said Mr. Pecksniff. " Use is second 
 nature, Mrs. Gamp." 
 
 "You may well say second nater, sir," r e- 
 
MARTIN CIIUZZLEWIT. 
 
 127 
 
 turned that lady. "One's first ways is to find 
 sich things a trial to the feelings; and so is one's 
 ii. If it wasn't for the nerve a little 
 sip of liquor gfive me (I never was ahle to do more 
 than taste it) I never could go through with what 
 I sometimes have to do. *Mrs. Harris,' I says, 
 at the very last case as ever I acted in, which it 
 was but a young person ; ' Mrs. Harris,' I says, 
 •leave' on the chimney, piece, and don't 
 
 ask me to take none, but let me put my lips to it 
 when I am so dispoged, and then I will do what 
 ' to do, according to the best of my 
 ability.' ' Mrs. Gamp,' she says, in answer, ' If 
 ever there was a sober creetur to be got at eigh- 
 teen pence a day for working people, and three 
 and six for gentlefolks- — night watching," said 
 Mrs. Gamp, with emphasis, "'being a extra 
 charge — you are that inwalable person.' * Mrs. 
 Harris,' I says to her, 'don't name the charge, for 
 if I could afford to lay all my feller creeturs out 
 for nothink, I would gladly do it ; sich is the love 
 I bear 'em. But what I always says to them as 
 has the management of matters, Mrs. Harris' " — 
 here she kept her eye on Mr. Pecksniff — " ' be 
 they gents or be they ladies — is, don't ask me 
 whether I won't take none, or whether I will, but 
 leave the bottle on the chimlcy-piccc, and let me 
 put my lips to it when I am bo dispoged.' " 
 
 The conclusion of this affecting narrative 
 brought them to the house. In the passage they 
 encountered Mr. Mould the undertaker : a little 
 elderly gentleman, bald, and in a suit of black ; 
 with a note-book in his hand, a massive gold 
 watch-chain dangling from his fob, and a face in 
 which a queer attempt at melancholy was at odds 
 with a smirk of satisfaction ; so that he looked as 
 a man might who, in the very act of smacking 
 his lips over choice old wine, tried to make believe 
 it was physic. 
 
 " Well, Mrs. Gamp, and how are you, Mrs. 
 Gamp?" said this gentleman, in a voice as soft as 
 his step. 
 
 " Pretty well, I thank you, sir," dropping a 
 curtsey. 
 
 M You '11 be very particular here, Mrs. Gamp. 
 This is not a common case, Mrs. Gamp. Let 
 everything be very nice and comfortable, Mrs. 
 Gamp, if you please," said the undertaker, shaking 
 his head with a solemn air. 
 
 " It shall be, sir," she replied, curtseying again. 
 "You knows me of old, sir, I hope." 
 
 "I Ixpc so, too, Mrs. Gamp," said the under- 
 taker ; " and I think so also." Mrs. Gamp curt- 
 seyed again. "This is one of the most impres- 
 sive canes, sir," he continued, addressing Mr. 
 Pecksnitf, " that I have seen in the whole course 
 of my professional experience." 
 
 " Indeed, Mr. Mould !" cried that gentleman. 
 
 •* Such affectionate regret, sir, I never saw. 
 There is no limitation — there is positively no lim- 
 itation," — opening his eyes wide, and standing on 
 tiptoe, "in point of expense. I have orders, sir, 
 to put on my whole establishment of mutes; and 
 mutes come very dear, Mr. Pecksniff; not to men- 
 tion their drink. To provide silver-p tiled handles 
 of the very best description, ornamented with 
 angels* heads from the most expensive dies. To 
 be perfectly profuse in feathers. In short, sir, to 
 turn out something absolutely gorgeous." 
 
 " My friend Mr. Jonas is an excellent man,** 
 : said Mr. Pecksnitf. 
 
 " I have seen a good deal of what is filial in my 
 time, sir," retorted Mould, " and of what is un- 
 filial too. It is our lot We come into the 
 knowledge; of those secrets. But anything so 
 filial as this; anything so hononral'l-: to human 
 nature ; so calculated to reconcile all of us to tne 
 world we live in; never yet came under my ob- 
 servation. It only proves, sir, what was so forci 
 bly observed by the lamented theatrical poet 
 buried — at Stratford — that there is good in every 
 thing." 
 
 " It is very pleasant to hear you say so, Mr. 
 Mould," observed Mr Pecksniff. 
 
 " You are very kind, sir. And whet a man 
 Mr. Chuzzlewit was, sir ! Ah ! what a man lie a 
 was. You may talk of your lord mayors," said 
 Mould, waving his hand at the public in general, 
 "your sheriffs, your common councilmen, yoar 
 trumpery ; but show me a man in this city who 
 is worthy to walk in the shoes of the departed 
 Mr. Chuzzlewit. No, no," cried Mould, with bit- 
 ter sarcasm. u Hang 'ern up, hang 'em up ; solo 
 'em and heel 'em, and have 'em ready for his son 
 against he's old enough to wear 'em; but don't 
 try 'em on yourselves, for they won't fit you* We 
 knew him," said Mould, in the same biting vein, 
 as he pocketed his note-book; " we knew him, and 
 are not to be caught with chaff. Mr. Pecksniff, 
 sir, good morning." 
 
 Mr. Pecksniff returned the compliment; and 
 Mould, sensible of having distinguished himself 
 was going away with a brisk smile, when he for- 
 tunately remembered the occasion. Quickly be- 
 coming depressed again, he sighed ; looked into 
 the crown of his hat, as if for comfort; put it on 
 without finding any ; and slowly departed. 
 
 Mrs. Gamp and Mr. Pecksniff then ascended 
 the staircase; and the former, having been shown 
 to the chamber in which all that remained of 
 Anthony Chuzzlewit lay covered up, with but one 
 loving heart, and that a halting one, to mourn it, 
 left the latter free to enter the darkened room be- 
 low, and rejoin Mr. Jonas, from whom he had 
 now been absent nearly two hours. 
 
 He found that example to bereaved sons and 
 pattern in the eyes of all performers of funerals, 
 musing over a fragment of writing-paper on the 
 desk, and scratching figures on it with a pen. The 
 old man's chair, and hat, and walking-stick, wore 
 removed from their accustomed places, and pot out 
 of sight; the window-blinds, as yellow as Novem- 
 ber fogs, were drawn down close ; Jonas himself 
 was so subdued, that he could scarcely bo heard 
 to speak, and only seen to walk across the room. 
 
 " Pecksniff," he said, in a whisper, " you shall 
 have the regulation of it all, mind. You shall be 
 able to tell anybody who talks about it that every 
 thing was correctly and freely done. There isn't 
 any one you 'd like to ask to the funeral, is there ■ " 
 
 " No, Mr. Jonas, I think not." 
 
 •* Because if there is, you know," *aid Jonas, 
 "ask him. We don't want to make a secret of 
 it." 
 
 " No," repeated Mr. Pecksniff, after a little re. 
 flection. " I am not tho less obliged to you on 
 that account, Mr. Jonas, for your liberal hospitnli 
 ty ; but there really is no one " 
 
128 
 
 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 " Very well," said Jonas ; " then you, and I, 
 and Chuffey, and the doctor, will be just a coach- 
 fuh We'll have the doctor, Pecksniff, because 
 he knows what was the matter with him, and 
 that it couldn't be helped." 
 
 " Where is our dear friend, Mr. Chuffey ?' 
 asked Pecksniff, looking round the chamber, and 
 winking both his eyes at once — for he was over- 
 come by his feelings. 
 
 But here he was interrupted by Mrs. Gamp, 
 who, divested of her bonnet and shawl, came si- 
 dling and bridling into the room ; and, with some 
 sharpness, demanded a conference outside the 
 door with Mr. Pecksniff. 
 
 " You may say whatever you wish to say here, 
 Mrs. Gamp," said that gentleman, shaking his 
 head with a melancholy expression. 
 
 " It is not much as I have to say, when people 
 is a mourning for the dead and gone," said Mrs. 
 Gamp ; " but what I have to say is to the pint 
 and purpose, and no offence intended, must be so 
 considered. I have been at a many places in my 
 time, gentlemen, and I hope I knows what my 
 duties is, and how the same should be performed: 
 in course, if I did not, it would be very strange, 
 and very wrong in sich a gentleman as Mr. 
 Mould, which has undertook the highest families 
 in this land, and given every satisfaction, so to 
 recommend me as he does. I have seen a deal 
 of trouble my own self," said Mrs. Gamp, laying 
 greater and greater stress upon her words, " and 
 I can feel for them as has their feelings tried : 
 but I am not a Rooshan or a Prooshan, and con- 
 sequently cannot suffer Spies to be set over me." 
 
 Before it was possible that an answer could be 
 returned, Mrs. Gamp, now growing redder in the 
 face, went on to say : 
 
 " It is not a easy matter, gentlemen, to live 
 when you are left a widder woman ; particular 
 when your feelings works upon you to that ex- 
 tent that you often find yourself a going out on 
 terms which is a certain loss, and never can repay. 
 But, in whatever way you earns your bread, you 
 may have rules and regulations of your own, 
 which cannot be broke through. Some people," 
 said Mrs. Gamp, again entrenching herself be- 
 hind her strong point, as if it were not assailable 
 by human ingenuity, " may be Rooshans, and 
 some may be Prooshans ; they are born so, and 
 will please themselves. Them which is of other 
 naturs thinks different." 
 
 " If I understand this good lady," said Mr. 
 Pecksniff, turning to Jonas, " Mr. Chuffey is 
 troublesome to her. Shall I fetch him down ?" 
 
 " Do," said Jonas. " I was going to tell you 
 he was up there, when she came in. I 'd go 
 myself and bring him down, only — only I 'd ra- 
 ther you went, if you don't mind it." 
 
 Mr. Pecksniff promptly departed, followed by 
 Mrs. Gamp, who, seeing that he took a bottle and 
 glass from the cupboard, and carried it in his 
 hand, was much softened. 
 
 "I am sure," she said, "that if it wasn't for 
 his own happiness, I should no more mind his 
 being there, poor dear, than if he was a fly. But 
 them as isn't used to these things, thinks so much 
 of 'em afterwards, that it 's a kindness to 'cm not 
 to let 'em have their wish. And even," said Mrs. 
 (J amp, probably in reference to some flowers of 
 ipeech she had already strewn on Mr. Chuffey, 
 
 " even if one calls 'em names, it 's only dune to 
 rouse 'em." 
 
 Whatever epithets she had bestowed upon the 
 old clerk, thev had not roused him. He sat beside 
 the bed, in the chair he had occupied all the pre- 
 vious night, with his hands folded before him, and 
 his head bowed down ; and neither looked up, on 
 their entrance, nor gave any sign of conscious- 
 ness, until Mr. Pecksniff took him by the arm, 
 when he meekly rose. 
 
 " Three score and ten," said Chuffey, " ought 
 and carry seven. Some men are so strong that 
 they live to fourscore — four times ought 's an 
 ought, four times two 's eight — eighty. Oh ! why 
 — why — why — didn't he live to four times ought's 
 an ought, and four times two's eight — eighty ?" 
 
 "Ahl what a wale of grief!" cried Mrs. 
 Gamp, possessing herself of the bottle and glass. 
 
 " Why did he die before his poor old crazy ser- 
 vant !" said Chuffey, clasping his hands and look- 
 ing up in anguish. " Take him from me, and 
 what remains ? 
 
 " Mr. Jonas," returned Pecksniff, " Mr. Jonas, 
 my good friend." 
 
 " I loved him," cried the old man, weeping. 
 " He was good to me. We learnt Tare and Tret 
 together, at school. I took him down once , six 
 boys, in the arithmetic class. God forgive me ! 
 Had 1 the heart to take him down !" 
 
 " Come, Mr. Chuffey," said Pecksniff, " come 
 with me. Summon up your fortitude, Mr. 
 Chuffey." 
 
 " Yes, I will," returned the old clerk. " Yes. 
 I '11 sum up my forty — How many time's forty — 
 Oh, Chuzzlewit and Son — Your own son, Mr. 
 Chuzzlewit ; your own son, Sir !" 
 
 He yielded to the hand that guided him, as he 
 lapsed into this familiar expression, and submitted 
 to be led away. Mrs. Gamp, w T ith the bottle on 
 one knee, and the glass in the other, sat upon a 
 stool, shaking her head for a long time, until, in 
 a moment of abstraction, she poured out a dram 
 of spirits, and raised it to her lips. It was suc- 
 ceeded by a second, and by a third, and then her 
 eyes — either in the sadness of her reflections upon 
 life and death, or in her admiration of the liquor 
 — were so turned up as to be quite invisible. But 
 she shook her head still. 
 
 Poor Chuffey was conducted to his accustomed 
 corner, and there he remained, silent and quiet, 
 save at long intervals, when he would rise, and 
 walk about the room, and wring his hands, or 
 raise some strange and sudden cry. For a whole 
 week they all three sat about the hearth and never 
 stirred abroad. Mr. Pecksniff would have walk- 
 ed out in the evening time, but Jonas was so 
 averse to his being absent for a minute, that he 
 abandoned the idea, and so, from morning until 
 night, they brooded together in the dark room, 
 without relief or occupation. 
 
 The weight of that which was stretched out 
 stiff and stark, in the awful chamber above stairs, 
 so crushed and bore down Jonas, that he bent be- 
 neath the load. During the whole long seven 
 days and nights, he was always oppressed and 
 haunted by a dreadful sense of Its presence in the 
 house. Did the door move, he looked towards it 
 with a livid face and starting eye, as if he fully 
 believed that ghostly fingers clutched the handle. 
 Did the fire flicker in a draught of air, he glanced 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 
 
 129 
 
 it shoulder, as almost dreading to behold 
 8oii»e shrouded figure fanning and flapping at 
 it wiv.i its fearful dress. The 
 .'urbeu him ; and oner, in tin- night, at the sound 
 ■ f a footstep over-head, he cried out that the dead 
 man was walking— tramp, tramp, tramp — about 
 his coffin. 
 
 Hi lay at night upon a mattress on the floor of 
 
 .n chamber having been 
 
 Mrs. Gamp; and Mr. Pecksniff was 
 
 inmofl tied. The howling of a dog 
 
 im with a terror he could 
 
 Hi' avoided the reflection in the 
 
 indows of the light that burned above, 
 
 :i angry eve. Fie often* 
 
 lit, rose up from his fitful sleep, and 
 
 longed for dawn; all directions and 
 
 i to the ordering of their daily 
 
 ibandoncd to Mr. PeoksnifF. That 
 
 n, deeming that the mourner 
 
 wanted comfort, and that high feeding was likely 
 
 to do him infinite service, availed himself of these 
 
 opportunities to such good purpose, that they kept 
 
 quite a dainty table during this melancholy sea- 
 
 ith sweetbreads, stewed kidneys, oysters, 
 
 anff'dther such light viands, for supper every 
 
 over which, and sundry jorums of hot 
 
 punch, Mr. Pecksniff delivered such moral reflcc- 
 
 mI spiritual consolation as might have con- 
 
 a heathen — especially if he had had but 
 
 an imperfect acquaintance with the English 
 
 .Nor did Mr. Pecksniff alone indulge in the 
 creature comforts during this sad time. Mrs. 
 Gamp proved to be very choice in her eating, and 
 repudiated hashed mutton with scorn. In her 
 drinking, too, she was very punctual and particu- 
 lar, requiring a pint of mild porter at lunch, a pint 
 it dinner, half a pint as a species of stay or hold- 
 fast between dinner and tea, and a pint of the 
 ted staggering ale, or Real Old Brighton 
 Tipper, at supper; besides the bottle on the chim- 
 ney-piece, and such casual invitations to refresh 
 with wine as the good-breeding of her 
 employers might prompt them to offer. In like 
 m inner, Mr. Mould's men found it nec< 
 droftt) their grief, like a young kitten in the morn- 
 ;'s existence; for which reason they gene- 
 rally fuddled themselves before they began to do 
 anything, lest it should make head, and got the" 
 belter of them. In short, the whole of that strange 
 . round of dismal joviality and grim 
 /•njoyment ; and every one, except poor C 
 who came within the shadow of Anthony Ch male- 
 wit's grave, feasted like a ghoule. 
 
 At length the day of the funeral, pious and 
 truthful ceremony that it was, arrived. Mr. 
 Mould, with a glass of generous port bet v. 
 
 ; the light, I inst the desk in the 
 
 lice, with his gold watch in his un- 
 
 occupied hand, and conversed with .Mrs. Gamp; 
 
 house-door, looking as 
 
 with such a thriving job in hand; the \. 
 
 n duty within 
 leathers waved, hors. s 
 in Jt word, as 
 ; .uld emphatically said, "everytirii 
 money could do, was done." 
 
 : whit can do n Gamp?" ex- 
 
 17 
 
 claimed the undertaker, as he emptied hig^ glass 
 and smacked his lip-. 
 
 "Nothing in the world, sir." 
 
 " Nothing in the world," i !d. 
 
 "You are ri^ht, .Mr 
 spend more money" — lure lie filled 
 — " upon a death, Mrs. Gamp, than 
 Come, that 's in your way ; 
 How do you account for that, i 
 
 "Perhaps it is because an undertifker'fl e'v - 
 comes dearer than a : 
 
 Mrs. Gamp, tittering, and smoothing down w t 
 new black dress with her hai 
 
 "Ha, ha!" laughed Mr. Mould. "You h 
 been breakfasting at somebody's exp 
 morning, Mrs. Gamp." hut seeing, I 
 of a little shaving-glass which hun 
 he looked merry, he composed hi . and 
 
 became sorrowful. 
 
 " Many 's the lime that I 've not breakfqste 
 my own expense, along of your kind rec 
 ing, sir; and many 's the time I hope to dp 
 same in time to come," said Mrs. I 
 apologetic curtsey. 
 
 - ) be it," replied xMr. Mould, "please P. 
 dence/ No, Mrs. Gamp; I'll tell you why it i.-. 
 It 's because the laying out of money with a v 
 conducted establishment, where the th: 
 formed upon the very best scale, binds the bn. 
 heart, and sheds balm upon the woun . 
 Hearts want binding, and spirits want bah... 
 when people die ; not when people are born. L 
 at this gentleman to-day ; look at him." 
 
 "An open-handed gentlemaa!" cried Mr.s. 
 Gamp, with enthusiasm. 
 
 "No, no," said the undertaker; "not an op 
 banded- gentleman in general, by any me 
 There you mistake him : but an afflicted gentle- 
 man, an affectionate gentleman, who knows what 
 it is in the power of money to do, in giving him 
 relief, and in testifying his love and veneration 
 the departod. It can give him," sand Mr. Mould, 
 waving his watch-chain slowly round and round, 
 so that he described one circle after every item; 
 " it can give him four horses to each vehicle ; it 
 can give him velvet trappings; it can give him 
 drivers in cloth cloaks and top-boots; it 
 him the plumage of the ostrich, dyed black ; it 
 can give him any number of walking attendants, 
 drest in the first style of funeral fashion, and car- 
 rying batons tipped with brass; it can gire him 
 a handsome tomb; it can give him a place in 
 Westminster Abbey it>elf,.if he choose to ir. 
 it in such a purchase. Oh ! do not let us say that 
 gold is dross, when it can buy such things as 
 these, Mrs. Gamp." 
 
 "Put what a blessing, sir," said M>« 
 " that there are such as you, to sell or let 'em 
 on hire !" 
 
 " Ay, Mrs. Gamp, you are right," rejoined the 
 undertaker. " W'c should be an honoured calii 
 
 > good by' stealth, and b 
 tioncd in our little bills. II ition 
 
 may I — even I" — cried .Mr. Mould — "Jlave d\f- 
 a my feHow-creat : ray 1 
 
 fbtUr long-tailed prancers, in . ider 
 
 ten pund ten !" 
 
 .Mrs. ( Jauip had begun to make a suitable reply, 
 when Bhe waa interrupted by • of 
 
 one of Mr. M 
 
ISO 
 
 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 m fact — an obese person, with his waistcoat in 
 closer connection with his legs than is quite re- 
 concilable with the established ideas of grace ; 
 with that cast of feature which is figuratively 
 called a bottle-nose ; and with a face covered all 
 over with pimples. He had been a tender plant 
 once upon a time ; but, from constant blowing in 
 the fat atmosphere of funerals, had run to seed. 
 
 " Well, Tacker," said Mr. Mould, " is all ready 
 below ?" 
 
 "A beautiful show, sir," rejoined Tacker. 
 " The horses are prouder and fresher than ever I 
 see 'em ; and toss their heads, they do, as if they 
 knowed how much their plumes cost. One, two, 
 three, four," said Mr. Tacker, heaping that num- 
 ber of blaek cloaks upon his left arm. 
 
 •' Is Tom there, with the cake and wine ?" asked 
 Mr. Mould. 
 
 " Ready to come in at a moment's notice, sir," 
 said Tacker. 
 
 " Then," rejoined Mr. Mould, putting up his 
 watch, and glancing at himself in the little shav- 
 ing-glass, that he might be sure his face had the 
 right expression on it : " then I think we may 
 proceed to business. Give me the paper of gloves, 
 Tacker. Ah what a man he was ! Ah Tacker, 
 Tacker, what a man he was !" 
 
 Mr. Tacker, who from his great experience in 
 the performance of funerals, would have made an 
 excellent pantomime actor, winked at Mrs. Gamp 
 without at all disturbing the gravity of his coun- 
 tenance, and followed his master into the next 
 room. 
 
 It was a great point with Mr. Mould, and a 
 part of his professional tact, not to seem to know 
 the doctor — though in reality they were near 
 neighbours, and very often, as in the present in- 
 stance, worked together. So he advanced to fit 
 on his black kid gloves as if he had never seen 
 him in all his life ; while the doctor, on his part, 
 ooked as distant and unconscious as if he had 
 heard and read of undertakers, and had passed 
 their shops, but had never before been brought 
 into communication with one. 
 
 ' Gloves, eh ?" said the doctor. " Mr. Peck- 
 sniff, after you." 
 
 " I couldn't think of it," returned Mr. Peck- 
 sniff. 
 
 u You are very good," said the doctor, taking a 
 pair. " Well, sir, as I was saying — I was called 
 up to attend that case at about half-past one 
 o'clock. Cake and wine, eh? which is port? 
 Thank you." 
 
 Mr. Pecksniff took some also. 
 
 " At about half-past one o'clock in the morning, 
 sir," resumed the doctor, " I was called up to at- 
 tend that. case. At the first pull of the night-bell 
 I turned out, threw up the window, and put out 
 my head. Cloak, eh ? Don't tie it too tight. 
 That '11 do." 
 
 Mr. Pecksniff having been likewise inducted 
 into a similar garment, the doctor resumed. 
 
 u And put out my head, — hat, eh ? My good 
 friend, that is not mine. Mr. Pecksniff, I beg 
 your pardon, but I think we have unintentionally 
 made an exchange. Thank you. Well, sir, I 
 was i{oing to tell you" — 
 
 " We are quite ready," interrupted Mould in a 
 low voice. 
 
 "Ready, eh?" said the doctor. "Very good. 
 
 Mr. Pecksniff, I'll take an opportunity 01 relating 
 the rest in the coach. It 's rather curious. Ready 
 eh ? No rain, I hope ?" 
 
 " Quite fair, sir," returned Mould. 
 
 " I was afraid the ground would have beer 
 wet," said the doctor, " for my glass fell yester- 
 day. We may congratulate ourselves upon our 
 good fortune." But seeing by this time that Mr 
 Jonas and Chuffey were going out at the door, he 
 put a white pocket-handkerchief to his face as if 
 a violent burst of grief had suddenly come upon 
 him, and walked down side by side with Mr. 
 Pecksniff. 
 
 Mr. Mould and his men had not exaggerated the 
 grandeur of the arrangements. They were splen- 
 did. The four hearse-horses especially, reared and 
 pranced, and showed their highest action, as it 
 they knew a man was dead, and triumphed in i* 
 " They break us, drive us, ride us ; ill treat, abuse, 
 and maim us for their pleasure — But they die ; 
 Hurrah, they die !" 
 
 So through the narrow streets and winding city 
 ways, went Anthony Chuzzlewit's funeral : Mr. 
 Jonas glancing stealthily out of the coach-window 
 now and then, to observe its effect upon the 
 crowd ; Mr. Mould, as he walked along, listening 
 with a sober pride to the exclamations of the by- 
 standers; the doctor whispering his story to Mr. 
 Pecksniff, without appearing to come any nearer 
 the end of it ; and poor old Chuffey sobbing un- 
 regarded in a corner. But he had greatly scan 
 dalised Mr. Mould at an early stage of the cere- 
 mony by carrying his handkerchief in his hat in 
 a perfectly informal manner, and wiping his eyes 
 with his knuckles. And as Mr. Mould himself 
 had said already, his behaviour was indecent, and 
 quite unworthy of such an occasion ; and he ne- 
 ver ought to have been there. 
 
 There he was, however ; and in the churchyard 
 there he was, also, conducting himself in a no 
 less unbecoming manner, and leaning for support 
 on Tacker, who plainly told him that he was fit 
 for nothing better than a walking funeral. But 
 Chuffey, Heaven help him ! heard no sound but 
 the echoes, lingering in his own heart, of a voice 
 for ever silent. 
 
 " I loved him," cried the old man, sinking down 
 upon the grave when all was done. "He was 
 very good to me. Oh, my dear old friend and 
 master !" 
 
 " Come, come, Mr. Chuffey," said the doctor, 
 "this won't do; it's a clayey soil, Mr. Chuffey. 
 You mustn't, really." 
 
 " If it had been the commonest thing we do, 
 and Mr. Chuffey had been a Bearer, gentlemen," 
 said Mould, casting an imploring glance upon 
 them, as he helped to raise him, " he couldn't have 
 gone on worse than this." 
 
 " Be a man, Mr. Chuffey," said Pecksniff. 
 
 " Be a gentleman, Mr. Chuffey," said Mould. 
 
 " Upon my word, my good friend," murmured 
 the doctor, in a tone of stately reproof, as he step- 
 ped up to the old man's side, " this is worse than 
 weakness. This is bad, selfish, very wrong, Mr. 
 Chuffey. You should take example from others, 
 my good sir. You forget that you were not con- 
 nected by ties of blood with our deceased friend , 
 and that he had a very near and very dear rela- 
 tion, Mr. Chuffey." 
 
 " Ay, his own son !" cried the old man, clasping 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 
 
 131 
 
 his hands with rcmarkablo passion. u His own, 
 own, only son !" 
 
 'I not qght in his head, you know," said 
 to mind any- 
 thing hi Wouldn't wonder if he was to 
 nonsense. But don't you mind 
 In n, mi y of you. I don't. My father left him to 
 irg< ■; ;ind whatever he says or docs, that's 
 Ji. r\\ take care of him." 
 A hum of admiration rose from the mourners 
 ild and his merry men) at this 
 imity and kind-feeling on 
 Hut ChuiFey put it to the test 
 no farther. He said not a, word more, and being 
 left to himself for a little while, crept back again 
 to the coach. 
 
 It has been said that Mr. Jonas turned pale 
 'he behaviour of the old clerk attracted 
 attention ; his discomposure, however, was 
 but momentary, and he soon recovered. But 
 Pore not the only changes he had exhibited 
 that day. The curious eyes of Mr. Pecksniff had 
 1 that as soon as they left the house upon 
 their mournful errand, he began to mend ; that as 
 the ceremonies proceeded he gradually, by little 
 and little, recovered his old condition, his old 
 looks, his old bearing, his old agreeable character- 
 istics of s[>ecch and manner, and became, in all 
 respects, his old pleasant self. And now that they 
 were seated in the coach on their return home ; 
 and more when they got there, and found the 
 windows open, the light and air admitted, and all 
 traces of the late event removed : he felt so well 
 
 convinced that Jonas was again the Jonas he had 
 known a week ago, and not the Jonas of the in- 
 tervening time, that he voluntarily gave up his 
 reccntly-acquired power withou ttempt 
 
 to exercise it, and at once fell I lormer 
 
 position of mild and deferential go 
 
 Mrs. Gamp went home to tin r's, and 
 
 was knocked up again that vc, a birth 
 
 of twins; Mr. Mould dined gaily in the bosom 
 of his family, and passed the < tiouxly 
 
 at his club; the hearse, after standing for a long- 
 time at the door of a ray 
 paired to its stables with the feathers insi 
 twelve red-nosed undertakers on the roof, each 
 holding on by a diq h, in times of 
 
 state, a waving plume v. as fitted; the various 
 trappings of sorrow were carefully laid by in 
 presses for the next hirer ; the fiery steeds were 
 quenched and quiet in their stalls; the doctor got 
 merry with wine at a wedding-dinner, and 
 the middle of the story which had no end to it; 
 the pageant of a few short hours ago was written 
 nowhere half so legibly as in the undertaker's 
 books. 
 
 Not in the churchyard ? Not even there. The 
 gates were closed ; the night was dark and wet ; 
 and the rain fell silently, among the stagnant 
 weeds and nettles. One new mound wa- 
 which had not been last night. Time, burrowing 
 like a mole below the ground, had marked his 
 track by throwing up another heap of earth. And 
 that was all. 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 IS A CHAPTER OF LOVE. 
 
 "Pecksniff," said Jonas, taking off his hat, to 
 
 see that the black crape band was all right; and 
 
 finding that it was, putting it on again, cnmpla- 
 
 : " what do you mean to give your daugh- 
 
 ters when they marry?" 
 
 " My dear Mr. Jonas," cried the affectionate 
 parent. with an ingenuous smile, "what a very 
 singular inquiry !" 
 
 v, don't you mind whether it's a singular 
 inquiry or a plural one," retorted Jonas, eyeing 
 Mr. Pecksniff with no great favour, " but answer 
 it, or let it alone. One or the other." 
 
 • Hum! The question, my dear friend," said, 
 Mr. ree!<sniiV, laying his hand tenderly upon his 
 kinsman's knee, " is involved with many con. 
 sideratimis. What would I give them ? Kb?" 
 
 "Ah! what would you give 'era?" related 
 
 "Why, that," said Mr. Pecksniff, "would 
 
 naturally depend in a great measure upon the 
 
 kind of they might choose, my dear 
 
 friend!." 
 
 Mr. J \ idently disconcerted, and at a 
 
 I a good answer. It 
 
 seemed a deep one, but such is the wisdom of 
 
 slmplii 
 
 rd lor the merits I would require 
 in ason-in-liv./' sud Mr. Pecksniff, after 
 silence, ,4 J9 a high one. Forgive me, my dear 
 
 Mr. Jonas," he added, greatly moved, " if I say 
 that you have spoiled me, and made it a fanciful 
 one; an imaginative one; a prismatically tinged 
 one, if I may be permitted to call it so." 
 
 " What do you mean by that ?" growled Jonas, 
 looking at him with increased disfavour. 
 
 "Indeed, my dear friend," said Mr. Pecksniff, 
 "you may well inquire. The heart is not always 
 a royal mint, with patent machinery, to work 
 its metal into current coin. Sometimes it throws 
 it out in strange forms, not easily recognised as 
 coin at all. But it is sterling gold. It has at 
 least that merit. It is sterling gold." 
 
 " Is it ?" grumbled Jonas, wiUi a doubtful shake 
 of the head. 
 
 " Ay !" said Mr. Pecksniff, warming with his 
 subject, " it is. To be plain with you, Mr. 
 if I could find two such sons-in-law as von will 
 one day make to some deserving man, capable of 
 appreciating a nature such as | nuld — 
 
 forgetful of myself— bestow upon my da> 
 portions reaching to the very utmost limit 
 means." 
 
 This was strong language, and it was earnestly 
 I. But who cm wonder tint such a man 
 as Mr, Pecksniff, after all he had seen and heard of 
 Mr. Jonas, should he | earnest upon such 
 
 a theme ; a theme that tou< bed i ven the worldly 
 lips of undertakers with the honey of eloquence! 
 
132 
 
 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 Mr. Jonas was silent, and looked thoughtfully 
 at the landscape. For they were seated on the 
 outside of the coach, at the back, and were tra- 
 velling down into the country. He accompanied 
 Mr. recksniff home for a few days' change of air 
 and scene after his recent trials. 
 
 "Well," he said, at last, with captivating blunt- 
 ness, " suppose you got one such son-in-law as 
 me, what then ?" 
 
 Mr. Pecksniff regarded him at first with inex- 
 pressible surprise ; then gradually breaking into a 
 sort of dejected vivacity, said : 
 
 " Then well I know whose husband he would 
 be!" 
 
 " Whose ?" asked Jonas, drily. 
 
 " My eldest girl's, Mr. Jonas," replied Peck- 
 sniff, with moistening eyes. "My dear Cherry's : 
 my staff, my scrip, my treasure, Mr. Jonas. A 
 hard struggle, but it is in the nature of things ! 
 I must one day part with her to a husband. I 
 know it, my dear friend. I am prepared for it." 
 
 " Ecod ! you 've been prepared for that, a pretty 
 long time, I should think," said Jonas. 
 
 " Many have sought to bear her from me," said 
 Mr. Pecksniff. " All have failed. ' I never will 
 give my hand, papa,' — those were her words, — 
 'unless my heart is won.' She has not been quite 
 so happy as she used to be, of late. I don't know 
 why." 
 
 Again Mr. Jonas looked at the landscape ; then 
 at the coachman ; then at the luggage on the roof; 
 finally, at Mr. Pecksniff. 
 
 " I suppose you '11 have to part with the other 
 one, some of these days ?" he observed, as he 
 caught that gentleman's eye. 
 
 " Probably," said the parent. " Years will tame 
 down the wildness of my foolish bird, and then it 
 will be caged. But Cherry, Mr. Jonas, Cherry — " 
 
 " Oh, ah !" interrupted Jonas. " Years have 
 made her all right enough. Nobody doubts that. 
 But you haven't answered what I asked you. Of 
 course, you 're not obliged to do it, you know, if 
 you don't like. You 're the best judge." 
 
 There was a warning sulkiness in the manner 
 of this speech, which admonished Mr. Pecksniff 
 that his dear friend was not to be trifled with or 
 fenced off, and that he must either return a 
 straight-forward reply to his question, or plainly 
 give him to understand that he declined to en- 
 lighten him upon the subject to which it referred. 
 Mindful in this dilemma of the caution old An- 
 thony had given him almost with his latest breath, 
 he resolved to speak to the point, and so told Mr. 
 Jonas — enlarging upon the communication as a 
 proof of his great attachment and confidence — 
 that in the case he had put, to wit, in the event 
 of such a man as he proposing for his daughter's 
 hand, he would endow her with a fortune of four 
 thousand pounds. 
 
 " I should sadly pinch and cramp myself to do 
 so," was his fatherly remark ; "but that would be 
 my duty, and my conscience would reward me. 
 For myself, my conscience is my bank. I have 
 a trifle invested there — a mere trifle, Mr. Jonas — 
 but I prize it as a store of value, I assure you." 
 
 The good man's enemies would have divided 
 upon this question into two parties. One would 
 have asserted without scruple that if Mr. Peck- 
 sniff's conscience were his bank, and he kept a 
 running account there he must have overdrawn 
 
 it beyond all mortal means of computation. The 
 other would have, contended that it was a mere 
 fictitious form ; a perfectly blank book ; or one in 
 which entries were only made with a peculiar 
 kind of invisible ink to become legible at some 
 indefinite time ; and that he never troubled it 
 at all. 
 
 " It would sadly pinch and cramp me, my dear 
 friend," repeated Mr. Pecksniff, " but Providence 
 — perhaps. I may be permitted to say a special 
 Providence — has blessed my endeavours, and I 
 could guarantee to make the sacrifice." 
 
 A question of philosophy arises here, whether 
 Mr. Pecksniff had or had not good reason to say, 
 that he was specially patronised and encouraged 
 in his undertakings. All his life long he had been 
 walking up and down the narrow ways and bye- 
 places, with a hook in one hand and a crook in 
 the other, scraping all sorts of valuable odds and 
 ends into his pouch. Now, there being a special 
 Providence in the fall of a sparrow, it follows (so 
 Mr. Pecksniff might have reasoned, perhaps), that 
 there must also be a special Providence in Che 
 alighting of the stone, or stick, or other substance 
 which is aimed at the sparrow. And Mr. Peck- 
 sniff's hook, or crook, having invariably knocked 
 the sparrow on the head and brought him down, 
 that gentleman may have been led to consider 
 himself as specially licensed to bag sparrows, and 
 as being specially seised and possessed of all the 
 birds he had got together. That many under- 
 takings, national as well as individual — but espe- 
 cially the former — are held to be specially brought 
 to a glorious and successful issue, which never 
 could be so regarded on any other process of rea- 
 soning, must be clear to all men. Therefore the 
 precedents would seem to show that Mr. Peck- 
 sniff had good argument for what he said, and 
 might be permitted to say it, and did not say it 
 presumptuously, vainly, or arrogantly, but in a 
 spirit of high faith and great wisdom meriting 
 all praise. 
 
 Mr. Jonas, not being much accustomed to per 
 plex his mind with theories of this nature, ex- 
 pressed no opinion on the subject. Nor did he 
 receive his companion's announcement with one 
 solitary syllable, good, bad, or indifferent. He 
 preserved his taciturnity for a quarter of an hour . 
 at least, and during the whole of that time ap- 
 peared to be steadily engaged in subjecting some 
 given amount to the operation of every known 
 rule in figures ; adding to it, taking from it, mul- 
 tiplying it, reducing it by long and short division; 
 working it by the rule of three direct and inversed : 
 exchange or barter; practice; simple interest; 
 compound interest ; and other means of arithme- 
 tical calculation. The result of these labours 
 appeared to be satisfactory, for when he did break 
 silence, it was as one who had arrived at some 
 specific result, and freed himself from a state of 
 distressing uncertainty. 
 
 "Come, old Pecksniff!" — such was his jocose 
 address, as he slapped that gentleman on the 
 back, at the end of the stage — " let 's have some- 
 thing !" 
 
 " With all my heart," said Mr. Pecksniff. 
 
 " Let 's treat the driver," cried Jonas. 
 
 " If you think it won't hurt the man, or render 
 him discontented with his station — certainly," 
 faltered Mr. Pecksniff 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEYVIT. 
 
 133 
 
 Jonas only laughed at this, and getting down 
 'rom tho coach-top with great alacrity, cut a 
 cumbersome kind fa the road. After 
 
 which, he went into the public-house, and there 
 I spirituous drink to such an extent that 
 Mr. Pecksniff had sonic doubts of his perfect 
 sanity, until Jonas set them quite at rest by say- 
 when the coach could wait no longer: 
 
 i standing treat for u whole week 
 and more, and letting you have all the delicacies 
 of the n You shall pay ("or this, Pecksniff." 
 
 It was not a joke either, as .Mr. Pecksniff at first 
 supposed ; tor he went off to the coach without 
 further ceremony, and left his respected victim to 
 settle the bill. 
 
 But Mr. Pecksniff was a man of meek en- 
 durance, and Mr. Jonas was his friend. More- 
 over, his regard for that gentleman was founded, 
 know, on pure esteem, and a knowledge of 
 the excellence of his character. He came out 
 from tho tavern with a smiling face, and even 
 went so far as to repeat the performance, on a 
 less expensive scale, at the next ale-house. There 
 was a certain wildness in the spirits of Mr. 
 Jonas (not usually a part of his character) which 
 was far from being subdued by these means, and, 
 for the rest of the journey*, he was so very buoy- 
 ant — it may be said, boisterous — that Mr. Peck- 
 sniff had some difficulty in keeping pace with him. 
 
 They were not expected— oh dear, no ! Mr. 
 Pecksniff had proposed in London to give the 
 girls a surprise, and had said he wouldn't write a 
 word to prepare them on any account, in order 
 that he and Mr. Jonas might take them unawares, 
 and just see what they were doing, when they 
 thought their dear papa was miles and miles 
 away. As a consequence of this playful device, 
 there was nobody to meet them at the finger-post, 
 but that was of small consequence, for they had 
 come down by the day coach, and Mr. Pecksniff 
 had oidy a carpet-bag, while Mr. Jonas had only 
 a portmanteau. They took the portmanteau be- 
 tween them, put the bag upon it, and walked off 
 up the lane without delay : Mr. Pecksniff already 
 going on tiptoe, as if, without this precaution, his 
 fond children, being then at the distance of a 
 couple of miles or so, would have some filial sense 
 of his approach. 
 
 It was a lovely evening, in the spring-time of 
 r; and in the soft stillness of the twilight, 
 all nature was very calm and beautiful. The day 
 had been fine and warm; but at the coming on 
 of night, the air grew cool, and in the mellowing 
 distance, smoke was rising gently from the cot- 
 tage chimneys. There were a thousand pleasant 
 scents diffused around, from young leaves and 
 fresh buds; the cuckoo had hern tinging all day 
 long, and was but just now hushed; the smell 
 of earth, newly-upturned — first breath of hope to 
 the first labourer, after his garden withered — was 
 it in the evening breeze. It was u time 
 win 11 l i good resolves, and sor- 
 
 row lor the waited past I when most men, look- 
 ing on the shadows as they gather, think of that 
 evening which must close on all, and that to- 
 morrow which has none beyond. 
 
 " I'r. i ion- dull," laicl Mr. Jonas, looking about 
 ike a man go mel incholy mad." 
 shall have lights and a fire soon." ob- 
 served Mr. Pecksniff. 
 
 " yVe shall need 'em by the time we get there,'* 
 said Jonas, " Why the devil don't you talk i 
 What are you thinking i 
 
 "To tell you the truth, Mr. Jonas," said Peck- 
 sniff with great solemnity, " my mind was run- 
 ning at that moment on our late deur friend, your 
 d father." 
 
 Mr. Jonas immediately let his burden fall, and 
 said, threatening him with his hand : 
 
 44 Drop that, Pecksniff!" 
 
 Mr. Pecksniff, not exactly know in? whether 
 allusion was made to the subject or I 
 teau, stared at his friend in ui. 
 
 "Drop it, I say!" cried Jonas, fi< 
 you hear.' Drop it — now and lor ever. You 
 had better, I give you notice !" 
 
 " It was quite a mistake," urged Mr. Peck- 
 sniff, very much dismayed; "though I admit it 
 was foolish. I might have known it was a tender 
 string." 
 
 u Don't talk to me about tender strings," said 
 Jonas, wiping his forehead with the cutf of his 
 coat. " I 'm not going to be crowed over by you, 
 because I don't like dead company." 
 
 Mr. Pecksniff had got out the words " Crowed 
 over, Mr. Jonas !" when that young man, with a 
 dark expression in his countenance, cut him short 
 once more : 
 
 " Mind!" he said, "I won't have it. I advise 
 you not to revive the subject, neither to me nor 
 any body else. You can take a hint, if you 
 choose, as well as another man. There 's enough 
 said about it. Come along !" 
 
 Taking up his part of the load again, when he 
 had said these words, he hurried on so fast that 
 Mr. Pecksniff, at the other end of the portman- 
 teau, found himself dragged forward in a very 
 inconvenient and ungraceful manner, to the great 
 detriment of what is called by fancy gentlemen 
 " the bark" upon bis shins, which were most un- 
 mercifully bumped against the hard leather and 
 the iron buckles. In the course of a few minutes, 
 however, Mr. Jonas relaxed his speed, a 
 fered his companion to come up with him, and to 
 bring the portmanteau into a tolerably straight 
 position. 
 
 It was pretty clear that he regretted his late 
 outbreak, and that he mistrusted its effect on Mr. 
 Pecksniff; for as often as that gentleman g 
 towards Mr. Jonas, he found Mr. Jonas glancing 
 at him, which was a new source of embarrass- 
 ment. It was but a short-lived one though, tor 
 Mr. Jonas soon began to whistle, whereupon Mr. 
 Pecksniff, taking his cue from his friend, began 
 to hum a tune melodiously. 
 
 " Pretty nearly there, ain't we ?" said Jonas, 
 when this had lasted some time. 
 
 "Close, my dear friend," said Mr. I 
 
 "What '11 they be doing, do you suppose?" 
 asked Jonas. 
 
 " Impossible to say," cried Mr. Pecksniff, 
 " ( Jiddy truants ! They may be away from home, 
 perhaps. 1 was going to — he! he! he! — I w.is 
 going to propose," said Mr. Pecksniff, "that \\c 
 should enter by the back way, and come upon 
 them like a clap of thunder, Mr. Jonas." 
 
 It might not have been easy to decide in re- 
 spect of which their manifold pro|>erties, Jonas, 
 ksniff, the carpet-bar, and the portman- 
 teau, could be likened to a clap of thunder. Bui 
 
134 
 
 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 Mr. Jonas giving his assent to this proposal, they 
 stole round into the back yard, and softly ad- 
 vanted towards the kitchen window, through 
 which the mingled light of fire and candle shone 
 upon the darkening night. 
 
 Truly Mr. Pecksniff is blessed in his children 
 — in one of them, at any rate. The prudent 
 Cherry — staff, and scrip, and treasure of her 
 doting father — there she sits, at a little table white 
 as driven snow, before the kitchen fire, making 
 up accounts ! See the neat maiden, as with pen 
 in hand, and calculating look addressed towards 
 the ceiling, and bunch of keys within a little bas- 
 ket at her side, she checks the housekeeping ex- 
 penditure ! From flat-iron, dish-cover, and warm- 
 ing-pan ; from pot and kettle, face of brass footman, 
 and black-leaded stove; bright glances of appro- 
 bation wink and glow upon her. The very onions 
 dangling from the beam mantle and shine like 
 cherubs' cheeks. Something of the influence of 
 those vegetables sinks into Mr. Pecksniff's nature. 
 He weeps. 
 
 It is but for a moment, and he hides it from the 
 observation of his friend — very carefully — by a 
 somewhat elaborate use of his pocket-handker- 
 chief, in fact : for he would not have his weak- 
 ness known. 
 
 " Pleasant," he murmured — " pleasant to a 
 father's feelings ! My dear girl ! Shall we let 
 her know we are here, Mr. Jonas ?" 
 
 "Why, I suppose you don't mean to spend the 
 evening in the stable or the coach-house," he 
 returned. 
 
 " That, indeed, is not such hospitality as I 
 would show to you, my friend," cried Mr. Peck- 
 sniff, pressing his hand. And then he took a 
 long breath, and tapping at the window, shouted 
 w.ith stentorian blandness : 
 
 " Boh !" 
 
 Cherry dropped her pen and screamed. But 
 innocence is ever bold — or should be. As they 
 opened the door, the valiant girl exclaimed in a 
 firm voice, and with a presence of mind which 
 even in that trying moment did not desert her, 
 M Who are you ? What do you want ? Speak ! 
 or I will call my Pa." 
 
 Mr. Pecksniff held out his arms. She knew 
 him instantly, and rushed into his fond embrace. 
 
 " It was thoughtless of us, Mr. Jonas, it was 
 very thoughtless," said Pecksniff, smoothing his 
 daughter's hair. " My darling, do you see that I 
 am not alone !" 
 
 Not she. She had seen nothing but her father 
 until now. She saw Mr. Jonas now, though ; 
 and blushed, and hung her head <lown, as she 
 gave him welcome. 
 
 But where was Merry ? Mr. Pecksniff didn't 
 ask the question in reproach, but in a vein of 
 mildness touched with a gentle sorrow. She was 
 upstairs, reading on the parlour couch. Ah ! 
 Domestic details had no charm for her. "But 
 call her down," said Mr. Pecksniff, with a placid 
 resignation. "Call her down, my love." 
 
 She was called and came, all flushed and tum- 
 bled from reposing on the sofa; but none the 
 worse for that. No, not at all. Rather the better, 
 if anything. 
 
 " Oh my goodness me !" cried the arch girl, 
 turning to her cousin when she had kissed her 
 father on both cheeks, and in her frolicksome 
 
 nature had bestowed a supernumerary salute upon 
 the tip of his nose, "you here, fright ! Well, I'm 
 very thankful that you won't trouble me much 1" 
 
 "What! you're as lively as ever, are you?" 
 said Jonas. " Oh ! You 're a wicked one !" 
 
 " There, go along J" retorted Merry, pushing 
 him away. " I 'm sure I don't know what I shall 
 ever do, if I have to see much of you. Go along, 
 for gracious' sake !" 
 
 Mr. Pecksniff striking in here, with a request 
 that Mr. Jonas would immediately walk up stairs, 
 he so far complied with the young lady's adjura- 
 tion as to go at once. But though he had the 
 fair Cherry on his arm, he could not help looking 
 back at her sister, and exchanging some further 
 dialogue of the same bantering description, as 
 they all four ascended to the parlour ; where — 
 for the young ladies happened, by good fortune, 
 to be a little later than usual that night — the tea- 
 board was at that moment being set out. 
 
 Mr. Pinch was not at home, so they had it all 
 to themselves, and were very snug and talkative, 
 Jonas sitting between the two sisters, and dis- 
 playing his gallantry in that engaging manner 
 which was peculiar to him. It was a hard thing, 
 Mr. Pecksniff said, when tea was done and 
 cleared away, to leaf% so pleasant a little party, 
 but having some important papers to examine in 
 his own apartment, he must beg them to excuse 
 him for half an hour. With this apology he with- 
 drew, singing a careless strain as he went. He 
 had not been gone five minutes, when Merry, 
 who had been sitting in the window, apart from 
 Jonas and her sister, burst into a half-smothered 
 laugh, and skipped towards the door. 
 
 " Hallo !" cried Jonas. " Don't go." 
 
 " Oh, I dare say !" rejoined Merry, looking 
 back. " You 're very anxious I should stay, 
 fright, ain't you ?" 
 
 " Yes, I am," said Jonas. " Upon my word I 
 am. I want to speak to you." But as she left 
 the room notwithstanding, he ran out after her, 
 and brought her back, after a bhort struggle in the 
 passage which scandalized Miss Cherry very 
 much. 
 
 " Upon my word, Merry," urged that young 
 lady, " I wonder at you ! There are bounds even 
 to absurdity, my dear." 
 
 "Thank you my sweet," said Merry, pursing 
 up her rosy lips. "Much obliged to it for its 
 advice. Oh ! do leave me alone, you monster, 
 do !" This entreaty was wrung from her by a 
 new proceeding on the part of Mr. Jonas, who 
 pulled her down, all breathless as she was, into a 
 seat beside him on the sofa, having at the same 
 time Miss Cherry upon the other side. 
 
 " Now," said Jonas, clasping the waist of each: 
 " I have got both arms full, haven't I ?" 
 
 "One of them will be black and blue to-mor- 
 row, if you don't let me go," cried the playful 
 Merry. 
 
 " Ah ! I don't mind your pinching," grinned 
 Jonas, " a bit." 
 
 " Pinch him for me, Cherry, pray," said Mer- 
 cy. " I never did hate anybody so much as I 
 hate this creature, I declare !" 
 
 " No, no, don't say that," urged Jonas, " and 
 don't pinch either, because I want to be serious. 
 I say — Cousin Charity — " 
 
 " Well ! what ?" she answered, sharply. 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLBVVIT. 
 
 135 
 
 ** I want t-> have some eofcr talk," said , 
 
 "1 wai • any mistakes, you know, and 
 
 to pat everything upon md- rstanding. 
 
 .ml proper, ain't it .'" 
 
 r of the si.-tt rs spoke a won!. Mr. Jonas 
 
 : his throat, which was very 
 
 pans 
 
 1 not believe "What I'm going to say, will 
 " sai(i Jonas, tiniicily squeezing Miss 
 
 • now, until I hear 
 It's quite impossible !" 
 " W , " her wiiy always 
 
 being I vfte of people, I know she'll 
 
 laugh, or pretend to — I know that, beforehand. 
 i can tell her I'm in earnest, cousin; 
 i-an't yod ' V«m '11 confess you know, -wot 
 You Ml be honourable, I 'm sure," he added per- 
 ivtly. 
 
 His throat seemed to grow hotter 
 and hotter, and to be more and more difficult of 
 control. 
 
 "Yen see, Cousin Charity," said Jonas, "no- 
 body but you can tell her what pains I took to 
 get into her company when you were both at the 
 boarding-house in the city, because nobody 's so 
 well aware of it, you know. Nobody q 
 tell her how hard I tried to get to know you bet- 
 ter, in order that I might get to know her with- 
 out seeming to wish it: can they? I always 
 you about her, and said where had she 
 gone, and when would she come, and how lively 
 she was, and all that; didn't I, cousin 7 I know 
 you '11 tell her so, rf you haven't told her so al- 
 ready, and — and — I dare say you have, because 
 I 'm sure you 're honourable, ain't you ?" 
 
 Still pot a word. The right arm of. Mr. Jonas 
 
 — the elder sister sat upon his right: — may have 
 
 - foible of some tumultuous throbbing 
 
 which was not within itself; but nothing else 
 
 1 him that his words had had the least 
 
 effect 
 
 " Even if you kept it to yourself, and haven't 
 told her," resumed Jonas, * it don't much matter, 
 you'll bear honest witness now; won't 
 you? We've been very good friends from the 
 fust; haven't we? and of course we shall he 
 quite friends in future, and so I don't mind speak- 
 nre you a bit. Cousin Mercy, you've 
 
 heard what I've been saying. She'll confirm it, 
 
 " Wi 
 your husband ? Eh ?" 
 
 every word ; she must. Will you have me for 
 
 As he released his hold of Charity, to put this 
 
 rj with better effect, she started up and 
 
 hurried away to her own room, marking her pro- 
 
 i she went by such a train pf paiasionate 
 
 and incoherent sound, as nothing but a slighted 
 
 woman in her anger could produce. 
 
 " Let me go away. Let ll1 '' go ;inVr her," said 
 Merry, pushing him otf, and giving him — to tell 
 the truth — more than one sounding slap upon his 
 oatatret' li, ,. • 
 
 v yes. You haven't told me. 
 Will you have me for your husband ?" 
 
 . I wont. I can't bear the sight of you. 
 ! told you so a hundred I u are a 
 
 fright ! always thought you liked my 
 
 We all thought 
 
 " !!nl that wasn't my fault," said Jonas. 
 . it was : you know it was." 
 
 " Any trick is fair in 1 
 may base thought 1 liked her best, but VOU 
 
 didn't." * 
 
 " I did :" 
 
 *• No, you didn't. You never could have * 
 I liked her l>est, when you were by." 
 
 " There's no accounting for 
 ry ; "at least I didn't m I don't 
 
 know what I mean. \a t m<' fro to Titer." 
 
 M Say 4 Yes,' and then I will." 
 
 " If I ever brought myself to say 
 only be, that I might hate and tease vou yll my 
 hie:" 
 
 "That's as good," cried Jonas, "as sr, 
 right out. It's a bargain, cousin. We're a pair, 
 if evar there was one." 
 
 This gallant speech was succeeded by 
 fused noise- of kissing and slapping: 
 fair, but much dishevelled Merry, broke away 
 and followed in the footsteps of her sister. 
 
 Now, whether Mr. Pecksniff had been li 
 — which in one of his character app-ars ii 
 ble : or divined almost by inspiration what the 
 matter was — which, in a man of 'his sagacity, is 
 | far more probable: or happened by • 
 : fortune to find himself in exactly the right ;> 
 at precisely the right time — which, under th< 
 ei.il guardianship in which he lived aiight 
 reasonably happen : it is quite certain that at the 
 moment when the sisters came together in their 
 own room, he appeared at the chamber door. And 
 a marvellous contrast it was — they so* heated, 
 noisy, and vehement ; he so calm, so self-possessed, 
 ool and full of peace, that not a hair upon his 
 ! head was stirred. 
 
 "Children !" said Mr. Pecksniff, spreading out 
 his hands in wonder, but not belbre he had shut 
 the door, and set his back against it. •• G 
 Daughters ! What is this ?" 
 
 " The wretch ; the apostate ; the fals- . 
 odious villain; has before my very face proposed 
 to Mercy !" was his elder daughter' 
 
 " Wiio has proposed to Mercy ?" said Mr, Peck* 
 sniff. 
 
 " Ik has. That thing. Jonas, down stairs." 
 
 "Jonas proposed to Mercy!" said Mr 
 sniff. " Ay, ay ! Ind< 
 
 " Have you nothing else to say ?" cried ( 
 " Am I to be driven mad, papa 
 rcy, not to me." 
 
 » 0h f fie! For shame !" said Mr. P 
 gravely. " Oh, for shame ! Can the trie 
 a sister move you to this ti l 
 child? Oh, really -this is very sad ! lam 
 I am surprised and hurt to see you 
 my girl, bless you ! See to her. Ah, env . 
 what a | i are !" 
 
 Utterim; this apostrophe in a tone full of grief 
 and lamentation, Mr. Pecksniff left the room 
 (taking care to shut the door behind him), and 
 walked down stairs into the parlour. There he 
 found his intended son-in-law, whom he sei^et 1 
 bv both hands. 
 
 "Jonas!" cried Mr. Pecksi is. tiu>. 
 
 dearest wish of my heart 
 
 " \' ( ry well; I 'm glad to hear it," sai : . 
 "That'll dp. I say, as it ain't I 
 fond of, you must come down with another thou- 
 
 V. You must make it upfi\<. It 
 worth that to keep your treasure to yourself, you 
 
136 
 
 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 know. You get off very cheap that way, and 
 haven't a sacrifice to make." 
 
 The grin with which he accompanied this, set 
 off hie other attractions to such unspeakable ad- 
 vantage, that even Mr. Pecksniff lost his presence 
 of mind for the moment, and looked at the young 
 man as if he were quite stupified with wonder 
 ^tnd admiration. But he quickly regained his 
 eorpposurd? and was in the very act of changing 
 the f-ubjcct, when a hasty step was heard without, 
 and Tom Pinch, in a state of great excitement, 
 came darting into the room. 
 
 On seeing a stranger there, apparently engaged 
 with Mr. Pecksniff in private conversation, Tom 
 was very much abashed, though he still looked as 
 if he had something of great importance to com- 
 municate, which would be a sufficient apology for 
 his intrusion. 
 
 "Mr. Pinch," said Pecksniff, "this is hardly 
 decent. You will excuse my saying that I think 
 your conduct scarcely decent, Mr. Pinch." 
 
 " I beg your pardon, sir," replied Tom, " for 
 not knocking at the door." 
 
 " Rather beg this gentleman's pardon, Mr. 
 Pinch," said Pecksniff. "J know you; he does 
 not. — My young man, Mr. Jonas." 
 
 The son-in-law that was to be gave him a 
 slight nod — not actively disdainful or contemptu- 
 ous, only passively : for he was in a good humour. 
 
 " Could I speak a word with you, sir, if you 
 please, said Tom. "It's rather pressing." 
 
 w It should be very pressing to justify this 
 strange behaviour, Mr. Pinch," returned his mas- 
 ter. " Excuse me for one moment, my dear 
 friend. Now, sir, what is the reason of this rough 
 intrusion?" 
 
 "I am very sorry, sir, I am sure," said Tom, 
 standing, cap in hand, before his patron in the 
 passage : " and I know it must have a very rude 
 appearance — " 
 
 " It has a very rude appearance, Mr. Pinch." 
 
 "Yes, I feel that, sir; but the truth is, I was 
 jo surprised to see them, and knew you would be 
 .00, that I ran home very fast indeed, and really 
 hadn't enough command over myself to know 
 what I was doing very well. I was in the church 
 just now, sir, touching the organ for my own 
 amusement, when I happened to look round, and 
 saw a gentleman and lady standing in the aisle 
 listening. They seemed to be strangers, sir, as 
 well as I could make out in the dusk : and I 
 thought I didn't know them : so presently I left 
 off, and said, would they walk up into the organ- 
 loft, or take a seat ? No, they said, they wouldn't 
 do that ; but they thanked me for the music they 
 had heard — in fact," observed Tom, blushing — 
 "they said, 'Delicious music!' at least, she did; 
 and I am sure that was a greater pleasure and 
 honour to me, than any compliment I could have 
 had. I — I — beg your pardon, sir ;" he was all in 
 a tremble, and dropped his hat for the second 
 time ; " but I — I 'm rather flurried, and I fear 
 T 've wandered from the point." 
 
 1 If you will come back to it, Thomas," said 
 
 Mr. Pecksniff, with an icy look, " I shall fea 
 obliged." 
 
 "Yes, sir," returned Tom, "certainly. The) 
 had a posting carriage at the porch, sir, and had 
 stopped to hear the organ, they said, and then 
 they said — she said, I mean, ' I believe you live 
 
 ith Mr. Pecksniff, 
 
 I said I had that ho- 
 
 nour, and I took the liberty, sir," added Tom, 
 raising nis eyes to his benefactor's face, "of saying, 
 as I always will and must, with your permission, 
 that I was under great obligations to you, and 
 never could express my sense of them sufficiently." 
 
 " That," said Mr. Pecksniff, " was very, very 
 wrong. Take your time Mr. Pinch." 
 
 " Thank you, sir," cried Tom. " On that they 
 asked me — she asked, I mean — 'Wasn't there a 
 bridle-road to Mr. Pecksniff's house,—' " 
 
 Mr. Pecksniff suddenly became full of interest. 
 
 " Without going by the Dragon?' When I 
 said ihere was, and said how happy I should bo 
 to show it 'cm, they sent the carriage on by the 
 road, and came with me across the meadows. I 
 left 'em at the turnstile to run forward and tell 
 you they were coming, and they '11 be here, sir, 
 in — in less than a minute's time, I should say," 
 added Tom, fetching his breath with difficulty. 
 
 " Now who," said Mr. Pecksniff, pondering, 
 " who may these people be !" 
 
 " Bless my soul, sir !" cried Tom, "I meant to 
 mention that at first — I thought I had. I knew 
 them — her, I mean — directly. The gentleman 
 who was ill at the Dragon, sir, last winter; and 
 the young lady who attended him." 
 
 Tom's teeth chattered in his head, and he posi- 
 tively staggered with amazement, at witnessing 
 the extraordinary effect produced on Mr. Peck- 
 sniff by these simple words. The dread of losing 
 the old man's favour almost as soon as they were 
 reconciled, through the mere fact of having Jonas 
 in the house ; the impossibility of dismissing 
 Jonas, or shutting him up, or tying him hand 
 and foot and putting him in the coal-cellar, with- 
 out offending him beyond recall ; the horrible d ; s- 
 cordancc prevailing in the establishment, and the 
 impossibility of reducing it to decent harmony 
 with Charity in loud hysterics, Mercy in the ut- 
 most disorder, Jonas in the parlour, and Martin 
 Chuzzlewit and his young charge upon the very 
 door-steps; the total hopelessness of being able to 
 disguise or feasibly explain this state of rampant 
 confusion; the sudden accumulation over his de- 
 voted head of every complicated perplexity and 
 entanglement — for his extrication from which he 
 had trusted to time, good fortune, chance, and 
 his own plotting — so filled the entrapped archi- 
 tect with dismay, that if Tom could have been a 
 Gorgon staring at Mr. Pecksniff, and Mr. Peck- 
 sniff could have been a Gorgon staring at Tom, 
 they could not have horrified each other half so 
 much as in their own bewildered persons. 
 
 " Dear, dear !" cried Tom, " what have I done ? 
 I hoped it w r ould be a pleasant surprise, sir. I 
 thought you would like to know." 
 
 But at that moment a loud knocking was heard 
 at the hall-door. 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 \\ EXPERIENCE. MARTIN TAKgfi A PART .!) MAKES 
 
 A PVRCBA8E. SOME ACCOUNT OF EDEN, AS IT APPj \ PAPER. 
 
 Q OF TIN-; BRITISH WON. ALSO OF THE KIND OF. SYMPATHY PRO- 
 
 i:i) AM) ENTERTAINED BY THE WATERTOAST >N OF 
 
 UNITED SYMPATHIZERS. 
 
 TirK knocking :it .Mr. Pecksniff's door, though 
 [>u<l enqugh. bore do ^semblance whatever to the 
 pfan American railway train at full speed. 
 It nny be w( II t<> begin the present chapter with 
 this frank admission, lest the reader should ima- 
 gine that the sounds now deafening this history's 
 ears have any connection with the knocker on 
 :t*\s door, or with the great amount 
 of agitation pretty equally divided between that 
 man and Mr. Pinch, of which its strong 
 performance was the cause. 
 
 Mr. Peeksniif 's house is more than a thousand 
 -; away; and again this happy chronicle 
 has Liberty and Moral Sensibility for its high 
 companions. Again it breathes the blessed air 
 ox Independence; again it contemplates- with 
 pious awe that moral sense which renders unto 
 nothing that is his; again inhales that 
 sun d atmosphere which was the life of him — oh 
 noble patriot, with many followers ! — who dreamed 
 of Freedom in a slave's embrace, and, waking, 
 sold her offspring and his own in public markets. 
 How the wheels clank and rattle, and the tram- 
 road shakes, as the train rushes on ! And now 
 •ine yells, as it were lashed and tortured 
 .ike a living labourer, and writhed in agony. A 
 poor fancy ; for steel and iron are of infinitely 
 greater account, in this commonwealth, than flesh 
 and blood. If the cunning work of man be urged 
 beyond its powers of endurance, it has within it 
 the dements of its own revenge ; whereas the 
 wretched mechanism of the Divine Hand is dan- 
 gerous with no such property, but may be tam- 
 pered with, and crushed, and broken, at the 
 driver's pleasure. Look at that engine ! It shall 
 cost a man more dollars, in the way of penalty 
 and tine, and satisfaction of the outraged Jaw, to 
 in wantonness that senseless mass of me- 
 tal, than to take the lives of twenty human crea- 
 tures! Thus the stars wink upon the bloody 
 ; and Liberty pulls down her cap upon her 
 ud owns Oppression in its vilest aspect, for 
 her sister. 
 
 The engine-driver of the train whose noise 
 us to the present chapter, was certainly 
 troubled with no such reflections as these ; nor is 
 it very probable that his mind was disturbed by 
 any reflection! at all. He leaned with folded arms 
 and crossed legs against the side of the carriage, 
 smoking; and, except when be expressed, by a 
 grunt as short as his pipe, his approval of some 
 particularly dexterous aim on the part of his col- 
 the fireman, who beguiled bis leisure by 
 throwing 1 I from the tender at the nu- 
 
 merous stray cattle on the line, he preserved a 
 composure bo immovable, and an indifferent 
 complete, that, if the locomotive had b< 
 ing-pig, he could not have been more perfectly in- 
 different to its doing*. Notwithstanding the 
 tranquil state of (bis officer, and his unbr 
 peace of 1 mind, the train was prdcecding with 
 18 
 
 tolerable rapidity ; and the rails being but poorly 
 
 laid, the jolts and bumps it met with in its pro- 
 gress were neither slight nor few. 
 
 There were three great caravans or cars at- 
 tached — the ladies' ear, the gentlemen's 
 the car for negroes ; the latter painted black, as an 
 appropriate compliment to its company, 
 and Mark Tapley were in the first, as it . 
 most comfortable; and, being far from full, re- 
 ceived other gentlemen who, like them, v. 
 blessed by the society of ladies of their own. They 
 were seated side by side, and were engaged in 
 earnest conversation. v 
 
 "And so, Mark," said Martin, looking at him 
 with an anxious expression, — " and so you are 
 glad we -have left New York far behind u 
 you ?" 
 
 "Yes, sir," said Mark. "Iain. Precious 
 glad." 
 
 " Were you not 'jolly' there?" asked Martin. 
 " On the contrairy, sir," returned Mark. "The 
 jolliest week as ever I spent in my life, was that 
 there week at Pawkins's." 
 
 " What do you think of our prospects?" in- 
 quired Martin, with an air that plainly said he 
 had avoided the question for some time. 
 
 " Uncommon bright, sir," returned Mark. " Im- 
 possible for a place to have a better name, sir, 
 than the Walley of Eden. No man couldn't think 
 of settling in a better place than the Walley of 
 Eden. And I'm told," added Mark after a pause, 
 " as there's lots of serpents there, so we shall 
 come out, quite complete and reg'lar." 
 
 So far from dwelling upon this agreeable piece 
 of information with the least dismay, Mike's face 
 grew radiant as he called it to mind ; so \ 
 diant, that a stranger might have supposed he had 
 all his life been yearning for the society 
 pents, and now hailed with delight the approach- 
 ing consummation of his fondest w . 
 
 " Who told you that ?" asked Martin, sternly. 
 "A military officer," said Mark. 
 "Confound you for a ridiculous fellow!" cried 
 Martin, laughing heartily in spite of hi: 
 "What military officer ? you know they spring 
 
 up in every field" 
 
 " As thick as scarecrows in England, sir," in 
 terposed Mark, " which is a sort of militia them- 
 being entirely coat and with a 
 
 stick inside. Ha, ha ! — Don't mind me, sir ; it 's 
 my way sometimes. I can't help being jolly. — 
 Why, it was one of them inwading c 
 Pawkins's, as told me. ; Am I rightly informed,' 
 he says — not exactly through bis nose, but as if 
 he M got a stoppage in it, very high up — 'that 
 you're a going to the Walli . ' ' I beard 
 
 some talk on it,' I told him. 'Oh !' says he, 'if 
 you should ever happen to go to bed there — yon 
 may, you know,' he says, 'in course of time, a* 
 civilisation progresses— don't forget to take a axe 
 with vou.' I looks at him tolerable hard. 'Fleas?' 
 
188 
 
 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 says I. * And more,' Says he. • Wampires V says 
 I. ' And more,' says he. ' Musquitoes, perhaps ?' 
 says I. 'And more,' says he. 'What more?' 
 says I. 'Snakes more,' says he; 'rattlesnakes. 
 You 're right to a certain extent, stranger ; there 
 air some cataWampous chavvers in the small way, 
 too, as graze upon a human pretty strong; but 
 don't mind them — they 're company. It's snakes,' 
 he says, ' as you '11 object to ; and whenever you 
 wake and see one in a upright poster on your 
 Ded,' lie says, ' like a corkscrew with the handle 
 off a sittin' on its bottom ring, cut him down, for 
 he means wenom.' " 
 
 " Why didn't you tell me this before !" cried 
 Martin, with an expression of face which set off 
 the cheerfulness of Mark's visage to great ad- 
 vantage. 
 
 " I never thought on it, sir," said Mark. " It 
 come in at one ear, and went out at the other. 
 But Lord love us, he was one of another Company 
 I dare say, and only made up the story that we 
 might go to his Eden, and not the opposition one." 
 
 " There 's some probability in that," observed 
 Martin. " I can honestly say that I hope so, with 
 all my heart." 
 
 " I've not a doubt about it, sir," returned Mark, 
 who, full of the inspiriting influence of the anec- 
 dote himself, had for the moment forgotten its 
 probable effect upon his master : " anyhow, we 
 must live, you know, sir." 
 
 " Live !" cried Martin. " Yes, it 's easy to say 
 live ; but if we should happen not to wake when 
 rattlesnakes are making corkscrews of themselves 
 upon our beds, it may not be so easy to do it." 
 
 " And that 's a fact," said a voice so close in his 
 ear that it tickled him. " That 's dreadful true." 
 
 Martin looked round, and found that a gentle- 
 man, on the seat behind, had thrust his head 
 between himself and Mark, and sat with his chin 
 resting on the back rail of their little bench, en- 
 tertaining himself with their conversation. He 
 was as languid and listless in his looks, as most 
 of the gentlemen they had seen ; his cheeks were 
 so hollow that he seemed to be always sucking 
 them in; and the sun had burnt him — not a 
 wholesome red or brown, but dirty yellow. He 
 had bright dark eyes, which he kept half closed ; 
 only peeping out of the corners, and even then 
 with a glance that seemed to say, "Now you 
 won't overreach me : you want to, but you won't." 
 His arms rested carelessly on his knees as he 
 leant forward; in the palm of his left hand, as 
 English rustics have their slice of cheese, he had 
 a cake of tobacco ; in his right a penknife. He 
 struck into the dialogue with as little reserve as 
 if he had been specially called in, days before, to 
 hear the arguments on both sides, and favour them 
 with his opinion ; and he no more contemplated 
 or cared for the possibility of their not desiring 
 the honour of his acquaintance or interference in 
 their private affairs, than if he had been a bear or 
 a buffalo. 
 
 " That," he repeated, nodding condescendingly 
 to Martin, as to an outer barbarian and foreigner, 
 "is dreadful true. Darn all manner of vermin." 
 
 Martin could not help frowning for a moment, 
 as if he were disposed to insinuate that the gentle- 
 man had unconsciously " darned" himself. But 
 -ememoering the wisdom of doing at Rome as 
 
 Romans do, he smiled with the pleasantest expres 
 sion he could assume upon so short a notice. 
 
 Their new friend said no more just then, being 
 busily employed in cutting a quid or plug from 
 his cake of tobacco, and whistling softly to him- 
 self the while. When he had shaped it to his lik- 
 ing, he took out his old plug, and deposited the 
 same on the back of the seat between Mark and 
 Martin, while he thrust the new one into the hol- 
 low of his cheek, where it looked like a large 
 walnut, or tolerable pippin. Finding it quite satis- 
 factory, he stuck the point of his knife into the 
 old plug, and holding it out for their inspection, 
 remarked with the air of a man who had not lived 
 in vain, that it was " used up considerable." Then 
 he tossed it away ; put his knife into one pocket 
 and his tobacco into another ; rested his chin upon 
 the rail as before ; and approving of the pattern on 
 Martin's waistcoat, reached out his hand to feel 
 the texture of that garment. 
 
 " What do you call this now ?" he asked. 
 
 " Upon my word," said Martin, " I don't know 
 what it 's called." 
 
 " It '11 cost a dollar or more a yard, I reckon ?" 
 
 " I really don't know." 
 
 " In my country," said the gentleman, " we 
 know the cost of our own pro-duce." 
 
 Martin not discussing the question, there was 
 a pause. 
 
 " Well !" resumed their new friend, after star- 
 ing at them intently during the whole interval of 
 silence: "how's the unnat'ral old parent by this 
 time ?" 
 
 Mr. Tapley, regarding this enquiry as only 
 another version of impertinent English question — 
 " How 's your mother ?" — would have resented it 
 instantly, but for Martin's prompt interposition. 
 
 " You mean the old country ?" he said. 
 
 " Ah !" was the reply. " How 's she ! Progress- 
 ing back'ards, I expect, as usual ? Well ! How 's 
 Queen Victoria ?" 
 
 " In good health, I believe," said Martin. 
 
 " Queen Victoria won't shake in her royal shoes 
 at all, when she hears to-morrow named," ob- 
 served the stranger. " No." 
 
 " Not that I am aware of. Why should she ?" 
 
 " She won't be taken with a cold chill, when 
 she realises what is being done in these diggings," 
 said the stranger. " No." 
 
 " No," said Martin. " I think I could take my 
 oath of that." 
 
 The strange gentleman looked at him as if in 
 pity for his ignorance or prejudice, and said : 
 
 " Well, sir, I tell you this — there ain't a en-gine 
 with its biler bust, in God A'mighty's free U-nited 
 States, so fixed, and nipped, and frizzled to a most 
 e-tarnal smash, as that young critter, in her luxu- 
 rious lo-cation in the Tower of London, will be, 
 when she reads the next double extra Watertoast 
 Gazette." 
 
 Several other gentlemen had left their seats and 
 gathered round during the foregoing dialogue. 
 They were highly delighted with this speech. 
 One very lank gentleman, in a loose limp white 
 cravat, a long white waistcoat, and a black great- 
 coat, who seemed to be in authority among them, 
 felt called upon to acknowledge it. 
 
 " Hem ! Mr. La Fayette Kettle," he said, taking 
 off his hat. 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEW1T. 
 
 139 
 
 There was a grave murmur of " Hush !" 
 
 Sir!" 
 Mr. Kettle bowed. 
 
 u I n the Dame of this i ir, and in the 
 
 name of our common country, and in the name of 
 that right&tas cause of holy sympathy in which 
 i thank you. I thank you, sir, 
 in the nunc ofth< \ I Sympathizers; and 
 
 I thank yon, sir, in the name of the Watcrtoast 
 ; and I thank yon, sir, in the name of the 
 >angled bann Great United States, 
 
 for your eloquent and categorical exposition. And 
 r, poking Martin with the 
 •f his umbrella to bespeak Ins attention, for 
 listening to a whisper from Mark; "if, sir, 
 rid at such a time, I might ven- 
 ture to con-cludc with a sentiment, glancing — 
 er slantin'dicularly — at the subject in hand, 
 I would say, sir, May the British Lion have his 
 talons eradicated by the noble bill of the Ameri- 
 can Bogle, and be taught to play upon the Irish 
 Harp and the Scotch Fiddle that music which is 
 breathed in every empty shell that lies upon the 
 on Co-lumbia!" 
 Here the lank gentleman sat down again, 
 amidst a great sensation ; and every one looked 
 grave. 
 14 General Choke," said Mr. La Fayette Kettle, 
 " you warm my heart ; sir, you warm my heart. 
 But the British Lion is not unrepresented here, 
 sir ; and I should be glad to hear his answer to 
 those remarks." 
 
 " Upon my word," cried Martin, laughing, 
 " since you do mo the honour to consider me his 
 representative, I have only to say that I never 
 heard of Queen Victoria reading the What's-his- 
 name Gazette, and that I should scarcely think it 
 probable." 
 
 General Choke smiled upon the rest, and said, " No," returned Martin, in the same tone. 
 
 in patient and benignant explanation 
 
 " It is sent to her, sir. It is sent to her. Per 
 
 u But if it is addressed to the Tower of London, 
 it would hardly come to hand, I fear," returned 
 Martin : "for she don't live there." 
 
 "The Queen of England, gentlemen," observed 
 
 Mr. Taplcy, affecting the greatest politeness, and 
 
 regarding them with an immovable face, "usually 
 
 the Mint, to take care of the money. She 
 
 has lodgings, in virtue of her office, with the Lord 
 
 Mayor at the Mansion-House ; but don't often 
 
 occupy them, in consequence of the parlour chim- 
 
 moking." 
 
 " Mark," said Martin, " I shall be very much 
 
 ii if you'll have the goodness not to 
 
 with pre]H)sterou8 statements, however 
 
 they may ap|x:ar to you. I was merely 
 
 remarking, gentlemen — though it's a point of 
 
 very little import — that the Queen of England 
 
 i live in the Tower of London." 
 
 "General!" cried Mr. La Eayettc Kettle. 
 
 i hear?" 
 
 i ral!" echoed several others. "General !" 
 "Hush! Pray, silenci General Choke, 
 
 holding ii]) his hand, and speaking with a patient 
 and complacent ben h quite touch- 
 
 I have always remarked it as a very ex- 
 traordinary circumstance, which I Impute to the 
 natur' of British Institutions and th 
 to suppress that popular inquiry and infor 
 
 which air so widely diffused even in tlie trackless 
 forests of this vast Continent of the \*> 
 
 that the knowledge of Britishers them- 
 selves on such poinl d with 
 that possessed by our intelligent and locomotive 
 citizens. This is and confirms my 
 observation. When you say, sir," he continued, 
 addressing Martin, "that your 
 reside in the Tower of London, you (all into an 
 error, not uncommon to your cbnntiymi 
 when their abilities and moral 
 as to comma! 
 Slie (1<hs live there — " 
 
 "When she is at the Cowl of Saint James's;" 
 interposed Kettle. 
 
 " When she is at the Court of Saint Jam 
 course," returned the General, in the same benign- 
 ant way : " lor if her location was in W 
 Pavilion it couldn't be in Londou at th- 
 time. Your Tower of London, sir," pursued the 
 General, smiling with a mild consciousne- 
 knowledge, "is nat'ral'y your royal residence. 
 Being located in the immediate neighbourhood 
 of your Parks, your Drives, your Triumphant 
 Arches, your OjKjra, and your Royal Almacks, it 
 nat'rally suggests itself as the place for holding 
 a luxurious and thoughtless court. And, conse- 
 quently," said the General, "consequently, the 
 court is held there." 
 
 " Have you been in England ?" asked Martin. 
 
 "In print I have, sir," said the General, "not 
 otherwise. We air a reading people here, sir 
 You will meet with much information among ns 
 that will surprise you, sir." 
 
 " I have not the least doubt of it," returned 
 Martin. But here he was interrupted by Mr. La 
 Fayette Kettle, who whispered in his ear: 
 
 " You know General Choke ?" 
 
 " You know what he is considered 
 
 " One of the most remurkable men in the coun- 
 try ?" said Martin, at a venture. 
 
 " That 's a fact," rejoined Kettle. " I was suie 
 you must have heard of him !" 
 
 " I think," said Martin, addressing himself tc 
 the General again, "that I have the pleasure of 
 being the bearer of a letter of introduction to you, 
 sir. From Mr. Bevan, of Massachusetts," he 
 added, giving it to him. 
 
 The General took it and read it attentively : 
 now and then stopping to glance at the t\\ 
 gers. When he had finished the note, he came 
 over to Martin, sat down by him, and shook 
 hands. 
 
 " Well !" he said, " and you think of a«JHW 
 in Eden ?" 
 
 "Subject to your opinion, and the agent's ad- 
 vice," replied Martin. " I am told th 
 to be done in the old towns." 
 
 "I can introduce you to the agent, sir,' 
 
 ral. "I know him. In tact, I am a 
 
 inn nher of the Eden Land Corp 
 
 If." 
 
 This was serious new- 
 
 
 had laid great stress upon the 
 
 iving 
 
 no connection, as he thoqflRL M 
 
 th any land 
 
 pany, and therefor* 
 
 i him disto- 
 
 terested advi 1 
 
 rted that iie 
 
 had joined th 
 
 I ago, 
 
 and that no i 
 
 d bctweec 
 
 himself and Mr. Bevan since. 
 
 
140 
 
 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 " We have very little to venture," said Martin 
 anxiously — "only a few pounds — but it is our all. 
 Now, do you think that for one of my profession, 
 this would be a speculation with any hope or 
 chance in it?" 
 
 " Well !" observed the General, gravely, « if 
 there wasn't any hope or chance in the specula- 
 tion, it wouldn't have engaged my dollars, I opin- 
 ionate." 
 
 " I don't mean for the sellers," said Martin. 
 " For the buyers — for the buyers !" 
 
 " For the buyers, sir ?" observed the General, 
 in a most impressive manner. " Well ! you come 
 from an old country : from a country, sir, that has 
 piled up golden calves as high as Babel, and wor- 
 shipped 'em for ages. We are a new country, 
 sir ; man is in a more primeval state here, sir ; 
 we have not the excuse of having lapsed in the 
 slow course of time into degenerate practices ; we 
 have no false gods ; man, sir, here, is man in all 
 his dignity. We fought for that or nothing. 
 Here am I, sir," said the General, setting up his 
 umbrella to represent himself; and a villanous- 
 looking umbrella it was ; a very bad counter to 
 stand for the sterling coin of his benevolence : 
 " here am I with grey hairs, sir, and a moral 
 sense. Would I, with my principles, invest capi- 
 tal in this speculation if I didn't think it full of 
 hopes and chances for my brother man ?" 
 
 Martin tried to look convinced, but he thought 
 of New York, and found it difficult. 
 
 " What are the Great United States for, sir," 
 pursued the General, " if not for the regeneration 
 of man ? But it is nat'ral in you to make such 
 an enquerry, for you come from England, and 
 you do not know my country." 
 
 " Then you think," said Martin, " that allowing 
 for the hardships we are prepared to undergo, 
 there is a reasonable — Heaven knows we don't ex- 
 pect much — a reasonable opening in this place?" 
 
 "A reasonable opening in Eden, sir! But see 
 the agent, see the agent ; see the maps, and plans, 
 sir; and conclude to go or stay, according to the 
 natur' of the settlement. Eden hadn't need to go 
 a begging yet, sir," remarked the General. 
 
 " It is an awful lovely place, sure-ly. And 
 frightful wholesome, likewise !" said Mr. Kettle, 
 who had made himself a party to this conversa- 
 tion as a matter of course. 
 
 Martin felt that to dispute such testimony, for 
 no better reason than because he had his secret 
 misgivings on the subject, would be ungentlemanly 
 and indecent. So he thanked the General for his 
 promise to put him in personal communication 
 with the agent ; and " concluded" to see that offi- 
 cer next morning. He then begged the General 
 to inform him who the Watertoast Sympathizers 
 were, of whom he had spoken in addressing Mr. 
 La Fayette Kettle, and on what grievances they 
 bestowed their Sympathy. To which the Gene- 
 ral, looking very serious, made answer, that he 
 might fully enlighten himself on those points to- 
 morrow by attending a Great Meeting of the Bo- 
 dy, which would then be held #t the town to which 
 they were travelling : "over which, sir," said the 
 General, " my fellow-citizens have called on me 
 to preside." 
 
 They came to their journey's end late in the 
 evening. Close to the railway was an immense 
 wmite edifice, like an ugly hospital, on which was 
 
 painted " National Hotel." There was a wood- 
 en gallery or verandah in front, in which it was 
 rather startling, when the train stopped, to behold 
 a great many pairs of boots and shoes, and the 
 smoke of a great many cigars, but no other evi- 
 dences of human habitation. By slow degrees, 
 however, some heads and shoulders appeared, and 
 connecting themselves with the boots and shoes, 
 led to the discovery that certain gentlemen board- 
 ers, who had a fancy for putting their heels where 
 the gentlemen boarders in other countries usually 
 put their heads, were enjoying themselves after 
 their own manner, in the cool of the evening. 
 
 There was a great bar-room in this hotel, and 
 a great public room in which the general table 
 was being set out for supper. There were inter- 
 minable whitewashed staircases, long whitewash- 
 ed galleries up stairs and down stairs, scores of 
 little whitewashed bedrooms, and a four-sided ve- 
 .randah to every story in the house, which formed 
 a large brick square with an uncomfortable court- 
 yard in the centre : where some clothes were dry- 
 ing. Here and there, some yawning gentlemen 
 lounged up and down with their hands in their 
 pockets ; but within the house and without, 
 wherever half-a-dozen people were collected toge- 
 ther, there, in their looks,' dress, morals, manners, 
 habits, intellect, and conversation, were Mr. Jef- 
 ferson Brick, Colonel Diver, Major Pawkins, Gen- 
 eral Choke, and Mr. La Fayette Kettle, over, and 
 over, and over again. They did the same things ; 
 said the same things ; judged all subjects by, and 
 reduced all subjects to, the same standard. Ob- 
 serving how they lived, and how they were always 
 in the enchanting company of each other, Martin 
 even began to comprehend their being the social, 
 cheerful, winning, airy men they were. 
 
 At the sounding of a dismal gong, this pleasant 
 company went trooping down from all parts o'C 
 the house to the public room ; while from the 
 neighbouring stores other guests came flocking 
 in, in shoals ; for half the town, married folks as 
 well as single, resided at the National Hotel. Tea, 
 coffee, dried meats, tongue, ham, pickles, cake, 
 toast preserves, and bread and butter, were swal- 
 lowed with the usual ravaging speed ; and then, 
 as before, the company dropped off by degrees, 
 and lounged away to the desk, the counter, or the 
 bar-room. The ladies had a smaller ordinary of 
 their own, to which their husbands and brothers 
 were admitted if they chose ; and in all other re- 
 spects they enjoyed themselves as at Pawkins's. 
 
 "Now Mark, my good fellow," said Martin, 
 closing the door of his little chamber, " we must 
 hold a solemn council, for our fate is decided to- 
 morrow morning. You are determined to invest 
 these savings of yours in the common stock, are 
 you ?" 
 
 " If I hadn't been determined to make that 
 wentur, sir," answered Mr. Tapley, " I shouldn't 
 have come." 
 
 " How much is there here, did you say ?" ask 
 ed Martin, holding up a little bag. 
 
 "Thirty-seven pound ten and sixpence. The 
 Savings' Bank said so, at least. I never counted 
 it. But they know, bless you," said Mark, with 
 a shake of the head expressive of his unbounded 
 confidence in the wisdom and arithmetic of those 
 Institutions. 
 
 " The money we brought with us," said Mar 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 
 
 tin,'* is reducud to a few shillings Icbb than eight 
 potnid 
 
 .Mr. Tapley smiled, und looked all manner of 
 ways, that he might no1 I I to uttach any 
 
 importance to this fact. 
 
 " I fpon the ring— her i " said Martin, 
 
 looking ruefully at his empty finger — 
 
 "Ah!" sighed Mr. Tapley. " Beg your par- 
 don., sir." 
 
 " We raised, in English money, fourteen 
 
 pounds, with that, your share of the 
 
 . mucH the larger of the two, 
 
 T irk," said Martiu, in his old 
 
 way, just as he might have spoken to Tom Pinch, 
 
 " I have thought of a means of making this up 
 
 i making it up to you, I hope, 
 
 — and very materially elevating your prospects in 
 
 life." 
 
 " Oh ! don't talk of that, you know, sir," re- 
 turned Mark. "I don't want no elevating, sir. 
 I'm all right enough, sir, /am." 
 
 " Xo, but hear me," said Martin, "because this 
 is very important to you, and a great satisfaction 
 to me. Mark, you shall be a partner in the busi- 
 m equal partner with myself. I will put 
 in, as my additional capital, my professional 
 knowledge and ability ; and half the annual 
 profits, as long as it shall be carried on, shall be 
 yours." 
 
 Poor Martin ! for ever building castles in the 
 air. For ever, in his very selfishness, forgetful 
 of his own teeming hopes and sanguine plans. 
 Swelling, at that instant, with the consciousness 
 of patronising and most munificently rewarding 
 Mark ! 
 
 u I don't know, sir," Mark rejoined, much more 
 sadly than his custom was, though from a very 
 different cause than Martin supposed, "what I 
 can say to this, in the way of thanking you. 1*11 
 stand by you,' sir, to the best of my ability, and 
 1 ist That \s all." 
 quite understand each other, my good 
 fellow," said Martin, rising in self-approval and 
 condescension. " We arc no longer master and 
 servant, but friends and partners; and are mu- 
 tually gratified. If we determine on Eden, the 
 ill be commenced as soon aa 
 I iidt r the name," said Martin, who never 
 red upon an idea that wasn't red hot, 
 " under the name of Chuzzlewit and Tapley." 
 " Lord love you, sir," cried Mark, "don't have 
 . i it. I ain't acquainted with the bu- 
 - ir. I must be Co., I must. I've often 
 thought," he added, in a low voice, "as I should 
 now a ( o. ; but I little thought as ever I 
 shoulfl live to be one." 
 
 " You shall have your own way, Mark." 
 "ThankeY, sir. If any country gentleman 
 i uts, in the public way, or otherwise, 
 wanted such a thing as a skittle-ground made, I 
 could take that part of the bis'ness, sir." 
 
 inst any architect in the States," said 
 Martin. "Getac< -Try-cobblers, Mark, 
 
 we'll drink the firm." 
 
 dy (and often afterwards,) 
 
 rnat they were no longer master and servant, or 
 
 red this kind of duty to be among the 
 
 ite function But Mark 
 
 with his usual alai 
 
 for the night, it was agreed between Ihcin that 
 
 they should go together to the .agent's in the 
 morning, but that .Martin should decide the Eden 
 question, on his own sound judgment. And Mark 
 made no merit, even to himself in his jollity, of 
 this concession; perfectly well knowing that the 
 matter would come to that in the end, any 
 
 The General was one ol 
 table next day, and after break! 
 they should wait upon t! 
 time. They, desiring nothing mor^ . 
 off they all four started for the oftV 
 Settlement, which was almost within riflodiot of 
 the National Hotel 
 
 It was a small place — something like a turn- 
 pike. But a great deal of land may be got in a 
 dice-box, and why may not a whole ttrritory be 
 bargained for, in a shed ? Tt was but. a tempo- 
 rary office too; for the Edencrs were "goini:" to 
 build a superb establishment for the transaction, 
 of their business, and had already got so far as 
 to mark out the site: which is a {.Teat way in- 
 America. The office-door wa :,and in 
 
 the door-way was the agent: no doubt a tremen- 
 dous fellow to get through his work, lor he seemed 
 to have no arrears, but was s\. wards 
 
 and forwards in a rocking-cfiair, with or* 
 legs planted high up against the door-post, and 
 the other doubled up under him, as if he were 
 hatching his foot. 
 
 He was a gaunt man in a huge straw hat, and 
 a coat of green stuff. The weather being hot 
 he had no cravat, and wore his shirt collar wide 
 open; so that every time he spoke something was 
 seen to twitch and jerk up in his throat, like the 
 little hammers in a harpsichord when the notes 
 are struck. Perhaps it was the Truth feebly en- 
 deavouring to leap to his lips. If so, it never 
 reached them. 
 
 Two grey eyes lurked deep within this agent's 
 head, but one of them had no sight in it, and 
 stood stock still. With that side of his face lie 
 seemed to listen to what the other side was doing. 
 Thus each profile had a distinct expression ; and 
 when the moveable side was most in action, the 
 rigid one was in its coldest state of watchfulness. 
 It was like turning the man inside out, to 
 that view of his features in his liveliest mood, and 
 see how calculating and intent they were. 
 
 Each long black hair upon his head hung down 
 as straight as any plummet line, but rumpled 
 tufts w T ere ou the arches of his eyes, as if the 
 crow whose foot was deeply printed in the cor- 
 ners, had pecked and torn them in a savage re- 
 cognition of his kindred nature as a bird of prey. 
 Such was the man whom they now approached, 
 and whom the General saluted by the name of 
 Scadder. 
 
 "Well, Gen'ral," he returned, "and how are 
 you ?" 
 
 " Ac-tivc and spry, sir, in my country's 
 and sympathetic cause. Two gentlemen on bu- 
 . Mr. Scadder." 
 
 He shook hands with each of them — nothing 
 is done in America without shaking hands — then 
 went on rot 
 
 " I think I know what bis'ness you havo 
 brought these strangers here upon, then, Gen', 
 ral ?" 
 
 " W'< !1, sir. I expect you n: 
 
 " You air a tonguc-y person, Gen'r I 
 
142 
 
 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 talk too much, and that 's a fact," said Scadder. 
 " You speak a-larming well in public, but you 
 didn't ought to go ahead so fast in private. Now !" 
 " If I can realise your meaning, ride me on a 
 rail!" returned the General, after pausing for 
 consideration. 
 
 " You know we didn't wish to sell the lots off 
 right away to any loafer as might bid," said Scad- 
 der; " but had con-eluded to reserve 'em for Aris- 
 tocrats of Natur'. Yes !" 
 
 " And they are here, sir !"' cried the General 
 with warmth. " They are here, sir !" 
 
 " If they air here," returned the agent, in re- 
 proachful accents, "that's enough. But you 
 didn't ought to have your dander ris with me, 
 Gen'ral." 
 
 The General whispered Martin that Scadder 
 was the honestest fellow in the world, and that 
 he wouldn't have given him offence designedly, 
 for ten thousand dollars. 
 
 " I do my duty ; and I raise the dander of my 
 feller critturs, as I wish to serve," said Scadder 
 in a low voice, looking down the road and rocking 
 still. " They rile up rough, along of my objecting 
 to their selling Eden off too cheap. That 's human 
 natur'! Well !" *K 
 
 " Mr. Scadder," said the General, assuming his 
 oratorical deportment " Sir ! Here is my hand, 
 and here my heart. I esteem you, sir, and ask 
 your pardon. These gentlemen air friends of 
 mine, or I would not have brought 'em here, sir, 
 being well aware, sir, that the lots at present go 
 entirely too cheap. But these air friends, sir ,* 
 these air partick'ler friends." 
 
 Mr. Scadder was so satisfied by this explana- 
 tion, that he shook the General Warmly by the 
 hand, and got out of the rocking-chair to do it. 
 He then invited the General's particular friends 
 to accompany him into the office. As to the Ge- 
 neral, he observed, with his usual benevolence, 
 that being one of the company, he wouldn't in- 
 terfere in the transaction on any account ; so he 
 appropriated the rocking-chair to himself, and 
 looked at the prospect, like a good Samaritan 
 waiting for a traveller. 
 ' " Heyday !" cried Martin, as his eye rested on 
 a great plan which occupied one whole side of the 
 office. Indeed, the office had little else in it, but 
 some geological and botanical specimens, one or 
 two rusty ledgers, a homely desk, and a stool. 
 " Heyday ! what's that ?" 
 
 " That 's Eden," said Scadder, picking his 
 teeth with a sort of young bayonet that flew out 
 of his knife when he touched a spring. 
 " Why, I had no idea it was a city." 
 " Hadn't you ? Oh, it's a city." 
 A flourishing city, too ! An architectural city ! 
 There were banks, churches, cathedrals, market- 
 places, factories, hotels, stores, mansions, wharves; 
 an exchange, a theatre; public buildings of all 
 kinds, down to the office of the Eden Stinger, a 
 daily journal; all faithfully depicted in the view 
 before them. 
 
 " Dear me ! It's really a most important place !" 
 
 cried Martin, turning round. 
 
 " Oh ! it 's very important," observed the agent. 
 
 " But, I am afraid," said Martin, glancing again 
 
 at the Public Buildings, "that there's nothing 
 
 left for me to do." 
 
 " Well ! it ain't all built," replied the agent 
 " Not quite." 
 
 This was a great relief. 
 
 " The market-place, now," said Martin. " la 
 that built?" 
 
 " That ?" said the agent, sticking his toothpick 
 into the weathercock on the top. " Let me see. 
 No : that ain't built." 
 
 " Rather a good job to begin with, — eh, Mark ?" 
 whispered Martin, nudging him with his elbow. 
 
 Mark, who, with a very stolid countenance, had 
 been eyeing the plan and the agent by turns, 
 merely rejoined " Uncommon !" 
 
 A dead silence ensued, Mr. Scadder in some 
 short recesses or vacations of his toothpick, 
 whistled a few bars of Yankee Doodle, and blew 
 the dust off the roof of the Theatre. 
 
 " I suppose," said Martin, feigning to look more 
 narrowly at the plan, but showing by his tremu- 
 lous voice how much depended, in his mind, upon 
 the answer ; " I suppose there are — several archi- 
 tects there ?" 
 
 " There ain't a single one," said Scadder. 
 " Mark," whispered Martin, pulling him by the 
 sleeve, " do you hear that ? But whose work is 
 all this before us, then ?" he asked aloud. 
 
 " The soil being very fruitful, public buildings 
 grows spontaneous, perhaps," said Mark. 
 
 He was on the agent's dark side as he said it; 
 but Scadder instantly changed his place, and 
 brought his active eye to bear upon him. 
 "Feel of my hands, young man," he said. 
 " What for?" asked Mark : declining. 
 " Air they dirty, or air they clean, sir ?" said 
 Scadder, holding them out 
 
 In a physical point of view they were decidedly 
 dirty. But it being obvious that Mr. Scadde'r 
 offered them for examination in a figurative sense, 
 as emblems of his moral character, Martin hasten- 
 ed to pronounce them pure as the driven snow. 
 
 " I entreat, Mark," he said, with some irrita- 
 tion, " that you will not obtrude remarks of that 
 nature, which, however harmless and well-inten- 
 tioned, are quite out of place, and cannot be ex- 
 pected to be very agreeable to strangers. I am 
 quite surprised." 
 
 " The Co.'s a putting his foot in it already," 
 thought Mark. 4 He must be a sleeping partner 
 — fast asleep and snoring — Co. must : /see." 
 
 Mr. Scadder said nothing, but he set his back 
 against the plan, and thrust his toothpick into the 
 desk some twenty times : looking at Mark all the 
 while a* if he were stabbing him in effigy. 
 
 " You haven't said whose work it is," Martin 
 ventured to observe, at length, in a tone of mild 
 propitiation. 
 
 " Well, never mind whose work it is, or isn't," 
 said the agent sulkily. " No matter how it did 
 eventuate. P'raps he cleared off, handsome, with 
 a heap of dollars ; p'raps he wasn't worth a cent. 
 P'raps he was a loafin' rowdy; p'raps a ring-tailed 
 roarer. Now !" 
 
 " All your doing, Mark !" said Martin. 
 " P'raps," pursued the agent, " them an't 
 plants of Eden's raising. No ! P'raps that desk 
 and stool ain't made from Eden lumber. No ! 
 P'raps no end of squatters ain't gone out there. 
 No ! P'raps there ain't no such lo-cation in the 
 territoary of the Great U-nited States. Oh, no J" 
 
W m 
 
 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 
 
 143 
 
 "I 
 
 nth the success of 
 
 y« 
 
 if a most opportune and happy time, 
 
 from the doorway la gite his friends the particu- 
 lars of that little lot of fifty acres with the house 
 upon it; which, having belonged to the, company 
 rly;*had lately lapsed again into their hands. 
 
 '• You air a deal too open-handed, (Jcn'ral," 
 was the answer. " It is u lot as should be 
 price. It i 
 
 Hcgrumhli 1 his books notwithstand- 
 
 liis bright side towards 
 
 .Mark, no matter at wh it amount of inconveni- 
 
 • himself, displayed a certain leaf for their 
 
 perusal. Martin read it greedily, and then 
 
 inquired : 
 
 iw where upon the plan may this place 
 bo ?" 
 " Upon the plan ?" said Scadder. 
 
 " in 
 
 lie turned towards it, and reflected for a short 
 
 time, as if having been put upon his mettle, he 
 
 lvcd to be particular to the very minutest 
 
 hair's-breadth of a shade. At length, after wheel- 
 
 ing his toothpick slowly round and round in the 
 
 it* it were a carrier pigeon just thrown up, 
 
 Idehly made a dart at the drawing, and 
 
 pierced the very centre of the main wharf, through 
 
 and through. 
 
 " There !" he said, leaving his knife quivering 
 in the wall; " that's where it is !" 
 
 .Martin glanced with sparkling eyes upon his 
 
 tw that the thing was done. 
 The bargain was not concluded as easily as 
 might have been expected though, for Scadder 
 was caustic and ill-humoured, and cast much un- 
 pdcwjary opposition in the way : at one time 
 requesting them to think of it, and call again in 
 a week or a fortnight; at another, predicting that 
 they wouldn't like it; at another, offering to re- 
 tract and let them off, and muttering strong im- 
 precations upon the folly of the General. IJut the 
 whole of the astoundingly small sum total of 
 purchase money— it was only one hundred and 
 fifty dollars, or something more than thirty 
 pounds of the capital brought by Co. into the 
 architectural concern — was ultimately paid down; 
 ! . rt iu's bead was two inches nearer the 
 :iio little wooden office, with the conscious- 
 ly a landed proprietor in the thriving 
 city ol 
 
 " If it shouldn't happen to fit," said Scadder, as 
 Martin the necessary credentials on 
 of his money, "don't blame me." 
 "No, no," he replied, merrily. "We'll not 
 blame you. General, are you going ?" 
 
 " I am at your service, sir; and I wish you," 
 
 said the General, giving him his hand with grave 
 
 cordiality, "joy of your po ■eeiion. You air now, 
 
 sir, a denizen of the most powerful and highly. 
 
 civilized do-minion that has ever graced the 
 
 world; A do-minion, air, where man is hound to 
 
 bond of equal love and truth. 
 
 . »u, sir, be worthy of your a-dopted 
 
 ry !" 
 
 in thanked him, and took Lave of Mr. 
 
 r ; who had resumed his post in th< 
 
 ir immediately on the General's rising 
 
 from it, and was once more swinging away as if 
 
 he had never been disturbed. Mark looked back 
 several tunes .is they went down the road I 
 the National Hotel ; but now his blighted profile 
 was towards them, and nothing hut attentive 
 thoughtfulncss was written on • ly dif- 
 
 ferent to the other side: I 1 a man 
 
 much given to laughing, and i ed out- 
 
 right ; hut every line in tie.- print of the crow's 
 foot, and every little wiry vein in that division of 
 Iuh head, was wrinkled up into a grin 
 compound figure of Death and the Lady at the 
 top of the old ballad was not divided with a 
 greater nicety, and hadn't b 
 
 . unlike each other, than the two profiles 
 i taniah Scadder. 
 
 The General posted along at a great rate, for 
 the clock was on the stroke oif twelve; and at 
 that hour precisely, tie of the 
 
 Watertoast Sympathisers was to be holden in the 
 pubfic room of the National Hotel. Den 
 curious to witness the demonstration, and know 
 what it was all about, Martin kept close 
 General : and, keeping closer than ever when 
 they entered the Hall, got by that means upon a 
 little platform of tables at the tipper cm] : where 
 an arm-chair was set for the Genei 
 Lafayette Kettle, as secretary, was making a 
 great display of some foolscap documents — 
 Screamers, no doubt. 
 
 " Well, sir !" he said, as he shook hands with 
 Martin, "here is a spectacle cale'lated to in ike 
 the British Lion put his tail between his 1( 
 howl with anguish, I expect !" 
 
 Martin certainly thought it possible that the 
 British Lion might have been rather out of his 
 element in that Ark : but he kept the idea to 
 himself. The General was then voted to the 
 chair, on the motion of a pallid lad of the Jeffer- 
 son Brick school : who forthwith set in for a 
 high-spiced speech, with a good deal about 
 hearths and homes in it, and unriveting the 
 chains of Tyranny. 
 
 Oh but it was a clincher for the British Lion, it 
 was ! The indignation of the glowing young Co- 
 lumbian knew no bounds. If he could only have 
 been one of his own forefathers, he said, would'nt 
 he have peppered tha^t same Lion, and been to 
 him as another Brute Tamer with a wire whip, 
 teaching him lessons not easily forgotten. " Lion ! 
 (cried that young Columbian) where is he ? Who 
 is he? Wiiat is he ? Show him to me. Let me 
 have him here. Here!" said the young Colum- 
 bian, in a wrestling attitude, "upon this sacrcc! 
 altar. Here !" cried the young Columbian, ideal- 
 ising the dining-table, "upon ani 
 cemented with the glorious blood poured out like 
 water on qur native plains of Chick ibid 
 Bring forth that Lion!" said I Cohan- 
 
 bian. " Alone, I dure him ! I taunt that Lion. I 
 tell that Lion, that Freedom's hand one- | 
 in his mane, he rolls a corse before me, and the 
 Eagles of the Great Republic laugh, ha, hi !" 
 
 When it was found that the Lion didn'l 
 but kept out of the way ; that the y 
 bian stood tlierc, with folded arms, alone in hi* 
 glory; and consequently that ti. 
 doubt laughing wildly on the mountain I 
 such cheers arose as might have shaken the hands 
 upon ti; ■ ;rds' clock, and 
 
 very mean time of the day in England's c 
 
*> 
 
 144 
 
 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 " Who is this ?" Martin telegraphed to La Fay- 
 ette. 
 
 The Secretary wrote something, very gravely, 
 on a piece of paper, twisted it up, and had it 
 passed to him from hand to hand. It was an im- 
 provement on the old sentiment: "Perhaps as 
 remarkable a man as any in our country." 
 
 This young Columbian was succeeded by an- 
 other, to the full as eloquent as he, who drew 
 down storms of cheers. But both remarkable 
 youths, in their great excitement (for your true 
 poetry can never stoop to details), forgot to say 
 with whom or what the Watertoasters sympa- 
 thised, and likewise why or wherefore they were 
 sympathetic. Thus, Martin remained for a long 
 time as completely in the dark as ever; until at 
 length a ray of light broke in upon him through 
 the medium of the Secretary, who, by reading the 
 minutes of their past proceedings, made the mat- 
 ter somewhat clearer. He then learned that the 
 Watertoast Association sympathised with a cer- 
 tain Public Man in Ireland, who held a contest 
 upon certain points with England : and that they 
 did so, because they didn't love England at all — 
 not by any means because they loved Ireland 
 much : being indeed horribly jealous and distrust- 
 ful of its people always, and only tolerating them 
 because of their working hard, which made them 
 very useful ; labour being held in greater indig- 
 nity in the simple republic than in any other 
 country upon earth. This rendered Martin curi- 
 ous to see what grounds of sympathy the Water- 
 toast Association put forth ; nor was he long in 
 suspense, for the General rose to read a letter to 
 the Public Man, which with his own hands he 
 had written. 
 
 " Thus," said the General, " thus, my friends 
 and fellow-citizens, it runs : 
 
 " ' Sir, — I address you on behalf of the Water- 
 toast Association of United Sympathisers. It is 
 founded, sir, in the great republic of America ! 
 and now holds its breath, and swells the blue 
 veins in its forehead nigh to bursting, as it 
 watches, sir, with feverish intensity and sympa- 
 thetic ardour, your noble efforts in the cause of 
 Freedom.' " 
 
 At the name of Freedom, and at every repeti- 
 tion of that name, all the Sympathisers roared 
 aloud ; cheering with nine times nine, and nine 
 times over. 
 
 " ' In Freedom's name, sir — holy Freedom — I 
 address you. In Freedom's name, I send here- 
 with a contribution to the funds of your Society. 
 In Freedom's name, sir, I advert with indignation 
 and disgust to that accursed animal, with gore- 
 stained whiskers, whose rampant cruelty and fiery 
 lust have ever been a scourge, a torment, to the 
 world. The naked visitors to Crusoe's Island, 
 sir ; the flying wives of Peter Wilkins ; the fruit- 
 smeared children of the tangled bush ; nay, even 
 the men of large stature, anciently bred in the 
 mining districts of Cornwall ; alike bear witness 
 to its savage nature. Where, sir, are the Cormo- 
 rans, the Blunderbores, the Great Feefofums, 
 named in History ? all, all, exterminated by its 
 destroying hand. 
 
 " ' I allude, sir, to the British Lion. 
 
 '■* ' Devoted, mind and body, heart and soul, to 
 Freedom, s'ir — to Freedom, blessed solace to the 
 mail upon the cellar-door, the oyster in his pearly 
 
 bed, the still mite in his home of cheese, the very 
 winkle of your country in his shelly lair — in her 
 unsullied name, we offer you our sympathy. Oh, 
 sir, in this our cherished and our happy land, her 
 fires burn bright and clear and smokeless : once 
 lighted up in yours, the lion shall be roasted 
 whole. 
 
 " ' I am, sir, in Freedom's name, your affection- 
 ate friend and faithful Sympathiser, 
 
 " ' Cyrus Choke, 
 " ' General, U. S. M.' " 
 
 It happened that just as the General began to 
 read this letter, the railroad train arrived, bring- 
 ing a new mail from England ; and a packet had 
 been handed in to the Secretary, which during its 
 perusal and the frequent cheerings in homage to 
 freedom, he had opened. Now, its contents dis- 
 turbed him very much, and the moment the Gene- 
 ral sat down, he hurried to his side, and placed 
 in his hand a letter and several printed extracts 
 from English newspapers; to which, in a state 
 of infinite excitement, he called his immediate at- 
 tention. 
 
 The General, being greatly heated by his own 
 composition, was in a fit state to receive any in- 
 flammable influence; but he had no sooner pos- 
 sessed himself of the contents of these documents, 
 than a change came over his face, involving such 
 a huge amount of choler and passion, that the 
 noisy concourse were silent in a moment, in very 
 wonder at the sight of him. 
 
 "My friends!" cried the General, rising; " my 
 friends and fellow-citizens, we have been mistaken 
 in this man." 
 
 " In what man ?" was the cry. 
 
 " In this," panted the General, holding up the 
 letter he had read aloud a few minutes before. 
 " I find that he has been, and is, the advocate — 
 consistent in it always too^-of Nigger emancipa- 
 tion !" 
 
 If anything beneath the sky be real, those Sons 
 of Freedom would have pistolled, stabbed — in 
 some way slain — that man by coward hands and 
 murderous violence, if he had stood among them 
 at that time. The most confiding of their own 
 countrymen, would not have wagered then ; no, 
 nor would they ever peril; one dunghill straw, 
 upon the life of any man in such a strait. They 
 tore the letter, cast the fragments in the air, trod 
 down the pieces as they fell; and yelled, and 
 groaned, and hissed, till they could cry no longer. 
 
 " I shall move," said the General, when he conld 
 make himself heard, "that the Watertoast Asso- 
 ciation of United Sympathisers be immediately 
 dissolved !' 
 
 Down with it ! Away with it ! Don't hear of 
 it ! Burn its records ! Pull the room down ! Blot 
 it out of human memory ! 
 
 " But, my fellow countrymen !" said the Gene- 
 ral, " the contributions. We have funds. What 
 is to be done with the funds?" 
 
 It was hastily resolved that a piece of plate 
 should be presented to a certain constitutional 
 Judge, who had laid down from the Bench the 
 noble principle, that it was lawful for any white 
 mob to murder any black man : and that another 
 piece of plate, of similar value, should be presented 
 to a certain Patriot, who had declared from his 
 high place in the Legislature, that he and his 
 i friends would hang, without trial, any abolitionist 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 
 
 145 
 
 who illicit pay them a visit. For the surplus, it | 
 was agreed that it should he devoted to aiding tlie 
 enforcement of those free and equal laws, which 
 render it incalculably more criminal and fcflferoufl 
 
 to tew h i nefffo to read and write, then I 
 
 him alive in a puhlic city. The.se points adju*ti d, 
 the meeting broke op in greal disorder; and there 
 was an end of I he Watcrtoast Sympathy. 
 
 As Martin ascended to his bedroom, his eye 
 
 was attracted by the 
 had been hoisted from 
 the occasion, and was 
 which he passed. 
 
 "Tut !" said .Martin 
 the distinct-. But let 
 get the light upon the 
 you ; and you are but 
 
 Republican banner, which 
 the house-top in honour of 
 fluttering before a window 
 
 . " You 're a gay flag in 
 a man be near enough to 
 other side, and see through 
 sorry fustian !" 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 FROM WHICH IT WILL BE SEEN THAT MARTIN BECAME A LION ON HIS 
 OWN ACCOUNT. TOGETHER WITH THE REASON WHY. 
 
 As soon as it was generally known in the Na- 
 tional Hotel that the young Englishman, .Mr. 
 Chuzzlewit, had purchased " a lo-cation" in the 
 Valley of Eden, and intended to betake himself to 
 that Paradise by the next steamboat, he became 
 a popular character. Why this should be, or how 
 it ha J come to pass, Martin no more knew than 
 Mrs. Gamp, of Kingsgate-street, High Holborn, 
 did , but that he was, for the time being, the lion, 
 by popular election, of the Watcrtoast commu- 
 nity, and that his society was in rather inconve- 
 nient request, there could be no kind of doubt. 
 
 The first notification he received of this change 
 in his position, was the following epistle, written 
 in a thin running hand, — with here and there a 
 fat letter or two, to make the general effect more 
 striking, — on a sheet of paper, ruled with blue 
 lines. 
 
 " National Hotel, 
 
 " Monday Morning. 
 
 u Dear Sir — When I had the privillidge of being 
 your fellow-traveller in the cars, the day before 
 yesterday, you offered some remarks upon the 
 subject of the Tower of London, which (in com- 
 mon with my fellow-citizens generally,) I could 
 wish to hear repeated to a public audience. 
 
 " As secretary to the Young Men's Watcrtoast 
 Association of this town, I am requested to inform 
 you that the Society will be proud to hear you 
 deliver a lecture upon the Tower of London, at 
 their Hall, to-morrow evening, at seven o'clock; 
 and as a large issue of quarter-dollar tickets may 
 be expected, your answer and consent by bearer 
 will be considered obliging. 
 
 14 Dear sir, yours truly, 
 
 " La Fayette Kettle. 
 
 u The Honourable M. Chuzzlewit. 
 
 '• !'.<.— The Society would not be particular in 
 limiting you to the Tower of London. Permit 
 me to suggest that any remarks upon the Ele- 
 nentl of Geology, or (if more convenient) upon 
 the Writings of your talented and witty country- 
 man, the honourable Mr. Miller, would be well 
 received." 
 
 Very much aghast at this invitation, Martin 
 wrote back, civilly declining it; and had scarcely 
 done so, when he received another letter. 
 
 "No. 47, Bunker Hill Street, 
 "Private. "Morning Morning. 
 
 — I was raised in those interminable soli- 
 tudes where our mighty Mississippi (or Father of 
 Waters) rolls his turbid flood. 
 19 
 
 " I am young, and ardent. For there is a poetry 
 in wildness, and every alligator basking in the 
 slime is in himself an Epic, self-contained. I 
 aspirate for fame. It is my yearning and my 
 thirst. 
 
 " Are you, sir, aware of any member of Con- 
 gress in England, who would undertake to pay 
 my expenses to that country, and for six months 
 after my arrival ? 
 
 "There is something within me which gives 
 me the assurance that this enlightened patronage 
 would not be thrown away. In literature or art ; 
 the bar, the pulpit, or the stage; in one or other, 
 if not all, I feel that I am certain to succeed. 
 
 " If too much engaged to write to any such 
 yourself, please let me have a list of three or four 
 of those most likely to respond, and I will address 
 them through the Post Office. May I also ask 
 you to favour me with any critical observations 
 that have ever presented themselves to your re- 
 flective faculties, on 'Cain, a Mystery,' by the 
 Right Honourable Lord Byron? 
 
 " I am, Sir, 
 
 " Yours (forgive me if I add, soaringly), 
 " Putxam Smif. 
 
 "P.S. — Address your answer to America Ju- 
 nior, Messrs. Hancock 6c Floby, Dry Goods 
 Store, as above." 
 
 Both of which letters, together with Martin's 
 reply to eafch, were, according to a laudable cus- 
 tom, much tending to the promotion of gentle- 
 manly feeling and social confidence, published in 
 the next number of the Watcrtoast Gazette. 
 
 He htid scarcely got through this correspond- 
 ence, when Captain Kedgick, the landlord, kindly 
 came up stairs to see how he was getting on. 
 The Captain sat down upon the bed before he 
 spoke, and, finding it rather hard, moved to the 
 pillow. 
 
 " W»:1I, sir!" said the Captain, putting his hat 
 a little more on one side, for it was rather tight 
 in the crown : " You 're qaite a public man, I 
 calc'late." 
 
 "So it seems," retorted Martin, who was veiy 
 tired. 
 
 "Our citizens, sir," pursued the Captain, "in- 
 tend to pay their respects to you. You will have 
 to hold a sort of le — v6e, sir, while 70a 're 
 
 " Powers above !" cried Martin, " 1 couldn't do 
 that, my good fellow !" 
 
 •• I r. ekon you must then," said the Captain. 
 
 u Must is not a pleasant word, Captain * irged 
 Martin. 
 
146 
 
 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 " Well ! T didn't fix the mother language, and I 
 I can't unfix it," said the Captain, coolly : " else 
 I 'd make it pleasant. You must re-ceive. That 's 
 all." 
 
 " But why should I receive people who care as 
 much for me as I care for them ?" asked Martin. 
 
 " Well ! because I have had a muniment put up 
 in the bar," returned the Captain. 
 
 • A what ?" cried Martin. 
 
 " A muniment," rejoined the captain. 
 
 Martin looked despairingly at Mark, who in- 
 formed him that the Captain meant a written 
 notice that Mr. Chuzzlevvit would receive the 
 Watertoasters that day, at and after two o'clock : 
 which was, in effect, then hanging in the bar, as 
 Mark from ocular inspection of the same could 
 testify. 
 
 " You wouldn't be unpop'lar, / know," said the 
 Captain, paring his nails. "Our citizens an't 
 long of riling up, I tell you ; and our Gazette could 
 flay you like a wild cat." 
 
 Martin was going to be very wroth, but he 
 thought better of it, and said : 
 
 " In Heaven's name let them come, then." 
 
 " Oh, they '11 come," returned the Captain. " I 
 have seen the big room fixed a'purpose, with my 
 eyes." 
 
 " But will you," said Martin, seeing that the 
 Captain was about to go; " will you at least tell 
 me this. What do they want to see me for ? 
 what have I done ? and how do they happen to 
 have such a sudden interest in me ?" 
 
 Captain Kedgick put a thumb and three fingers 
 to each side of the brim of his hat ; lifted it a little 
 way off his head ; put it on again carefully ; passed 
 one hand all down his face, beginning at the fore- 
 head and ending at the chin ; looked at Martin ; 
 then at Mark ; then at Martin again ; winked ; 
 and walked out. 
 
 " Upon my life, now !" said Martin, bringing 
 his hand heavily upon the table ; " such a per- 
 fectly unaccountable fellow as that, I never saw. 
 Mark, what do you say to this ?" 
 
 " Why, sir," returned his partner, " my opinion 
 is that we must have got to the most remarkable 
 man in the country, at last. So I hope there 's an 
 end of the breed, sir." 
 
 Although this made Martin laugh, it couldn't 
 keep off two o'clock. Punctually, as the hour 
 struck, Captain Kedgick returned to hand him to 
 the room of state; and he had no sooner got him 
 safe there, than he bawled down the staircase to 
 his fellow-citizens below, that Mr. Chuzzlewit was 
 " receiving." 
 
 Up they came with a rush. Up they came until 
 the room was full, and, through the open door, a 
 dismal perspective of more to come was shown 
 upon the stairs. One after another, one after 
 another, dozen after dozen, score after score, more 
 more, more, up they came : all shaking hands 
 with Martin. Such varieties of hands, the thick, 
 Um thin, the short, the long, the fat, the lean, the 
 coarse, the fine ; such differences of temperature, 
 the hot, the cold, the dry, the moist, the flabby ; 
 such diversities of grasp, the tight, the loose, the 
 •short-lived, and the lingering ! Still up, up, up, 
 more, more, more: and ever and anon- the Cap- 
 tain's voice was heard above the crowd — "There's 
 more below ; there 's more below. Now, gentle- 
 men, vou that have been introduced to Mr. Chuz- 
 
 zlewit, will you clear, gentlemen? Will you 
 clear ? Will you be so good as clear, gentlemen, 
 and make a little room for more ?" 
 
 Regardless of the Captain's cries, they didn't 
 clear at all, but stood there, bolt upright and 
 staring. Two gentlemen connected with the 
 Watertoast Gazette had come express to get the 
 matter for an article on Martin. They had agreed 
 to divide the labour. One of them took him 
 below the waistcoat ; one above. Each stood 
 directly in front of his subject with his head a 
 little on one side, intent on his department. If 
 Martin put one boot before the other, the lower 
 gentleman was down upon him ; he rubbed a 
 pimple on his nose, and the upper gentleman 
 booked it. He opened his mouth to speak, and 
 the same gentleman was on one knee before him, 
 looking in at his teeth, with the nice scrutiny of 
 a dentist. Amateurs in the physiognomical and 
 phrenological sciences roved about him with 
 watchful eyes and itching fingers, and sometimes 
 one, more daring than the rest, made a mad grasp 
 at the back of his head, and vanished in the 
 crowd. They had him in all points of view : in 
 front, in profile, three-quaiter face, and behind. 
 Those who were not professional or scientific, 
 audibly exchanged opinions on his looks. New 
 lights shone in upon him, in respect of his nose. 
 Contradictory rumours were abroad on the sub- 
 ject of his hair. And still the Captain's voice 
 was heard — so stifled by the concourse, that he 
 seemed to speak from underneath a feather-bed — 
 exclaiming, " Gentlemen, you that have been 
 introduced to Mr. Chuzzlewit, icill you clear?" 
 
 Even when they began to clear, it was no bet- 
 ter ; for then a stream of gentlemen, every one 
 with a lady on each arm (exactly like the chorus 
 to the National Anthem when Royalty goes in 
 state to the play), came gliding in — every new 
 group fresher than the last, and bent on staying 
 to the latest moment. If they spoke to him, 
 which was not often, they invariably asked the 
 same questions, in the same tone ; with no more 
 remorse, or delicacy, or consideration, than if he 
 had been a figure of stone, purchased, and paid 
 for, and set up there, for their delight. Even when, 
 in the slow course of time, these died off, it was 
 as bad as ever, if not worse ; for then the boys 
 grew bold, and came in as a class of themselves, 
 and did everything that the grown-up people had 
 done. Uncouth stragglers too appeared ; men of 
 a ghostly kind, who being in, didn't know how 
 to get out again : insomuch that one silent gentle- 
 man with glazed and fishy eyes, and only one 
 button on his waistcoat (which was a very large 
 metal one, and shone prodigiously), got behind 
 the door, and stood there, like a Clock, long after 
 everybody else was gone. 
 
 Martin felt, from pure fatigue, and heat, and 
 worry, as if he could have fallen on the ground 
 and willingly remained there, if they would but 
 have had the mercy to leave him alone. But as 
 letters and messages threatening his public de- 
 nouncement if he didn't see the senders, poured in 
 like hail ; and as more visitors came while he 
 took his coffee by himself; and as Mark, with all 
 his vigilance, was unable to keep them from the 
 door; he resolved to go to bed — not that he felt at 
 all sure of bed being any protection, but that he 
 might not leave a forlorn hope untried. 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 
 
 147 
 
 He had communicated this design to Mark, and 
 was on the eve of escaping, when the door mi 
 thrown open in a great hurry, and an elderly 
 gentleman entered : bringing with him a lady 
 who certainly could not be considered young — 
 that was matter of fact; and probably could not 
 be considered handsome—hut that was matter of 
 opinion. She was very tfrrigbt, very tall, and not 
 at all flexible in face or figure. On her head she 
 wore a great straw bonnet, with trimmings of the 
 same, in which she looked as if she had been 
 thatched by an unskilful labourer ; and in her 
 ' hand she held a most enormous fan. , 
 
 "Mr. C'huzzlewit, I believe?" said the gentle- 
 man. 
 
 44 That is my name." 
 
 "Sir," said the gentleman, " I am pressed for 
 time." 
 
 " Thank God !" thought Martin. 
 
 44 I go back Toe my home, sir," pursued the 
 gentleman, " by the return train, which starts im- 
 mediate. Start is not a word you use in your 
 country, sir." 
 
 44 Oh yes, it is," said Martin. 
 
 44 You air mistaken, sir," returned the gentle- 
 man, with great decision : " but we will not pursue 
 the subject, lest it should awake your prejti — dice. 
 Sir, Mrs. Hominy." 
 
 Martin bowed. 
 
 44 Mrs. Hominy, sir, is the lady of Major Ho- 
 miny, one of our chicest spirits ; and belongs Toe 
 one of our most aristocratic families. You air, 
 p'raps, acquainted sir, with Mrs. Hominy's writ- 
 ings ?" 
 
 Martin couldn't say he was. 
 
 44 You have much Toe learn, and Toe enjoy, 
 sir," said the gentleman. 44 Mrs. Hominy is going 
 Toe stay until the end of the Fall, sir, with her 
 married daughter at the settlement of New Ter- 
 mopyla}, three days this side of Eden. Any at- 
 tention, sir, that you can show Toe Mrs. Hominy 
 upon the journey, will be very grateful Toe the 
 Major and our fellow-citizens. Mrs. Hominy, I 
 wish you good night, ma'am, and a pleasant pro- 
 gress on your rout 1" 
 
 Martin could scarcely believe it; but he had 
 gone, and Mrs. Hominy was drinking the milk. 
 
 44 A'most used-up I am, I do declare !" she ob- 
 served. u The jolting in the cars is pretty nigh 
 as bad as if the ruil was full of snags and sawyers." 
 
 44 Snags and sawyers, ma'am ?" said Martin. 
 
 44 Well, then, I do suppose you '11 hardly realise 
 my meaning, sir," said Mrs. Hominy. 44 My! 
 Only think 1 Do tell !" 
 
 It did not appear that these expressions, although 
 they seemed to conclude with an urgent entreaty, 
 stood in need of any answer ; for Mrs. Hominy, 
 untying her bonnet-strings, observed that she 
 would withdraw to lay that article of dress aside, 
 and would return immediately. 
 
 " Mark !" said Martin. " Touch me, will you. 
 Am 1 awake !" 
 
 " Hominy is, sir," returned his partner — " Broad 
 awake ! Just the sort of woman, sir, as would be 
 discovered with her eyes wide open, and her mind 
 a-working for her country's good, at any hour of 
 the day or night." 
 
 They had no opportunity of saying more, for 
 Mrs. Hominy stalked in again — very erect, in 
 proof of her aristocratic blood ; and holding in 
 
 her clasped hands a red cotton pocket-handker- 
 chief, [>erhaps a parting gift from that choice 
 spirit, the Major. She had laid aside her bonnet, 
 and now appeared in a highly aristocratic and 
 classical cap, meeting beneath her chin : a style 
 of head-dress so admirably adapted to her coun- 
 tenance, that if the late Mr. (irimaldi had appeared 
 in the lappets of Mrs. Siddons, a more complete 
 effect could not have been produced. 
 
 Martin handed her to a chair. Her first words 
 arrested him before he could get back to his own 
 seat. 
 
 44 Pray, sir !" said Mrs Hominy, u where do 
 you hail from ?" 
 
 44 1 am afraid I am dull of comprehension," 
 answered Martin, 44 being extremely tired ; but, 
 upon my word, I don't understand you." 
 
 Mrs. Hominy shook her head with a melancholy 
 smile that said, not inexpressively, * They corrupt 
 even the language in that old country !" and ad- 
 ded then, as coming down a step or two to meet 
 his low capacity, 44 Where was you rose ?" 
 
 14 Oh !" said Martin, 44 1 was born in Kent." 
 
 44 And how do you like our country, sir ?" 
 asked Mrs. Hominy. 
 
 44 Very much indeed," said Martin, half asleep 
 44 At least — that is — pretty well, ma'am." 
 
 "Most strangers — and partick'larly Britishers 
 — are much surprised by what they see in the 
 U-nited States," remarked Mrs. Hominy. 
 
 44 They have excellent reason to be so, ma'am," 
 said Martin. 44 1 never was so much surprised in 
 all my life." 
 
 44 Our institutions make our people smart much, 
 sir ?" Mrs. Hominy remarked. 
 
 44 The most short-sighted man could see that at 
 a glance, with his naked eye," said Martin. 
 
 Mrs. Hominy was a philosopher and an au- 
 thoress, and consequently had a pretty strong 
 digestion ; but this coarse, this indecorous phrase, 
 was almost too much for her. For a gentleman 
 sitting alone with a lady — although the door teat 
 open — to talk about a naked eye ! 
 
 A long interval elapsed before even she — 
 woman of masculine and towering intellect 
 though she was — could call up fortitude enough 
 to resume the conversation. But Mrs. Hominy 
 was a traveller. Mrs. Hominy was a writer of 
 reviews and analytical disquisitions. Mrs. Ho- 
 miny had had her letters from abroad, beginning 
 44 My ever dearest blank," and signed 44 The 
 Mother of the Modern Gracchi" (meaning the 
 married Miss Hominy), regularly printed in a 
 public journal, with all the indignation in capitals, 
 and all the sarcasm in italics. Mrs. Hominy had 
 looked on foreign countries with the eye of a 
 perfect republican hot from the model oven ; and 
 Mrs. Hominy could talk (or write) about them by 
 the hour together. So Mrs. Hominy at last came 
 do\vn on Martin heavily, and as he was fast 
 asleep, she had it all her cwn way and bruised 
 him to her heart's content 
 
 It is no great matter what Mrs. Hominy said, 
 save that she had learnt it from the cant of a 
 class, and a large class, of her fellow-countrv- 
 men, who, in their every word, avow themselves 
 to be as senseless to the high principles on which 
 America sprang, a nation, into life, as any Orson 
 in her legislative halls. Who are no more capa 
 blc of feeling, or of caring if they did r eel, lha 4 
 
148 
 
 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 by reducing their own country to the ebb of ho- 
 nest men's contempt, they put in hazard the rights 
 of nations yet unborn, and very progress of the 
 human race, than are the swine who wallow in 
 their streets. Who think that crying out to other 
 nations, old in their iniquity, " We are no worse 
 than you !" (No worse !) is high defence and 
 'vantage ground enough for that Republic, but 
 yesterday let loose upon her noble course, and but 
 to-day so maimed and lame, so full of sores and 
 ulcers, foul to the eye, and almost hopeless to the 
 sense, that her best friends turn from the loath- 
 some creature with disgust. Who, having by 
 their ancestors declared and won their Independ- 
 ence, because they would not bend the knee to 
 certain Public vices and corruptions and would 
 not abrogate the truth, run riot in the Bad, and 
 turn their backs upon the Good ; and lying down 
 contented with the wretched boast that other Tem- 
 ples also are of glass, and stones which batter 
 theirs may be flung back; show themselves, in 
 that alone, as immeasurably behind -the import of 
 the trust they hold, and as unworthy to possess it, 
 as if the sordid hucksterings of all their little 
 governments — each one a kingdom in its small 
 depravity — were brought into a heap for evidence 
 against them. 
 
 Martin by degrees became so far awake, that 
 he had a sense of a terrible oppression on his 
 mind; an imperfect dream that he had murdered 
 a particular friend, and couldn't get rid of the 
 body. When his eyes opened, it was staring him 
 full in the face. There was the horrible Hominy, 
 talking deep truths in a melodious snuffle, and 
 pouring forth her mental endowments to such an 
 extent that the Major's bitterest enemy, hearing 
 her. would have forgiven him from the bottom of 
 his heart. Martin might have done something 
 desperate if the gong had not sounded for supper ; 
 but sound it did most opportunely ; and having 
 stationed Mrs. Hominy at the upper end of the 
 table, he took refuge at the lower end himself; 
 whence, after a hasty meal, he stole away, while 
 the lady was yet busied with dried beef and a 
 whole saucer-full of pickled fixings. 
 
 It would be difficult to give an adequate idea 
 of Mrs. Hominy's freshness next day, or of the 
 avidity with which she went headlong into moral 
 philosophy at breakfast. Some little additional 
 degree of asperity, perhaps, was visible in her fea- 
 tures, but not more than the pickles would have 
 naturally produced. All that day, she clung to 
 Martin. She sat beside him while he received 
 his friends — for there was another Reception, yet 
 more numerous than the former — propounded the- 
 ories, and answered imaginary objections : so that 
 Martin really began to think he must be dream- 
 ing, and speaking for two ; quoted interminable 
 passages from certain essays on government, writ- 
 ten by herself; used the Major's pocket-handker- 
 chief as if the snuffle were a temporary malady, 
 of which she was determined to rid herself by 
 some means or other ; and, in short, was such a 
 cemarkable companion, that Martin quite settled 
 it between himself and his conscience, that in any 
 new settlement it would be absolutely necessary 
 to have such a person knocked on the head for 
 tne general peace of society. 
 
 In the mean time Mark was busy, from early 
 w the morning until late at night, in getting on 
 
 board the steamboat such provisions, tools, and 
 other necessaries, as they had been forewarned it 
 would be wise to take. The purchase of these 
 things, and the settlement of their bill at the Na- 
 tional, reduced their finances to so low an ebb, 
 that if the captain had delayed his departure any 
 longer, they would have been in almost as bad a 
 plight as the unfortunate poorer emigrants, who 
 (seduced on board by solemn advertisement) had 
 been living on the lower deck a whole week, and 
 exhausting their miserable stock of provisions be- 
 fore the voyage commenced. There they were, 
 all huddled together, with the engine and the fires. 
 Farmers who had never seen a plough ; woodmen 
 who had never used an axe ; builders who couldn't 
 make a box ; cast out of their own land, with not 
 a hand to aid them : newly come into an unknown 
 world, children in helplessness, but men in wants 
 — with younger children at their backs, to live or 
 die as it might happen ! 
 
 The morning came ; and they would start at 
 noon. Noon came, and they would start at night 
 But nothing is eternal in this world : not even the 
 procrastination of an American skipper : and at 
 night all was ready. 
 
 Dispirited and weary to the last degree, but a 
 greater lion than ever (he had done nothing all 
 the afternoon but answer letters from strangers : 
 half of them about nothing : half about borrowing 
 money : and all requiring an instantaneous reply), 
 Martin walked down to the wharf, through a con- 
 course of people, with Mrs. Hominy upon his 
 arm ; and went on board. But Mark was bent 
 on solving the riddle of this lionship, if he cculd 
 and so, not without the risk of being left behind, 
 ran back to the hotel. 
 
 Captain Kedgick was sitting in the colonnade, 
 with a julep on his knee, and a cigar in his mouth 
 He caught Mark's eye, and said : 
 
 " Why, what the 'Tarnal brings you here ?" 
 
 " I '11 tell you plainly what it is, Captain," said 
 Mark. " I want to ask you a question." 
 
 " A man may ask a question, so he may," re- 
 turned Kedgick : strongly implying that another 
 man might not answer a question, so he mightn't 
 
 u What have they been making so much of him 
 for, now ?" said Mark, slyly. "Come !" 
 
 M Our people like ex-citement," answered 
 Kedgick, sucking his cigar. 
 
 u But how has he excited 'em ?" asked Mark. 
 
 The captain looked at him as if he were half 
 inclined to unburden his mind of a capital joke. 
 
 " You air a going ?" he said. 
 
 "Going !" cried Mark. " Ain't every moment 
 precious ?" 
 
 "Our people like ex-citement," said the Cap- 
 tain, whispering. "He ain't like emigrants in 
 gin'ral ; and he ex-cited 'em along of this ;" he 
 winked and burst into a smothered laugh; "along 
 of this. Scadder is a smart man, and — and 
 — nobody as goes to Eden ever comes back 
 a-live !" 
 
 The wharf was close at hand, and at that in- 
 stant Mark could hear them shouting out his 
 name — could even hear Martin calling to him to 
 make haste or they would be separated. It was 
 too late to mend the matter, or put any face upon 
 it but the best He gave the Captain a parting 
 benediction, and ran off" like a racehorse. 
 
 " Mark ! Mark !" cried Martin. 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 
 
 " Here am I, sir !" shouted Mark, suddenly re- 
 i)]\ ino- from the edge of the quay, and leaping at 
 * bound on board. " Never was half so jolly, sir. 
 All right ! Haul in ! Go a-head !" 
 
 The sparks from the wood fire streamed up- 
 ward from the two chimneys, as if the vessel was 
 » great firework just lighted; and they roared 
 away upon the dark water. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 MARTIN AND HIS PARTNER TAKE POSSESSION OF THEIR ESTATE. THE 
 JOYFUL OCCASION INVOLVES SOME FURTHER ACCOUNT OF EDEN. 
 
 Therk happened to be on board the steamboat 
 several gentlemen passengers, of the same stamp 
 us Martin's New York friend Mr. Bevan ; and in 
 Iheir society he was cheerful and happy. They 
 released him as well as they could from the intel- 
 lectual entanglements of Mrs. Hominy; and ex- 
 hibited, in all they said and did, so much good 
 sense and high feeling, that he could not like 
 them too well. " If this were a republic of In- 
 tellect and Worth," he said, "instead of vapour- 
 ing and jobbing, they would not want the levers 
 to keep it in motion." 
 
 44 Having good tools, and using bad ones," re- 
 turned Mr. Tapley, " would look as if they was 
 rather a poor sort of carpenters, sir, wouldn't it ?" 
 
 Martin nodded. "As if their work were infi- 
 nitely above their powers and purpose, Mark ; 
 and they botched it in conseqnence." 
 
 "The best on it is," said Mark, "that when they 
 do happen to make a decent stroke; such as better 
 workmen with such opportunities, make every day 
 of their lives and think nothing of; they begin to 
 sing out so surprising loud. Take notice of my 
 words, sir. If ever the defaulting part of this 
 here country pays its debts — along of finding 
 that not paying 'era won't do in a commercial 
 point of view, you see, and is inconvenient in its 
 consequences — they '11 take such a shine out of 
 it, and make such bragging speeches, that a man 
 might suppose no borrowed money had ever been 
 paid afore, since the world was first begun. 
 That's the way they gammon each other, sir. 
 Bless you, / know 'em. Take notice of my 
 words, now !" 
 
 "You seem to be growing profoundly saga- 
 cious !" cried Martin, laughing. 
 
 u Whether that is," thought Mark, " because 
 I 'm a day's journey nearer Eden, and am bright- 
 ening up, afore I die, I can't say. P'raps by the 
 time I get there, I shall have growed into a 
 proph 
 
 He gave no utterance to these sentiments; but 
 the excessive joviality they inspired within him, 
 and the merriment they brought upon his shining 
 face, were quite enough for Martin. Although 
 be night sometimes profess to make light of his 
 partner's inexhaustible cheerfulness and might 
 sometimes, as in the case of Zephaniah Scadder, 
 find hirn too jocose a commentator, he was al- 
 wayg*scnsible of the effect of his example in 
 rousing him to hopefulness and courage. Whether 
 he were in tl e humour to profit by it, mattered 
 not a jot. It was contagious, and he could not 
 choose but be affected. 
 
 At first they parted with some of their passen- 
 gers once or twice a day, and took in others to 
 replace them But by degrees, the towns upon 
 
 their route became more thinly scattered; and 
 for many hours together they would sec no other 
 habitations titan the huts of the wood-cutters, 
 where the vessel stopped for fuel. Sky, wood, 
 and water, and the livelong day ; and heat that 
 blistered every thing it touched. 
 
 On they toiled through great solitudes, where 
 the trees upon the banks grew thick and close ; 
 and floated in the stream ; and held up shrivelled 
 from out the river's depths ; and slid down from 
 the margin of the land : half growing, half de- 
 caying, in the miry water. On through the weary 
 day and melancholy night : beneath the burning 
 sun, and in the mist and vapour of the evening : 
 on, until return appeared impossible, and restora- 
 tion to their home a miserable dream. 
 
 They had now but few people on board, and 
 these few were as flat, as dull, and stagnant, as 
 the vegetation that oppressed their eyes. No 
 sound of cheerfulness or hope was heard ; no 
 pleasant talk beguiled the tardy time ; no little 
 group made common cause against the dull de- 
 pression of the scene. But that, at certain pe- 
 riods, they swallowed food together from a com- 
 mon trough, it might have been old Charon's 
 boat, conveying melancholy shades to judgment 
 
 At length they drew near New Thermopylae ; 
 where, that same evening, Mrs. Hominy would 
 disembark. A gleam of comfort sunk into Mar- 
 tin's bosom when she told him this. Mark 
 needed none ; but he was not displeased. 
 
 It was almost night when they came alongside 
 the landing-place — a steep bank with an hotel, 
 like a barn, on the top of it ; a wooden store or 
 two ; and a few scattered sheds. 
 
 " You sleep here to-night, and go on in the 
 morning, I suppose, ma'am ?" said Martin. 
 
 " Where should I go on to ?" cried the mother 
 of the modern Gracchi. 
 
 " To New Thermopylae." 
 
 " My ! ain't I there ?" said Mrs. Hominy. 
 
 Martin looked for it all round the darkening 
 panorama; but he couldn't see it, and was obliged 
 to say so. 
 
 " Why, that's it!" cried Mrs. Hominy, point- 
 ing to the sheds just mentioned. 
 
 " That ."' exclaimed Martin. 
 
 "Ah! that; and work it which way you will, 
 it whips Eden," said Mrs. Hominy, nodding her 
 head with great expression. 
 
 The married Miss Hominy, who had come on 
 board with her husband, gave to this statement 
 her most unqualified support, a:, did that gentle- 
 man also. Martin gratefully declined their invi 
 tation to reg-nle himself at their house during the 
 half-hour of the vessel's stay ; and having escorted 
 Mrs. Hominy and the red pocket-hand kerchief 
 
150 
 
 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 (which was still on active service) safely across 
 the gangway, returned in a thoughtful mood to 
 watch the emigrants as they removed their goods 
 ashore. 
 
 Mark, as he stood beside him, glanced in his 
 face from time to time ; anxious to discover what 
 effect this dialogue had had upon him, and not 
 unwilling that his hopes should be dashed before 
 they reached their destination, so that the blow 
 he feared, might be broken in its fall. But saving 
 that he sometimes looked up quickly at the poor 
 erections on the hill, he gave him no clue to what 
 was passing in his mind, until they were again 
 upon their way. 
 
 ' * Mark," he said then, " are there really none 
 but ourselves on board this boat who are bound 
 for Eden ?" 
 
 " None at all, sir. Most of 'em, as you know, 
 have stopped short, and the few that are left are 
 going further on. What matters that! More room 
 there for us, sir." 
 
 " Oh, to be sure !" said Martin. " But I was 
 thinking" — and there he paused. 
 " Yes, sir ?" observed Mark. 
 " How odd it was that the people should have 
 arranged to try their fortune at a wretched hole 
 like that, for instance, when there is such a much 
 better, and such a very different kind of place, 
 near at hand, as one may say." 
 
 He spoke in a- tone so very different from his 
 usual confidence, and with such an obvious dread 
 of Mark's reply, that the good-natured fellow was 
 full of pity. 
 
 "Why, you know, sir," said Mark, as gently as 
 he could by any means insinuate the observation, 
 "we must guard against being too sanguine. 
 There 's no occasion for it, either, because we 're 
 determined to make the best of everything, after 
 we know the worst of it. Ain't we, sir ?" 
 
 Martin looked at him, but answered not a 
 word. 
 
 " Even Eden, you know, ain't all built," said 
 Mark. 
 
 " In the name of Heaven, man," cried Martin 
 angrily, " don't talk of Eden in the same breath 
 with that place. Are you mad ? There — God 
 forgive me! — don't think harshly of me for my 
 temper !" 
 
 After that, he turned away, and walked to and 
 fro upon the deck full two hours. Nor did he 
 speak again, except to say "Good night," until 
 next day; nor even then upon this subject, but on 
 other topics quite foreign to the purpose. 
 
 i\s they proceeded further on their track, and 
 came more and more towards their journey's end, 
 the monotonous desolation of the scene increased 
 to that degree, that for any redeeming feature it 
 presented to their eyes, they might have entered, 
 in the body, on the grim domains of Giant De- 
 spair. A flat morass, bestrewn with fallen timber; 
 a marsh on which the good growth of the earth 
 seemed to have been wrecked and cast away, that 
 from its decomposing ashes vile and ugly things 
 might rise ; where the very trees took the aspect 
 of huge weeds, begotten of the slime from which 
 they sprung, by the hot sun that burnt them up ; 
 where fatal maladies, seeking whom they might 
 infect, came forth, at night, in misty shapes, and 
 creeping out upon the water, hunted them like 
 soeclres until day ; where even the blessed sun, 
 
 shining down on festering elements of corruption 
 and disease, became a horror; this was the realm 
 of Hope through which they moved. 
 
 At last they stopped. At Eden too. The waters i 
 of the Deluge might have left it but a week before; 
 so choked with slime and matted growth was the 
 hideous swamp which bore that name. 
 
 There being no depth of water close in shore, 
 they landed from the vessel's boat, with all their 
 goods beside them. There were a few log-houses 
 visible among the dark trees; the best, a cow-shed 
 or a rude stable ; but for the wharves, the market- 
 place, the public buildings — 
 
 " Here comes an Edener," said Mark. " He '11 
 get us help to carry these things up. Keep a good 
 heart, sir. Hallo there !" 
 
 The man advanced towards them through the 
 thickeuing gloom, very slowly : leaning on a stick. 
 As he drew nearer, they observed that he was 
 pale and worn, and that his anxious eyes were 
 deeply sunken in his head. His dress of home- 
 spun blue hung about him in rags ; his feet and 
 head were bare. He sat down on a stump half- 
 way, and beckoned them to come to him. When 
 they complied, he put his hand upon his side as 
 if in pain, and while he fetched his breath stared 
 at them, wondering. 
 
 " Strangers !" he exclaimed, as soon as he could 
 speak. 
 
 " The very same," said Mark. " How are you, 
 sir?" • 
 
 " I 've had the fever very bad," he answered 
 faintly. " I haven't stood upright these many 
 weeks. Those are your notions I see," pointing 
 to their property. 
 
 "Yes, sir," said Mark, "they are. You couldn't 
 recommend us some one as would lend a hand to 
 help carry 'em up to the — to the town, could you, 
 sir ?" 
 
 "My eldest son would do it if he could," replied 
 the man ; " but to-day he has his chill upon him, 
 and is lying wrapped up in the blankets. My 
 youngest died last week." 
 
 " I'm sorry for it, governor, with all my heart," 
 said Mark, shaking him by the hand. " Don't 
 mind us. Come along with me, and I '11 give you 
 an arm back. The goods is safe enough, sir,"— - 
 to Martin, — "there ain't many people about, to 
 make away wi'th 'em. What a comfort that is!" 
 
 " No," cried the man. " You must look for 
 such folk here," knocking his stick upon the 
 ground, " or yonder in the bush, towards the 
 north. We 've buried most of 'em. The rest have 
 gone away. Them that we have here, don't come 
 out at night." 
 
 " The night air ain't quite wholesome, I sup 
 
 pose ; sai 
 
 d Mark. 
 
 It 's deadly poison," was the settler's answer. 
 Mark showed no more uneasiness than if it had 
 been commended to him as ambrosia; but he 
 gave the man his arm, and as they went along 
 explained to him the nature of their purchase, 
 and inquired where it lay. Close to his o#n log- 
 house, he said : so close that he had used their 
 dwelling as a store-house for some corn ; they 
 must excuse it that night, but he would endea- 
 vonr to get it taken out on the morrow. He then 
 gave them to understand, as an additional scrap 
 of local chit-chat, that he had buried the last pro- 
 prietor with his own hands; a piece of informa- 
 
MARTIN »'li rz/LKWIT. 
 
 151 
 
 tioti which Mark also received without th> 
 ahatfinciil of his «-<|u:iiiitiiity. 
 
 In u word, ho conducted them to a iniscrahlc 
 cabin, rud.lv constructed of the trunks of ' 
 the door of which had cither fallen down Of 
 carried u way long ago; and which was consc- 
 quently open to the wide landscape and the dark 
 night. Saving for the litl! had men- 
 
 tioned, it was perfectly bare of all furniture ; hut 
 tin v had left a chest U|>on the landing. place, and 
 them a rude, torch in lieu of candle. 
 This latter acquisition Mark planted in the hearth, 
 and then declaring that the mansion " looked 
 quite comfortable," hurried Martin off' again to 
 help bring up the chest. And all the way to the 
 landing-place and hack, Mark talked incessantly: 
 M if he would infuse into his partner's breast 
 , > faint belief that they had arrived under 
 nost auspicious and cheerful of all imaginable 
 cireuinstai. 
 
 Hut many a man who would have stood within 
 a home dismantled, strong in his passion and 
 in of vengeance, has had the firmness of his 
 nature conquered by the razing of un air-built 
 castle. When the log-hut received them for the 
 second time, Martin lay down upon the ground, 
 and wept aloud. 
 
 " Lord love you, sir !" cried Mr. Tapley, in 
 great terror ; " don't do that ! Don't do that, sir ! 
 Anything but that ! It never helped man, wo- 
 man, or child over the lowest fence yet, sir, and it 
 never will. Besides its being of no use to you, 
 it 's worse tban of no use to me, for the least 
 sound of it will knock me flat down. I can't 
 atand up agin it, sir. Anything but that." 
 
 There is no doubt he spoke the truth, for the 
 extraordinary alarm with which he looked at 
 Martin as he paused upon his knees before the 
 chest, in the act of unlocking it, to say these 
 words, sufficiently confirmed him. 
 
 u I ask your forgiveness a thousand times, my 
 dear fellow," said Martin. " I couldn't have 
 helped it, if death had been the penalty." 
 
 44 Ask my forgiveness !" said Mark, with his 
 accustomed cheerfulness; as he proceeded to un- 
 pick the chest "The head partner a asking for- 
 giveness of Co., eh ? There must be something 
 wrong in the firm wbon that happens. I must 
 have the books inspected, and the accounts gone 
 ov. r immediate. Here we arc. Everything in 
 its proper place. Here 's the salt pork. Here 's 
 euit. Here's the whiskey — uucommon 
 good it sou lis, too. Here's the tin pot. This 
 li.i pot's a small fortun' in itself! Here's the 
 blankets. Here's the axe. Who says we ain't 
 got a first-rato fit out ? I feel as if I was a cadet 
 gone out to lady, and my noble father was chair- 
 the Board of Directors. Now, when I \e 
 got some water from the stream afore the door, 
 and mixed the grog," cried Mark, running out to 
 suit the action to the word, "there's a supper 
 r< ady, comprising every delicacy of the season. 
 Jbre we arc, sir, all complete. For what we ore 
 going to receive, et cctrcr. Lord bless you, sir, 
 it's very like a gipsy party !" 
 
 • not to take heart, in the com- 
 pany of such a man as this. Martin sat upon 
 the ground, beside the box; took out his knife, 
 tnd ate and drank sturdily. 
 " Now you see," said Mark, when they had 
 
 j made a hearty meal ; '* with your knife ajid mine, 
 It this blanket right afore the door, or 
 where, in a state of high civilization, the door 
 would be. And very neat it looks. Then I stops 
 rtore below, by putting the chest agin it. 
 And very neat that looks. Then there's your 
 blai.k. t, sir. Then here's mine. And 
 to hiuder our passing a good night?" 
 
 For all his li^ht-heartcd speaking, it was long 
 , before he slept himself. He wrapped his blanket 
 round him, put the axe ready to his hand, and lay 
 the threshold of the door : too anxious and 
 j too watchful to close his eyes. The novelty of 
 their dreary situation, the dread of some rapacious 
 animal or human enemy, the terrible uncertainty 
 of their means of subsistence, the appr< I 
 of death, the immense distance and the hosts of 
 obstacles between themselves and England, were 
 fruitful sources of disquiet in the deep silence of 
 the night. Though Martin would have had him 
 think otherwise, Mark felt that he was waking 
 i!m>, and a prey to the same reflections. This 
 was almost worse than all, for if he began to 
 brood over their miseries instead of trying to 
 make head against them, there could be little 
 doubt that such a state of mind would powerfully 
 assist the influence of the pestilent climate. 
 Never had the light of day been half so welcome 
 to his eyes, as when awaking from a fitful doze, 
 Mark saw it shining through the blanket in the 
 doorway. 
 
 He stole out gently, for his companion was 
 sleeping now ; and having refreshed himself by 
 washing in the river, where it flowed before the 
 door, took a rough survey of the settlement. 
 There were not above a score of cabins in the 
 whole; half of these appeared untenanted; all 
 were rotten and decayed. The most tottering, 
 abject, and forlorn among them, was called, with 
 great propriety, the Bank, and National Credit 
 Office. It had some feeble props about it, but 
 was settling deep down in the mud, past all 
 recovery. 
 
 Here and there, an effort had been made to 
 clear the bind ; and something like a field had 
 beer/ marked out, where, among the stumps and 
 ashes of burnt trees, a scanty crop of Indian corn 
 was growing. In some quarters, a snake or zig- 
 zag fence had been begun, but in no instance had 
 it been completed ; and the fallen logs, half hidden 
 in the soil, lay mouldering away. Three or four 
 meagre dogs, wasted and vexed with hunger; 
 some long-legged pigs, wandering away into the 
 woods in search of food; some children, nearly 
 naked, gazing at l\i m f rom l ' ,e » u ts J wen all the 
 living things he saw. A fetid vapour, hot ana 
 sickening as the breath of an oven, roso up from 
 the earth, and hung on everything around; and 
 as his foot-prints sunk into the marshy ground, a 
 black ooze started forth to blot them out. 
 
 Their own land was mere forest. The tree* 
 had grown so thick and close, that they shoul- 
 dered one another out of their places, and the 
 weakest, forced into shapes of strange distortion, 
 languished like cripples. The best were stunted, 
 from the pressure and the want of room ; and high 
 about the stems of oil grew long rank grass, dank 
 weeds, nnd frowzy underwood : not divisible into 
 their separate kinds, but tangled all together in a 
 heap; a jungle deep and dark, with neither earth 
 
152 
 
 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 nor water at its roots, but putrid matter, formed 
 of the pulpy offal of the two, and of their own 
 corruption. 
 
 He went down to the landing place where they 
 had left their goods last night; and there he found 
 some half-dozen men — wan, and forlorn to look 
 at, but ready enough to assist — who helped him 
 to carry them to the log-house. They shook their 
 -heads in speaking of the settlement, and had no 
 comfort to give him. Those who had the means 
 of going away, had all deserted it. They who 
 were left, had lost their wives, their children, 
 friends, or brothers, there, and suffered much 
 themselves. Most of them were ill then ; none 
 were the men they had been once. They frankly 
 offered their assistance and advice, and, leaving 
 him for that time, went sadly off upon their seve- 
 ral tasks. 
 
 Martin was by this time stirring ; but he had 
 greatly changed, even in one night. He was very 
 pale and languid ; he spoke of pains and weakness 
 in his limbs, and complained that his sight was 
 dim, and his voice feeble. Increasing in his own 
 briskness as the prospect grew more and more 
 dismal, Mark brought away a door from one of 
 the deserted houses, and fitted it to their own ha- 
 bitation ; then went back again for a rude bench 
 he had observed, with which he presently returned 
 in triumph ; and, having put this piece of furni- 
 ture outside the house, arranged the notable 
 tin-pot and other such movables upon it, that it 
 might represent a dresser, or a sideboard. Greatly 
 satisfied with this arrangement, he next rolled 
 their cask of flour into the house, and set it up on 
 end in one corner, where it served for a side-table. 
 No better dining-tablc could be required than the 
 chest, which he solemnly devoted to that useful 
 service thenceforth. Their blankets, clothes, and 
 the like, he hung on pegs and nails. And lastly, 
 he brought forth a great placard (which Martin in 
 the exultation of his heart had prepared at the 
 National Hotel), bearing the inscription, Chuzzle- 
 wit &, Co., Architects and Surveyors, which he 
 displayed upon the most conspicuous part of the 
 premises, with as much gravity as if the thriving 
 city of Eden had had a real existence, and they 
 expected to be overwhelmed with business. 
 
 " These here tools," said Mark, bringing for- 
 ward Martin's case of instruments, and sticking 
 the compasses upright in a stump before the door, 
 " shall be set out in the open air, to show that we 
 come provided. And now, if any gentleman 
 wants a house built, he 'd better give his orders, 
 afore we 're other ways bespoke." 
 
 Considering the intense heat of the weather, 
 this was not a bad morning's work ; but, without 
 pausing for a moment, though he was streaming 
 at every pore, Mark vanished into the house 
 again, and presently reappeared with a hatchet, 
 intent on performing some impossibilities with 
 that implement. 
 
 " Here 's a ugly old tree in the way, sir," he 
 observed, " which '11 be all the better down. We 
 can build the oven in the afternoon. There never 
 
 was such a handy spot for clay as Eden is. 
 That's convenient, anyhow." 
 
 But Martin gave him no answer. He had sat 
 the whole time with his head upon his hands, 
 gazing at the current as it rolled swiftly by ; 
 thinking, perhaps, how fast it moved towards the 
 open sea, the high road to the home he never 
 would behold again. 
 
 Not even the vigorous strokes which Mark 
 dealt at the tree, awoke him from his mournful 
 meditation. Finding all his endeavours to rouse 
 him of no use, Mark stopped in his work and 
 came towards him. 
 
 " Don't give in, sir," said Mr. Tapley. 
 
 "Oh, Mark," returned his friend, "what have 
 I done in all my life that has deserved this heavy 
 fate ?" 
 
 " Why, sir," returned Mark, " for the matter 
 of that, ev'rybody as is here might say the same 
 thing ; many of 'em with better reason p'raps 
 than you or me. Hold up, sir. Do something. 
 Couldn't you ease your mind, now, don't you 
 think, by making some personal obserwations in 
 a letter to Scadder ?" 
 
 "No," said Martin, shaking his head sorrow 
 fully : " I am past that." 
 
 " But if you 're past that already," returned 
 Mark, " you must be ill, and ought to be attended 
 to." 
 
 "Don't mind me," said Martin. "Do the 
 best you can for yourself. You '11 soon have only 
 yourself to consider. And then God speed you 
 home, and forgive me for bringing you here ! I 
 am destined to die in this place. I felt it the in- 
 stant I set foot upon the shore. Sleeping or 
 waking, Mark, I dreamed it all last night." 
 
 " I said you must be ill," returned Mark, ten- 
 derly, " and now I 'm sure of it. A touch of 
 fever and ague caught on these rivers, I dare say ; 
 but bless you, that 's nothing. It 's only a season- 
 ing ; and we must all be seasoned, one way or 
 another. That's religion, that is, you know," 
 said Mark. 
 
 He only sighed and shook his head. 
 
 " Wait half a minute," said Mark cheerily, 
 " till I run up to one of our neighbours and ask 
 what 's best to be took, and borrow a little of it to 
 give you ; and to-morrow you '11 find yourself as 
 strong as ever again. I won't be gone a minute. 
 Don't give in, while I 'm away, whatever you 
 do!" 
 
 Throwing down his hatchet, he sped away im- 
 mediately, but stopped when he had gone a little 
 distance, and looked back ; then hurried on 
 again. 
 
 " Now, Mr. Tapley," said Mark, giving him- 
 self a tremendous blow in the chest by way of 
 reviver, "just you attend to what I 've got to say. 
 Things is looking about as bad as they can look, 
 young man. You'll not have such another op- 
 portunity for showing your jolly disposition, my 
 fine fellow, as long as you live. And therefore, 
 Tapley, Now 's your time to come out strong, or 
 I Never !" 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 
 
 153 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 REPORTS PROGRESS IN ( IIM AIN HOMELY MATTERS OF LOVE, HATRED, 
 JEALOUSY, AND REVENGE. 
 
 " IIyilo, Pecksniff!" cried Mr. Jonas from the 
 parlour. " Isn't somebody a going to open that 
 ■ us old door of yours /" 
 
 " Immediately, Mr. Jonas. Immediately." 
 
 44 Ecod," muttered the orphan, "not before it's 
 time neither. Whoever it is, has knocked three 
 times, and each one loud enough to wake the — " 
 he had such a repugnance to the idea of waking 
 the dead, that he stopped even then with the words 
 upon his tongue, and said, instead, "the Seven 
 Sleepers." 
 
 14 Immediately, Mr. Jonas; immediately," re- 
 peated Pecksniff. 44 Thomas Pinch" — he couldn't 
 make up his mind, in his great agitation, whether 
 to call Tom his dear friend or a villain, so he 
 shook his fist at him pro tern. — u go up to my 
 daughters' room, and tell them who is here. Say, 
 Silence. Silence ! Do you hear me, sir ?" 
 
 44 Directly, sir !" cried Tom, departing, in a 
 state of much amazement, on his errand. 
 
 44 You '11 — ha, ha, ha ! — you 'II excuse me, Mr. 
 Jonas, if I close this door a moment, will you ?" 
 said Pecksniff. M This may be a professional call. 
 Indeed I am pretty sure it is. Thank you !" — 
 Then Mr. Pecksniff, gently warbling a rustic 
 stave, put on his garden hat, seized a spade, and 
 opened the street-door ; calmly appearing on the 
 threshold, as if he thought he had, from his vine- 
 yard, heard a modest rap, but was not quite 
 certain. 
 
 Seeing a gentleman and lady before him, he 
 started back in as much confusion as a good man 
 with a crystal conscience might betray in mere 
 surprise. Recognition came upon him the next 
 moment, and he cried : 
 
 ■ .Mr. Chuzzlewit ! Can I believe my eyes ! My 
 dear sir, my good sir ! A joyful hour ; a happy 
 hour indeed. Pray, my dear sir, walk in. You 
 find rqe in my garden-dress. You will excuse it, 
 I know. It is an ancient pursuit, gardening. 
 Primitive, my dear sir ; for if I mistake not, Adam 
 was the first of our calling. My Eve, I grieve to 
 any, is uo more, sir ; but" — here he pointed to his 
 spade, and shook his head, as if he were not 
 cheerful without an effort— 14 but I do a little bit 
 of Adam still." 
 
 He had by this time got them into the best 
 parlour, where the portrait by Spiller, and the bust 
 by S poker, were. 
 
 44 My daughters," said Mr. Pecksniff, M will be 
 overjoyed. If I could feel weary upon such a 
 theme, I should have been worn out long; ago, my 
 dear sir, by their constant anticipation of this hap- 
 piness, and their repeated allusions to our meeting 
 v Mr . Todgefs's. Their fair young friend, too," 
 »aid Mr. Pecksniff, "whom they so desire to know 
 and love — indeed, to know her is to love — I hope 
 I sec her well. I hope in saying, 4 Welcome to 
 my humble roof." I find some echo in her own 
 sentiments. If features are an index to the heart, 
 I have no fears of that. An extremely laMMiag 
 expression of countenance, Mr. Chuzzlewit, my 
 dear sir— very much so!" 
 
 ," said the old man, " Mr. Pecksniff ilat- 
 20 
 
 ters you. But flattery from him is worth the 
 having. He is not a dealer in it, and il comes 
 from his heart. We thought Mr. " 
 
 " Pinch," said Mary. 
 
 " Mr. Pinch would have arrived before us, Peck- 
 sniff." 
 
 44 He did arrive before you, my dear sir," re- 
 torted Pecksniff, raising his voice for the edifica- 
 tion of Tom upon the stairs, * 4 and was about, I 
 dare say, to tell me of your coming, when I begged 
 him first to knock at my daughters' chamber, and 
 inquire after Charity, my dear child, who ie not 
 so well as I could wish. No," said Mr. Pecksniff, 
 answering their looks, " I am sorry to say, she is 
 not. It is merely an hysterical affection ; nothing 
 more. I am not uneasy. Mr. Pinch! Thomas!" 
 exclaimed Pecksniff, in his kindest accents - t " pray 
 come in. I shall make no stranger of you. Tho- 
 mas is a friend of mine of rather long standing, 
 Mr. Chuzzlewit, you must know." 
 
 44 Thank you, sir," said Tom. 44 You introduce 
 me very kindly, and speak of me in terms of which 
 I am very proud." 
 
 44 Old Thomas !" cried his master, pleasantly, 
 44 God bless you !" 
 
 Tom reported that the young ladies would ap- 
 pear directly, and that the best refreshments which 
 the house afforded were even then in preparation, 
 under their joint superintendence. While he was 
 speaking, the old man looked at him intently, 
 though with less harshness than was common to 
 him , nor did the mutual embarrassment of Tom 
 and the young lady, to whatever cause he attribu- 
 ted it, seem to escape his observation. 
 
 44 Pecksniff," he said after a pause, rising and 
 taking him aside towards the window, " I was 
 much shocked on hearing of my brother's death. 
 We had been strangers for many years. My only 
 comfort is, that he must have lived the happier 
 and better man for having associated no hopes or 
 schemes with me. Peace to his memory ! We 
 were playfellows once ; and it would have been 
 better for us both if we had died then." 
 
 Finding him in this gentle mood, Mr. Pecksniff 
 began to sec another way out of his difficulties, 
 besides the casting overboard of Jonas. 
 
 44 That any man, my dear sir, could possibly be 
 the happier for not knowing you," he returned, 
 "you will excuse my doubting. But that Mr. 
 Anthony, in the evening of his life, was happy in 
 the affection of his excellent son, — a pattern, my 
 dear sir, a pattern to all sons, — and in the care of 
 a distant relation, who, however lowly in his 
 means of serving him, had no bounds to his incli- 
 nation ; / can inform you." 
 
 tt How 's this ?" said the old man. •* You are 
 not n legatee ?" 
 
 ■ You don't," said Mr. Pecksniff, with a melan 
 choly pressure of his hand, "quite understand my 
 nature yet, I find. No, sir, I am not a legatee. 1 
 am proud to say I am not a legatee. I am proud 
 to say that neither of my children is a legatee. 
 And yet, sir, I was with him at his own request 
 He understood me somewhat better, sir. He wrote 
 
154 
 
 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 arid said, 4 I am sick. I am sinking. Come to 
 me!' I went to him. I sat beside his bed, sir, 
 and I stood beside his grave. Yes, at the risk of 
 offending even you, I did it, sir. Though the 
 avowal should lead to our instant separation, and 
 to the severing of those tender lies between us 
 which have recently been formed, I make it. But 
 1 am not a legatee," said Mr. Pecksniff, smiling 
 dispassionately; "and I never expected to be a 
 legatee. I knew better !" 
 
 " His son a pattern !" cried old Martin. " How 
 can you tell me that? My brother had in his 
 wealth the usual doom of wealth, that root of mise- 
 ry. He carried his corrupting influence with him, 
 go where he would ; and shed it round him, even 
 on his hearth. It made of his own child a greedy 
 expectant, who measured every day and hour the 
 lessening distance between his father and the 
 grave, and cursed his tardy progress on that dis- 
 mal road." 
 
 " No !" cried Mr. Pecksniff, boldly. " Not at 
 all, sir !" 
 
 "But I saw that shadow in his house," said 
 Martin Chuzzlewit, "the last time we met, and 
 warned him of its presence. I know it when I 
 see it, do I not ? I, who have lived within it all 
 these years !" 
 
 ** I deny it," Mr. Pecksniff answered, warmly. 
 ' I deny it altogether. That bereaved young man 
 is now in this house, sir, seeking in change of 
 scene the peace of mind he has lost. Shall I be 
 backward in doing justice to that young man, 
 when even undertakers and coffin-makers have 
 been moved by the conduct he has exhibited; 
 when even mutes have spoken in his praise, and 
 the medical man hasn't known what to do with 
 himself in the excitement of his feelings ! There 
 is a person of the name of Gamp, sir— ^Mrs. Gamp 
 — ask her. She saw Mr. Jonas in a trying time. 
 Ask her, sir. She is respectable, but not senti- 
 mental, and will state the fact. A line addressed 
 to Mrs. Gamp, at the Bird Shop, Kingsgate Street, 
 High Holborn, London, will meet with every at- 
 tention, I have no doubt. Let her be examined, 
 my good sir. Strike, but hear ! leap, Mr. Chuz- 
 zlewit, but look ! Forgive me, my dear sir," said 
 Mr. Pecksniff taking both his hands, "if I am 
 warm ; but I am honest, and must state the 
 truth." 
 
 In proof of the character he gave himself, Mr. 
 Pecksniff suffered tears of honesty to ooze out of 
 his eyes. 
 
 The old man gazed at him for a moment with 
 a look of wonder, repeating to himself, " Here 
 now ! In this house !" But he mastered his sur- 
 prise, and said, after a pause : 
 
 " Let me sec him." 
 
 "In a friendly spirit, I hope?" said Mr. Peck- 
 sniff. "Forgive me, sir, but he is in the receipt 
 of my humble hospitality." 
 
 "I said," replied the old man, "let me see him. 
 If I were disposed to regard him in any other 
 than a friendly spirit, I should have said, keep us 
 apart." 
 
 "Certainly, my dear sir. So you would. You 
 nre frankness itself, I know. I will break this 
 happiness to him," said Mr. Pecksniff as he left 
 the room, " if you will excuse me for a minute — 
 gently." 
 
 He paved the way to the disclosure so very 
 
 gently, that a quarter of an hour elapsed beforo 
 he returned with Mr. Jonas. In the mean time 
 the young ladies had made their appearance, and 
 the table had been set out for the refreshment of 
 the travellers. 
 
 Now, however well Mr. PecksnirF, in his mo- 
 rality, had taught Jonas the lesson of dutiful be- 
 haviour to his uncle, and however perfectly Jonas, 
 in the cunning of his nature, had learnt it, that 
 young man's bearing, when presented to his fa- 
 ther's brother, was anything but manly and en- 
 gaging. Perhaps, indeed, so singular a mixture 
 of defiance and obsequiousness, of fear and hardi- 
 hood, of dogged sullenness and an attempt at 
 cringing and propitiation, never was expressed in 
 any one human figure as in that of Jonas, when, 
 having raised his downcast eyes to Martin's face, 
 he let them fall again, and uneasily closing and 
 unclosing his hands without'a moment's intermis- 
 sion, stood swinging himself from side to side, 
 waiting to be addressed. 
 
 " Nephew," said the old man. " You have 
 been a dutiful son, I hear." 
 
 " As dutiful as sons in general, I suppose," re 
 turned Jonas, looking up and down once more. 
 " I don't brag to have been any better than other 
 sons ; but I haven't been any worse I dare say." 
 
 " A pattern to all sons, I am told," said the old 
 man, glancing towards Mr. Pecksniff. 
 
 " Ecod !" said Jonas, looking up again for a 
 moment, and shaking his head, "I've been as 
 good a son as ever you were a brother. It 's the 
 pot and the kettle, if you come to that." 
 
 " You speak bitterly, in the violence of your re- 
 gret," said Martin, after a pause. "Give me your 
 hand." 
 
 Jonas did so, and was almost at his ease. " Peek- 
 sniff," he whispered, as they drew their chairs 
 about the table ; " I gave him as good as he 
 brought, eh ? He had better look at home, before 
 he looks out of the window, I think ?" 
 
 Mr. Pecksniff only answered by a nudge of the 
 elbow, which might either be construed into an 
 indignant remonstrance or a cordial assent ; but 
 which, in any case, was an emphatic admonition 
 to his chosen son-indaw to be silent. He then 
 proceeded to do the honours of the house with 
 his accustomed ease and amiability. 
 
 But not even Mr. Pecksniff's guileless merri- 
 ment could set such a party at their ease, or re- 
 concile materials so utterly discordant and con- 
 flicting as those with which he had to deal. The 
 unspeakable jealousy and hatred which that night's 
 explanation had sown in Charity's breast, was not 
 to be so easily kept down ; and more than once it 
 showed itself in such intensity, as seemed to ren- 
 der a full disclosure of all the circumstances then 
 and there, impossible to be avoided. The beau- 
 teous Merry, too, with all the glory of her con- 
 quest fresh upon her, so probed and lanced the 
 rankling disappointment of her sister by her ca- 
 pricious airs and thousand little trials of Mr. Jo- 
 nas's obedience, that she almost goaded her into 
 a fit of madness, and obliged her to retire from 
 table in a burst of passion, hardly less vehement 
 than that to which she had abandoned herself in 
 the first tumult of her wrath. The constraint 
 imposed upon the family by the presence among 
 them for the first time of Mary Graham (for by 
 that name old Martin Chuzzlewit had introduced 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 
 
 155 
 
 her) did not at all improve this state of things: 
 ftqtk .Hid quiet though her rn;uitier was. Mr. 
 Pecksniff's situation was peculiarly trying: lor, 
 what with having constantly to keep the peace 
 n his daughters; to maintain a re as o n ante 
 show of affection and unity in his household; to 
 corb the growing case and gaiety of Jonas, which 
 vi 'Ht td it ! in sundry insolences towards Mr. 
 Pinch, and an indefinable coarseness of manner in 
 reference to Mary (they being the two depend- 
 ants); to make no m« ntion at all of his having 
 perpetually to conciliate his rich old relative, and 
 tp smooth down, or explain away, some of the ten 
 thousand bad appearances and combinations of 
 bad appearances, by which they were surrounded 
 on that unlucky evening — what with having to 
 do this, and it would be difficult to sum up how 
 much snore, without the least relief or assistance 
 from anybody, it may be easily imagined that Mr. 
 Pecksniff had in his enjoyment something more 
 than that usual portion of alloy which is mixed 
 up with the best of men's delights. Perhaps he 
 had never in his life felt such relief as when old 
 Martin, looking at his watch, announced that it 
 was time to go. 
 
 " We have rooms," he said, " at the Dragon, 
 for the present. I have a fancy for the evening 
 walk. The nights are dark just now: perhaps 
 Mr. Pinch would not object to light us home ?" 
 
 "My dear sir!" cried Pecksniff, "/shall be 
 delighted. Merry, my child, the lantern." 
 
 " The lantern, if you please, my dear," said 
 Martin , " but I couldn't think of taking your 
 father out of door to-night; afid, to be brief, I 
 won't." 
 
 Mr. Pecksniff already had his hat in his hand, 
 but it was so emphatically said that he paused. 
 
 " I take Mr. Pinch, or go alone," said Martin. 
 "Which shall it be?" 
 
 44 It shall be Thomas, sir," cried Pecksniff, 
 44 since you are so resolute upon it. Thomas, my 
 friend, be very careful, if you please." 
 
 Tom was in some need of this injunction, for 
 he felt so nervous, and trembled to such a degree, 
 that he found it difficult to hold the lantern. How 
 much more difficult when, at the old man's bid- 
 ding, she drew her hand through his — Tom 
 Pinch'B arm ! 
 
 " And so, Mr. Pinch," said Martin, on the 
 way, "you are very comfortably situated here; 
 are you ?" 
 
 Tom answered, with even more than his usual 
 enthusiasm, that he was under obligations to Mr. 
 Pecksniff which the devotion of a lifetime would 
 but tan perfectly repay. 
 
 " How long have you known my nephew?" 
 asked Martin. 
 
 44 Your neph'-w, sir !" faltered Tom. 
 
 44 Mr. Jonas Chuzzlcwit," said Mary. 
 
 '■ ( >h dear, yes," cried Tom, greatly relieved, 
 lor his mind was running upon Martin. "Cer- 
 tainly. I never spoke to him before to-night sir." 
 
 11 Perhaps half I lifetime will suffice for the 
 acknowledgment of his kindness," observed the 
 old man. 
 
 Tom felt that this was a rebuff for him and 
 could not but understand it as a left-handed hit ;.t 
 his employer. So he was silent. Miry felt that 
 Mr. Pinch was not remarkable for preu 
 mind, and that he could not say too little umkr 
 
 existing circumstances. So she was silent The 
 old man, disgusted by what in his suspicious 
 nature he considered a shameless and fulsome 
 puff of Mr. leek luff, which was a part of Tom's 
 hired service and in which he was determined to 
 persevere, set him down at once for a deceitful, 
 servile, miserable fawner. So he was silent. And 
 though they were all sufficiently uncomfortable, 
 it is lair to say that Martin was perhaps the most 
 so; for he had felt kindly towards Tom ut first, 
 and had been interested by his seeming sim- 
 plicity. 
 
 44 You're like the rest," he thought, glancing at 
 the face of the unconscious Tom. 44 You had 
 nearly imposed upon me, but you have lost your 
 labour. You 're too zealous a toadeater, and be- 
 tray yourself, Mr. Pinch." 
 
 During the whole remainder of the walk, not 
 another word was spoken. First among the meet- 
 ings to which Tom had long looked forward with 
 a beating heart, it was memorable for nothing but 
 embarrassment and confusion. They parted at 
 the Dragon door ; and sighing as he extinguished 
 the candle in the lantern, Tom turned back ajjain 
 over the gloomy fields. 
 
 As he approached the first stile, which was in 
 a lonely part, made very dark by a plantation of 
 young firs, a man slipped past him and went on 
 before. Coming to the stile he stopped, and took 
 his seat upon it. Tom was rather startled, and 
 for a moment stood still ; but he stepped forward 
 again immediately, and went close up to him. 
 
 It was Jonas ; swinging his legs to and fro, 
 sucking the head of a stick, and looking with a 
 sneer at Tom. 
 
 "Good grac : ous me!" cried Tom, "who would 
 have thought 'jf its being you! You followed us, 
 then ?" 
 
 "What's that to you?" said Jonas. "Go to 
 the devil !" 
 
 M You are not very civil, I think," remarked 
 Tom. 
 
 "Civil enough for you" retorted Jonas. "Who 
 are you ?" 
 
 "One who has tkS good a right to common con- 
 sidcration as another," said Tom, mildly. 
 
 "You're a liar," said Jonas. "You havn't a 
 right to any consideration. You havn't a right to 
 anything. You're a pretty sort of fellow to talk 
 about your rights, upon my soul ! Ha, ha ! — 
 rights, too !" 
 
 44 If you proceed in this way," returned Tom, 
 reddening, "you will oblige me to talk about my 
 wrongs. But I hope your joke is over." 
 
 "It's the way with you curs," said Mr. Jonas, 
 "that when you know a man's in real earnest, 
 you pTetend to think he*s joking, so that you may 
 turn it off. But that won't do with me. It's too 
 staje. Now just attend to me for a bit, Mr. Pitch, 
 or Witch, or Stich, or .whatever your nan. 
 
 ■ My name is Pinch," observed Tom. " Have 
 the goodness to call me by it." 
 
 "What! You mustn't even bo called out of 
 your name, mustn't you !" cried Jonas. 4i I 
 'prentices arc looking up, I think. Ecod, we 
 manage 'em a little better in the city !" 
 
 "Never mind what you do in tiie city," said 
 Tom. u What have you got to say to me ?" 
 
 "Just this, Mister Pinch," retorted Jonas, 
 thrusting his face so cloao to TojnV» that Tun 
 
56 
 
 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 was obliged to retreat a step, " I advise you to 
 keep your own counsel, and to avoid tittle-tattle, 
 and not to cut in where you're not wanted. I've 
 iieard something; of you, my friend, and your 
 meek ways ; and I recommend you to forget 'em 
 till I'm married to one of Pecksniff's gals, and 
 not to curry favour among my relations, but to 
 leave the course clear. You know, when curs 
 won't leave the course clear, they're whipped off; 
 so this is kind advice. Do you understand ? Eh? 
 Damme, who are you," cried Jonas, with increased 
 contempt, "that you should walk home whhthem, 
 unless it was behind 'em, like any other servant 
 out of livery ?" 
 
 "Come!" cried Tom, "I see that you had 
 oetter get off the stile, and let me pursue my way 
 home. .Make room for me, if you please." 
 
 " Don't think it !" said Jonas, spreading out 
 his legs. " Not till I choose. And I don't choose 
 now. What ! You 're afraid of my making you 
 split upon some of your babbling just now, are 
 you, Sneak ?" 
 
 44 I am not afraid of many things, I hope," said 
 Tom; "and certainly not of anything that you 
 will do. I am not a tale-bearer, and I despise all 
 meanness. You quite mistake me. Ah !" cried 
 Tom, indignantly. " Is this manly from one in 
 your position to one in mine ? Please to make 
 room for me to pass. The less I say, the better." 
 
 " The less you say !" retorted Jonas, dangling 
 his legs the more, and taking no heed of this re- 
 quest. " You say very little, don't you ? Ecod, I 
 should like to know what goes on between you 
 and a vagabond member of my family. There 's 
 very little in that, too, I dare say !" 
 
 " I know no vagabond merrber of your family," 
 cried Tom, stoutly. 
 
 44 You do !" said Jonas. 
 
 44 1 don't," said Tom. " Your uncle's name- 
 sake, if you mean him, is no vagabond. Any 
 comparison between you and him" — Tom snapped 
 his fingers at him, for he was rising fast in wrath 
 — " is immeasurably to your disadvantage." 
 
 44 Oh indeed !" sneered Jonas. u And what do 
 you think of his deary — his beggarly leavings, 
 eh, Mister Pinch ?" 
 
 44 1 don't mean to say another word, or stay 
 here another instant," replied Tom. 
 
 44 As I told you before, you 're a liar," said Jo- 
 nas, coolly. " You '11 stay here till I give you 
 leave to go. Now keep where you are, will 
 you ?" 
 
 He flourished his stick over Tom's head ; but 
 in a moment, it was spinning harmlessly in the 
 air, and Jonas himself lay sprawling in the ditch. 
 In the momentary struggle for the stick, Tom 
 had brought it into violent contact with his oppo- 
 nent's forehead ; and the blood welled out pro- 
 fusely from a deep cut on the temple. Tom was 
 first apprised of this by seeing that he pressed his 
 handkerchief to the wounded part, and staggered 
 as he rose : being stunned. 
 
 44 Are you hurt ?" said Tom. 44 1 am very sorry. 
 Lean on me for a moment. You can do that 
 without forgiving me, if you still bear me malice. 
 But I don't know why ; for I never offended you 
 before we met on this spot." 
 
 He made him no answer : not appearing at first 
 to understand him, or even to know that he was 
 aurt, though he several times took his handker- 
 
 I chief from the cut to look vacantly at the blood 
 upon it. After one of these examinations, he 
 looked at Tom, and then there was an expression 
 in his features, which showed that he understood 
 what had taken place, and would remember it. 
 
 Nothing more passed between them as they 
 went home. Jonas kept a little in advance, and 
 Tom Pinch sadly followed : thinking of the grief 
 which the knowledge of this quarrel must occa- 
 sion his excellent benefactor. When Jonas knock- 
 ed at the door, Tom's heart beat high ; higher 
 when Miss Mercy answered it; and, seeing her 
 wounded lover, shrieked aloud; higher when he 
 followed them into the family parlour; higher 
 than at any other time when Jonas spoke. 
 
 44 Don't make a noise about it," he said. " It's 
 nothing worth mentioning. I didn't know the 
 road ; the night's very dark; and just as I came 
 up with Mr. Pinch" — he turned his face towards 
 Tom, but not his eyes — " I ran against a tree. 
 It' s only skin-deep." 
 
 44 Cold water, Merry, my child !" cried Mr. 
 Pecksniff. " Brown paper ! Scissors ! A piece 
 of old linen ! Charity, my dear, make a bandage. 
 Bless me, Mr. Jonas 1" 
 
 44 Oh, bother your nonsense," returned the gra- 
 cious son-in-law elect. " Be of some use if you 
 can. If you can't, get out,!" 
 
 Miss Charity, though called upon to lend her 
 aid, sat upright in one corner, with a smile upon 
 her face, and didn't move a finger. Though 
 Mercy laved the wound herself; and Mr. Peck- 
 sniff held the patient's head between his two 
 hands, as if without that assistance it must inevi- 
 tably come in half; and Tom Pinch, in his guilty 
 agitation, shook a bottle of Dutch Drops until 
 they were nothing but English Froth, and in his 
 other hand sustained a formidable carving-knife, 
 really intended to reduce the swelling, but appa- 
 rently designed for the ruthless infliction of ano- 
 ther wound as soon as that was dressed ; Charity 
 rendered not the least assistance, nor uttered a 
 word. But when Mr. Jonas's head was bound up, 
 and he had gone to bed, and everybody else had 
 retired, and the house was quiet, Mr. Pinch, as 
 he sat mournfully on his bedstead, ruminating, 
 heard a gentle tap at his door ; and opening it, 
 saw her, to his great astonishment, standing be- 
 fore him with her finger on her lip. 
 
 44 Mr. Pinch," she whispered. " Dear Mr. 
 Pinch ! tell me the truth ! You did that ? There 
 was some quarrel between you, and you struck 
 him ? I am sure of it !" 
 
 It was the first time she had ever spoken kindly 
 to Tom, in all the many years they had passed 
 together. He was stupefied with amazement. 
 
 44 Was it so, or not ?" she eagerly demanded. 
 
 44 1 was very much provoked," said Tom. 
 
 44 Then it was?" cried Charity, with sparkling 
 eyes. 
 
 44 Ye-yes. We had a struggle for the path," 
 said Tom. 44 But I didn't mean to hurt him sc 
 much." 
 
 44 Not so much !" she repeated, clenching her 
 hand and stamping her foot, to Tom's great won- 
 der. " Don't say that. It was brave of you. I 
 honour you for it. If you should ever quarrel 
 again, dont spare him for the world, but beat him 
 down and set your shoe upon him. Not a word 
 of this to anybody. Dear Mr. Pinch, I am your 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 
 
 ♦"riend from to-night I am always your friend 
 from this time.** 
 
 She turned her flushed face upon Tom to con- 
 Arm her words by its kindling expression ; and 
 seizing his right hand, pressed it to her breast, 
 and kissed it. And there wtfs nothing personal in 
 this to render it at all embarrassing, for even Tom, 
 whose power of observation was by no means re- 
 markablc, knew from the energy with which she 
 did it that she would have fondled any hand, no 
 matter how debauched or dyed, that had broken 
 the head of Jonas Chuzzlewit. 
 
 Tom went into his room, and went to bed, full 
 of uncomfortable thoughts. That there should 
 be any such tremendous division in the family as 
 he knew must have taken place to convert Charity 
 Pecksniff into his friend, for any reason ; but, 
 above all, for that which was clearly the real one; 
 that Jonas, who had assailed him with such ex- 
 ceeding coarseness, should have been sufficiently 
 magnanimous to keep the secret of their quarrel ; 
 and that any train of circumstances should have 
 led to the commission of an assault and battery 
 by Thomas Pinch upon any man calling himself 
 the friend of Seth Pecksniff*; were matters of such 
 deep and painful cogitation, that he could not close 
 his eyes. His own violence, in particular, so 
 preyed upon the generous mind of Tom, that 
 coupling it with the many former occasions on 
 which he had given Mr. Pecksniff pain and 
 anxiety (occasions of which that gentleman often 
 reminded him), he really began to regard himself 
 as destined by a mysterious fate to be the evil 
 genius and bad angel of his patron. But he fell 
 asleep at last, and dreamed — new source of waking 
 uneasiness — that he had betrayed his trust, and 
 run away with Mary Graham. 
 
 It must be acknowledged that, asleep or awake, 
 Tom's position in reference to this young lady 
 was full of uneasiness. The more he saw of her, 
 the more he admired her beauty, her intelligence, 
 the amiable qualities that even won on the divided 
 house of Pecksniff, and in a few days restored at 
 all events the semblance of harmony and kind- 
 ness between the angry sisters. When she spoke, 
 Tom held his breath, so eagerly he listened ; 
 when she sang, he sat like one entranced. She 
 touched his organ, and from that bright epoch 
 even it, the old companion of his happiest hours, 
 incapable as he had thought of elevation, began a 
 new and deified existence. 
 
 God's love upon thy patience, Tom ! Who that 
 had beheld thee, for three summer weeks, poring 
 through half the deadlong night over the jingling 
 anatomy of that inscrutable old harpsichord in 
 the back parlour, could have missed the entrance 
 to thy secret heart : albeit it was dimly known to 
 thee ! Who that had seen the glow upon thy 
 check when leaning down to listen, after hours 
 of labour, for the sound of one incorrigible note, 
 thou foundst that it had a voice at last, and 
 wheezedst out a flat something distantly akin to 
 what it ought to be, — would not have known that 
 it was destined for no common touch, but one 
 that sm< He, thougfe gently as an angelV hand, 
 upon the deepest chord within thee ! And if a 
 friendly glance — ay, even though it were as guile- 
 leas as thine own, Dear Tom — could but have 
 pierced the twilight of that evening, when, in a 
 ▼oice well tempered to the lime, sad, sweet, and low, 
 
 yet hopeful, she first sang to the altered instru- 
 ment, and wondered at the change ; and thou, 
 sitting apart at the open window, keptst a glad 
 silence and a swelling heart — must not that glance 
 have read perforce the dawning of a story, Tom, 
 that it were well for thee had never been begun ! 
 
 Tom Pinch's situation was not made the less 
 dangerous or difficult, by the fact of no one word 
 passing between them in reference to Martin. 
 Honourably mindful of his promise, Tom gave her 
 opportunities of all kinds. Early and late »he 
 was in the church ; in her favourite walks ; in the 
 village, in the garden, in the meadows ; and in 
 any or all of these places she might have spoken 
 freely. But no: at all such times she carefully 
 avoided him, or never came in his way unaccom- 
 panied. It could not be that she disliked or dis- 
 trusted him; for by a thousand little delicate 
 means, too slight for any notice but his own, site 
 singled him out when others were present, and 
 showed herself the very soul of kindness. Could 
 it be that she had broken with Martin, or had 
 never returned his affection, save in his own bold 
 and heightened fancy ? Tom's cheek grew red 
 with self-reproach, as he dismissed the thought. 
 
 All this time old Martin came and went in bis 
 own strange manner, or sat among the rest 
 absorbed within himself, and holding little inter- 
 course with any one. Although he was unsocial, 
 he was not wilful in other things, or troublesome, 
 or morose : being never better pleased than when 
 they left him quite unnoticed at his book, and 
 pursued their own amusements in his presence, 
 unreserved. It was impossible to discern in 
 whom he took an interest, or whether he had an 
 interest in any of them. Unless they spoke to 
 him directly, he never showed that he had ears or 
 eyes for anything that passed. 
 
 One day the lively Merry, sitting with down- 
 cast eyes under a shady tree in the churchyard, 
 whither she had retired after fatiguing herself by 
 the imposition of sundry trials on the temper of 
 Mr. Jonas, felt that a new shadow came between 
 her and the sun. Raising her eyes in the expecta- 
 tion of seeing her betrothed, she was not a little 
 surprised to see old Martin instead. Her surprise 
 was not diminished when he took his seat upon 
 the turf beside her, and opened a conversation 
 thus | 
 
 " When are you to be married?" 
 
 u Oh ! dear Mr. Chuzzlewit, my goodness roe ! 
 I 'm sure I don't know. Not yet awhile, I hope." 
 
 " You hope ?" said the old man. 
 
 It was very gravely said ; but she took it for 
 banter, and giggled excessively. 
 
 "Come!" said the old man, with unusual kind- 
 ness, M you are young, good-looking, and I think 
 good-natured ! Frivolous you are, and love to be % 
 undoubtedly ; but you must have some heart" 
 
 11 1 have not given it all away, I can tell you," 
 said Merry, nodding her head shrewdly, and 
 plucking up the grata. 
 
 44 Have you parted with any of it ?" 
 
 She threw the grass about, and looked another 
 way, but said nothing. 
 
 Martin repeated his question. 
 
 ** Lor, my dear Mr. Chuzzlewit! really you 
 must exouse me ! How very odd you are." 
 
 " If it be odd in me to desire to know whether 
 you love the young man whom I undcrs'uiud you 
 
158 
 
 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 arc to marry, I am very odd," said Martin. " For 
 that is certainly my wish." 
 
 " He 's such a monster, you know," said Merry, 
 pouting'. 
 
 u Then you don't love him ?" returned the old 
 man. " Is that your meaning ?" 
 
 " Why, my dear Mr. Chuzzlewit, I 'm sure I 
 tell him a hundred times a day that I hate him. 
 You must have heard me tell him that." 
 
 " Often," said Martin. 
 
 *' And so I do," cried Merry. " I do positively." 
 
 " Being at the same time engaged to marry 
 him," observed the old man. 
 . "Oh yes," said Merry. "But I told the 
 wretch — my dear Mr. Chuzzlewit, I told him 
 when he asked me — that if I ever did marry him, 
 it should only be that I might hate and teaze him 
 all my life." 
 
 She had a suspicion that the old man regarded 
 Jonas with anything but favour, and intended these 
 remarks to be extremely captivating. He did not 
 appear, however, to regard them in that light by 
 any means ; for when he spoke again, it was in a 
 tone of severity. 
 
 "Look about you," he said, pointing to the 
 graves ; " and remember that from your bridal 
 hour to the day which sees you brought as low as 
 these, and laid in such a bed, there will be no 
 appeal against him. Think, and speak, and act, 
 for once, like an accountable creature. Is any 
 control put upon your inclination? Are you 
 forced into this match ? Are you insidiously 
 advised or tempted to contract it, by any one ? I 
 will not ask by whom : by any one ?" 
 
 " No," said Merry, shrugging her shoulders. 
 " I don't know that I am." 
 
 " Don't know that you are ! Are you ?" 
 
 " No," replied Merry. " Nobody ever said any- 
 thing to me about it. If any one had tried to 
 make me have him, I would'nt have had him at 
 all." 
 
 " I am told that he was at first supposed to be 
 your sister's admirer," said Martin. 
 
 " Oh, good gracious ! My dear Mr. Chuzzlewit, 
 it would be very hard to make him, though he is 
 a monster, accountable for other people's vanity," 
 said Merry. " And poor dear Cherrv is the vainest 
 darling !" 
 
 " It was her mistake then ?" 
 
 " I hope it was," cried Merry ; " but, all along, 
 the dear child has been so dreadfully jealous and 
 so cross, that, upon my word and honour, it's 
 impossible to please her, and it's of no use trying." 
 
 " Not forced, persuaded, or controlled," said 
 Martin, thoughtfully. " And that's true, I see. 
 There is one chance yet. You may have lapsed 
 into this engagement in very giddiness. It may 
 have been the wanton act of a light head. Is 
 that so ?" 
 
 " My dear Mr. Chuzzlewit," simpered Merry, 
 " as to lightheadedness, there never was such a 
 feather of a head as mine. It's a perfect balloon, 
 I declare ! You never did, you know !" 
 
 He waited quietly till she had finished, and then 
 baid, steadily and slowly, and in a softened voice, 
 as if he would still invite her confidence : 
 
 " Have you any wish — or is there anything 
 within your breast that whispers you may form 
 the wish, if you have time to think — to be released 
 Gom this engagement ?" 
 
 Again Miss Merry pouted, Gisd looksd down 
 and plucked the grass, and shrugged her shoulders. 
 No. She did'nt know that she had. She was 
 pretty sure she had'nt. Quite sure,, she might 
 say. She "didn't mind it." 
 
 " Has it ever occurred to you," said Martin, 
 "that your married life'may perhaps be miserable, 
 full of bitterness, and most unhappy ?" 
 
 Merry looked down again ; and now she tore 
 the grass up by the roots. 
 
 " My dear Mr. Chuzzlewit, what shocking 
 words ! Of course, I shall quarrel with him ; I 
 should quarrel with any husband. Married 
 people always quarrel, I believe. But as to being 
 miserable, and bitter, and all those dreadful things, 
 you know, why I could'nt be absolutely that, 
 unless he always had the best of it ; and I mean 
 to have the best of it myself. I always do now," 
 cried Merry, nodding her head, and giggling very 
 much ; " for I make a perfect slave of the crea- 
 ture." 
 
 " Let it go on," said Martin, rising. " Let it 
 go on ! I sought to know your mind, my dear, 
 and you have shown it me. I wish you joy. 
 Joy !" he repeated, looking full upon her, and 
 pointing to the wicket-gate where Jonas entered 
 at the moment. And then, without waiting for 
 his nephew, he passed out at another gate, and 
 went away. 
 
 " Oh you terrible old man !" cried the facetious 
 Merry to herself. " What a perfectly hideous 
 monster to be wandering about churchyards in 
 the broad daylight, frightening people out of their 
 wits ! Don't come here, Griffin, or I'll go away 
 directly." 
 
 Mr. Jonas was the Griffin. He sat down upon 
 the grass at her side, in spite of this warning, and 
 sulkily inquired : 
 
 " What's my uncle been a talking about ?" 
 
 " About you," rejoined Merry. " He says you're 
 not half good enough for me." 
 
 " Oh yes, I dare say ! We all know that. He 
 means to give you some present worth having, 1 
 hope. Did he say anything that looked like it ?" 
 
 "That he didn't !" cried Merry, most decisively. 
 
 " A stingy old dog he is," said Jonas. " Well ?" 
 
 " Griffin !" cried Miss Merry, in counterfeit 
 amazement ; " what are you doing, Griffin ?" 
 
 "Only giving you a squeeze," said the discom 
 fited Jonas. " There's no harm in that, I sup 
 pose ?" 
 
 " But there is a great deal of harm in it, if I 
 don't consider it agreeable," returned his cousin. 
 " Do go along, will you ? You make me so hot !" 
 
 Mr. Jonas withdrew his arm ; and for a moment 
 looked at her more like a murderer than a lover. 
 But he cleared his brow by degrees, and broke 
 silence with : 
 
 " I say, Mel !" 
 
 " What do you say, you vulgar thing — you low 
 savage ?" cried his fair betrothed. 
 
 "When is it to be ? I can't afford to go on 
 dawdling about here half my life, I needn't tell 
 you, and Pecksniff says that father's being so 
 lately dead makes very little odds ; for we can be 
 married as quiet as we please down here, and my 
 being lonely is a good reason to the neighbours 
 for taking a wife home so soon, especially one 
 that He knew. As to crossbones (my uncle, I 
 mean), he's sure not to put a spoke in the wheel 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 
 
 lb 
 
 whatever we settle on, for he told "Pecksniff only 
 .this morning, that if you liked it, he'd nothing 
 at all to » So, M« ■!," said Jonas, venturing on 
 another squeeze J '-when shall it t.e ?" 
 D my word," cried Merry. 
 in my soul, -if you like," said Jonas. 
 u What do yot> say to next week, DO w "' 
 
 14 Po next week ! It'you had said next quarter, 
 I should have wondered at your impudence." 
 
 * Hut I didn't say next quarter," retorted Jonas. 
 M I said next week." 
 
 "Then, Griffin,* 1 cried Miss Merry, pushing 
 him off, and rising. ** I say no! not next week. 
 It shan't he till I choose — and I may not choose 
 it to bt tor months. There !" 
 
 He glanced up at her from the ground, almost 
 as darkly us he had looked at Tom Pinch ; but 
 held his peace. 
 
 " No fright of a Griffin with a patch over his 
 eye, s!;all dictate to me, or have a voice in the 
 matter," said Merry. "There!" 
 
 Still Mr. Jonas held his peace. 
 
 "If it's next month, that shall be the very 
 earliest; but I won't say when it shall be till to- 
 
 morrow ; and if yon don't like that, it«shall never 
 be at all," said Merry ; " and if you follow me 
 about and won't leave me alone, it shall never be 
 at all. There ! And if you d<>:i't do everything 
 I order you to do, it shall never be at all. 80 
 don't follow me. Tnere, Griffin !" 
 
 And with that, she skipped away, among the 
 trees. 
 
 " Ecod, my lady !" said Jonas, looking after 
 her, and biting a piece of straw, almost to pow- 
 der; "you'll catch it for this, when you are 
 married ! It's all very well now — it keeps one 
 ! on, somehow, and you know it — but I *11 pay you 
 1 off, scot and lot, by and by. This is a plaguy 
 dull sort of place for a man to be sitting by him- 
 ' self in. I never could abide a mouldy old church- 
 yard." 
 
 As he turned into the avenue himself, Miss 
 Merry, who was fur ahead, happened to look back. 
 
 " Ah!" said Jonas, with a sullen smile, and a 
 nod that was not addressed to her; "make the 
 most of it while it lasts. Get in your hay while 
 the sun shines. Take your own way as long as 
 it 's in your power, my lady !" 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 IS IN PART PROFESSIONAL; AND FURNISHES THE READER WITH SOME 
 VALUABLE HINTS IN RELATION TO THE MANAGEMENT OF A SICK 
 CHAMBER. 
 
 Mr. Mould was surrounded by his household 
 gods. He was enjoying the sweets of domestic 
 repose, and gazing on them with a calm delight. 
 The day being sultry, and the window open, the 
 legs of Mr. Mould were on the window-seat, and 
 his back reclined against the shutter. Over his 
 shining head a handkerchief was drawn, to guard 
 his baldness from the flies. The room was fra- 
 grant with the smell of punch, a tumbler of which 
 grateful compound stood upon a small round 
 table, convenient to the hand of Mr. Mould ; so 
 deftly mixed, that as his eye looked down into 
 the cool transparent drink, another eye, peering 
 brightly from behind the crisp lemon-peel, looked 
 up at him, and twinkled like a star. 
 
 Deep in the city, and within the ward of Cheap, 
 stood Mr. Mould's establishment. His Harem, 
 or, in other words, the common sitting-room of 
 Mr-. Mould and family, was at the back, over the 
 little counting-house behind the shop: abutting 
 on a churchyard, small and shady. In this 
 domestic chamber Mr. Mould now sat; gazing, a 
 placid man, upon his punch and home. If, for a 
 moment at a time, he sought a wider prospect, 
 whence be might return with freshened zest to 
 these enjoyments, his moist glance wandered like 
 a sunbeam through a rural screen of scarlet run- 
 ners, trained on strings before the window; and 
 he looked down, with an artist's eye, upon the 
 graves. 
 
 ..irtner of his life, and daughters twain, 
 were Mr. Mould's companions. Plump as any 
 partridge was each Miss Mould, and Mrs M. was 
 plumper than the two together. So round and 
 chubby were their fair proportions, that they 
 
 might have been the bodies once belonging to the 
 angels' faces in the shop below, grown up, with 
 other heads attached to make them mortal. Even 
 their peachy cheeks were puffed out and distend- 
 ed, as though they ought of right to be perform- 
 ing on celestial trumpets. The bodiless cherubs 
 in the shop, who were depicted as constantly 
 blowing those instruments for ever and ever with- 
 out any lungs, played, it is to be presumed, 
 entirely by ear. 
 
 Mr. .Mould looked lovingly at Mrs. Mould, who 
 sat hard by, and was a helpmate to him in ids 
 punch as in all other things. Each seraph daugh- 
 ter, too, enjoyed her share of his regards, and 
 smiled upon him in return. So bountiful were 
 Mr, Mould's possessions, and so large his stock in 
 trade, that even there, within his household sanc- 
 tuary, stood a cumbrous press, whose mahogany 
 maw was filled with shrouds, and winding 
 and other furniture of funerals. But, though the 
 Misses Mould had been brought up, as one may 
 say, beneath its eye, it had cast no shadow on 
 their timid infancy or blooming youth. Sporting 
 behind the scenes of death and burial from cradle- 
 hood, the Misses Mould knew better. Hatbands, 
 to them, were but so many yards of silk or crape ; 
 the final robe but such a quantity of linen. The 
 Misses Mould could idealize a player's habit, or 
 a court-lady's petticoat, or even an act of parlia- 
 ment. But they were not to be taken in by palls 
 They made them pomeli 
 
 The premises of Mr. Mould were hard of hear 
 ing to the boisterous noises in the great mail, 
 streets^and nestled in a quiet comer, where the 
 city strife Secame a drowsy hum, that sometime* 
 
160 
 
 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 "ose and sometimes fell and sometimes altogether 
 ceased : suggesting to a thoughtful mind a stop- 
 page in Cheapside. The light came sparkling in 
 among the scarlet runners, as if the churchyard 
 winked at Mr. Mould, and said, " We understand 
 each other ;'' and from the distant shop a pleasant 
 sound arose of coffin-making with a low melodi- 
 ous hammer, rat, tat, tat, tat, alike promoting 
 slumber and digestion. 
 
 " Quite the buzz of insects," said Mr. Mould, 
 closing his eyes in a perfect luxury. " It puts 
 one in mind of the sound of animated nature in 
 the agricultural districts. It 's exactly like the 
 woodpecker tapping." 
 
 " The woodpecker tapping the hollow elm tree," 
 observed Mrs. Mould, adapting the words of the 
 ■-' popular melody to the description of wood com- 
 monly used in the trade. 
 
 "Ha, ha!" laughed Mr. Mould. "Not at all 
 bad, my dear. We shall be glad to hear from you 
 again, Mrs. M. Hollow elm tree, eh ? Ha, ha ! 
 Very good, indeed. I 've seen worse than that in 
 the Sunday papers, my love." 
 
 Mrs. Mould, thus encouraged, took a little more 
 of the punch, and handed it to her daughters, who 
 dutifully followed the example of their mother. 
 
 " Hollow elm tree, eh ?" said Mr. Mould, mak- 
 ing a slight motion with his legs in his enjoyment 
 of the joke. " It's beech in the song. Elm, he? 
 Yes, to be sure. Ha, ha, ha ! Upon my soul, 
 that 's one of the best things I know !" He was 
 so excessively tickled by the jest that he couldn't 
 forget it, but repeated twenty times, " Elm, eh ? 
 Yes, to be sure. Elm, of course. Ha, ha, ha ! 
 Upon my life, you know, that ought to be sent to 
 somebody who could make use of it. It's one of 
 the smartest things that ever was said. Hollow 
 elm tree, eh? Of course. Very hollow. Ha, 
 ha, ha !" 
 
 Here a knock was heard at the room door. 
 
 " That 's Tacker, i" know," said Mrs. Mould, 
 " by the wheezing he makes. Who that hears 
 him now, would suppose he 'd ever had wind 
 enough to carry the feathers on his head ! Come 
 in, Tacker." 
 
 " Beg your pardon, ma'am," said Tacker, look- 
 ing in a little way. " I thought our Governor 
 was here." 
 
 "Well! So he is," cried Mould. 
 
 " Oh ! I didn't see you, I 'm sure," said Tack- 
 er, looking in a little farther. " You wouldn't be 
 inclined to take a walking one of two, with the 
 plain wood and a tin plate, I suppose ?" 
 
 " Certainly not," replied Mr. Mould, " much too 
 common. Nothing to say to it." 
 
 " I told 'em it was precious low," observed Mr. 
 Tacker. 
 
 " Tell 'em to go somewhere else. We don't do 
 that style of business here," said Mr. Mould. 
 "Like their impudence to propose it Who is 
 it?" 
 
 " Why," returned Tacker, pausing, " that 's 
 where it is, you see. It's the beadle's son-in- 
 law." 
 
 " The beadle's son-in-law, eh ?" said Mould. 
 w Well ! I '11 do it if the beadle follows in his 
 cocked hat ; not else. We may carry it off that 
 way, by looking official, but it'll be low enough 
 tfien. His cocked hat, mind !" 
 
 ' I '11 take care, sir," rejoined Tacker. *" Oh ! 
 
 Mrs. Gamp 's below, and wants to speak to 
 you." 
 
 " Tell Mrs. Gamp to come up stairs," said 
 Mould. " Now, Mrs. Gamp, what 's your news ?" 
 
 The lady in question was by this time in the 
 doorway, curtseying to Mrs. Mould. At the same 
 moment a peculiar fragrance was borne upon the 
 breeze, as if a passing fairy had hiccoughed, and 
 had previously been to a wine-vaults. 
 
 Mrs. Gamp made no response to Mr. Mould, 
 but curtseyed to Mrs. Mould again, and held up 
 her hands and eyes, as in a devout thanksgiving 
 that she looked so well. She was neatly, but not 
 gaudily attired, in the weeds she had worn when 
 Mr. Pecksniff had the pleasure of making her ac- 
 quaintance; and was perhaps the turning of a 
 scale more snuffy. 
 
 " There are some happy creeturs," Mrs. Gamp 
 observed, "as time runs back'ards with, and you 
 are one, Mrs. Mould; not that he need do nothing 
 except use you in his most owldacious way for 
 years to come, I'm sure ; for youn^ you are and 
 will be. I says to Mrs. Harris," Mrs. Gamp con- 
 tinued, " only t'other day ; the last Monday even- 
 ing fortnight as ever dawned upon this Piljian's 
 Projiss of a mortal wale ; I says to Mrs. Harris 
 when she says to me, 4 Years and our trials, Mrs. 
 Gamp, sets marks upon us all' — 'Say not the 
 words, Mrs. Harris, if you and me is to continual 
 friends, for sech is not the case. Mrs. Mould,' 
 I says, making so free, I will confess, as use the 
 name," (she curtseyed here), "'is one of them 
 that goes agen the obserwation straight ; and 
 never, Mrs. Harris, whilst I 've a drop of breath 
 to draw, will I set by, and not stand up, don't 
 think it.' — ' I ast your pardon, ma'am,' says Mrs. 
 Harris, ' and I humbly grant your grace ; for if 
 ever a woman lived as would see her feller cree- 
 turs into fits to serve her friends, well do I know 
 that woman's name is Sairey Gamp.' " 
 
 At this point she was fain to stop for breath 
 and advantage may be taken of the circumstance 
 to state that a fearful mystery surrounded this 
 lady of the name of Harris, whom no one in the 
 circle of Mrs. Gamp's acquaintance had ever seen 
 neither did any human being know her place of 
 residence, though Mrs. Gamp appeared on her 
 own showing to be in constant communication 
 with her. There were conflicting rumours on 
 the subject; but the prevalent opinion was that 
 she was a phantom of Mrs. Gamp's brain — aa 
 Messrs. Doe and Roe are fictions of the law — 
 created for the express purpose of holding vision- 
 ary dialogues with her on all manner of subjects, 
 and invariably winding up with a compliment to 
 the excellence of her nature. 
 
 " And likeways what a pleasure," said Mrs. 
 Gamp, turning with a tearful smile towards the 
 daughters, " to see them two young ladies, as I 
 know'd afore a tooth in their pretty heads was 
 cut, and have many a day seen — ah, the sweet 
 creeturs ! — playing at berryins down in the shop, 
 and follerin' the order-book to its long home in 
 the iron safe ! But that's all past and over, Mr. 
 Mould," as she thus got in a carefully-regulated 
 routine to that gentleman, she shook her head 
 waggishly; "That's all past and over now, sir, 
 an't it?" 
 
 " Changes, Mrs. Gamp, changes !" returned the 
 undertaker. 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 
 
 161 
 
 " AT ore changes too, to come, afore we've done 
 with change*, .sir," said Mrs. Gamp, nodding yet 
 more waggishly than before. " Young ladies 
 with such (aces thinks of something else besides 
 bcrryins, don't they, sir ?" 
 
 u I am sure I don't know, Mrs. Gamp," said 
 Mould, with a chuckle. "Not bad in Mr 
 my da 
 
 " Ofi yes, you do know, sir !" said Mrs. Gamp, 
 44 and so does Mrs. Muuld, your ansomc pardner, 
 too, air; and so do I, although the blessing of a 
 daughter was deniged me; which, if we bad had 
 one, Gamp would certainly have drunk its little 
 shoes right off its feet, as with our precious boy 
 he did, and arterwards send the child a errand to 
 6cll his wooden leg for any money it would fetch 
 as matches in the rough, and bring it home in 
 liquor: which was truly done beyond his years, 
 tor L'v'ry individglo penny that child lost at toss or 
 buy for kidney ones; and come home arterwards 
 quite bold, to break the news, and offering to 
 drown himself if that would be a satisfaction to 
 hi* pi rents. — Oh yes, you do know, sir," said 
 .Mrs. Gamp, wiping her eye with her shawl, and 
 resuming the thread of her discourse. u There 's 
 something besides births and berryins in the 
 newspapers, an't there, Mr. Mould ?" 
 
 Mr. Mould winked at Mrs. Mould, whom he 
 had by this time taken on his knee, and said : 
 44 No doubt. A good deal more, Mrs. Gamp. 
 Upon my life, Mrs. Gamp is very far from bad, 
 my dear !" 
 
 "There's marryings, an't there, sir?" said 
 Mrs. Gamp, while both the daughters blushed 
 and tittered. " Bless their precious hearts, and 
 well they knows it ! Well you know'd it too, and 
 well did Mrs. Mould, when you was at their time 
 of life ! But my opinion is, you're all of one age 
 now. For as to you and Mrs. Mould, sir, ever 
 having grandchildren—" 
 
 41 Oil ! Fie, fie ! Nonsense, Mrs. Gamp," replied 
 the undertaker. " Devilish smart, though. Ca-pi- 
 tal !" — this was in a whisper. "My dear — " 
 aloud again — '• Mrs. Gamp can drink a glass of 
 rum, I dare say. Sit down, Mrs. Gamp, sit 
 down." 
 
 Mrs. Gamp took the chair that was nearest the 
 door, and casting up her eyes towards the ceiling, 
 feigned to be wholly insensible to tho fact of a 
 glass of rum being in preparation, until it was 
 placed in her hand by one of the young ladies, 
 when she exhibited the greatest surprise. 
 
 "A thing," she said, "as hardly ever, Mrs. 
 Mould, occurs with me unless it is when I am 
 indi»poged, and find my half-a-pint of porter set- 
 tling heavy on the chest. Mrs. Harris often and 
 often says to me, 4 Sairey Gamp,' she says, 'you 
 raly do • M . 1 1 ri -.' I ) I to her, 
 
 4 why so? Give it a name, 1 beg.' ' Telling the 
 truth theii.m^un,' says Mrs. Harris, 4 and ihaming 
 him an shall be nameless betwixt you and me, 
 never did I think till I know'd you, kaanj woman 
 could sick-nurse and monthly like ways, on the 
 little that you takes to drink.' ' Mr . Harris,' I 
 says to her, 4 hour on us knows what we oag do 
 till we tries; and wunst, when me and Gamp 
 kept OUSe, I thought so UXV But now. 1 I 
 ' my half-a-pint of porter fully satisfies; pcrwism', 
 ' rri-, tint it is brought r*g*l ir, and draw'd 
 mild. Whether I sicks or month 
 21 
 
 hope I does my duty; but I am out a poor wo- 
 man, and I earns my living hard ; therefore 1 do 
 require it, which I makes confession, to be brought 
 reg'lar and draw'd mild.' " 
 
 The precise connexion between these observa- 
 tions an.d the glass of rum, did not appear; for 
 Mrs. Gamp proposing as a toast **The best of 
 lucks to all," too* off the dram in quite a scientific 
 manner, without any further remarks. 
 
 44 And what's your news, Mrs. Gamp?" asked 
 Mould again, as that lady wiped her Dps upon her 
 shawl, and nibbled a corner off a soft biscuit, 
 which she appeared to carry in her pocket as a 
 provision against contingent drams. ** How 's 
 Mr. Chuffey ?" 
 
 44 Mr. Chuffey, sir," she replied, 44 is jest as 
 usual ; he an't no better, and he an't no worse. I 
 take it very kind in the gentleman to have wrote 
 up 4 to you and said, 4 let Mrs. Gamp take care of 
 him till I come home ;' but ev'ry think he does 
 is kind. There an't a many like him. If there 
 was, we shouldn't want no churches." ' 
 
 44 What do you want to speak to me about, Mrs. 
 Gamp?" said Mould, coming to the point. 
 
 44 Jest this, sir," Mrs. Gamp returned, u with 
 thanks to you for asking. There is a gent sir, at 
 the Bull in Hoi born, as has been took ill there, 
 and is bad abed. They have a day nurse as was 
 recommended from Bartholomew's; and well I 
 knows her, Mr. Mould, her name bein' Mrs. Prig, 
 the best of creeturs. But she is otherways en- 
 gaged at night, and they are in wants of nighi- 
 watehing; consequent she says to them, having 
 reposed the greatest friendliness in me for twenty 
 year, 4 The soberest person going, and the best of 
 blessings in "a sick room, is Mrs. Gamp. Send! a 
 boy to Kingsgate Street,' she says, 4 and snap her 
 up at any price, for Mrs. Gamp is worth her 
 weight and more in goldian guineas.' My land- 
 lord brings the message down to me, and* says, 
 4 bein' in a light place where you are, and this 
 job promising so well, why not unite tbe two ?" 
 4 No, sir,' I says, 4 not unbeknown to Mr. Mould, 
 and therefore do not think it. But I will go to 
 Mr. Mould,' I says, 4 and ast him, if you hike."' 
 Here she looked sideways at the undertaker, and 
 came to a stop. 
 
 44 Night-watching, eh ?" said Mould, rubbing 
 his chin. 
 
 44 From eight o'clock till eight, pir : I will not 
 deceive you," Mrs. Gamp rejoined. 
 
 44 And then go back, eh ?" said Mould. 
 
 44 Quite free, then, sir, to attend to Mr. Chuffey. 
 His ways bein' quiet, and his hours early, he'd 
 be abed, sir, nearly all the time. I will not deny," 
 said Mrs. (J, imp, with meekness, "that I am but 
 a poor woman, and that the money is a object . 
 but do not let that act upon you, Mr. Mould. 
 Rich folks may ride on camels; hut it 
 easy for 'em to see out of a needle's rye. Thai 
 is my comfort, and I hope I knows it." 
 
 " Well, Mrs. Gump,* observed Mould, " I 
 see any particular obji otion to your earning Stt 
 honest penny under such eircumstai:. | 
 keep it cpiiet, I think, Mr<. Gf ! wouldn't 
 
 mention it to Mr. Chmtztewit on his return, W 
 instance, unlets it were necessary, or he asked 
 you point-blank," 
 
 44 The very words was on my ..p*, sir," Mr*. 
 Gamp rejoinod. " Supposing that the gent should 
 
162 
 
 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 die, I hope I might take the liberty of saying as 
 I know'd some one in the undertaking line, and 
 yet give no offence to you, sir ?" 
 
 "Certainly, Mrs. Gamp," said Mould, with 
 much condescension. " You may casually re- 
 mark, in such a case, that we do the thing plea- 
 santly and in a great variety of styles, and are 
 generally considered to make it as agreeable as 
 possible to the feelings of the survivors. But 
 don't obtrude it — don't obtrude it. Easy, easy ! 
 My dear, you may as well give Mrs. Gamp a card 
 or two, if you please." 
 
 Mrs. Gamp received them, and scenting no more 
 rum in the wind, (for the bottle was locked up 
 again), rose to take her departure. 
 
 " Wishing 1 ev'ry happiness to this happy fami- 
 ly," said Mrs. Gamp, " with all my heart. Good 
 arternoon, Mrs. Mould ! If I was Mr. Mould, I 
 should be jealous of you, ma'am ; and I 'm sore, 
 if I was you, I should be jealous of Mr. Mould." 
 
 " Tut, tut ! Bah, bah ! Go along, Mrs. Gamp!" 
 cried the delighted undertaker. 
 
 " As to the young ladies," said Mrs. Gamp, 
 dropping a curtsey, " bless their sweet looks — how 
 they can ever reconsize it with their duties to be 
 so grown up with such young parents, it an't for 
 sech as me to give a guess at." 
 
 " Nonsense, nonsense. Be ofl\ Mrs. Gamp !" 
 cried Mould. But in the height of his gratifica- 
 tion, he actually pinched Mrs. Mould as he said it. 
 
 " I'll tell you what, my dear," he observed, when 
 Mrs. Gamp had at last withdrawn, and shut the 
 door, " that 's a ve-ry shrewd woman. That 's a 
 woman whose intellect is immensely superior to 
 her station in life. That 's a woman who observes 
 and reflects in an uncommon manner. She 's the 
 sort of woman now," said Mould, drawing his 
 silk handkerchief over his head again, and com- 
 posing himself for a nap, "one would almost feel 
 disposed to bury for nothing ; and do it neatly, 
 too !" 
 
 Mrs. Mould and her daughters fully concurred 
 in these remarks ; the subject of which had by 
 this time reached the street, where she experienced 
 so much inconvenience from the air, that she was 
 obliged to stand under an archway for a short 
 time, to recover herself. Even after this precau- 
 tion, she walked so unsteadily as to attract the 
 compassionate regards of divers kind-hearted boys, 
 who took the liveliest interest in her disorder, and, 
 in their simple language, bade her be of good 
 cheer, for«he was "only a little screwed." 
 
 Whatever she was, or whatever name the voca- 
 bulary of medical science would have bestowed 
 upon her malady, Mrs. Gamp was perfectly ac- 
 quainted with the way home again ; and arriving 
 at the house of Anthony Chuzzlewit & Son, lay 
 down to rest Remaining there until seven o'clock 
 in the evening, and then persuading poor old 
 Chuffey to betake himself to bed, she sallied forth 
 upon her new engagement. First she went to her 
 private lodgings in Kingsgate street, for a bundle 
 of robes and wrappings comfortable in the night 
 season ; and then repaired to the Bull in Holborn, 
 which she reaehed as the clocks were striking 
 eight. 
 
 As she turned into the yard, she stopped ; for 
 the landlord, landlady, and head chambermaid, 
 were all on the threshold together, talking ear- 
 nestly with a young gentleman who seemed to 
 
 have just come, or to be just going away. The 
 first words that struck upon Mrs. Gamp's ear 
 obviously bore reference to the patient ; and it 
 being expedient that all good attendants should 
 know as much as possible about the case on which 
 their skill is brought to bear, Mrs. Garnp listened 
 as a matter of duty. 
 
 " No better, then ?" observed the gentleman. 
 
 " Worse !" said the landlord. 
 
 " Much worse !" added the landlady. 
 
 "Oh ! a deal Badder !" cried the chambermaid 
 from the back-ground, opening her eyes very wide 
 and shaking her head. 
 
 " Poor fellow !" said the gentleman, " I am 
 sorry to hear it. The worst of it is, that I have 
 no idea what friends or relations he has, or where 
 they live, except that it certainly is not in 
 London." 
 
 The landlord looked at the landlady ; the land- 
 lady looked at the landlord ; and the chambermaid 
 remarked, hysterically, that of all the many wague 
 directions she had ever seen or heerd of (and they 
 wasn't few in an hotel), that was the waguest." 
 
 " The fact is, you see," pursued the gentleman, 
 " as I told you yesterday when you sent to me, I 
 really know very little about him. We were 
 schoolfellows together, but since that time I have 
 only met him twice. On both occasions I was in 
 London for a boy's holiday, (having come up for 
 a week or so from Wiltshire), and lost sight of 
 him again directly. The letter bearing my name 
 and address, which you found upon his table, and 
 which led to your applying to me, is in answer, 
 you will observe, to one he wrote from this house 
 the very day he was taken ill, making an appoint- 
 ment with him at his request. Here is his letter 
 if you wish to see it." 
 
 The landlord read it ; the landlady looked over 
 him. The chambermaid, in the back-ground, 
 made out as much of it as she could, and invented 
 the rest, believing it all from that time forth as a 
 positive piece of evidence. 
 
 " He has very little luggage, you say ?" ob- 
 served the gentleman, who was no other than our 
 old friend, John Westlock. 
 
 " Nothing but a portmanteau," said the land- 
 lord ; " and very little in it." 
 
 " A few pounds in bis purse, though ?" 
 
 " Yes. It 's sealed up, and in the cash-box. I 
 made a memorandum of the amount, which you're 
 welcome to see." 
 
 " Well," said John, " as the medical gentleman 
 says the fever must take its course, and nothing 
 can be done just now beyond giving him his drinks 
 regularly, and having him carefully attended to, 
 nothing more can be said that I know of, until he 
 is in a condition to give us some information. 
 Can you suggest anything else ?" 
 
 " N-no," replied the landlord, " except — " 
 
 " Except, who 's to pay, I suppose V* said 
 John. 
 
 "Why," hesitated the landlord, "it would oe 
 as well." 
 
 " Quite as well," said the landlady. 
 
 " Not forgetting to remember the servants," said 
 the chambermaid in a bland whisper. 
 
 " It is but reasonable, I fully admit," said John 
 Westlock. " At all events, you have the stock in 
 hand to go upon for the present; and I will readi- 
 ly undertake to pay the doctor and the nurses." 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 
 
 1G3 
 
 * Ah !" cried Mrs. Gnmp. u A rayal gentle- 
 man !" 
 
 She groaned her admiration so audihly, that 
 . all turned round. Mrs. Garnp felt the neces- 
 sity of advancing, bundle in hand, mid introducing 
 herself. 
 
 u The night-nurse," she observed, " from Kiags- 
 \ well beknown to Mrs. Prig the day. 
 nurse, and the best of creeturs, How is the poor 
 dear grnth man, to-night ? If he an't no better 
 yet, still that is what must be expected and pre- 
 pared for. It an't tho fust time by a many score, 
 mu'ain," dropping a curtesy to the landlady, 
 " that .Mrs. Trig and rne has nussed together, turn 
 and turn about, one off, one on. We knows each 
 other's ways, and often gives relief when others 
 fail. Our charges is but low, sir" — Mrs. Gamp 
 addressed herself to John on this head — "consi- 
 dcrin' the nater of our painful dooty. If they wos 
 made accordin' to our wishes, they would be easy 
 paid." 
 
 Regarding herself as having now delivered her 
 inauguration address, Mrs. Gamp curtseyed all 
 round, and signified her wish to be conducted to 
 the scene of her official duties. The chamber- 
 maid led her, through a variety of intricate pas- 
 sages, to the top of the house ; and pointing at 
 length to a solitary door at the end of a gallery, 
 informed her that yonder was the chamber where 
 the patient lay. That done, she hurried off with 
 all the speed she could make. 
 
 Mrs. Gamp traversed the gallery in a great heat 
 from having carried her large bundle up so many 
 stairs, and tapped at the door, which was imme- 
 diately opened by Mrs. Prig, bonneted and shawled 
 and all impatience to be gone. Mrs. Prig was of 
 th> Gtmp build, but not so fat; and her voice was 
 deeper and more like a man's. She had also a 
 beard. 
 
 ■ I began to think you warn't a coming !" Mrs. 
 Prig observed, in some displeasure. 
 
 ** It shall be made good to-morrow night," said 
 Mrs. Gamp, ** honorable. I had to go and fetch my 
 things." She had begun to make signs of inquiry 
 in reference to the position of the patient and his 
 overhearing them — for there was a screen before 
 the door — when Mrs. Prig settled that point 
 easily. 
 
 44 Oh !" she said aloud, " he's quiet, but his wits 
 is gone. It an't no matter what you say." 
 
 M Anythin* to tell afore you goes, my dear ?" 
 asked Mrs. (i imp, setting her bundle down inside 
 r, and looking affectionately at her partner. 
 " The pickled salmon," Mrs. Prig replied, " is 
 quite delicious. I can partick'ler recommend it 
 Don't have nothink to say to the cold meat, for it 
 tastes of the stable. The drinks is all good." 
 Mrs. Gamp expressed "herself much gratified. 
 " The physic and them things is on the drawers 
 and mankltshell," said Mrs. Prig, cursorily. " He 
 took his 1 ist slime draught at seren. The easy- 
 chair an't soft enough. You Ml want his piller." 
 
 Mrs. Gamp thanked her for these hints, and 
 giving her a friendly good night, held the door 
 OOM until she had disappeared at the otln-r end 
 gallery. Having thus performed the hos- 
 pital. lr duty of seeing her safely off, she shut it, 
 locked it on the inside, took up her bundle, walked 
 round tlie screen, und entered on her occupation 
 et the sick chamber. 
 
 ' "A little dull, but not so bad as might be,* 
 Mrs. Gamp remarked. " I *jb glad to see a para- 
 pidge, in case of fire v and lots of roofs and chim- 
 ley-pots to walk upon." 
 
 It will -be seen from these remarks that Mrs. 
 Gamp was looking out of window. When she 
 had exhausted the prospect, she tried the easy- 
 chair, which she indignantly declared was "harder 
 than a brickbadge." Next she pursued her re- 
 searches among the physic-bottles, glasses, jugs, 
 and tea-cups; and when she had entirely satisfied 
 her curiosity on all these subjects of investigation, 
 she untied her bonnet-strings and strolled up the 
 bedside to take a look at the patient. 
 
 A young man — dark and not ill-looking— with 
 long black hair, that seemed the blacker for the 
 whiteness of the bed-clothes. His eyes were part- 
 ly open, and he never ceased to roll his head from 
 side to side upon the pillow, keeping his body al- 
 most quiet. He did not utter words ; but every 
 now and then gave vent to an expression of im- 
 patience or fatigue, sometimes of surprise; and 
 still his restless head — oh, weary, weary hour ! — 
 went to and fro without a moment's intermission. 
 Mrs. Gamp solaced herself with a pinch of 
 snuff, and stood looking at him with her head in- 
 clined a little sideways, as a connoisseur might 
 gaze upon a doubtful work of art. By degrees, a 
 horrible remembrance of one branch of her call- 
 ing took possession of the woman ; and stooping 
 down, she pinned his wandering arms against his 
 sides, to see how he would look if laid out as a 
 dead man. Hideous as it may appear, her fingers 
 itched to compose his limbs in that last marble 
 attitude. 
 
 " Ah !" said Mrs. Gamp, walking away from 
 the bed, " he 'd make a lovely corpse !" 
 
 She now proceeded to unpack her bundle ; 
 lighted a candle with the aid of a fire-box on the 
 drawers ; filled a small kettle, as a preliminary to 
 refreshing herself with a cup of tea in the course 
 of the night; laid what she called u a little bit of 
 fire," for the same philanthropic purpose ; and 
 also set forth a small teaboard, that nothing might 
 be wanting for her comfortable enjoyment These 
 preparations occupied so long, that when they 
 were brought to a conclusion it was high time to 
 think about supper; so she rang the bell and or- 
 dered it. 
 
 " I think, young woman," said Mrs. Gamp to 
 the assistant chambermaid, in a tone expressive 
 of weakness, "that I could pick a little bit of 
 pickled salmon, with a nice little sprig of fennel, 
 and a sprinkling of white pepper. I takes new 
 bread, my dear, with jest a little pat of fresh but- 
 ter, and a mossel of cheese. In case there should 
 be such a thing as a cowcumber in the 'ouse, 
 will you be so kind as bring it for I'm rather 
 parti il to 'em, and they does a world of good in a 
 sick room. If they draws the Brighton Tipper 
 here, I takes that ale at night my love; it bein' 
 considered wakeful by the doctors. And what- 
 ever you do, young woman, don't bring more than 
 a shilling's-worth of pin and water warm when I 
 u l». 11 a second time : for that is always my 
 allowance, and I never takes a drop beyond !" 
 
 Having preferred these moderate requests, Ml*. 
 Gamp observed that she would stand at the door 
 until tho order was executed, to the end that thw 
 patient might not be disturbed by her opening if 
 
164 
 
 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 a second time ; and therefore she would thank the 
 young woman 1o " look sharp." 
 
 A tray was brought with everything upon it, 
 even to the cucumber ; and Mrs. Gamp accord- 
 ingly sat down to eat and drink in high good 
 humour. The extent to which she availed herself 
 of the vinegar, and supped up that refreshing fluid 
 with the blade of her knife, can scarcely be ex- 
 pressed in narrative. 
 
 " Ah !" sighed Mrs. Gamp, as she meditated 
 over the warm shillings-worth, " what a blessed 
 tiling it is — living in a wale — to be contented ! 
 What a blessed thing it is to make sick people 
 happy in their beds, and never mind one's self as 
 long as one can do a service ! I don't believe a 
 finer cowcumber was ever grow'd. I'm sure I 
 never see one !" 
 
 She moralised in the same vein until her glass 
 was empty, and then administered the patient's 
 medicine, by the simple process of clutching his 
 windpipe to make him gasp, and immediately 
 pouring it down his throat. 
 
 " I a'most forgot the piller, I declare !" said 
 Mrs. Gamp, drawing it away. " There ! Now 
 lie's as comfortable as he can be, I'm sure! I 
 must try to make myself as much so as I can." 
 
 With this view, she went about the construction 
 of an extemporaneous bed in the easy-chair, with 
 the addition of the next easy one for her feet. 
 Having formed the best couch that the circum- 
 stances admitted of, she took out of her bundle a 
 yellow nightcap, of prodigious size, in shape re- 
 sembling a cabbage ; which article of dress she 
 fixed and tied on with the utmost care, previously 
 divesting herself of a row of bald old curls that 
 could scarcely be called false, they were so very 
 innocent of anything approaching to deception. 
 From the same repository she brought forth a 
 night-jacked, in which she also attired herself. 
 Finally, she produced a watchman's coat, which 
 she tied round her neck by the sleeves, so that 
 she became two people ; and looked, behind, as if 
 she were in the act of being embraced by one of 
 the old. patrol. 
 
 All these arrangements made, she lighted the 
 rushlight, coiled herself up on her couch, and 
 went to sleep. Ghostly and dark the room be- 
 came, and full of lowering shadows. The distant 
 noises in the streets were gradually hushed ; the 
 house was quiet as a sepulchre ; the dead of night 
 was coffined in the silent city. 
 
 Oh, weary, weary hour ! Oh, haggard mind, 
 groping darkly through the past; incapable of 
 detaching itself from the miserable present; 
 dragging its heavy chain -of care through ima- 
 ginary feasts and revels, and scenes of awful 
 pomp ; seeking but a moment's rest among the 
 long-forgotten haunts of childhood, and the resorts 
 of yesterday; and dimly finding fear and horror 
 everywhere! Oh, weary, weary hour! What 
 were the wanderings of Cain, to these! 
 
 Still, without a moment's interval, the burning 
 head tossed to and fro. Still, from time to time, 
 fatigue, impatience, suffering, and surprise, found 
 utterance upon that rack, and plainly too, though 
 never once in words. At length, in the solemn 
 hour of midnight, he began to talk; waiting aw- 
 fully for answers sometimes ; as though invisible 
 companions were about his bed ; and so replying 
 t» their speech and questioning again. 
 
 Mrs. Gamp awoke, and sat up in her bed pre- 
 senting on the wall the shadow of a gigantic night 
 constable, struggling with a prisoner. 
 
 "Come! Hold your tongue!" she cried, in 
 sharp reproof. " Don't make none of that noise 
 here." 
 
 There was no alteration in the face, or in the 
 incessant motion of the head, but he talked on 
 wildly. 
 
 "Ah!" said Mrs. Gamp, coming out of the 
 chair with an impatient shiver; " I thought I was 
 a sleepin' too pleasant to last! The devil's in the 
 night, I think, it's turned so chilly." 
 
 " Don't drink so much !" cried the sick man. 
 "You'll ruin us all. Don't you see how the 
 fountain sinks? Look at the mark where the 
 sparkling water was just now !" 
 
 " Sparkling water indeed !" cried Mrs. Gamp. 
 " I'll have a sparkling cup o' tea, I think. I wish 
 you'd hold your noise !" 
 
 He burst into a laugh, which, being prolonged, 
 fell off into a dismal wail. Checking himself, 
 with fierce inconstancy he began to count — fust. 
 
 "One — two — three — four — five — six." 
 
 " ' One, two, buckle my shoe,' " said Mrs. 
 Gamp, who was now on her knees, lighting the 
 fire, " ' three, four, shut the door' — I wish you 'd 
 shut your mouth, young man — ' five, six, picking 
 up sticks.' If I'd got a few handy, I should have 
 the kettle biling all the sooner." 
 
 Awaiting this desirable consummation, she sat 
 down so close to the fender (which was a high 
 one) that her nose rested upon it; and for some 
 time she drowsily amused herself by sliding that 
 feature backwards and forwards along the brass 
 top, as far as she could, without changing her 
 position to do it. She maintained, all the while, 
 a running commentary upon the wanderings of 
 the man in the bed. 
 
 " That makes five hundred and twenty-one 
 men, all dressed alike, and with the same distor- 
 tion on their faces, that have passed in at the 
 window, and out at the door," he cried, anxiously. 
 " Look there ! Five hundred and twenty-two — 
 twenty-three — twenty-four. Do you see them !" 
 
 "Ah! / see 'm," said Mrs. Gamp; "all the 
 whole kit of 'em numbered like hackey-coaches 
 — an't they ?" 
 
 " Touch me ! Let me be sure of this. Touch 
 me!" 
 
 " You '11 take your next draught when I 've 
 made the kettle bile," retorted Mrs. Gamp, com- 
 posedly, "and you'll be touched then. You'll 
 be touched up, too, if you don't take it quiet." 
 
 " Five hundred and twenty-eight, five hundred 
 and twenty-nine, five hundred and thirty. — Look 
 here !" 
 
 "What's the matter'now ?" said Mrs. Gamp. 
 
 " They 're coming four abreast, each man with 
 his arm entwined in the next man's, and his hand 
 upon his shoulder. What's that upon the aim 
 of every man, and on the flag?" 
 
 "Spiders, p'raps," said Mrs. Gamp. 
 
 " Crape ! Black crape ! Good God ! why do 
 they wear it outside ?" 
 
 " Would you have 'em carry black crape in 
 their insides ?" Mrs. Gamp retorted. " Hold your 
 noise, hold your noise." 
 
 The fire beginning by this time to imparl a 
 grateful warmth, Mrs. Gamp became silent; gra- 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 
 
 165 
 
 dually rubbed her nose more and more slowly 
 along the top of the fender; and fell into a heavy 
 doze. She was awakened by the room ringing 
 (as she fancied) with a nuinu she knew: 
 
 « Chuzzl-wit!" 
 
 The sound was so distinct and real, and so full 
 of agonised entreaty, that Mrs. Garnp jumped up 
 in terror, and ran to tlic door. She ex; 
 find the passage filled witli people, come to tell 
 lier that the boQM in the city had taken fire. But 
 the place was empty: not a soul was there. She 
 opened the window, and looked out Dark, dull, 
 dingy, and desolate house-tops. As she passed to 
 her seat again, she glanced at the patient. Just 
 the same; but silent Mrs. Gamp was so warm 
 now, that she threw off the watchman's coat and 
 fanned herself. 
 
 44 It seemed to make the wcry bottles ring," 
 she said. " What could I have been a-dreaming 
 of? That dratted Chuffey, I '11 be bound." 
 
 The supposition was probable enough. At any 
 rate, a pinch of snuff, and the song of the steam- 
 ing kettle, quite restored the tone of Mrs. Gamp's 
 nerves, which were none of the weakest She. 
 brewed her tea ; made some buttered toast ; and 
 sat down at the tea-board, with her face to the 
 fire. 
 
 When once again, in a tone more terrible than 
 that which had vibrated in her slumbering ear, 
 these words were shrieked out : 
 
 44 Chuzzlewit ! Jonas! No!" 
 
 Mrs. Gamp dropped the cup she was in the act 
 of raising to her lips, and turned round with a 
 start that made the little teaboard leap. The cry 
 had come from the bed. 
 
 It was bright morning the next time Mrs. 
 Gamp looked out of window, and the sun was 
 
 rising cheerfully. Lighter and lighter grew the 
 sky, and noisier the streets; and high into the 
 summer air uprose the smoke of newly kindled 
 fires, until the busy day was broad awake. 
 
 Mrs. Prig relieved punctually, having passed a 
 good night at her other patient's. Mr. Westlock 
 came at the same time, but he was not admitted, 
 the disorder being infectious. The doctor came 
 too. The doctor shook his head. It was all he 
 could do, under the circumstances, and he did it 
 well. 
 
 44 What sort of a night nurse ?" 
 
 44 Restless, sir," said Mrs. Gamp. 
 
 " Talk much ?" 
 
 44 Middling, sir," said Mrs. Gamp. 
 
 44 Nothing to the purpose, I suppose ?" 
 
 44 Oh bless you no, sir. Only jargon ** 
 
 ■ Well !" said the doctor^ " we must keep him 
 quiet; keep the room cool ; give him his draughts 
 regularly ; and see that he 's carefully looked to. 
 That 's all !" 
 
 44 And as long as Mrs. Prig and me waits upon 
 him, sir, no fear of that" said Mrs. Gamp. 
 
 44 1 suppose," observed Mrs. Prig, when they 
 had curtsied the doctor out : w there 's nothin' 
 new ?" 
 
 44 Nothin' at all, my dear," said Mrs. Gamp. 
 44 He's rather wearin' in his talk from making up 
 a lot of names; elseways you needn't mind 
 him." 
 
 44 Oh, I shan't mind him,'* Mrs. Prig returned. 
 44 1 have somethin' else to think of." 
 
 44 1 p'ays my debts to-night, you know, my dear, 
 and comes afore my time," said Mrs. Gamp. 44 But 
 Betsey Prig" — speaking with great feeling, and 
 laying her hand upon her arm — 44 try the cow 
 cumbers, God bless you !" 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 AN UNEXPECTED MEETING, AND A PROMISIXG PROSPECT. 
 
 Tint laws of sympathy between beards and 
 birds, and the secret source of that attraction 
 which frequently impels a shaver of the one to be 
 a dealer in the other, are questions for the subtle 
 reasoning of scientific bodies : not the less so, be- 
 cause their investigation would seem calculated to 
 lead to no particular result It is enough to know 
 that the artist who had the honour of entertaining 
 Mrs. Gamp as his first-iloor lodger, united the 
 two pursuits of barbering and bird-fancying ; and 
 that it was not ;tn original idea of his, but one in 
 which he had, dispersed about the bye-streets and 
 suburbs of the town, a host of rivals. 
 
 The name of this householder was Paul Swce- 
 dlepi|x\ But he was commonly called Poll Swee- 
 dlcpipe ; and was not uncommonly believed to 
 have been so christened, among his friends and 
 neighbours. 
 
 With the exception of the staircase, and his 
 lodger's private apartment, Poll Swecdlepipc's 
 house was one great bird's nest Game-cocks 
 resided in the kitchen ; pheasants wasted the 
 brightness of their golden plumage on the garret; 
 bantams roosted in the cellar ; owls had possession 
 
 of the bed-room ; aud specimens of all the smaller 
 fry of birds chirruped and twittered in the shop. 
 The staircase was Bacred to rabbits. There, in 
 hutches of all shapes and kinds, made from old 
 packing-cases, boxes, drawers, and tea-chests, 
 they increased in a prodigious degree, and con- 
 tributed their share towards that complicated 
 wbiff which, quite impartially, and without dis- 
 tinction of persons, saluted every nose that was 
 put into Swecdlepipc's easy shaving-shop. 
 
 Many noses found their way there, for all that, 
 especially on a Sunday morning, before church- 
 time. Even Archbishops shave, or must be shav- 
 ed, on a Sunday, and beards tcii/grow atter twelve 
 o'clock on Saturday night though it be upon the 
 chins of base mechanics : who, not being able to 
 engage their valets by the quarter, hire them by 
 the job, and pay them — oh, the wickedness of cop 
 per coin ! — in dirty pence. Poll Sweedlepipe, the 
 sinner, shaved all comers at a penny each, and 
 cut the hair of any customer Air twopence; and 
 being a lone, unmarried man, and having some 
 connection in the bird line, Poll got on tolerably 
 well. 
 
16o 
 
 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 He was a little, elderly man, with a clammy 
 cold right hand, from which even rabbits and birds 
 could not remove the smell of shaving-soap. Poll 
 had something of the bird in his nature; not of 
 the hatyk or eagle, but of the sparrow, that builds 
 in chimney-stacks, and inclines to human com- 
 pany. He was not quarrelsome, though, like the 
 sparrow ; but peaceful, like the dove. In his walk 
 he strutted ; and, in this respect, he bore a faint 
 resemblance to the pigeon, as well as in a certain 
 prosiness of speech, which might, in its monoto- 
 ny, be likened to the cooing of that bird. He 
 was very inquisitive ; and when he stood at his 
 shop-door in the evening-tide, watching the neigh- 
 bours, with his head on one side, and his eye cock- 
 ed knowingly, there was a dash of the raven in 
 him. Yet, there was no more wickedness in Poll 
 than in a robin. Happily, too, when any of his 
 ornithological properties were on the verge of go- 
 ing too far, they were quenched, dissolved, melt- 
 ed down, and neutralised in the barber; just as 
 his bald head — otherwise, as the head of a shaved 
 magpie — lost itself in a wig of curly black ring- 
 lets, parted on one side, and cut away almost to 
 the crown, to indicate immense capacity of intel- 
 lect. 
 
 Poll had a very small, shrill, treble voice, which 
 might have led the wags of Kingsgate Street to 
 insist the more upon his feminine designation. 
 He had a tender heart, too ; for, when he had a 
 good commission to provide three or four score 
 sparrows for a shooting-match, he would observe, 
 in a compassionate tone, how singular it was that 
 sparrows should have been made expressly for 
 such purposes. The question, whether men were 
 made to shoot them, never entered into Poll's phi- 
 losophy. 
 
 Poll wore, in his sporting character, a velveteen 
 coat, a great deal of blue stocking, ankle boots, a 
 neckerchief of some bright colour, and a very tall 
 hat. Pursuing his more quiet occupation of bar- 
 ber, he generally subsided into an apron not over- 
 clean, a flannel jacket, and corduroy knee-shorts. 
 It was in this latter costume, but with his apron 
 girded round his waist, as a token of his having 
 shut up shop for the night, that he closed the door 
 one evening, some weeks after the occurrences 
 detailed in the last chapter, and stood upon the 
 steps, in Kingsgate Street, listening until the lit- 
 tle cracked bell within should leave off ringing. 
 For, until it did — this was Mr. Sweedlepipe's re- 
 flection — the place never seemed quiet enough to 
 be left to itself. 
 
 " It 's the greediest little bell to ring," said Poll, 
 " that ever was. But it 's quiet at last." 
 
 He rolled his apron up a little tighter as he said 
 these words, and hastened down the street. Just 
 as he was turning into Holborn, he ran against a 
 young gentleman in a livery. This youth was 
 bold, though small, and, with several lively ex- 
 pressions of displeasure, turned upon him in- 
 stantly. 
 
 " Now, Stoo-PiD !" cried the young gentleman. 
 "Can't you look where you're a going to — eh? 
 Can't you mind where you 're coming to — eh ? 
 What do you think your eyes was made for — eh ? 
 Ah ! Yes. Oh ! Now then !" 
 
 The young gentleman pronounced the two last 
 words m a very loud tone and with frightful em- 
 phasis, as though they contained within them- 
 
 selves the essence of the direst aggravation. But 
 he had scarcely done so, when his anger yielded 
 to surprise, and he cried, in a milder tone : 
 
 "What! Polly!" 
 
 " Why it an't you, sure !" cried Poll. " It can't 
 be you!" 
 
 "No. It an't me," returned the youth. " It's 
 my son : my oldest one. He 's a credit to his fa- 
 ther ; an't he, Polly ?" With this delicate little 
 piece of banter, he halted on the pavement, and 
 went round and round in circles, for the better 
 exhibition of his figure; rather to the inconve- 
 nience of the passengers generally, who were not 
 in an equal state of spirits with himself. 
 
 " I wouldn't have believed it," said Poll. " What ! 
 You 've left your old place, then ? Have you ?" 
 
 " Have I ?" returned his young friend, who had 
 by this time stuck his hands into the pockets of 
 his white cord breeches, and was swaggering 
 along at the barber's side. "D'ye know a pair 
 of top-boots when you see 'em, Polly ? — look 
 here !" 
 
 " Beau-ti-ful !" cried Mr. Sweedlepipe. 
 
 " D'ye know a slap-up sort of button, when 
 you see it?" said the youth. "Don't look at 
 mine, if you ain't a judge, because these lions' 
 heads w 7 as made for men of taste : not snobs." 
 
 " Beau-ti-ful !" cried the barber again. " A 
 grass-green frock-coat, too, bound with gold ! and 
 a cockade in your hat." 
 
 " / should hope so," replied the youth. " Blow 
 the cockade, though ; for, except that it don't turn 
 round, it 's like the wentilator that used to be in 
 the kitchen winder atTodgers's. You ain't seen 
 the old lady's name in the Gazette, have you ?" 
 
 " No," returned the barber. " Is she a bank- 
 rupt ?" 
 
 " If she ain't, she will be," retorted Bailey. 
 " That bis'ness never can be carried on without 
 me. Well! How are you?" 
 
 " Oh ! I 'm pretty well," said Poll. " Are you 
 living at this end of the town, or were you com- 
 ing to see me ? Was that the bis'ness that 
 brought you to Holborn ?" 
 
 " I haven't got no bis'ness in Holborn " return, 
 ed Bailey, with some displeasure. " All my bis'- 
 ness lays at the West End. I 've got the right 
 sort of Governor now. You can't see his face for 
 his whiskers, and can't see his whiskers for the 
 dye upon 'em. That 's a gentleman, a'nt it ? You 
 wouldn't like a ride in a cab, would you ? Why, 
 it wouldn't be safe to offer it. You 'd faint away, 
 only to see me a comin' at a mild trot round the 
 corner." 
 
 To convey a slight idea of the effect of this 
 approach, Mr. Bailey counterfeited in his own per- 
 son the pction of a high-trotting-horse, and threw 
 up his head so high, in backing against a pump, 
 that he shook his hat off. 
 
 "Why, he's own uncle to Capricorn," said 
 Bailey, " and brother to Cauliflower. He's been 
 through the winders of two chaney shops' since 
 we've had him, and wos sold for killin' his missis. 
 That's a horse, I hope ?" 
 
 " Ah ! you'll never want to buy any more red- 
 polls, now," observed Poll, looking on his young 
 friend with an air of melancholy. " You'll never 
 want to buy any more red-polls now, to hang up 
 over the sink, will you?" 
 
 " I should think not," replied Bailey. " Reyther 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 
 
 107 
 
 so. I wouldn't have nolhin' to say to any bird 
 below a Peacock;' and he'd be wulgar. Well, 
 how arc i 
 
 "Oli! I'm pretty well," said Poll. He answered 
 the question again because Mr. Bailey asked it 
 again; Mr. Bailey asked it tose— 
 
 accompanied with a straddling action of the 
 whit*- cords, I bend of the knot's, and a striking, 
 forth of the top-boots — it -was an easy, horsc- 
 fleshy, turfy sort of thing to do. 
 
 "Wot arc you up to, old feller?" asked Mr. 
 Bailey, with the same graceful rakishness. He 
 ,i m-ahout-Unvn of the conversation, 
 while the easy-shaver was the child. 
 
 '• Why, I a in going to fetch my lodger home," 
 said Paul. 
 
 " A woman !" cried Mr. Bailey, " for a twenty- 
 pun* note !" 
 
 The little barber hastened to explain that she 
 was neither a young woman, nor a handsome 
 woman, but a nurse, who had been acting as a 
 kind of house-keeper to a gentleman for some 
 weeks pist, and left her place that night, in con- 
 sequence or being superseded by another and a 
 more legitimate housekeeper : to wit, the gentle- 
 man's bride. 
 
 11 He's newly-married, and he brings his young 
 wife homo to-night," said the barber. "So I'm 
 going to fetch my lodger away — Mr. Chuzzle wit's, 
 close behind the Post-office — and carry her box 
 for her." 
 
 " Jonas Chuzzlewit's ?" said Bailey. 
 
 " Ah !" returned Paul: "that's the man, sure 
 enough. Do you know him ?" 
 
 "()!., no !" cried Mr. Bailey ; " not at all. And 
 I don't know her? Not neither ? Why, they 
 first kept company tnrough mc, a'most." 
 
 44 Ah .'" said Paul. 
 
 "Ah!" said Mr. Bailey, with a wink; "and 
 she ain't bad-looking, mind you. But her sister 
 was the best She was the merry one. I often 
 used to have a bit of fun with her, in the hold 
 tim. 
 
 Mr. Bailey spoke as if he already had a leg and 
 three-quarters in the grave, and this had happened 
 twenty or thirty years ago. Paul Swecdlepipe, 
 the meek, was so perfectly confounded by his pre- 
 cocious self-possession, and his patronising man- 
 ner, as well as by his boots, cockade, and livery, 
 that a mist swam before his eyes, and he Saw — 
 not the I knowlcdged. juvenility, from 
 
 Todgers's Commercial Boarding-House, who had 
 made his acquaintance within a twelvemonth, by 
 purchasing, at sundry times, small birds at two- 
 pence each — but a highly-condensed embodiment 
 of all the sporting grooms in London ; an abstract 
 of all the stable-knowledge of the time; a some- 
 thing at a high. pressure that must have had 
 «• i •■ nj reare, and -a- fraught with ter- 
 
 rible ex; And truly, though in the 
 
 cloudy atmosphere of Todgers's .Mr. Bailey's ge- 
 nius had ever shone oul brightly in this particular 
 
 :>ect, it now eclipsed both time and space, 
 cheated b •holders of their senses, and worked on 
 their belief in defiance of all natural laws. II. 
 walked along the tangible and real stones of Hoi- 
 bom-hill, an under-sized boy ; and yet he winked 
 the winks, and thought the thoughts, and did the 
 deeds, and 'said the sayings, of an ancient man. 
 There was an old principle within him, and a 
 
 young anrfaec without. He 1-ecame an inexpli- 
 cable creature; a breeched and booted Sphinx. 
 There was no course open to the barber but to go 
 distracted himself, or to take Bailey for j| 
 and he wisely chose the latter. 
 
 .Mr. Bailey was good enough to continue to 
 bear him company and to entertain him, as they 
 went, with easy conversation on various sporting 
 topics ; especially on the comparative merits, as a 
 general principle, of horses with whits stockings, 
 and horses without. In regard to the style of 
 tail to be preferred, Mr. Bailey had opinions of 
 his own, which he explained, but begged they 
 might by no means influence his friend, as here 
 lie knew he had the misfortune to differ from 
 some excellent authorities. He treated Mr. Swee- 
 dlcpipe to a dram, compounded agreeably to his 
 own directions, which he informed him had been 
 invented by a member of the Jockey Club; and, 
 as they were by this time near the barber's des- 
 tination, he observed that, as he had an hour to 
 spare, and knew the parties, he would if quite 
 agreeable, be introduced to Mrs. Gamp. 
 
 Paul knocked at Jonas Chuzzlewit's; and, on 
 the door being opened by that lady, made the two 
 distinguished persons known to one another. It 
 was a happy feature in Mrs. Camp's twofold pro- 
 fession, that it gave her an interest in everything 
 that was young as well as in everything that was 
 old. She received Mr. Bailey with much kind- 
 ness. 
 
 " It 's very good, I 'm sure, of you, to come," 
 she said to her landlord, " as well as bring so nice 
 a friend. But I'm afraid that I must trouble yo'i 
 so far as to step in, for the young couple has not 
 yet made appearance." 
 
 44 They're late, ain't they ?" inquired her land- 
 lord, when she had conducted them down stairs 
 into the kitchen. 
 
 44 Well, sir, considerin' the Wings of Love, they 
 arc," said Mrs. Gamp. 
 
 Mr. Bailey inquired whether the Wings of Love 
 had ever won a plate, or could be backed to do 
 anything remarkable; and being informed that it 
 was not a horse, but uiercly a poetical or figura- 
 tive expression, evinced considerable d 
 Mrs. Gamp was so very much astonished by his 
 affable manners and great ease, that she was 
 about to propound to her landlord in a whisper 
 the staggering inquiry, whether he was a man or 
 a boy, when Mr. Sweedlepipe, anticipating her 
 design, made a timely diversion. 
 
 " He knows Mrs. Chuzzlewit," said Paul aloud. 
 
 "There's nothin' he don't know; that's my 
 opinion," observed Mr^ I \11 the wick- 
 
 edness of the world is Print to him." 
 
 Mr. Bailey received this as a compliment, and 
 said, adjusting his cravat, ,4 reether so." 
 
 "As you knows Mrs. I . you knows. 
 
 p'raps, what her chris'en name is?" Mrs. Gamp 
 observed. 
 
 "Charity," said Bailey. 
 
 ■ That it ain't !" cried Mrs. Gamp. 
 
 44 Cherry, then," said Bailey. "Cherry's shon 
 for it. It 's all the same. 
 
 44 It don't begin with a C at all," retorted Mm. 
 Gamp, shaking her head. " It begins with a M." 
 
 " Whew !" cried Mr. Bailey, slapping a little 
 cloud of pipeclay out of his left leg, " then he '■ 
 been and married the merry one !" 
 
168 
 
 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 As these words were mysterious, Mrs. Gamp 
 called upon him to explain, which Mr. Bailey 
 proceeded to do : that lady listening- greedily to 
 everything he said. He was yet in the fulness 
 of his narrative when the sound of wheels, and a 
 double knock at the street door, announced the 
 arrival of the newly-married couple. Begging 
 him to reserve what more he had to say, for her 
 hearing on the way home, Mrs. Gamp took up the 
 candle, and hurried away to receive and welcome 
 the young mistress of the house. 
 
 " Wishing you appiness and joy with all my 
 art," said Mrs. Gamp, dropping a curtsey as they 
 entered the hall; " and you too, sir. Your lady 
 looks a little tired with the journey, Mr. Chuzzle- 
 wit, a pretty dear !" 
 
 44 She has bothered enough about it," grumbled 
 Mr. Jonas. " Now, show a light, will you !" 
 
 44 This way, ma'am, if you please," said Mrs. 
 Gamp, going up-stairs before them. "Tilings 
 has been made as comfortable as they could be ; 
 but there 's many things you '11 have to alter your 
 own self when you gets time to look about you. 
 Ah! sweet thing! But you don't," added Mrs. 
 Gamp, internally, "you don't look much like a 
 merry one, I must say !" 
 
 It was true ; she did not. The death that had 
 gone before the bridal seemed to have left its 
 shade upon the house. The air was heavy and 
 oppressive ; the rooms were dark ; a deep gloom 
 filled up every chink and corner. Upon the 
 hearthstone, like a creature of ill omen, sat the 
 aged clerk, with his eyes fixed on some withered 
 branches in the stove. He rose and looked at 
 her. 
 
 " So there you are, Mr. Chuff," said Jonas, 
 carelessly, as he dusted his boots; "still in the 
 land of the living, eh?" 
 
 14 Still in the land of the living, sir," retorted 
 Mrs. Gamp. " And Mr. Chuffey may thank you 
 for it, as many and many a time I 've told him." 
 
 Mr. Jonas was not in the best of humours, for 
 he merely said, as he looked round, " We don't 
 want you any more, you know, Mrs. Gamp." 
 
 "I'm a going immediate, sir," returned the 
 nurse; " unless there 's nothink I can do for you, 
 ma'am. Ain't there," said Mrs. Gamp, with a 
 look of great sweetness, and rummaging all the 
 time in her pocket ; " ain't there nothink I can 
 do for you, my little bird ?" 
 
 " No," said Merry, almost crying. " You had 
 better go away, please !" 
 
 With a leer of mingled sweetness and slyness; 
 with one eye on the future, one on the bride ; and 
 an arch expression in her face, partly spiritual, 
 partly spirituous, and wholly professional and 
 peculiar to her art ; Mrs. Gamp rummaged in her 
 pocket again, and took from it a printed card, 
 whereon was an inscription copied from her sign- 
 board. 
 
 '• Would you be so good, my darling dovey of 
 u dear young married lady," Mrs. Gamp observ- 
 ed in a low voice, ' 4 as put that somewheres where 
 
 you can keep it in your mind ? I 'm well beknown 
 to many ladies, and it's my card. Gamp is my 
 name, and Gamp my nater. Livin' quite handy, 
 I will make so bold as call in now and then, and 
 make inquiry how your health and, spirits is, my 
 precious chick!" . 
 
 And with innumerable leers, winks, coughs, 
 nods, smiles, and curtsies, all leading to the 
 establishment of a mysterious and confidential 
 understanding between herself and the bride, 
 Mrs. Gamp, invoking a blessing upon the house, 
 leered, winked, coughed, nodded, smiled, and 
 curtsied herself out of the room. 
 
 " But I will say, and I would if I was led a 
 Martha to the Stakes for it," Mrs. Gamp remark- 
 ed, below-stairs, in a whisper, " that she don't 
 look much like a merry one at this present mo- 
 ment of time." 
 
 " Ah ! wait till you hear her laugh !" said 
 Bailey. 
 
 " Hem !" cried Mrs. Gamp, in a kind of groan. 
 " I will, child." 
 
 They said no more in the house, for Mrs. Gamp 
 put on her bonnet, Mr. Sweedlepipe took up her 
 box, and Mr. Bailey accompanied them towards 
 Kingsgate Street; recounting to Mrs. Gamp, as 
 they went along, the origin and progress of his 
 acquaintance with Mrs. Chuzzlewit and her sister. 
 It was a pleasant instance of this youth's pre- 
 cocity, that he fancied Mrs. Gamp had conceived 
 a tenderness for him, and was much tickled by 
 her misplaced attachment. 
 
 As the door closed heavily behind them, Mrs. 
 Jonas sat down in a chair, and felt a strange chill 
 creep upon her, whilst she looked about the room. 
 It was pretty much as she had known it, but ap- 
 peared more drear}\ She had thought to see it 
 brightened to receive her. 
 
 " It ain't good enough for you, I suppose ?" 
 said Jonas, watching her looks. 
 
 " Why, it is dull," said Merry, trying to be 
 more herself. 
 
 " It '11 be duller before you 're done with it," 
 retorted Jonas, "if you give me any of your airs. 
 You 're a nice article, to turn sulky on first com- 
 ing home ! 'Ecod, you used to have life enough, 
 when you could plague me with it. The gal's 
 down stairs. Ring the bell for supper, while I 
 take my boots off!" 
 
 She roused herself from lodging after him as 
 he left the room, to do what he had desired : when 
 the old man Chuffey laid his hand softly on her 
 arm. 
 
 " You are not married ?" he said, eagerly. 
 " Not. married ?" 
 
 " Yes. A month ago. Good Heaven, what is 
 the matter ?" 
 
 He answered, nothing was the matter; and 
 turned from her. But in her fear and wonder, 
 turning also, she saw him raise his trembling 
 hands above his head, and heard him say : 
 
 " Oh ! woe, woe, woe, upon this wicked house !" 
 
 It was her welcome, — HoiME. 
 

 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 
 
 k;d 
 
 CHAPTER XXVIL 
 
 SHOWING THAT OLD FRIENDS MAY NOT ONLY APPEAR WITH NEW 
 FACES, BUT IN FALSE COLOURS. THAT PEOPLE ARE PRONE TO BITE; 
 
 AND THAI Bl \Y SOMETIMES BE BITTEN. 
 
 Mr. JWu.KY,Jonior—f..r the sporting character, ' very often repeated, and the appKstnll at the 
 whilom of general utility at Todgefaa, bad now corner had sustained so many miraculous escapes 
 regularfy set up in lift under that name, without as to appear impregnable, that .Mr. Baft 
 
 troubling himself to obtuin from the legislature a 
 din rt licence in the form of a Private Bill, which 
 of all kinds and classes of bills is without excep- 
 tion the most unreasonable in hs charges — Mr. 
 Bailey, Junior, just tall enough to be seen by an 
 inquiring eye, gazing indolently at society from 
 beneath the apron of hip master's cab, drove slowly 
 up and down Pall Mall about the hour of noon, in 
 waiting for his u Governor." The horse of dis- 
 tingttished family, who had Capricorn for his 
 nephew, and Cauliflower for his brother, showed 
 himself worthy of his high relations by champing 
 
 summoned to the door of a certain house in Pall 
 Mall, and turning short, obeyed the can* and 
 jumped out. It was not until he l>ad held the 
 bridle for some minutes longer, every jerk of 
 Cauliflower's brother's head, and'every twitch of 
 Cauliflower's brother's nostril, taking bin off his 
 legs in the meanwhile, that two persons - 
 the vehicle, one of whom took the reiri9 and drove 
 rapidly off. Nor was it until Mr. Bailey had run 
 after it some hundreds of yards in vain, that he 
 managed to lift his short leg into the iron step, 
 and finally to get his boots upon the little foot- 
 
 at the bit until his chest was white with foam,] board behind. Then, indeed, he became a sight 
 and rearing like a hoise in heraldry; the plated; to see: and — standing now on one foot and now 
 harness and the patent leather glittered in the sun ; upon the other ; now trying to look round the cab 
 pedestrians admired ; -Mr. Bailey was complacent, on this side, now on that; and now endeavouring 
 but unmoved. He seemed to say, " A barrow, to peep over the top of it, as it went dashing in 
 good people, a mere harrow ; nothing to what we ' among the carts and coaches — was from head to 
 could do, if wc chose 1" and on he went, squaring heel Newmarket. 
 
 his short green arms outside the apron, as if he j The appearance of Mr. Bailey's governor as he 
 were hooked on to if by his armpits. j drove along, fully justified that enthusiastic youth's 
 
 Mr. Bailey had a great opinion of Brother to description of him to the wondering Poll. He had 
 Cauliflower, and estimated his powers highly, a world of jet-black shining hair upon his head, 
 But he never told him so. On the contrary, it upon his checks, upon his chin, upon his upper 
 was his practice, in driving that animal, to assail lip. His clothes, symmetrically made, were of 
 
 him with disrespectful, if not injurious, expres- 
 sions, as, " Ah ! would you !" " Did you think it 
 then?" M Where are you going to now ?" "No 
 you won't, my lad !" and similar fragmentary 
 remarks. These being usually accompanied by a 
 jerk of the rein, or a crack of the whip, led to 
 many trials of slicngth between them, and to 
 many contentions for the upper hand, terminat- 
 ing, now and then, in china-shops, and other 
 
 the newest fashion and the costliest kind. Flowers 
 of gold and blue, and green and blushing red, 
 were on his waistcoat; precious chains and Je well 
 sparkled on his breast; his fingers, clogged with 
 brilliant rings, were as unwieldy as summer flies 
 but newly rescued from a honey-pot The day- 
 light mantled in his gleaming hat and boots as in 
 a polished glass. And yet, though changed his 
 name, and changed his outward surface, it was 
 
 1 goals, as Mr. Bailey had already hinted; Tigg. Though turned and twisted upside down, 
 to his friend Pol] Sweedlepipe. and inside out, as great mon have been sometimes 
 On the present occasion Mr. Bailey, being in known to be; though no longer Montague Tigg, 
 spirits, was more than commonly hard upon his but Tigg Montague; strll it was Tigg: the s&^e 
 charge; in consequence of which that fiery ani- Satanic, gallant, military Tigg. The brass was 
 m ;! confined himself almost entirely to his hind burnished, lacquered, newly-stamped; yet it was 
 legs in displaying his paces, and constantly got the true Tigg metal notwithstanding, 
 himself into positions with reference to the cabrio- Beside him sat a smiling gentleman, of less 
 let that very much amazed the passengers in the pretensions and of business looks, whom he ad- 
 street. But Mr. Bailey, not at all disturbed, had dressed as David. Surely not the David of the— 
 still a shower of pleasantries to bestow on any how shall it be phrased? — the triumvirate of 
 one who crossed his path: as calling to a full- golden balls? Not David, tapater at the Lorn- 
 grown coalheavcr in a wagon, who for a moment bards' Arms? Yea. The very man. 
 blocked the , young 'un, who trusted "The secretary's aalary, David/' said Mr. 
 you with • oirt '" inquiring of elderly ladies who Montague, "the office being now established, is 
 wanted to tvu.*, and ran back again, " Why they eight hundred pounds per annum, with his 
 didn't go to the workhouse and get an order to bo house-rent, coals, and candle* free. His five- 
 buried;" tempting boys, with friendly words, to and-twenty shares he holds, of course. Is that 
 
 get up^ behind, and imrin diately afterwards catting 
 them down: and the like flashes of a cheerful 
 humour, which ho would occasionally relit vc In- 
 going round Si. James's Square at a hand gallop, 
 and coming slowly into Pall Mall by another 
 entry, as if, in the interval, his pace had been a 
 perfect crawl. 
 
 It was not until these amusements had been 
 23 
 
 enough ?" 
 
 David smiled and nodded, and coughed behind 
 a little looked portfolio which he carried ; with an 
 air thu,t proclaimed him to be the secretary in 
 question. 
 
 "If that's enough,'* said Montague, "I will 
 propose it at the Board to-day, in my capacity as 
 chairman." 
 
170 
 
 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 The secretary smiled again; laughed, indeed, 
 this time ; and said, rubbing his nose slyly with 
 one end of the portfolio : 
 
 "It was a capital thought, wasn't it?" 
 
 "What was a capital thought, David?" Mr. 
 Montague inquired. 
 
 " The Anglo-Bengalee," tittered the secretary. 
 
 " The Anglo-Bengalee Disinterested Loan and 
 Life Insurance Company, is rather a capital con- 
 cern, 1 hope, David," said Montague. 
 
 "Capital, indeed!" cried the secretary, with 
 another laugh — " in one sense." 
 
 " In the oidy important one," observed the chair- 
 man ; " which is number one, David." 
 
 " What," asked the secretary, bursting into 
 another laugh, " what will be the paid up capital 
 according to the next prospectus ?" 
 
 "A figure of two, and as many oughts after it 
 as the printer can get into the same line," replied 
 his friend. " Ha, ha !" 
 
 At this they both laughed ; the secretary so 
 vehemently, that in kicking up his feet, he kicked 
 the apron open, and nearly started Cauliflower's 
 brother into an oyster-shop ; not to mention Mr. 
 Bailey's receiving such a sudden swing, that he 
 held on for the moment, quite a young Fame, by 
 one strap and no legs. 
 
 " What a chap you are !" exclaimed David ad- 
 miringly, when this little alarm had subsided. 
 
 " Say genius, David, genius." 
 
 " Well, upon my soul, you are a genius then," 
 said David. " I always knew you had the gift 
 of the gab, of course; but I never believed you 
 were half the man you are. How could I ?" 
 
 " I rise with circumstances, David. That's a 
 point of genius in itself," said Tigg. " If you 
 were to lose a hundred pound wager to me at this 
 minute, David, and were to pay it (which is most 
 confoundedly improbable), I should rise, in a 
 mental point of view, directly." 
 
 It is due to Mr. Tigg to say that he had really 
 risen with his opportunities ; and peculating on a 
 grander scale, had become a grander man, alto- 
 gether. 
 
 "* Ha, ha," cried the secretary, laying his hand, 
 with growing familiarity, upon the chairman's 
 arm. "When 1 look at you, and think of your 
 property in Bengal being — ha, ha, ha! — " 
 
 The half-expressed idea seemed no less ludic- 
 rous to Mr. Tigg than to his friend, for he laughed 
 too, heartily. 
 
 " — Being," resumed David, "being amenable 
 •*— your properly in Bengal being amenable — to 
 all claims upon the company : when I look at you 
 and think of that, you might tickle me into fits 
 by waving the feather of a pen at me. Upon my 
 soul you might !" 
 
 " It 's a devilish fine property," said Tigg Mon- 
 tague, "to be amenable to any claims. The pre- 
 serve of tigers alone is worth a mint of money, 
 David." 
 
 David could only reply in the intervals of his 
 laughter, "Oh, what a chap you are!" and so 
 continued to laugh, and hold his sides, and wipe 
 his eyes, for some time, without offering any other 
 observation. 
 
 "A capital idea?" said Tigg, returning after a 
 lime to his companion's first remark: "no doubt 
 it was a capital idea. It was my idea." 
 
 k ' No, no. It was my idea," said David. " Hang 
 
 I it, let a man have some credit. Didn't I say tc 
 you that I 'd saved a few pounds ? — " 
 
 " You said ! Didn't I say to ycu," interposed 
 Tigg, " that / had come into a few pounds ?" 
 
 " Certainly you did," returned David, warmlj , 
 "but that's not the idea. Who said, that if we 
 put the money together we could furnish an offio, 
 and make a show ?" 
 
 " And who said," retorted Mr. Tigg, " that, pro- 
 viding we did it on a sufficiently large s*ile, we 
 could furnish an office and make a show, without 
 any money at all? Be rational, and just, a- id 
 calm, and tell me whose idea was that." 
 
 " Why there," David was obliged to confess, 
 "you had the advantage of me, I admit. Bui I 
 don't put myself on a level with you. I only 
 want a little credit in the business." 
 
 " All the credit you deserve, you have," said 
 Tigg. "The plain work of the company, David 
 — figures, books, circulars, advertisements, ] en, 
 ink and paper, sealing-wax and wafers — is ad- 
 mirably done by you. You are a first-rate gro- 
 veller. I don't dispute it. But the ornamental 
 department, David ; the inventive and poetical de- 
 partment — " 
 
 " Is entirely yours," said his friend. " No r ues- 
 tion of it. But with such a swell turn-out as this, 
 and all the handsome things you've got { bout 
 you, and the life you lead, I mean to say it 's a 
 precious comfortable department too." 
 
 " Does it gain the purpose ? Is it Anglo Ben- 
 galee?" asked Tigg. 
 
 " Yes," said David. 
 
 •' Cquld you undertake it yourself?" dem inded 
 Tigg. 
 
 "No," said David. 
 
 " Ha, ha !" laughed Tigg. " Then be cor tented 
 with your station and your profits, David, my fine 
 fellow, and bless the day that made us acqi ainted 
 across the counter of our common uncle, for it 
 was a golden day to you." 
 
 It will have been already gathered fr »m f the 
 conversation of these worthies, that they were 
 embarked in an enterprise of some magnitude, in 
 which they addressed the public in gener il from 
 the strong position of having everything to gain, 
 and nothing at all to lose ; and which, based upon 
 this great principle, w T as thriving pretty comfort- 
 ably. 
 
 The Anglo-Bengalee Disinterested L)an and 
 Life Insurance Company, started into existence 
 one morning, not an Infant Institution, but a 
 Grown-up Company running alone at a great 
 pace, and doing business right and left : with a 
 " branch" in a first floor over a tailor's at the west- 
 end of the town, and main offices in a new street 
 in the city, comprising the upper part of a spa- 
 cious house, resplendent in stucco and plate-glass, 
 with wire blinds in all the windows, and "Anglo- 
 Bengalee" worked into the pattern of every one 
 of them. On the door-post was painted again in 
 large letters, "Offices of the Anglo-Bengalee Dis- 
 interested Loan and Life Insurance Company," 
 and on the door was a large brass plate with the 
 same inscription : always kept very bright, as 
 courting inquiry; staring the city out of counte- 
 nance after office-hours on working d.iys, and all 
 day long on Sundays ; and looking bolder than the 
 Bank. Within, the offices were newly plastered, 
 newly painted, newly papered, newU countered 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 
 
 171 
 
 newly floor.clothcd, newly tabled, newly chaired, 
 newly fittcd-up in every way, with goods that 
 were substantial and expensive, and designed (like 
 the company) to last. Business! Look at the 
 green ledger* with red b ■ tvpog cricket- 
 
 halls beaten Hat; the ceort-gqidea, directories, flay. 
 books, a I man acka, I- tti r 00X0*1 w< i^hing-machines 
 lor Idlers, rows of fire-buckets for dashing out a 
 
 ration in its first ■park, and saving the 
 
 M wealth iu notes and bonds belo: 
 the oompanj ; look at tin- iron sails, the clock, tin- 
 office seal — in its eapaojoOa self, security for any- 
 thing. Solidity ! Look at the massive blocks of 
 marble in the chimney-pieces, and the gorgeous 
 parapet <m the (up of the house ! Publicity! Why, 
 Anglo-Bengalee Disinterested Loan and Life In- 
 surance Company, is painted on the very coal- 
 scuttles. It is repeated at every turn until the 
 eyes are dazzled with it, and the head is giddy. 
 It is ettgrai e d upon the top of all the letter-paper, 
 and it makes a scroll-work round the seal, and it 
 shines out of the porter's buttons, and it is repeat* 
 cd twenty times in every circular and public no- 
 tice wherein one David Crimple, Esquire, Secre- 
 tary and resident Director, takes the liberty of 
 inviting your attention to the accompanying state- 
 ment of the advantages offered by the Anglo- 
 Bengalee Disinterested Loan and Life Insurance 
 Company : and fully proves to you that any con- 
 nection on your part with that establishment must 
 result in a perpetual Christmas Box and constant- 
 ly increasing Bonne to yourself, and that nobody 
 can run any risk by the transaction except the 
 office, which, in its great liberality, is pretty sure 
 to lose. And this, David Crimple, Esquire, sub- 
 mits to you (and the odds are heavy you believe 
 him), is the best guarantee that can reasonably be 
 suggested by the Board of Management for its 
 permanence and stability. 
 
 This gentleman's name, by the way, had been 
 originally Crimp; but as the word was suscepti- 
 ble of an awkward construction and might be 
 Misrepresented, he had altered it to Crimple. 
 
 Lest with all these proofs and confirmations, 
 any man should be suspicious of the Anglo-Ben- 
 Disiatefeated Loan and Life Insurance 
 Company; should doubt in tiger, cab, or person, 
 roe Esquire (of Pall Mall and Ben- 
 gal) or any other name in the imaginative List 
 of Directors ; there was a porter on the premises 
 - -a wonderful creature, in a vast red v. 
 and a short-tailed pepper-and-salt coat — who car- 
 ried rnnrc COBvfetfOO to the minds of sceptics than 
 tlM whole establishment without him. No confi- 
 dences existed bet we en bin. and the Directorship; 
 nobody knew where he had served last; no cha- 
 racter or explanation bad been given or required 
 No questions had I" n either side. This 
 
 mysterious being, relying solely on his figure, had 
 a, plied for the situation, and had been instantly 
 d on his own t< rms. They were high; 
 b t lie nan could carry 
 
 such an extent of waisteoat as himself, and felt 
 the full value of his capacity to such an instil. i. 
 t« n. 'A bi tor him 
 
 ir a corner of the omoe. with maglaaed hit hang. 
 
 . I uns rmpoi 
 doaht tin; respectabtlitf of the concern. It went 
 on doubling itself with < hwh of his 
 
 re l waistcoat until, like the problem of the nails 
 
 in the horse's shoes, the total became enormous. 
 People had been known to apply to effect an in- 
 snranre on their lives for a thousand pounds, and 
 looking at him, to beg, before the form of propo- 
 sal Was filled up, that it might be made two. And 
 yet he was not a giant Hia coat was rather 
 small than otherwise. The whole charm was in 
 his waistcoat Respectability, competence, pro- 
 l>erty iu Bengal or anywhere else, responsibility 
 to any amount on the part of the company that 
 employed him, were all expressed in that one gar- 
 ment 
 
 Rival offices had endeavoured to lore him 
 away ; Lombard-street itself had beckoned to him: 
 rich companies had whispered, u Be a Beadle!" 
 but he still continued faithful to the Anglo- Bengt- 
 lea, Whether he was a deep rogue, or a stately 
 simpleton, it was impossible to make out, but he 
 appeared to believe in the Anglo- Bengal 
 was grave with imaginary cares of office; and 
 having nothing whatever to do, and something 
 less to take care of, would look as if the pressure 
 of his numerous duties, and a sense of the treasure 
 in the company's strong-room, made him" a solemn 
 and a thoughtful man. 
 
 As the cabriolet drove up to the door, this offi- 
 cer appeared bare-headed on'the pavement crying 
 aloud " Room for the chairman, room for the 
 chairman, if you please!" much to the admira- 
 tion of the by-standers, who, it is needless to say, 
 had their attention directed to the Anglo- Bengalee 
 Company thenceforth, by that means. Mr. Tigg 
 leaped gracefully out, followed by the Managing 
 Director (who was by this time very distant and 
 respectful), and ascended the 6tairs, still preceded 
 by the porter : who cried as he went, " By your 
 leave there ! by your leave ! The chairman of the 
 Board, Gentle — men !" In like manner, but in a 
 still more stenlorian voice, he ushered the chair- 
 man through the public office, where some hum- 
 ble clients were transacting business, into an 
 awful chamber, labelled Board-room : the door of 
 which sanctuary immediately closed, and screened 
 the great capitalist from vulgar- eyes. 
 
 The board-room had a Turkey carpet in it a 
 sideboard, a portrait of Tigg Montague Esquire 
 as chairman; a very imposing chair of office, 
 garnished with an ivory hammer and a little 
 hand-bell; and a long table, set out at intervals 
 with sheets of blotting-paper, foolscap, clean [>cns, 
 and inkstands. The chairman having taken his 
 seat with great solemnity, the secretary supported 
 him on his right hand, and the porter stood bolt 
 upright behind them, forming a warm back 
 groand of waistcoat. This was tho board : every 
 thing else being a light-hearted little fiction. 
 
 " Hullnnv!" said Mr. Tigg. 
 
 "Sir!" replied the Porter. 
 
 " Let the M- .lie il Officer know, with my com 
 pliments, that I wish to see him." 
 
 Bullamy cleared his throat, and bustled out int.* 
 a, crying "The Chairman of the Board 
 wishes to see the Medical Office*. By your leave 
 there! b I 1 <*>n returned with 
 
 the gentleman in question ; and at both openings 
 of the board-room door — at his coming in and at 
 his going out — simple clients were teen m ktretch 
 their neeks and stand upon their toes, thirsting to 
 catch the slightest glimpse of that mysterious 
 ehambcr. 
 
i72 
 
 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 "Jobling, my dear friend!" said Mr. Tigg, 
 M how are you ? Bullamy, wait outside. Crimple, 
 don't leave us. Jobling, my good fellow, I am 
 glad to see you." 
 
 "And how are you, Mr. Montague, eh ?" said 
 the Medical Officer, throwing himselfluxuriously 
 into an easy chair (they were all easy chairs in 
 the board-room), and taking a handsome gold 
 snuffbox from the pocket of his black satin waist- 
 coat. " How are you ? A little worn with busi- 
 ness, eh ? If so, rest. A little feverish from 
 wine, humph ? If so, water. Nothing at all the 
 matter, and quite comfortable ? Then take some 
 lunch. A very wholesome thing at this time of 
 day to strengthen the gastric juices with lunch, 
 Mr. Montague." 
 
 The medical officer (he was the same medical 
 officer who had followed poor old Anthony Chuz- 
 zlewit to the grave, and who had attended Mrs. 
 Gamp's patient at the Bull) smiled in saying these 
 words ; and casually added, as he brushed some 
 grains of snuff from his shirt-frill, " I always take 
 it myself about this time of da}', do you know !" 
 
 " Bullamy !" said the chairman, ringing the 
 little bell. 
 
 " Sir !" 
 
 « Lunch." 
 
 " Not on my account, I hope ?" said the doctor. 
 'You are very good. Thank you. I'm quite 
 ashamed. Ha, ha ! if I had been a sharp practi- 
 tioner, Mr. Montague, I shouldn't have mentioned 
 it without a fee ; for you may depend upon it, my 
 dear si-r, that if you don't make a point of taking 
 lunch, you '11 very soon come under my hands. 
 Allow me to illustrate this. In Mr. Crimple's 
 leg—" 
 
 The resident Director gave an involuntary 
 start, for the Doctor, in the heat of his demonstra- 
 tion, caught it up and laid it across his own, as 
 if he were going to take it off, then and there. 
 
 " In Mr. Crimple's leg, you '11 observe," pur- 
 sued the Doctor, turning back his cuffs and span- 
 ning the limb with both hands, " where Mr. 
 Crimple's knee fits into the socket, here, there is 
 — that is to saj, between the bone and the socket 
 --a certain quantity of animal oil." 
 
 u What do you pick my leg out for ?" said Mr. 
 Crimple, looking with something of an anxious 
 expression at his limb. " It 's the same with 
 other legs, ain't it ?" 
 
 " Never you mind, my good sir," returned the 
 Doctor, shaking his head, " whether it is the 
 same with other legs, or not the same." 
 
 " But I do mind," said David. 
 
 44 1 take a particular case, Mr. Montague," re- 
 turned the Doctor, "as illustrating my remark, 
 you observe. In this portion of Mr. Crimple's 
 leg, sir, there is a certain amount of animal oil. 
 In every one of Mr. Crimple's joints, sir, there is 
 more or less of the same deposit. Very good. If 
 Mr. Crimple neglects his meals, or fails to take 
 his proper quantity of rest, that oil wanes, and 
 becomes exhausted. What is the consequence'' 
 Mr. Crimple's bones sink down into their sockets, 
 tsir, and Mr. Crimple becomes a weazen, puny, 
 stunted, miserable man !" 
 
 The Doctor let Mr. Crimple's leg fall suddenly, 
 as if he were already in that agreeable condition: 
 turned down his wristbands again, and looked 
 triumphantly at the chairman. 
 
 " We know a few secrets of nature in our p.m. 
 fcssion, sir," said the Doctor. "Of course we do. 
 We study for that ; we pass the Hall and the 
 College for that ; and we take our station in so- 
 ciety by that. It 's extraordinary how little is 
 known on these subjects generally. Where do 
 you suppose, now" — the doctor closed one eye, as 
 he leaned back smilingly in his chair, and formed 
 a triangle with his hands, of which his two thumbs 
 composed the base — " where do you suppose Mr. 
 Crimple's stomach is ?" 
 
 Mr. Crimple, more agitated than before, clapped 
 his hand immediately below his waistcoat. 
 
 " Not at all," cried the Doctor ; " not at alL 
 Quite a popular mistake ! My good sir, you 're 
 altogether deceived." 
 
 " I feel it there, when it 's out of order ; that 's 
 all I know," said Crimple. 
 
 " You think you do," replied the Doctor ; " but 
 scienee knows better. There was a patient of 
 mine once," touching one of the many mourning 
 rings upon his fingers, and slightly bowing his 
 head, " a gentleman who did me the honour to 
 make a very handsome mention of me in his will 
 — ' in testimony,' as he was pleased to say, ' of the 
 unremitted zeal, talent, and attention of my friend 
 and medical attendant, John Jobling, Esquire, 
 M.R.C.S.' — who was so overcome by the idea of 
 having all his life laboured under an erroneous 
 view of the locality of this important organ, that 
 when I assured him, on my professional reputa- 
 tion, he was mistaken, he burst into tears, put out 
 his hand, and said, 'Jobling, God bless you!' 
 Immediately afterwards he became speechless, 
 and was ultimately buried at Brixton." 
 
 " By your leave there !" cried Bullamy, without. 
 " By your leave ! refreshment for the Board-room !" 
 
 " Ha !" said the doctor, jocularly, as he rubbed 
 his hands, and drew his chair nearer to the table. 
 "The true Life Insurance, Mr. Montague. The 
 best Policy in the world, my dear sir. We should 
 be provident, and eat and drink whenever we can. 
 Eh, Mr. Crimple ?" 
 
 The resident Director acquiesced rather sulkily, 
 as if the gratification of replenishing his stomach 
 had been impaired by the unsettlement of his 
 preconceived opinions fn reference to its situa- 
 tion. But the appearance of the porter and under 
 porter with a tray covered with a snow-white 
 cloth, which, being thrown back, displayed a pair 
 of cold roast fowls, flanked by some potted meats 
 and a cool salad, quickly restored his good hu- 
 mour. It was enhanced still further by the arrival 
 of a bottle of excellent Madeira, and another of 
 champagne j and he soon attacked the repast with 
 an appetite scarcely inferior to that of the medical 
 officer. 
 
 The lunch was handsomely served, w T ith a pro- 
 fusion of rich glass, plate, and china; which 
 seemed to denote that eating and drinking on a 
 showy scale formed no unimportant item m the 
 business of the Anglo- Bengalee Directorship. As 
 it proceeded, the medical officer grew more and 
 more joyous and red-faced, insomuch that every 
 mouthful he ate, and every drop of wine he swal- 
 lowed, seemed to impart new lustre to his eyes, 
 and to light up new sparks in his nose and fo e- 
 head. 
 
 In certain quarters of the city and its neigh, 
 bourhood, Mr. Jobling was, as we have already 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 
 
 173 
 
 wen in some moasure, a very popular character. 
 He had a portentously sagacious chin, and a 
 pompous voice, with a rich husk mess in some of 
 its tones that went directly to the heart, liko a 
 ray of light shining through the ruddy medium 
 Of choice old IniriMindv. His neck-kerchief and 
 shirt-t'riil were ever ot the whitest, his clothes of 
 the blackest and sleekest, his gold watch-chain 
 Of the heaviest, and his seals of the largest* His 
 boots* which were always of the brightest, creaked 
 fts he walked. Perhaps he could shake his head, 
 rub his hands, or warm himself before a fire, better 
 lhan any man alive; and he had a peculiar way 
 »f smacking his lips and saying, " Ah!" at intcr- 
 "nls while patients detailed their symptoms, 
 vhich inspired great confidence. It Beemed to 
 express, "I know what you're going to say better 
 than you do; but go on, go on." As he talked on 
 all occasions whether he had anything to say or 
 not, it was unanimously observed of him that he 
 was " full of anecdote ;" and his experience and 
 profit from it were considered, for the same rea- 
 son, to be something much too extensive for de- 
 scription. His female patients could never praise 
 him too highly ; and the coldest of his male ad- 
 mirers would always say this for him to their 
 friends, " that whatever Jobling's professional 
 skill might be (and it could not be denied that he 
 had a very high reputation), he was one of the 
 most comfortable fellows you ever saw in your 
 life !" 
 
 Jobling was for many reasons, and not last in 
 the list because his connection lay principally 
 among tradesmen and their families, exactly the 
 sort of person whom the Anglo- Bengalee company 
 wanted for a medical officer. But Jobling was 
 far too knowing to connect himself with the com- 
 pany in any closer ties than as a paid (and well- 
 paid) functionary, or to allow his connection to 
 be misunderstood abroad, if he could help it. 
 Hence he always stated the case to an inquiring 
 patient, after this manner: 
 
 " Why, my dear sir, with regard to the Anglo- 
 Bengalee, my information, you see, is limited : 
 very limited. I am the medical officer, in consid- 
 eration of a certain monthly payment The la- 
 bourer is worthy of his hire ; Bit dot qui cito dat" 
 — (" classical scholar Jobling .* thinks the pa- 
 tient, " Well read man !") — " and I receive it reg- 
 ularly. Therefore I am bound, as far as my 
 knowledge goes, to speak well of the establish- 
 ment." (" Nothing can be fairer than Jobling's 
 conduct," thinks the patient, who has just paid 
 Jobling's hill himself.) " If you put any question 
 to me, my dear friend," says the doctor, " touch- 
 ing the responsibility or capital of the company, 
 theie I am at fault ; for I have no head for figures, 
 and not being a shareholder, am delicate of show- 
 ing any curiosity whatever on the subject. Deli- 
 cacy — your amiable lady will agree with me I am 
 sure — should be one of the first characteristics of 
 a medical man." (" Nothing can be finer or more 
 genii, manly lhan Jobling's feeling," thinks the 
 patient.) " Very good, my dear sir, so the matter 
 standi*. Vofedoai know Mr. Montague? I'm 
 sorry for it. A remarkubly handsome man, ami 
 quite the gOotkknOJI in every respect. Property, 
 1 am told, in India. House, and everything be- 
 longing to him, beautiful. Costly furniture oo the 
 most elegant and lavish scale. And pictures, 
 
 which, even in an anatomical point of view, are 
 per — fection. In case you should ever think of 
 doing anything with the company, I '11 pass you, 
 y depend upon it. I can conscientiously 
 report you a healthy subject If I understand 
 any man's constitution, it is yours; and this little 
 indisposition has done him more g> 
 says the doctor, turning to the patient's wife, 
 44 than if he had swallowed the contents of half 
 the nonsensical bottles in my surgery. For they 
 are nonsense — to tell the honest truth, one half 
 of them are nonsense — compared with such a con- 
 stitution as his !" — (" Jobling is the most friendly 
 creature I ever met with in my life," thinks the 
 patient; "and upon my word and honour, I'll 
 consider of it !") 
 
 "Commission to you, Doctor, on four new poli- 
 cies, and a loan this morning, eh?" said Crimple 
 looking, when they had finished lunch, over some 
 papers brought in by the porter. " Well done !" 
 
 " Jobling, my dear friend," said Tigg, " long 
 life to you." 
 
 44 No, no. Nonsense. Upon my word I 've no 
 right to draw the commission," said the doctor, 
 44 1 haven't really. It 's picking your pocket I 
 don't recommend anybody here. I only say what 
 I know. My patients ask me what I know, and 
 I tell 'em what I know. Nothing else. Caution 
 is my weak side, that's the truth; and always 
 was from a boy. That is," said the doctor, filling 
 his glass, " caution in behalf of other people. 
 Whether I would repose confidence in this com- 
 pany myself, if I had not been paying money 
 elsewhere for many years — that's quite another 
 question." 
 
 He tried to look as if there were no doubt about 
 it ; but feeling that he did it but indifferently, 
 changed the theme, and praised the wine. 
 
 "Talking of wine," said the doctor, "reminds 
 me of one of the finest glasses of old light port I 
 ever drank in my life ; and that was at a funeral. 
 You have not seen anythiug of — of that party, 
 Mr. Montague, have you ?" handing him a card. 
 
 44 He is not buried, I hope ?" said Tigg, as he 
 took it " The honour of his company is not re- 
 quested if he is." 
 
 44 Ha, ha !" laughed the doctor. " No ; not 
 quite. He was honourably connected with that 
 very occasion though." 
 
 " Oh !" said Tigg, smoothing his moustache, 
 as he cast his eyes upon the name. " I recollect 
 No. He has not been here." 
 
 The words were on his lips, when Bullamy en- 
 tered, and presented a card to the Medical Offi- 
 cer. 
 
 44 Talk of the what 'a his name—" observed the 
 doctor, rising. 
 
 " And he's sure to appear, eh?" said Tigg. 
 
 " Why, no, Mr. Montague, no," returned the 
 Doctor. " We will not say that in the present 
 case, for this gentleman is very far front it" 
 
 much tho better," retorted Tlftt 
 
 much the more adaptable to the Anglo-Bengalee. 
 
 Bullamy, clear tho table and take the things out 
 
 by the other door. Mr. Crimple, business." 
 
 ill I introduce him?" asked Jobling. 
 
 44 1 shall be eternally delighted,* 1 answered Tigg, 
 _, r his hand and smiling sweetly. 
 deetOf dis.ip|H.ared into the outer office, 
 and immediately returned with Jonas Cunzzlewit 
 
174 
 
 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 ""Mr. Montague," said Jobling. * Allow me. 
 My friend Mr. Chuzzlewit. My dear friend — our 
 chairman. Now do you know," he added, check- 
 ing himself with infinite policy, and looking 
 round with a smile: "that's a very singular in- 
 stance of the force of example. It really is a 
 very remarkable instance of the force of example. 
 I say ovr chairman. Why do I say our chair- 
 man ? Because he is not my chairman, you know. 
 I have no connection with the company, farther 
 than giving them, for a certain fee and reward, 
 my poor opinion as a medical man, precisely as I 
 may give it any day to Jack Noakes or Tom 
 Styles. Then why do I say our chairman ? Sim- 
 ply because I hear the phrase constantly repeated 
 about me. Such is the involuntary operation of 
 the mental faculty in the imitative biped man. 
 Mr. Crimple, I believe you never take snuff? In- 
 judicious. You should." 
 
 Pending these remarks on the part of the doc- 
 tor, and the lengthened and sonorous pinch with 
 which he followed them up, Jonas took a seat at 
 the board : as ungainly a man as ever he has been 
 within the reader's knowledge. It is too common 
 with all of us, but it is especially in the nature of 
 a mean mind, to be overawed by fine clothes and 
 fine furniture. They had a very decided influ- 
 ence on Jonas. 
 
 " Now you two gentlemen have business to dis- 
 cuss, I know," said the doctor, " and your time 
 is precious. So is mine ; for several lives are 
 waiting for me in the next room, and I have a 
 round of visits to make after — after I have taken 
 'era. Having had the happiness to introduce you 
 to each other, I may go about my business. Good 
 bye. But allow me, Mr. Montague, before I go, 
 to say this of my friend who sits beside you : — 
 That gentleman has done more, sir," rapping his 
 snuff-box solemnly, ''to reconcile me to human 
 nature, than any man alive or dead. Good bye !" 
 
 With these words Jobling bolted abruptly out 
 of the room, and proceeded, in his own official 
 department, to impress the lives in waiting with 
 a sense of his keen conscientiousness in the dis- 
 charge of his duty, and the great difficulty of get- 
 ting into the Anglo-Bengalee; by feeling their 
 pulses, looking at their tongues, listening at their 
 ribs, poking them in the chest, and so forth ; 
 though, if he didn't well know beforehand that 
 whatever kind of lives they were, the Anglo-Ben- 
 galee would accept them readily, he was far from 
 being the Jobling that his friends considered him^ 
 and was not the original Jobling, but a spurious 
 imitation. 
 
 Mr. Crimple also departed on the business of 
 the morning, and Jonas Chuzzlewit and Tigg 
 were left alone. 
 
 ** I learn from our friend," said Tigg, drawing 
 his chair towards Jonas with a winning ease of 
 manner, "that you have been thinking " 
 
 "Ohl Ecod then he'd no right to say so," 
 cfted Jonas, interrupting. w I didn't tell him my 
 thoughts. If he took it into his head that I was 
 coming here for such or such a purpose, why, 
 that's his look-out. I don't stand committed by 
 that." 
 
 Jonas said this offensively enough, for over and 
 above the habitual distrust of his character, it was 
 \n his nature to seek to revenge himself on the 
 fine clothes and the fine furniture, in exact pro- 
 
 portion as he had been unable to withstand their 
 influence 
 
 " If I come here to ask a question or two, and 
 get a document or two to consider of, I don't bind 
 myself to anything. Let's understand that, you 
 know," said Jonas. 
 
 " My dear fellow !" cried Tigg, clapping him on 
 the shoulder, " I applaud your frankness. If men 
 like you and I speak openly at first, all possible 
 misunderstanding is avoided. Why should I dis- 
 guise what you know so well, but what the crowd 
 never dream of? We companies are all birds of 
 prey — mere birds of prey. The only question is, 
 whether in serving our own turn, we can serve 
 yours too ; whether in double-lining our own nest, 
 we can put a single lining into yours. Oh, you're 
 in our secret. You're behind the scenes. We'll 
 make a merit of dealing plainly with you, when 
 we know we can't help it." 
 
 It was remarked, on the first introduction of 
 Mr. Jonas into these pages, that there is a simpli- 
 city of cunning, no less than a simplicity of inno- 
 cence, and that in all matters involving a faith in 
 knavery, he was the most credulous of men. If 
 Mr. Tigg had preferred any claim to high and 
 honourable dealing, Jonas would have suspected 
 him though he had been a very model of probity ; 
 but when he gave utterance to Jonas's own 
 thoughts of everything and everybody, Jonas be- 
 gan to feel that he was a pleasant fellow, and one 
 to be talked to freely. 
 
 He changed his position in the chair, not for a 
 less awkward, but for a more boastful attitude ; 
 and, smiling in his miserable conceit, rejoined : 
 
 "You an't a bad man of business, Mr. Monta- 
 gue. You know how to set about it, I will say." 
 
 " Tut, tut," said Tigg, nodding confidentially, 
 and showing his white teeth ; " we are not chil- 
 dren, Mr. Chuzzlewit; we are grown men, I 
 hope." 
 
 Jonas assented, and said, after a short silence, 
 first spreading out his legs, and sticking one arm 
 a-kimbo to show how perfectly at home he was, 
 
 " The truth is " 
 
 " Don't say the truth," interposed Tigg, with 
 another grin. " It's so like humbug." 
 
 Greatly charmed by this, Jonas began again. 
 
 "The long and the short of it is — " 
 
 " Better," muttered Tigg. " Much better !" 
 
 " — That I didn't consider myself very well 
 used by one or two of the old companies in some 
 negotiations I have had with 'em — once had, I 
 mean. They started objections they had no right 
 to start, and put questions they had no right to 
 put, and carried things much too high for my 
 taste." 
 
 As he made these observations, he cast down 
 his eyes, and looked curiously at the carpet. Mr. 
 Tigg looked curiously at him. 
 
 He made so long a pause, that Tigg came to 
 the rescue, and said in his pleasantest manner : 
 
 " Take a glass of wine ?" 
 
 " No, no," returned Jonas, with a cunning shake 
 of the head ; " none of that, thankee. No wine 
 over business. All very well for you, but it 
 wouldn't.do for me." 
 
 "What an old hand you are, Mr. Chuzzlewit !" 
 said Tigg, leaning back in his chair, and leering 
 at him through his half-shut eyes. 
 
 Jonas shook his head again, as much as to say 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEVVIT. 
 
 17& 
 
 44 You 're right there ;" and then resumed jo- 
 ' : 
 
 such an old hand, cither, but that I *vc 
 been and got married. That's rather green, you '11 
 ■ay. Peruana it in, especially as she 's young. 
 But one never knows what may hap 
 women, 10 1 'm thinking of insuring her life. It 
 is but fair, you know, that a man should secure 
 some consolation in case of meeting with such a 
 loss." 
 
 •*If anything can console him under such heart- 
 breaking 1 1; i -n instances," murmured Tigg, with 
 his eyes shut up as before. 
 
 tly," returned Jonas; " if anything can. 
 Now, supposing I did it here, I should do it cheap, 
 I know, and easy, without bothering her about it; 
 wiiieh I'd much rather not do, for it's just in a 
 woman's way to take it into her head, if you talk 
 to l»er about such things, that she's going to die 
 directly." 
 
 44 So it is," cried Tigg, kissing his hand in 
 honour of the sex. 44 You 're quite right. Sweet, 
 silly, fluttering little simpletons!" 
 
 i," said Jonas, 44 on that account, you 
 know, and because offence has been giveh me in 
 other quarters, I wouldn't mind patronising this 
 Company. But I want to know what sort of 
 security there is for the Company's going on. 
 That 's the—" 
 
 the truth ?" cried Tigg, holding up his 
 jewelled hand. 44 Don't use that Sunday School 
 expression, please !" 
 
 44 The long and the short of it," said Jonas. 
 44 The long and the short of it is, what's the 
 security ?" 
 
 44 The paid-up capital, my dear sir," said Tigg, 
 referring to some papers on the table, 44 is, at this 
 present moment — " 
 
 44 O ! I understand all about paid-up capitals, 
 you know," said Jonas. 
 
 ** You do ?" cried Tigg, stopping short. 
 
 44 1 should hope so." 
 
 He turned the papers down again, and moving 
 
 r to him, said in his ear : 
 44 1 know you do. I know you do. Look at 
 me!" 
 
 It was not much m Jonas's way to look straight 
 at anybody ; but thus requested, he made shift to 
 take a tolerable survey of the chairman's features. 
 The chairman fell back a little, to give him the 
 better opportunity. 
 
 44 You know me ?" he inquired, elevating his 
 eyebrows. 44 You recollect ? You 've seen me 
 before ?" 
 
 44 Why, I thought I remembered your face 
 rmen I first came in," said Jonas, gazing at it ; 
 44 but I couldn't call to mind where I had seen it. 
 No. I don't remember, even now. Was it in 
 the street ?" 
 
 " Was it in Pecksniff's parlour?" said Tigg. 
 ** In Pecksniff's parlour !" cclioed Jonas, fetch- 
 ing a long breath. ' 4 You don't mean when — " 
 
 44 Yes," cried Tigg, 44 when there was a very 
 charming and delightful little family party, at 
 wiiieh yourself and your respected father as- 
 
 8l.-t( ■fl." 
 
 ■* W« 11, never mind Aim," said Jonas. ■ He 'i 
 dead, and there 's no help for it." 
 
 44 Dead, is he !" eried Tigg. u Venerable old 
 gentleman, m he dead ! You re very like him " 
 
 Jonas received this compliment with anything 
 but a good grace: perhaps because of his own 
 private sentiments in -reference to the personal 
 appearance of his deceased parent ; perhaps 
 because he was not best pleased to find that Mon 
 "d Tigg were on< ian per 
 
 ceived it, and tapping hirn familiarly on the 
 sleeve, beckoned him to the window. From this 
 moment, Mr. Montague's jocularity and flow Of 
 spirits were remarkable. 
 
 44 Do you find me at all changed since that 
 lime ?" he asked. 44 Speak plainly." 
 
 Jonas looked hard at his waistcoat and jewels, 
 and said, 4i Rather, ecod !" 
 
 44 Was I at all seedy in those days?" asked 
 Montague. 
 4 * Precious seedy," said Jonas. 
 Mr. Montague pointed down into the street, 
 where Bailey and the cab were in attendance. 
 
 44 Neat : perhaps dashing. Do you know whose 
 it is ?" 
 44 No." 
 
 ■ Mine. Do you like this room ?" 
 44 It must have cost a lot of money," said Jonas. 
 44 You 're right. Mine too. Why don't you" 
 — he whispered this, and nudged him in the side 
 with 1ms elbow — M why don't you take premiums, 
 instead of paying 'em. That's what a man like 
 you should do. Join us!" 
 
 Jonas stared at him in amazement. 
 44 Is that a crowded street ?" asked Montague, 
 calling his attention to the multitude without 
 
 44 Very," said Jonas, only glancing at it, and 
 immediately afterwards looking at him again. 
 
 44 There arc printed calculations," said his com- 
 panion, "which will tell you pretty nearby how 
 many people will pass up and down that thorough- 
 fare in the course of a day. / can tell you' how 
 many of 'em will come in here, merely because 
 they find this office here ; knowing no moro about 
 it than they do of the Pyramids. Ha, ha ! Join 
 us. You shall come in cheap." 
 Jonas looked at him harder and harder. 
 44 1 can tell you," said Tigg in his ear, 44 how 
 many of 'em will buy annuities, effect insurances. 
 bring us their money in a hundred shapes anc 
 ways, force it upon us, trust us as if we were the 
 Mint; yet know no more about us than you dc 
 of that crossing-sweeper, at the corner. Not sc 
 much. Ha, ha !" 
 Jonas gradually broke into a smile. 
 ** Yah !" said Montague, giving him a plcasanr 
 thrust in the breast ; 44 you 're loo deep for ua, you 
 dog, or I wouldn't have told you. Dine with uc 
 to-morrow, in Pall Mall !" 
 44 1 will," said Jonas. 
 
 " Done !" cried Montague. M Wait a bit. Take 
 these papers with you, and look 'cm over. See, " 
 he said, snatching some printed forms from the 
 tabic. 44 B is a little tradesman, clerk, parson, 
 artist, author; any common thing you like." 
 
 44 Yes," said Jonas, looking greedily over h.s 
 shoulder. . 44 Well !" 
 
 " B wants a lean. Say fifty or a hundred 
 pound; perhaps more; no matter. B proposes 
 self and two securities. B d. Two 
 
 securities give a bond. B insures his own life for 
 double the amount, and brings two friends' Hv«« 
 also — just to patronise the office. Ha, ha, bm '. 
 Is that a good notion?" 
 
17G 
 
 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 " Ecod, that's a capital notion !" cried Jonas. 
 ■ But does he really do it?" 
 
 " Do it !" repeated the chairman. " B 's hard- 
 up, my good fellow, and will do anything. Don't 
 you see ? It 's my idea." 
 
 " It does you honour. I 'm blest if it don't," 
 said Jonas. 
 
 " I think it does," replied the chairman, " and 
 I 'm proud to hear you say so. B pays the high- 
 est lawful interest — " 
 
 "That an't much," interrupted Jonas. 
 
 "Right! quite right!" retorted Tigg. ."And 
 hard it is upon the part of the law that it should 
 be so confoundedly down upon us unfortunate 
 victims ; when it takes such amazing good inter- 
 est for itself from all its clients. But charity 
 begins at home, and justice begins next door. 
 Well! The law being hard upon us, we 're not 
 exactly soft upon B; for besides charging B the 
 regular interest, we get B's premium, and B's 
 friends' premiums, and we charge B for the bond, 
 and, whether we accept him or not, we charge B 
 for "inquiries" (we keep a man, at a pound a 
 week, to make 'em), and we charge B a trifle for 
 the secretary; and, in short, my good fellow, we 
 stick it into B up hill and down dale, and make 
 a devilish comfortable little property out of him. 
 Ha, ha, ha ! I drive B, in point of fact," said 
 Tigg, pointing to the cabriolet, " and a thorough- 
 bred horse he is. Ha, ha, ha !" 
 
 Jonas enjoyed this joke very much, indeed. It 
 was quite in his peculiar vein of humour. 
 
 " Then," said Tigg Montague, " we grant an- 
 nuities on the very lowest and most advantageous 
 terms, known in the money market; and the old 
 ladies and gentlemen down in the country, buy 
 'em. Ha, ha, ha ! And we pay 'em too — perhaps. 
 Ha, ha, ha !" 
 
 " But there 's responsibility in that," said Jonas, 
 looking doubtful. 
 
 " I take it all myself," said Tigg Montague. 
 " Here I am, responsible for everything. The 
 only responsible person in the establishment ! 
 Ha, ha, ha ! Then there are the Life Insurances 
 without loans : the common policies. Very pro- 
 fitable, very comfortable. Money down, you 
 know ; repeated every year ; capital fun !" 
 
 " But when they begin to tall in," observed 
 Jonas. "It's all very well, while the office is 
 young, but when the policies begin to die — that 's 
 what I am thinking of." 
 
 "At the firt-a start, my dear fellow," said Mon- 
 tague, "to show you how correct your judgment 
 is, we had a couple of unlucky deaths that brought 
 us down to a grand piano." 
 
 "Brought you down where?" cried Jonas. 
 
 " I give you my sacred word of honour," said 
 Tigg Montague, " that I raised money on every 
 other individual piece of property, and was left 
 alone in the world with a grand piano. And it 
 was an upright-grand too, so that I couldn't even 
 sit upon it. But my dear fellow we got over it. 
 We granted a great many new policies that week 
 (liberal allowance to solicitors, by the bye), and 
 got over it in no time. Whenever they should 
 chance to fall in heavily, as you very justly ob- 
 serve they may, one of these days ; then — " he 
 finished the sentence in so low a whisper, that 
 only one disconnected word was audible, and that 
 imperfectly. But it sounded like " Bolt." 
 
 " Why, you 're as bold as brass !" said Jonas, 
 in the utmost admiration. 
 
 " A man can well afford to be as bold as brass, 
 my good fellow, when he gets gold in exchange !" 
 cried the Chairman, with a laugh that shook him 
 from head to foot. "You'll dine with me to- 
 morrow ?" 
 
 " At what time?' asked Jonas. 
 
 "Seven. Here's my card. Take the docu- 
 ments. I see you '11 join us !" 
 
 " I don't know about that," said Jonas. 
 " There 's a good deal to be looked into first." 
 
 " You shall look," said Montague, slapping him 
 on the back, "into anything and everything you 
 please. But you'll join us, I am convinced. 
 You were made for it. Bullamy !" 
 
 Obedient to the summons and the little bell, 
 the waistcoat appeared. Being charged to show 
 Jonas out, it went before; and the voice within 
 it cried, as usual, " By your leave there, by your 
 leave ! Gentleman from the board-room, by your 
 leave !" 
 
 Mr. Montague being left alone, pondered for 
 some moments, and then said, raising his voice, 
 
 " Is Nadgett iu the office there ?" 
 
 " Here he is, sir." And he promptly entered : 
 shutting the board-room door after him, as care, 
 fully as if he were about to plot a murder. 
 
 He was the man at a pound a week who made 
 the inquiries. It was no virtue or merit in Nad- 
 gett that he transacted all his Anglo-Bengalea 
 business secretly and in the closest confidence ; 
 for he was born to be a secret. He was a short, 
 dried-up, withered, old man, who seemed to have 
 secreted his very blood ; for nobody would have 
 given him credit for the possession of six ounce? 
 of it in his whole body. How he lived was a 
 secret ; where he lived was a secret ; and even 
 what he was, was a secret. In his musty old 
 pocket-book he carried contradictory cards, in 
 some of which he called himself a coal-merchant, 
 in others a wine-merchant, in others a commis- 
 sion-agent, in others a collector, in others an ac- 
 countant: as if he really didn't know the secret 
 himself. He was always keeping appointments 
 in the city, and the other man never seemed to 
 come. He would sit on 'Change for hours, look- 
 ing at everybody who walked in and out, and 
 would do the like at Garraway's, and in other 
 business coffee-rooms, in some of which he would 
 be occasionally seen drying a very damp pocket- 
 handkerchief before the fire, and still looking 
 over his sh >ulder for the man who never appear- 
 ed. He was mildewed, threadbare, shabby ; al- 
 ways had flue upon his legs and back ; and kept 
 his linen so secret by buttoning up and wrapping 
 over, that lie might have had none — perhaps he 
 hadn't. He carried one stained beaver gle ve, 
 which he dangled before him by the forefinger as 
 he walked or sat ; but even its fellow was a secret. 
 Some people said he had been a bankrupt, others 
 that he had gone an infant into an ancient Chan- 
 cery suit which was still depending:, but it was 
 all a secret. He carried bits of sealing-wax and 
 a hieroglyphical old copper seal in his pocket, and 
 often secretly indjted letters in corner boxes of 
 the tryst ing-places before mentioned; but they 
 never appeared to go to anybody, for he would 
 put them into a secret place in his coat, and 
 deliver them to himself weeks afterwards, ve-y 
 
 
MARTIN CIIUZZLEW1T. 
 
 177 
 
 much to his own surprise, quite yellow. He was 
 that sort of man that if he had died worth a mil- 
 lion of money, or had died worth t- 
 peooY, everybody would have hern p 
 
 d, and would have Haid it was just as they 
 d. And yet be belonged to a class ; a race 
 peculiar to tin- city ; who are secrets as profound 
 to ono another, as they are to the rest of man- 
 kind. 
 
 " Mr. Nadgett," said Montague, copying Jonas 
 Chuzzlcwil's address upon a piece of paper, from 
 the card which was still lying on the tabic, "any 
 information about this name I shall be glad to 
 have myself. Don't you mind what it is. Any 
 you can scrape together, bring me. Bring it to 
 Re, Ml 
 
 Nadgett put on his spectacles, and read the 
 name attentively ; then looked at the chairman 
 over his glasses, and bowed ; then took them otV, 
 
 and put them in their case; and then put the case 
 in his pocket. When he had done so, he looked, 
 without his spectacles, at the paper as it lay be. 
 fore him, and at the same time produced his 
 pocket-book from somewhere about the middle .of 
 his spine. Large as it was, it was very full of 
 documents ; but be found a place for this one, 
 and, having clasped it carefully, passed it by a 
 kind of solemn legerdemain into the same region 
 as before. 
 
 He withdrew with another bow, and without a 
 word ; opening the door no wider than was suffi- 
 cient tor his passage out, and shutting it as care- 
 fully as before. The chairman of the board 
 employed the rest of the morning in affixing his 
 sign-manual of gracious acceptance to various 
 new proposals of annuity-purchase and in> 
 The Company was looking-up, for they flowed in 
 gaily. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 MR. MONTAGUE AT HOME. AND MR. JONAS CHUZZLEWIT AT HOME. 
 
 There were many powerful reasons for Jonas 
 Chuzzlewit being strongly prepossessed in favour 
 of the scheme which its great originator had so 
 boldly laid open to him; but three among them 
 stood prominently forward. Firstly, there was 
 money to be made by it. Secondly, the money 
 had the peculiar charm of being sagaciously ob- 
 tained at other people's cost Thirdly, it involved 
 much outward show of homage and distinction ; 
 a board being an awful institution in its own 
 sphere, and a director a mighty man. " To make 
 a swingeing profit, have a lot of chaps to order 
 about, and get into regular good society by one 
 and the same means, and them so easy to one's 
 hand, ain't such a bad look-out," thought Jonas. 
 The latter considerations were only second to his 
 avarice; for, conscious that there was nothing in 
 his person, conduct, character or accomplishmt rats 
 to command respect, he was greedy of power, and 
 wns 4 in his heart, as much a tyrant as any lau- 
 relled conqueror on record. 
 
 Hut be determined to proceed with cunning and 
 caution, and to be very keen in his observation of 
 the gentility of Mr. Montague's private establish- 
 on nt. For it no more occurred to this shallow 
 knave that Montague wanted him to be so, or he 
 wouldn't have invited him while his decision was 
 yet in abeyance, than the possibility of that ge- 
 nius being able to overreach him in any way, 
 pierced through his self-conceit by the inlet of a 
 needle's point. Ef e had said in the outset that 
 Jonas was too sharp for him: and Jonas, who 
 would have been sharp enough to h« !i ve him in 
 nothing else, tbomgrj he had solemnly sworn it, 
 him in that instantly. 
 
 It was with a filtering hand, and yet with an 
 iipbecile attempt at a swagger, that he knocked 
 at his new friend' 1MI Mall when w.e 
 
 appointed hour arrived. Mr. Bailey quickly an- 
 swered to the summons. He v. ,-i> not proud, and 
 was kindly disposed to take notice of Jonas; but 
 Jonas Ii,,(! |\ r; ., Hen him. 
 
 " Mr. Mont igue at home?" 
 
 44 1 should hope he wos at home, and waiting 
 MM 
 
 dinner, too," said Bailey, with the ease of an old 
 acquaintance. " Will you take your hat up along 
 with you, or leave it here ?" 
 
 Mr. Jonas preferred leaving it there. 
 
 " The hold name, I suppose ?" said Bailey, with 
 a grin. 
 
 Mr. Jonas stared at him in mute indignation. 
 
 u What, don't you remember bold Mother 
 Todgers's?" said Mj. Bailey, with his favourite 
 action of the knees and boots. M Don't you re- 
 member my taking your name up to the young 
 ladies when you come a courting there? A reg'- 
 lar scaly old shop, warn't it? Times is changed, 
 ain't they ? I say, how you've growed !" 
 
 Without pausing for any acknowledgment of 
 this compliment, he ushered the visitor up stairs, 
 and, having announced him, retired with a private 
 wink. 
 
 The lower story of the house was occupied by 
 a wealthy tradesman; but Mr. Mootaaqe had all 
 the upper portion, and splendid lodging it was. 
 The room in which he received Jonas was a spa- 
 cious and elegant apartment, furnished with ex- 
 treme magnificence ; decorated with pictures, 
 copies from the antique in alabaster and marble, 
 china vases, lofty mirrors, crimson bangii 
 the richest silk, gilded carvings, luxurious couch**?, 
 glistening e.ibiix -ts inlaid with precious • 
 costly toys of every sort in negligent abundance. 
 The only gue»ts beside Jonas weie the Dv>ctor, 
 the resident Director, and two other gentj 
 whom Montagu-- presented in due form 
 
 11 My dear friend, I am delighted to kmj you. 
 | Joblm« you know, 1 b 1 eve ?" 
 
 " I t i r pleasantly, as h« 
 
 stcp|H'd out of the circle to shake bandi 
 truM I hive that honour. J 
 sir, I sec you well. Quite well ' That 's well !'* 
 
 " Mr. Wo! . us the 
 
 Doctor would allow hi; the two 
 
 others, M Mr. Chuzzlewit. Mr. Pip, Mr. Cbogxlu 
 wit.* 1 
 
 Both gentl exceedingly happy »" 
 
 have the honour of making Mr. Ghpszlewit'a *e 
 
178 
 
 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 quaintance. The Doctor drew Jonas a little I 
 apart, and whispered behind his hand : 
 
 " Men of the world, my dear sir — men of the 
 world. Hem! Mr. Wolf— literary character — 
 you needn't mention it — remarkably clever weekly 
 paper — oh, remarkably clever ! Mr. Pip — thea- 
 trical man — capital man to know — oh, capital 
 man !" 
 
 " Well !" said Wolf, folding his arms, and re- 
 suming a conversation which the arrival of Jonas 
 had interrupted. "And what did Lord Nobley 
 say to that?" 
 
 "Why," returned Pip, with an oath, " he didn't 
 know what to say.' Damme, sir, if he wasn't as 
 Bnute as a poker. But you know what a good 
 fellow Nobley is !" 
 
 * The best fellow in the world !" cried Wolf. 
 " It was only last week that Nobley said to me, 
 4 By Gird, Wolf, I 've got a living to bestow, and 
 if you had but been brought up at the University, 
 strike me blind if I wouldn't have made a parson 
 of you !' '** 
 
 "Just like him," said Pip, with another oath. 
 " And he'd have done it!" 
 
 " Not a doubt of it," said Wolf. " But you 
 were going to tell us" — 
 
 u Oh, yes !" cried Pip. " To be sure. So I 
 was. At ^ist he was dumb — sewn up, dead, sir 
 — but after h minute he said to the Duke, ' Here's 
 Pip. Ask Pip. Pip 's our mutual friend. Ask 
 Pip. He knows.' 'Damme!' said the Duke, 'I 
 appeal to Pip, then. Come Pip. Bandy or not 
 bandy ? Speak out !' ' Bandy, your Grace, by 
 the Lord Harry !' said I. ' Ha, ha !' laughed the 
 Duke. ' To be sure she is. Bravo, Pip. Well 
 said, Pip. I wish I may die if you 're not a 
 trump, Pip. Pop me down among your fashion- 
 able visitors whenever I 'm in town, Pip.' And 
 so I do, to this day." 
 
 The conclusion of this story gave immense 
 satisfaction, which was in no degree lessened by 
 the announcement of dinner. Jonas repaired to 
 the dining-room, along with his distinguished 
 host, and took his seat at the board between that 
 individual and his friend the Doctor. The rest 
 fell into their places like men who were well ac- 
 customed to the house ; and dinner was done full 
 justice to, by all parties. 
 
 It was as good a one as money (or credit, no 
 matter which,") could produce. The dishes, wines, 
 and fruits, were of the choicest kind. Everything 
 was elegantly served. The plate was gorgeous. 
 Mr. Jonas was in the midst of a calculation of the 
 ■value of this item alone, when, his host disturbed him. 
 
 '• A glass of wine ?" 
 
 " Oh !" said Jonas, who had had several glasses 
 already. "As much of that, as you like! It's 
 too pood to refuse." 
 
 "Well said, Mr. Chuzzlevvit!" cried Wolf. 
 
 u Tom Gag, upon my soul !" said Pip. 
 
 " Positively, you know, that 's— ha, ha, ha!" 
 observed the Doctor, laying down his knife and 
 ibrk for one instant, and then going to work again, 
 pell-mell — " that 's epigrammatic ; quite !" 
 
 " You 're tolerably comfortable, I hope ?" said 
 Tig?, apart to Jonas. 
 
 ■ ()!i ! You needn't trouble your head about 
 vie" lie replied. " Famous !" 
 
 " I thought it best not to have a party," said 
 Tigg. » You feel that ?" 
 
 " Why, what do you call this ?" retorted Jonas 
 " You don't mean to say you do this every day, 
 do you?" 
 
 " My dear fellow," said Montague, shrugging 
 his shoulders, " every day of my life, when I dine 
 at home. This is my common style. It was of 
 no use having anything uncommon for you. 
 You 'd have seen through it. • You 'II have a 
 party ?' said Crimple. * No, I won't,' I said : 'he 
 shall take us in the rough !' " 
 
 "And pretty smooth too, ecod !" said Jonas, 
 glancing round the table. " This don't ' cost a 
 trifle." 
 
 " W T hy, to be candid with you, it does not," re- 
 turned the other. " But I like this sort of thing. 
 It's the way" I spend my money." 
 
 Jonas thrust his tongue into his cheek, and 
 said " Was 'it?" 
 
 " When you join us, you won't get rid of your 
 share of the profits in the same way ?" said Tigg. 
 
 " Quite different," retorted Jonas. 
 
 " Well, and you 're right," said Tigg, with 
 friendly candour. " You needn't. It's not ne- 
 cessary. One of a company must do it to hold 
 the connexion together ; but, as I take a pleasure 
 in it, that 's my department. You don't mind 
 dining expensively at another man's expense, I 
 hope ?" 
 
 " Not a bit," said Jonas. 
 
 " Then I hope you '11 often dine with me ?" 
 
 " Ah !" said Jonas, " I don't mind. On the 
 contrary." 
 
 " And I '11 never attempt to talk business to 
 you over wine, I take my oath," said Tigg. " Oh 
 deep, deep, deep of you this morning ! I must 
 tell 'em that. They 're the very men to enjoy it. 
 Pip, my good fellow, I've a splendid little trait to 
 tell you of my friend Chuzzlewit, who is the 
 deepest dog I know : I give you my sacred word 
 of honour he is the deepest dog I know, Pip '." 
 
 Pip swore a frightful oath that he was sure of 
 it already ; and the anecdote, being told, was re- 
 ceived with loud applause, as an incontestible 
 proof of Mr. Jonas's greatness. Pip, in a natural 
 spirit of emulation, then related some instances of 
 his own depth ; and Wolf, not to be left behind- 
 hand, recited the leading points of one or two 
 vastly humorous articles he "was then preparing. 
 These lucubrations, being of what he called " a 
 warm complexion," were highly approved ; and 
 all the company agreed that they were full of 
 point. 
 
 " Men of the world, my dear sir," Jobling whis- 
 pered to Jonas ; " thorough men of the world ! 
 To a professional person like myself, it's quite 
 refreshing to come into this kind of society. It \s 
 not only agreeable — and nothing can be more 
 agreeable — but it's philosophically improving. 
 It 's character, my dear sir ; character !" 
 
 It is so pleasant to find real merit appreciated, 
 whatever its particular walk in life may be, that 
 the general harmony of the company was doubt- 
 less much promoted by their knowing that the two 
 men of the world were held in great esteem by 
 the upper classes of society, and by the gallant 
 defenders of their country in the army and navy, 
 but particularly the former. The least of their 
 stories had a colonel in it ; lords were as plentiful 
 as oaths ; and even the Blood Royal ran in the 
 muddy channel of their personal recollections. 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 
 
 179 
 
 » .Air. Chuwlewit didn't know him, I 'm afraid," 
 paid Wolf, in reference to a certain personage of 
 illustrious descent, who hud previously figured in 
 u reminiscence. 
 
 44 No," said Tigg ; "but we must brim; him 
 into contact with this sort of fellows." 
 
 I i was very fond of literature," observed 
 Waif 
 
 " Was he ?" said Tigg. 
 
 44 Oh, yes ; he took my paper regularly for 
 many years. Do you know he said some good 
 things now and then? lie asked a certain Vis- 
 count, who's a friend of mine — Pip knows him 
 — ' What's the editor's name, what's the editor's 
 name ?'• 4 Wolf.' 4 Wolf, eh ? Sharp biter, Wolf. 
 We must keep the wolf from the door, as the pro- 
 verb says.' It was very well. And being com- 
 plimentary, I printed it." 
 
 44 But the Viscount 's the boy !" cried Pip, who 
 invented a new oath for the introduction of every- 
 thing he said. 44 The Viscount 's the boy ! He 
 came into our place one night to take Her home ; 
 rather slued, but not much ; and said, 4 Where's 
 Pip? I want to see Pip. Produce Pip !'— 4 What' s 
 the row, my lord ?' — 4 Shakspeare 's an infernal 
 humbug, Pip! What's the good of Shakspeare, 
 Pip? I never read him. What the devil is it all 
 about, Pip ? There 's a lot of feet in Shakspeare's 
 verse, but there an't any legs worth mentioning 
 in Shakspeare's plays, are there, Pip? Juliet, 
 Desdemona, Lady Macbeth, and all the rest of 
 'em, whatever their names are, might as well have 
 no legs at all, for anything the audience know 
 about it, Pip. Why, in that respect they 're all 
 Miss Bitfins to the audience, Pip. I 'II tell you 
 what it is. What the people call dramatic poetry 
 is a collection of sermons. Do I go to the thea- 
 tre to be lectured ? No, Pip. If I wanted that, 
 I 'd go to church. What 's the legitimate object 
 of the drama, Pip? Human nature. What are 
 legs ? Human nature. Then let us have plenty 
 of leg pieces, Pip, and I'll stand by you, my buck !' 
 And I am proud to say," added Pip, 44 that he did 
 stand by mc, handsomely." 
 
 The conversation now becoming general, Mr. 
 Jonas's opinion was requested on this subject; and 
 as it was in full accordance with the sentiments 
 of Mr. Pip, that gentleman was extremely grati- 
 fied. Indeed, both himself and Wolf had so much 
 in common with Jonas, that they became very 
 amiable; and between their increasing friendship 
 and the fumes of wine, Jonas grew talkative. 
 
 It does not follow in the case of such a person 
 that the more talkative he becomes, the more 
 agreeable he is; on the contrary, his merits show 
 to most advantage, perhaps, in silence. Having 
 Ins, as he thought, of putting himself on 
 an equality with the rest, but by the assertion of 
 that depth and sharpness on which he had been 
 complimented, Jonas exhibited that faculty to the 
 Utmost; and was so deep and so sharp that he 
 lost himself in his own profundity, and cut his 
 I with his own edge-t< 
 
 It was especially in his way and character to 
 exhibit his quality at his entertainer's expense; 
 and while he drank of the sparklmg wines, and 
 partook of his monstrous profusion, to ridicule the 
 extravagance which bad set such costly fare be- 
 fore him. Kven at such a wanton board, and in 
 such more than doubtful company, this might 
 have proved a disagreeable experiment, but that 
 
 Tigg and Crimple, studying to understand their 
 man thoroughly, gave him what license he chose : 
 knowing that the more he took, the hotter for their 
 purpose. And thus while the blundering cheat 
 — Ijull that he was, for all his cunning — thought 
 himself rolled up hedge-hog fashion, with las 
 sharpest points towards them, he was, in fact, be- 
 traying all his vulnerable parts to their unwinking 
 watchfulness. 
 
 Whether' the two gentlemen who contributed so 
 much to the Doctor's philosophical knowledge 
 (by the way, the Doctor slipped off quietly, after 
 swallowing his usual amount of wine)'had had their 
 cue distinctly from the host, or took it from what 
 they saw and heard, they acted their parts very 
 well. They solicited the honour of Jogas's bet- 
 ter acquaintance ; trusted that they would have 
 the pleasure of introducing him into that elevated 
 society in which he was so well qualified to shine ; 
 and informed him, in the most friendly manner, 
 that the advantages of their respective establish- 
 ments were entirely at his control. In a word, 
 they said, 44 Be one of us !" And Jonas said he 
 was infinitely obliged to them, and he would be : 
 adding within himself, that so long as they " stood 
 treat," there was nothing he would like better. 
 
 After coffee, which was served up in the. draw- 
 ing-room, there was a short interval, (mainly sus- 
 tained by Pip and Wolf) of conversation ; rajher 
 highly spiced and strongly seasoned. When it 
 flagged, Jonas took it up, and showed considera- 
 ble humour in appraising the furniture ; inquiring 
 whether such an article was paid for ; what it had 
 originally cost ; and the like. In all of this, he 
 was, as he considered, desperately hard on Mon- 
 tague, and very demonstrative of his own bril- 
 liant parts. 
 
 Some Champagne Punch gave a «cw though 
 temporary fillip to the entertainments of the even- 
 ing. For after leading to some noisy proceedings, 
 which were not at all intelligible, it ended in the 
 unsteady departure of the two gentlemen of the 
 world, and the slumber of Mr. Jonas upon one of 
 the sofas. 
 
 As he could not be made to understand where 
 he was, Mr. Bailey received orders to call a hack- 
 ney-coach, and take him home : which that young 
 gentleman roused himself from an uneasy sleep 
 in the hall to do. It being now almost three 
 o'clock in the morning. 
 
 44 Is he hooked, do you think ?" whispered 
 Crimple, as himself and partner stood in a distant 
 part of the room observing him as he lay. 
 
 44 Ay !" said Tigg, in the same tone. "With 
 a strong iron, perhaps. Has Nadgett been here 
 to-night?" 
 
 44 Yes. I went out to him. Hearing you had 
 cohipnny, he went away." 
 
 44 Why did he do that?" 
 
 44 He said he would come back early in the 
 morning, before you were out of bed." 
 
 44 Tell them to be sure and send him up to rav 
 bedside. Hnsh ! Here '* the boy! Now Mr. 
 Bailey, take this gentleman home, and see him 
 safely in. Hallo hero ! Why Chuzzlewit, haitoa !" 
 
 They got him upright with some difficulty, and 
 assisted him down stairs, where tbey put his hat 
 upon his head, and tumbled him into the couch. 
 Mr. Bailey hiving shut him in, mounted the box 
 beside the coachutan, and smoked his cigar with 
 an air of particular satisfaction ; the underUkuif 
 
180 
 
 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 In which he was engaged having a free and sport- 
 ing character about it, which was quite congenial 
 to his taste. 
 
 Arriving in due time at the house in the city, 
 Mr. Bailey jumped down, and expressed the lively 
 nature of his feelings, in a knock : the like of 
 which had probably not been heard in that quar- 
 ter since the great fire of London. Going out 
 into the road to observe the effect of this feat, he 
 saw that a dim light, previously visible at an up- 
 per window, had been already removed and was 
 travelling down stairs. To obtain a foreknow- 
 ledge of the bearer of this taper, Mr. Bailey skip- 
 ped back to the door again, and put his eye to the 
 keyhole. 
 
 It was the merry one herself. »But sadly, 
 strangely altered ! So careworn and dejected, so 
 faultering and full of fear ; so fallen, humbled, 
 broken ; that to have seen her, quiet in her coffin, 
 would have been a less surprise. 
 
 She set the light upon a bracket in the hall, 
 and laid her hand upon her heart; upon her eyes; 
 upon her burning head. Then she came on 
 towards the door, with such a wild and hurried 
 step, that Mr. Bailey lost his self-possession, and 
 still had his eye where the keyhole had been, 
 when she opened it. 
 
 " Aha !" said Mr. Bailey, with an effort. "There 
 you are, are you ? What's the matter ? Ain't you 
 well, though ?" 
 
 In the midst of her astonishment as she recog- 
 nised him in his altered dress, so much of her old 
 smile came back to her face that Bailey was glad. 
 But next moment he was sorry again, for he saw 
 tears standing in her poor dim eyes. 
 
 " Don't be frightened," said Bailey. " There 
 ain't nothing the. matter. I've brought home Mr. 
 Chuzzlewft. He ain't ill. He 's only a little 
 swipey you know." Mr. Bailey reeled in his 
 boots, to express intoxication. 
 
 " Have you come from Mrs. Todgers's ?" asked 
 Merry, trembling. 
 
 " Todgers's, bless you ! No !" cried Mr. Bailey. 
 " I haven't got nothing to do with Todgers's. I 
 cut that connexion long ago. He 's been a dining 
 with my governor at the west-end. Didn't you 
 know he was a comin' to see us ?" 
 
 "No," she said, faintly. 
 
 ** Oh yes ! We 're heavy swells too, and so I tell 
 you. Don't you come out, a catching cold in your 
 head. I'll wake him !" And Mr. Bailey express- 
 ing in his demeanour a perfect confidence that he 
 could carry him in with ease, if necessary, opened 
 the coach-door, let down the steps, and giving 
 Jonas -a shake, cried " We 've got home, my 
 flower ! Tumble up then !" 
 
 He was so far recovered as to be able to re- 
 spond to this appeal, and to come stumbling out 
 of the coach in a heap, to the great hazard of Mr. 
 Bailey's person. When he got upon the pave- 
 ment, Mr. Bailey first butted at him in front, and 
 then dexterously propped him up behind ; and 
 having steadied him by these means, he assisted 
 him into the house. 
 
 "You go up first with the light," said Bailey 
 to Mrs. Jonas, " and we '11 foller. Don't tremble 
 80. He won't hurt you. When /'ve had a drop 
 loo much, I 'm full of good natur myself." 
 
 She went on before; and her husband and 
 Bailey, by dint of tumbling over each other, and 
 knocking themselves about, got at last into the 
 
 sitting-room above stairs, where Jonas staggered 
 into a seat. 
 
 "There!" said Mr. Bailey. "He's all. right 
 now. You ain't got nothing to cry for, bless 
 you ! He's righter than a trivet!" 
 
 The ill-favoured brute, with dress awry, and 
 sodden face, and rumpled hair, sat blinking and 
 drooping, and rolling his idiotic eyes about, until, 
 becoming conscious by degrees, he recognised his 
 wife, and shook his fist at her. 
 
 " Ah !" cried Mr. Bailey, squaring his arms 
 with a sudden emotion. " What, you 're wicious, 
 are you ? Would you though ! You 'd better not !" 
 
 " Pray, go away !" said Merry. " Bailey, my 
 good boy, go home. Jonas !" she said ) timidly 
 laying her hand upon his shoulder, and bending 
 her head down, over him ; "Jonas !" 
 
 " Look at her !" cried Jonas, pushing her off 
 with his extended arm. "Look here! Look at 
 her ! Here 's a bargain for a man !" 
 
 " Dear Jonas !" 
 
 " Dear Devil !" he replied, with a fierce gesture. 
 " You 're a pretty clog to be tied to a man for life, 
 you mewling, white-faced cat ! Get out of my 
 sight !" 
 
 " I know you don't mean it, Jonas. You 
 wouldn't say it if you were sober." 
 
 With affected gaiety she gave Bailey a piece of 
 money, and again implored him to be gone. Met 
 entreaty was so earnest, that the boy had not the 
 heart to stay there. But he stopped at the bottom 
 of the stairs, and listened. 
 
 " I wouldn't say it if I was sober !" retorted 
 Jonas. " You know better. Have I never said 
 it when I was sober ?" 
 
 " Often, indeed !" she answered through her 
 tears. 
 
 " Hark ye !" cried Jonas, stamping his foot 
 upon the ground. "You made me bear your 
 pretty humours once, and ecod I '11 make you 
 bear mine now. I always promised myself I 
 would. I married you that I might. I '11 know 
 who 's master, and who 's slave !" 
 
 " Heaven knows I am obedient !" said the sob- 
 bing girl. " Much more so than I ever thought 
 to be !" 
 
 Jonas laughed in his drunken exultation 
 " What ! you 're finding it out, are you ! Pa 
 tience, and you will in time ! Griffins have claws, 
 my girl. There 's not a pretty slight you ever 
 put upon me, nor a pretty trick you ever played 
 me, nor a pretty insolence you ever showed me, 
 that I won't pay back a hundred-fold. What else 
 did I marry you for. You, too "' he said, with 
 coarse contempt. 
 
 It might have softened him — indeed it might— 
 to hear her turn a little fragment of a song he 
 used to say he liked ; trying, with a heart so full, 
 to win him back. 
 
 " Oho !" he said, " you 're deaf, are you ? You 
 don't hear me, eh ? So much the better for you. 
 I hate you. I hate myself, for having been fool 
 enough to strap a pack upon my back for the 
 pleasure of treading on it whenever I choose. 
 Why, things have opened to me, now, so that I 
 might marry almost where I liked. But I 
 wouldn't ; I 'd keep single. I ought to be single, 
 among the friends /know. Instead of that, here 
 I am, tied like a log to you. Pah ! Why do you 
 show your pale face when I come home? Am I 
 never to forget you ?" 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 
 
 181 
 
 ■ How hta it is !" *he said cheerfully: opening 
 ater, after an interval of silence. M Broad 
 
 d:iy, .Imias!" 
 
 ► Broad day or black night, what do / care !" 
 was the kind rejoinder. 
 
 u The night passed quickly, too. I don't mind 
 sitting up, at all." 
 
 op fur me again, if you dare!" growled 
 Jonas. 
 
 44 1 was reading," she proceeded, M all night 
 long. I began when you went out, and read till 
 
 Jou came home again. The strangest story, 
 onas ! And true, the book says. 1 '11 tell you to- 
 morrow." 
 
 44 True, was it?*' said Jonas, doggedly. 
 
 the book says." 
 44 W,is there anything in it, about a man's being 
 determined to conquer his wife, break her spirit, 
 bend her temper, crush all her humours like so 
 many nutshells — kill her, for aught I know?" 
 said Jonas. 
 44 No. Not a word," she answered quickly. 
 44 All !" he returned. 4i That '11 be a true story 
 
 though, before long ; for all the book says nothing 
 about it. It 's a lying book, I eee. A fit book for 
 a lying reader. But you 're deaf. I forgot that." 
 was another interval of ailence ; and the 
 boy was stealing away, when he heard her fool- 
 step on the floor, and stopped. She went up to 
 hi in, as it seemed, and spoke lovingly : saying 
 that 6he would defer to him in everything, and 
 would consult his wishes and obey them, and they 
 might be very happy if, he would be* gentle with 
 her. He answered with an imprecation, and — 
 
 Not with a blow ? Yes. Stern truth against 
 the base-souled villain : with a blow. 
 
 No angry cries ; no loud reproaches. Even her 
 Weeping and her sobs were stilled by her clinging 
 round him. She only said, repeating it in agony 
 of heart, How could he, could he, could lie— and 
 lost utterance in tears. 
 
 Oh woman, God beloved in old Jerusalem! 
 The best among us need deal lightly with thy 
 faults, if only for the punishment thy nature will 
 endure, in bearing heavy evidence against us, on 
 the Day of Judgment ! 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 IN WHICH SOME PEOPLE ARE PRECOCIOUS, OTHERS PROFESSIONAL, AND 
 OTHERS MYSTERIOUS: ALL IN THEIR SEVERAL WAYS. 
 
 It may have been the restless remembrance of 
 what he had seen and heard over-night, or it may 
 have been no deeper mental operation than the 
 discovery that he had nothing to do, which caused 
 .Mr. Bailey, on the following afternoon, to feel 
 particularly disposed for agreeable society, and 
 prompted him to pay a visit to his friend Poll 
 Sweedlepipe. 
 
 On the. little bell giving clamorous notice of a 
 visitor's approach (for Mr. Bailey came in at the 
 door with a lunge, to get as much sound out of the 
 bell as possible), Poll Sweedlepipe desisted from 
 the contemplation of a favourite owl, and gave his 
 young friend hearty welcome. 
 
 44 Why, you look smarter by day," said Poll, 
 14 than you do by candle-light I nwer see such 
 a tight young dasher-" 
 
 44 Rcether so, Polly. How 's our . fair friend 
 Sain!, 
 
 44 Oh, she 's pretty well," said Poll. 44 She '« at 
 home." 
 
 44 There, 's the remains of a fine woman about 
 Sairah, Poll," observed Mr. Bailey, with genteel 
 indifference. 
 
 44 Oh !" thought Poll, a he 's old. He must be 
 very old !" 
 
 44 Too much crumb, you know," said Mr. Bailey ; 
 "too fat, Poll. But there's many worse at her 
 time of life." 
 
 44 The very owl '• a opening his eyes !" thought 
 Poll. * I don't wonder at it, In a bird of his opi- 
 nions." 
 
 He happened to have been sharpening his 
 razors, which were lying open in a row, while a 
 huge strop dangled from the wall. Glancing at 
 these preparations, Mr. Bailey stroked his chin, 
 and a thought appeared to occur to him. 
 
 41 Poll," be said, U I ain't as neat as I could 
 wish alx.ut the gills. Bpfcnj I as well 
 
 have a shave, and get trimmed close." 
 
 'fhe barber stood aghast ; but Mr. Bailey divest 
 
 ed himself of his neckcloth, and sat down in the 
 easy shaving chair with all the dignity and confi- 
 dence in life. There was no resisting his manner. 
 The evidence of sight and touch became as no- 
 thing. His chin was as smooth as a new-laid egg 
 or a scraped Dutch cheese; but Poll Sweedlepipe 
 wouldn't have ventured to deny, on affidavit, that 
 he had the beard of a Jewish rabbi. 
 
 44 Go with the grain, Poll, all round, please," 
 8a id Mr. Bailey, screwing up his face for the re- 
 ception of the lather. 41 You may dp wot you like 
 with the bits of whisker. I don't care for 'era." 
 
 The meek little barber stood gazing at him 
 with the brush and soap-dish in his hand, stirring 
 them round and round in a ludicrous uncertainty, 
 as if he were disabled by some fascination from 
 beginning. At last he made a dash at Mr. Bailey's 
 check. Then he stopped again, as if the ghost of 
 a beard had suddenly receded from his touch ; but 
 receiving mild encouragement from Mr. Bailey, 
 in the form of an adjuration to M Go in and win," 
 he lathered him bountifully. Mr. Bailey smiled 
 through the suds in his satisfaction. 
 
 44 Gently over the stones, Poll. Go a-tiptoe over 
 the pimples !" 
 
 Poll Sweedlepipe obeyed, and scraped the lather 
 off again with particular care. Mr. Bailey squint- 
 ed at every successive dab, as it was deposited on 
 a cloth on his left shoulder, and seemed, with a 
 microscopic eye, to detect some bristles in it; for 
 he murmured more than once, u Rcether redder 
 than I could wish, P<<11." The operation being 
 concluded, Paul fell back and stared at him again, 
 while Mr. Bailey, wiping his face on tlie jack 
 tow* I, remarked, M that arter late hours nothing 
 freshened up a man so much as a easy shave." 
 
 He was in the act of tying his cravat at the 
 glass, without his coat, and Poll had wiped his 
 razor, ready for the next customer, when Mrs. 
 Gamp, coming down stairs, looked in at the shop, 
 door to give the barber neighbourly good dajr. 
 
182 
 
 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 Feeling foi her unfortunate situation, in having- con- 
 ceived a regard for himself which it was not in 
 the nature of things that he could return, Mr. Bai- 
 ley hastened to soothe her with words of kindness. 
 
 " Hallo!" he said, * Sairah ! I needn't ask you 
 how you've been this long time, for you 're in 
 full bloom. All a blowin' and a growin' ; ain't 
 she, Polly ?" 
 
 " Why, drat the Bragian boldness of that hoy!" 
 cried Mrs. Gamp, though not displeased. u What 
 a imperent young sparrow it is ! I wouldn't be 
 that creetur's mother not for fifty pound !" 
 
 Mr. Bailey regarded this as a delicate confession 
 of her attachment, and a hint that no pecuniary 
 gain could recompense her for its being rendered 
 hopeless. lie felt flattered. Disinterested affec- 
 tion is always flattering. 
 
 "Ah, dear!" moaned Mrs. Gamp, sinking into 
 the shaving chair, "That there blessed Bull, Mr. 
 Sweedlepipe, has done his wery best to conker 
 me. Of all the trying invalieges in this wally of 
 the shadder, that one beats 'em black and blue." 
 
 It was the practice of Mrs. Gamp and her friends 
 m the profession, to say this of all the easy cus- 
 tomers ; as having at once the effect of discourag- 
 ing competitors for office, and accounting for the 
 necessity of high living on the part of the nurses. 
 
 "Talk of constitooshun !" Mrs. Gamp observed. 
 "A person's constitooshun need be made of Bricks 
 to stand it. Mrs. Harris jestly says to me, but 
 t'other day, *Oh! Sairey Gamp,' she says, 'how 
 is it done !' ' Mrs. Harris, ma'am,' I says to her, 
 'we gives no trust ourselves, and puts a deal o' 
 trust elsevere ; these is our religious feelins, and 
 we finds 'em answer.' ♦ Sairey,' says Mrs. Harris, 
 ' sech is life. Vich likeways is the hend of all 
 things !' " 
 
 The barber gave a soft murmur, as much as to 
 say that Mrs. Harris's remark, though perhaps 
 not quite so intelligible as could be desired from 
 such an authority, did equal honour to her head 
 and to her heart. 
 
 "And here," continued Mrs. Gamp, " and here 
 am I a goin twenty mile in distant, on as wenter- 
 some a chance as ever any one as monthlied ever 
 run, I do believe. Says Mrs. Harris, with a wo- 
 man's and a mother's 'art a beating in her human 
 breast, says she to me, ' You 're not a goin, Sai- 
 rey, Lord forgive you !' ' Why am I not a going, 
 Mrs. Harris ?' I replies. ' Mrs. Gill,' I says, • wos 
 never wrong with six ; and is, it likely, ma'am— I 
 ast you as a mother — that she will begin to be 
 unreg'lar now. Often and often have I heerd him 
 say,' I says to Mrs. Harris, 'meaning Mr. Gill, 
 that he would back his wife agen Moore's alma- 
 nack, to name the very day and hour, for nine- 
 pence farden. Is it likely, ma'am,' I says, 'as 
 she will fail this once? 1 Says Mrs. Harris, 'No, 
 ma'am, not in the course of nater. But,' she says, 
 the tears a fillin in her eyes, 'you knows much 
 betterer than me, with your experienge, how little 
 puts us out. A Punch's show,' she says, ' a chim- 
 bley sweep, a newfunlandog, or a drunkin man, a 
 comin round the corner sharp, may do it.' So it 
 may,Mr.Sweedlepipes," said Mrs. Gamp, "there's 
 no deniging of it ; and though my books is clear 
 for full a week, I takes a anxious' 'art along with 
 m-e, I do assure you, sir." 
 
 "You're so full of zeal, you see!" said Poll. 
 " You worrit yourself so." 
 
 "Worrit myself!" cried Mrs. Gamp, raising 
 J>er hands and turning up her eyes. " You speak 
 
 the truth in thai, sir, if you never speaks no more, 
 'twixt this and when two Sundays jines together. 
 I feels the sufferins of other people more than J 
 feels my own, though no one mayn't suppoge i(. 
 The families I've had," said Mrs. Gamp, "if all 
 wos knowd, and credit done where credit's doo, 
 would take a weektocliris'en at StPolge's fontin !" 
 " Where 's the patient going ?" asked Sweedle- 
 pipe. 
 
 " Into Har'fordshire, which is his native air. 
 But native airs nor native graces neither," Mrs. 
 Gamp observed, " won't bring him round." 
 
 " So bad as that !" inquired the wistful barber. 
 "Indeed!" 
 
 Mrs. Gamp shook her head mysteriously, and 
 pursed up her lips. " There 's fevers of the mind," 
 she said, " as well as body. You may take your 
 slime drafts till you flies into the air with effer- 
 wescenee ; but you won't cure that." 
 
 "Ah!" said the barber, opening his eyes, and 
 putting on his raven aspect, " Lor !" 
 
 " No. You may make yourself as light as any 
 gash balloon," said Mrs. Gamp. " But talk, when 
 you 're wrong in your head and when you 're in 
 your sleep, of certain things; and you'll be heavy 
 in your mind." 
 
 " Of what kind of things now ?" inquired Poll, 
 greedily biting his nails in his great interest. 
 "Ghosts?" 
 
 Mrs. Gamp, who perhaps had been already 
 tempted further than she had intended to go, by 
 the barber's stimulating curiosity, gave a sniff of 
 uncommon significance, and said, it didn't matter. 
 " I'm a going down with my patient in the 
 coach this arternoon," she proceeded. "I'm a 
 going to stop with him a day or so, till he gets a 
 country nuss (drat them country nusses, much 
 the orkard hussies knows about their bis'ness) ; 
 and then I'm a comin' back; and that's my 
 trouble, Mr. Sweedlepipes. But I hope that every - 
 think '11 only go on right and comfortable as long 
 as I'm away; pervvisin which, as Mrs. Harris 
 says, Mrs. Gill is welcome to choose her own 
 time: all times of the day and night bein' equally 
 the same to me." 
 
 During the progress of the foregoing remarks, 
 which Mrs. Gamp had addressed exclusively to 
 the Barber, Mr. Bailey had been tying his cravat, 
 getting on his coat, and making hideous faces at 
 himself in the glass. Being now personally ad- 
 dressed by Mrs. Gamp, he turned round, and 
 mingled in the conversation. 
 
 " You ain't been in the city, I suppose, sir, 
 since we was all three there together," said Mrs. 
 Gamp, " at Mr. Chuzzlewit's ?" 
 
 " Yes I have, Sairah. I was there, last night." 
 "Last night!" cried the Barber. 
 "Yes, Poll, reether so. You can call it this 
 morning if you like to be particular. He dined 
 with us." 
 
 " Who does that young Limb mean by ' hus ?' " 
 said Mrs. Gamp, with most impatient emphasis. 
 
 " Me and my Governor, Sairah. He dined at 
 our house. We wos very merry, Sairah. So 
 much so, that I was obliged to see him home in 
 a hackney-coach at three o'clock in the morning." 
 It was on the tip of the boy's tongue to relate 
 what had followed; but remembering how easily 
 it might be carried to his master's ears, and the 
 repeated cautions he had had from Mr. Crimple 
 "not to chatter," he checked himself: adding 
 only, " She was sitting up, expecting him." 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWiT 
 
 183 
 
 **And all things considered,'* inid Mrs, Gamp 
 sharply, " she might have kn- r than to 
 
 go a tiring herself out, by doin' an. think bf khe 
 Did they seem pretty 
 
 " Oh, y« s v " answered Bailey, "pleasant enough." 
 " I 'in glad on it," said Mrs. (Jump, with a 
 second fmff of significance. 
 
 " They het< n't b> en married so long," i 
 Pull, robbing his hands, "that be any- 
 
 thing hut pleasant yet awhile." 
 
 ." wid -Mrs. Gamp, with a third significant 
 
 sJsjitjAi 
 
 . iiillv," pursued the Barber, "when the 
 an bears such a character as you gave 
 
 M I speak ns I find, Mr. Swecdlepipcs," said 
 Mrs. Gamp. - Korbid it should be oti;< 
 But we never knows wot's bidden in each other's 
 : and if we bad glass winders there, we'd 
 need to keep the shelters up, some on us, I do 
 a.-sure you !" 
 
 u But you don't mean to say" — Poll Sweedle- 
 pipe began. , 
 
 ' said Mrs. Gamp, cutting him very short, 
 "1 don't. Don't think I do. The torters of the 
 Imposition shouldn't make me own I did. All 
 I says is," added the good woman, rising: and fold- 
 ing her shawl about her, "that the Bull's a wait- 
 in', and the precious moments is a flyin' fast" 
 
 The little barber having in his eager curiosity 
 a great desire to see Mrs. Gamp's patient, proposed 
 to Mr. Bailey that they should accompany her to 
 the Bull, and witness the departure of the coach. 
 That young gentleman assenting, they all went 
 out together. 
 
 Arriving at the tavern, Mrs. Gamp (who was 
 full-dressed for the journey, in her latest suit of 
 mourning) left her friends to entertain themselves 
 in the yard, while she ascended to the sick room, 
 where her fellow-labourer Mrs. Trig was dressing 
 titer invalid. 
 
 He was so wasted, that it seemed as if his 
 bones would rattle when they moved him. II ii 
 cheeks were sunken, and his eyes unnaturally 
 !!«' lav back in the easy chair like one 
 more dead than living; and rolled his languid 
 eyes towards the door when Mrs. Gamp appeared, 
 ully as if their weight alone were burden- 
 some to move. 
 
 44 And how arc wo by this time?" Mrs. Gamp 
 observed. ** We looks charming." 
 
 "We looks a deal channinger than we are, 
 
 returned Mrs. Prijr, a little obatbd in her 
 
 " We got out of bad back'ards, I think, 
 
 11- r we 're as cross as two sticks. I never see sich 
 
 a man. Me wouldn't have been washed, if he'd 
 
 had his own way." 
 
 "She put the toop in my mouth," said the un- 
 fortunate (Mitient, fe« -bly. 
 
 it shut then ?" retorted 
 rig. "Who da you think 's t<> wash one 
 •ti.cr, and (vear one's t . 
 
 with all manner of ano-woab ft that description, 
 
 for haIf-a-< roWO a day I uts to bo titti. 
 
 vated, you must pay accordin." 
 
 , dear me!" cried the patient, "oh, dear, 
 
 "There!'' said Mrs. Prijr." that's the way he *s 
 been a conduct in? of him*cl£ Sarah, ever since I 
 got him out of bed, if you'll believe it." 
 
 ** Instead of being grateful," Mrs. Gamp ob- 
 
 served, •* fcr all our little ways. Oh, fie for shame 
 sir, tit- lor shame !" 
 
 II- re .Mr*. Brig seized the patient by the chin, 
 and began to rasp his unhappy head with a hair- 
 brush. ^ 
 
 I oppose you don't like thai, neither!" she 
 d, slopping to look at him. 
 It was just possible that lie didn't, for the brush 
 was a specimen of the- hardest kind 
 producible by modern art; and his very eye-lids 
 
 ■ i with the frictioH. Mrs. I'rig w.i 
 fied to observe the correctness of her sup; 
 and said triumphantly, "she know'd as much." 
 
 When his hair was smoothed down comfortably 
 into his eyes, Mrs. Prig and Mrs. Gamp put on 
 his neckerchief: adjusting his shirt collar with 
 gsaal nicety, so that the starched points should 
 also invade those organs, cod afflict them with an 
 artificial ophthalmia. His waistcoat and coat 
 were next arranged : and as every button was 
 wrenched into a wrong button-hole, and the order 
 of his boots was reversed, he presented on the 
 whole rather a melancholy appearance. 
 
 "I don't think it's right," said the poor weak 
 invalid. " I feel as if I was in somebody else's 
 clothes. I 'in all on one side ; and you 've made 
 one of my legs shorter than the other. 'Phere 's 
 a bottle in my pocket, too. What do you make 
 me sit upon a bottle for ?" 
 
 " Deuce take the man !" cried Mrs. Gamp, 
 drawing it forth. " If he ain't been and got my 
 night-bottle here. I made a little cupboard of his 
 coat when it hung behind the door, and quite for- 
 got it, Betsey. You '11 find a ingun or two, t.nd 
 a little tea and sugar in his t'other pocket, my 
 dear, if you '11 jest be good enough to take 'em 
 out." 
 
 Betsey produced the property in question, to 
 gether with some other articles of general chan 
 [ dlery ; and Mrs. Gamp transferred them to her 
 ' own pocket, which was a species of nankeen pan- 
 nier. Refreshment then arrived in the form of 
 chops and strong ale, for the ladies, and a basin 
 of beaf-tea for the patient: which refection was 
 barely at an end when John Westlock appeared. 
 " Up and dressed !" cried John, sitting down 
 beside him. " That's brave. How do.you feel ?" 
 " Much better. But very weak." 
 "No wonder. You have had a hard bout of it. 
 But country air, and change of scene," said John, 
 "will make another man of you! Why, Mrs. 
 Gamp," lie added, laughing, as he kindly arranged 
 the sick man's garments, " you have odd notions 
 of a gentleman's dress !" 
 
 " Mr. Leewsome an't a easy gent to get into 
 his clothes, sir," Mrs. Gamp replied with dignity; 
 '• as me and Betsy Prig can certify afore the Lord 
 Mayor and Uncommon Counsellors, if needful !** 
 John was at that moment standing close in 
 front of the sick man, in the act ol him 
 
 from tfie torture of the collars before mentioned, 
 when he said in a whisper : 
 
 " Mr. Westlock ! 1 don't wish to be overheard. 
 I have something very particular and strange to 
 say to you ; somcthinir that has been a dreadful 
 weight on my mind, through this long iii 
 
 Quick in all his motions, John was turning 
 round to desire the women to leave the room : 
 when the sick man held him bv the sleeve. 
 
 44 Not now. I 've not the strength. I 've not the 
 courage. May I tell it \\ hen I have ? Msy I 
 write it, if I find that easier and better ?" 
 
184 
 
 LIFE ,.ND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 " May you !" cried John. " Why, Leewsome, 
 tvhat is this !" 
 
 " Don't ask me what it is. It 's unnatural and 
 cruel. Frightful to think of. Frightful to tell. 
 Frightful to know. Frightful to have helped in. 
 Let me kiss your hand for all your goodness to 
 inc. Be kinder still, and don't ask me what it is !** 
 
 At first, John gazed at him, in great surprise; 
 but remembering how very much reduced he was, 
 and how recently his brain had been on fire with 
 fever, believed that he was labouring under some 
 imaginary horror, or despondent fancy. For far- 
 ther information on this point, he took an oppor- 
 tunity of drawing Mrs. Gamp aside, while Betsey 
 Prig was wrapping him in cloaks and shawls, and 
 asked her whether he was quite collected in his mind. 
 
 "Oh, bless you, no!" said Mrs. Gamp. "He 
 hates his nusscs to this hour. They always does 
 it, sir. It 's a certain sign. If you could have 
 lieerd the poor dear soul a findin' fault with me 
 and Bejaey Prig, not half an hour ago, you would 
 have wondered how it is we don't get fretted to 
 the tomb." 
 
 Th'is almost confirmed John in his suspicion; 
 so, not taking what had passed into any serious 
 accounj, he resumed his former cheerful manner 
 and assisted by Mrs. Gamp and Betsey Prig, con- 
 ducted Leewsome downstairs to the coach : just 
 then upon the point of starting. 
 
 Poll Sweedlepipe was at the door with his arms 
 tight folded and his eyes wide open, and looked 
 on with absorbing interest, while the sick man 
 was slowly moved into the vehicle. His bony 
 hands and haggard face impressed Poll wonder- 
 fully ; and he informed Mr. Bailey, in confidence, 
 that he wouldn't have missed seeing him for a 
 pound. Mr. Bailey, who was of a different con- 
 stitution, remarked, that he would have staid 
 away for five shillings. 
 
 It was a troublesome matter to adjust Mrs. 
 Gamp's luggage to her satisfaction; for every 
 package belonging to that lad}' had the incon- 
 venient property of requiring to be put in a boot 
 by itself, and to have no other luggage near it, on 
 pain of actions at law for heavy damages against 
 the proprietors of the coach. The umbrella with 
 the circular patch was particularly hard to be got 
 rid of, and several times thrust out its battered 
 brass nozzle from improper crevices and chinks, 
 to the great terror of the > other passengers. In- 
 deed, in her intense anxiety to find a haven of 
 refuge for this chattel, Mrs. Gamp so often moved 
 it, in the course of five minutes, that it seemed 
 not one umbrella but fifty. At length it was lost, 
 or said to be; and for the next five minutes she 
 was face to face with the coachman, go wherever 
 lie might, protesting that it should be " made 
 good," though she took the question to the House 
 of Commons. 
 
 At last, her bundle, and her pattens, and her 
 basket, and everything else, being disposed of, 
 she took a friendly leave of Poll and Mr. Bailey, 
 dropped a curtsey to John Westlock, and parted 
 as from a cherished member of the sisterhood 
 with Betsey Prig. 
 
 " VVishin' you lots of sickness, my darling 
 ■.rectur," Mrs. Gamp observed, " and good places. 
 It won't be long, I hope, afcr« we works together, 
 off and on, agaii., Betsey; and may our next 
 nieetin' be at a large family's, where they all 
 takes it reg'lar, one from another, turn and turn 
 about, and has it business-like." 
 
 "Id ,n'i care how soon it is," said Mrs. Prig ; 
 ; " nor how many weeks it lasts." 
 
 Mrs. Gamp, with a reply in a congenial spiiit, 
 was backing to the coach when she came in con- 
 tact with a lady and gentleman who were passing 
 along the footway. 
 
 "Take care, take care, here!" cried the gen- 
 tleman. "Halloo! My dear! Why, it's Mrs. 
 Gamp !" 
 
 "What, Mr. Mould!" exclaimed the nurse. 
 " And Mrs. Mould ! who would have thought as 
 we should ever have a meetin' here, I 'm sure !" 
 
 "Going out of town, Mrs. Gamp?" cried 
 Mould. "That 's unusual, isn't it ?" 
 
 " It is unusual, sir," said Mrs. Gamp. " But 
 only for a day or two at most. The gent," she 
 whispered, "as I spoke about." 
 
 "What, in the coach!" cried Mould. "The 
 one you thought of recommending ? Very odd. 
 My dear, this will interest you. 'J he gentleman 
 that Mrs. Gamp thought likely to suit us,-is in the 
 coach, my love." 
 
 Mrs. Mould was greatly interested. 
 
 " Here, my dear. You can stand upon the 
 door-step," said Mould, "and take a look at him. 
 Ha ! There he is. Where *s my glass ? Oh ! 
 all right, I 've got it. Do you see him, my dear ?" 
 
 "Quite plain," said Mrs. Mould. 
 
 " Upon my life, you know, this is a very singu- 
 lar circumstance," said Mould, quite delighted. 
 "This is, the sort of thing, my dear, I wouldn't 
 have missed on any account. It tickles one. 
 It 's interesting. It 's almost a little play, you 
 know. Ah ! There he is ! To be sure. Looks 
 poorly, Mrs. M., don't he ?" 
 
 Mrs. Mould assented. 
 
 " He's coming our way perhaps, after all," said 
 Mould. " Who knows ! I feel as if I ought to 
 show him some little attention, really. He don't 
 seem a stranger to me. I'm very much inclined 
 to move my hat, my dear." 
 
 " He 's looking hard this way," said Mrs 
 Mould. 
 
 " Then I will !" cried Mould. " How d'ye do, 
 sir ? I wish you good day. Ha ! He bows too. 
 Very gentlemanly. Mrs. Gamp has the cards in 
 her pocket, I have no doubt. This is very singu- 
 lar, my dear — and very pleasant. I am not su- 
 perstitious, but it really seems as if one was des- 
 tined to pay him those little melancholy civilities 
 which belong to our peculiar line of business. 
 There can be no kind of objection to your kissing 
 your hand to him, my dear." 
 
 Mrs. Mould did so. 
 
 " Ha !" said Mould. " He's evidently gratified. 
 Poor fellow ! I'm quite glad you did it, my love. 
 Bye bye, Mrs. Gamp!" waving his hand. "There 
 he goes; there he goes!" 
 
 So he did, for the coach rolled off as the words 
 were spoken. Mr. and Mrs. Mould, in high good 
 humour, went their merry way. Mr. Bailey re- 
 tired with Poll Sweedlepipe as soon as possible ; 
 but some little time elapsed before he could re- 
 move his friend from the ground, owing to the 
 impression wrought upon the barber's nerves by 
 Mrs. Prig, whom he pronounced, in admiration of 
 her beard, to be a woman of transcendent charms. 
 
 When the light cloud of bustle hanging round 
 the coach was thus dispersed, Nadgett was seen 
 in the darkest box of the Bull coffee-room, looking 
 wistfully up at the clock — as if the man who never 
 appeared were a little behind his time- 
 
MARTIN CHI ZZLEVVIT, 
 
 185 
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 Pk^VES THAT CHANGES MAY BE RUNG IN THE BEST-REGULATED FAMI- 
 LIES, AND THAT MR. PECKSNIFF WAS A SPECIAL HAiND AT A TRIPLE- 
 BOB-MAJOR. 
 
 As the surgeon's first care" a fit- r amputating a 
 limb i* ; .— the cruel knife lias 
 
 severed, .so it is (lie duty of* this history, winch in 
 
 WHO has cut from ti 
 sniffian trunk its right arm, Mercy, to look to the 
 parent si. in, .hhI see how in all its various rami- 
 fications it got on without her. 
 
 And first of -Mr. Pecksniff, it may be observed, 
 that basting provided for his younger daughter 
 that choicest of blessings, a tender and indulgent 
 husband; tad having gratified the dearest wish 
 of his parental heart by establishing her in life so 
 happily ; be renewed his youth, and spreading the 
 plum. i ge of his own bright conscience, felt him- 
 self equal to all kinds of flights. It is customary 
 with lathers in stage-plays, after giving their 
 daughters to the men of their hearts, to congratu- 
 late themselves on having no other business on 
 their hands but to die immediately : though it is 
 rarely found that they are in a hurry to do it. 
 Mr. Pecksniff, being a father of a more sage and 
 practical class, appeared to think that his imme- 
 diate business was to live ; and having deprived 
 himself of one comfort, to surround himself with 
 others. 
 
 But however much inclined the good man was, 
 to be jocose and playful, and in the garden of his 
 fancy to disport himself (if one may say so), like 
 an architectural kitten, he had one impediment 
 constantly opposed to him. The gentle Cherry, 
 stun^ by a sense of slight and injury, which far 
 from softening down or wearing out, rankled and 
 festend in her heart — the gentle Cherry was in 
 flat rebellion. She waged fierce war against her 
 feu Papa; she led her parent, what is usually 
 called, for want of a better figure of speech, the 
 life of a dog. But never did that dog live, in 
 kennel, stable-yard, or house, whose life was half 
 as hard as Mr. Pecksniff's with his gentle child. 
 
 The father and daughter were sitting at their 
 breakfast. Tom had retired, and they were alone. 
 Mr. Pecksniff frowned at first; but having clear- 
 ed his brow, looked stealthily at his child. Her 
 nose was very red indeed, and screwed up tight, 
 with hostile preparation. 
 
 44 Cherry," cried Mr. Pecksniff, " what is amies 
 M? child, why arc we disunited?" 
 
 Miss Pecksniffs answer was scarcely a response 
 to this gush of affection, for it was simply, " Bo- 
 ther, Pa!" 
 
 "Bother !" repeated Mr. Pecksniff, in a tone of 
 anguish. 
 
 u Oh! lis too late, Pa," -said his daughter, 
 calmly, " to talk to me like that. I know what it 
 . .ml what it- v.i! 
 
 44 This is bard !" cri. d Mr. Pecksniff, addressing 
 nis bre kfist-cup. " This is very hard ! She is 
 my child. I carried her in my urnis, wlien she 
 wore shapeless worsted shoes — I might say, muf 
 
 flers- 
 
 ■raany years ago 
 
 44 You needn't taunt me with that, Pa," r« tort- 
 
 ed Cherry, with a spiteful look. * I am not so 
 
 many years older than my sifter, either, though 
 she is married to your friend !" 
 
 14 Ah, human nature, .human nature! Poor 
 human nature !" said Mr. Pecksniff, shaking his 
 head at human nature as if he didn't be 1 dug to 
 it 44 To think that tliis discord should an 
 such a cause ! oh, dear, oh, d 
 
 44 From such a cause, indeed !". cried Cherry. 
 "State the real cause, Pa, or I'll state it myscif. 
 Mind ! I will !" 
 
 Perhaps the energy with which she said this 
 was infectious. However that may be, Mr. Peck- 
 sniff changed his tone and the expression of his 
 face, for one of anger if not downright violence, 
 when lie said : , 
 
 44 You will ! you have. You did, yesterday. 
 You do, always. You have no decency ; you 
 make no secret of your temper; you have exposed 
 yourself to Mr. Chuz/.lewit, a hundred time*." 
 
 44 Myself!" cried Cherry, with a bitter smile. 
 44 Oh, indeed ! I don't mind that." 
 
 44 .Me too, then," said Mr. Pecksniff. 
 
 His daughter answered with a scornful laugh. 
 
 44 And since we have come to an explanation, 
 Charity," said Mr. Pecksniff, rolling his head 
 portentously, 44 let me tell you that I won't allow 
 it. None of your nonsense, Miss ! I won't per- 
 mit it to be done." 
 
 14 1 shall do," said Charity, rocking her chair 
 backwards and forwards, and raising her voice to 
 a high pitch, 44 1 shall do, Pa, what I please, and 
 what I have done. I am not going to be crushed 
 in everything, depend upon it. I 've been more 
 shamefully used than anybody ever was in this 
 world," here she began to cry and sob, 44 and may 
 expect the worst treatment from you, I know. 
 But I don't care for that No, I don't!" 
 
 Mr. Pecksniff was made so desperate by the 
 loud tone in which she spoke, that, atler looking 
 about him in frantic uncertainty for some means 
 of softening it, he rose and shook her until the 
 ornamental bow of hair upon her head nodded 
 like a plume. She was so very much astonished 
 by this assault, that it really had the desired effect. 
 
 44 1 '11 do it again !" cried Mr. Pecksniff, as he 
 resumed his seat, and fetched bis breath, 44 if you 
 dare to talk in that loud manner. How do you 
 mean about being shamefully used? W .Mr. 
 Jonas chose your sister in preference to you, who 
 could help it, I should wish to know? What 
 have J to do with it?" 
 
 ** Wasn't I made a convenience of? V. 
 my feelings trilled with ' Didn't he address him- 
 self to me first?" sobbed Ch ing her 
 hands ; 44 and oh, good gracious, that I should Uve 
 to bo shook !" 
 
 14 You '11 live to be shaken again," returned her 
 parent, "if you drive me to that means of main 
 taining the decorum of this humble roof. You 
 1 iider yoi have not more spirit 
 If .Mr. Jonas didn't care for you, how could y<4» 
 wish to have him ?" 
 
18G 
 
 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 " / wish to have him !" exclaimed Cherry. 
 * / wish to have him, Pa !" 
 
 "Then what' are you making all this piece oT 
 work for," retorted her father, ' if you didn't wish 
 to hare him ?" 
 
 "Because I was treated with duplicity," said 
 Cherry; "and because my own sister and my 
 own lather conspired against me. I am not angry 
 with /wr," said Cherry, looking much more angry 
 than ever. " I pity her. I 'm sorry for her. 1 
 know the fate that 's in store for her, with that 
 Wretch." 
 
 "Mr. Jonas will survive your calling him a 
 wretch, my child, I dare say," said Mr. Pecksniff 
 with returning resignation : " but call him what 
 you like and make an end of it." 
 
 " Not an end, Pa," said Charity. "No, not an 
 end. That 's not the only point on which we 're 
 not agreed. I won't submit to it. It's better 
 you should know that, at once. No; I won't 
 submit to it, indeed, Pa! I am not quite a fool, 
 and I am not blind. All I have got to say, is, 1 
 won't submit to it." 
 
 Whatever she meant, she shook Mr. Pecksniff 
 now ; for his lame attempt to seem composed, was 
 melancholy in the last degree. His anger changed 
 to meekness, and his words were mild and fawn- 
 ing. 
 
 " My dear," he said ; " if in the short excite- 
 ment of an angry moment I resorted to any un- 
 justifiable means of suppressing a little outbreak 
 calculated to injure you as well as myself — it's 
 possible I may have done so; perhaps I did — I 
 ask your pardon. A father asking pardon of his 
 child," said Mr. Pecksniff, " is, I believe, a spec- 
 tacle to soften the most rugged nature." 
 
 But it didn't at all soften Mi«s Pecksniff: per- 
 haps, because her nature was not rugged enough. 
 On the contrary, she persisted in saying, over and 
 over again, that she wasn't quite a tool, and wasn't 
 blind, and wouldn't submit to it. 
 
 "You labour under some mistake, my child !" 
 said Mr. Pecksniff: " but I will not ask you what 
 it is; I don't desire to know. No, pray!" he 
 added, holding out his hand and colouring again, 
 ' let us avoid the subject, my dear, whatever it is!" 
 
 " It 's quite right that the subject should be 
 avoided between us, Sir," said Cherry. " But I 
 wish to be able to avoid it altogether, and conse- 
 quently must beg you to provide me with a home." 
 
 Mr. Pecksniff looked about the room, and said, 
 " A home, my child !" 
 
 " Another home, Papa," said Cherry, with in- 
 creasing stateliness. " Place me at Mrs. Tod- 
 gers's or somewhere, on an independent footing; 
 but I will not live here, if such is to be the case." 
 
 It is possible that Miss Pecksniff saw in Mrs. 
 Todgcrs's, a vision of enthusiastic men, pining to 
 fall, in adoration, at her feet. It is possible that 
 Mr. Pecksniff, in his new-born juvenility, saw in 
 the suggestion of that same establishment, an 
 easy means of relieving himself from an irk- 
 some charge in the way of temper and watchful- 
 ness. It is undoubtedly a fact that in the atten- 
 tive ears of Mr. Pecksniff, the proposition did not 
 ►sound quite like the dismal knell of all bis hopes. 
 
 But he was a man of great feeling, and acute 
 •sensibility; and he squeezed his pocket-handker- 
 chief against his eyes with both hands — as such 
 men always do : especially when they are observ- 
 
 ed. " One of my birds," Mr. Pecksniff said, " has 
 left me for the stranger's breast; the other would 
 take wing to Todgers's ! Well, well, what am I ? 
 I don't know what I am, exactly. Never mind !" 
 
 Even this remark, made more pathetic perhaps 
 by his breaking down in the middle of it, had no 
 effect upon Charity. She was grim, rigid, and 
 inflexible. 
 
 "But I have ever," said Mr. Pecksniff, "sacri- 
 ficed my children's happiness to my own — I mean 
 my own happiness to my children's — and I will 
 not begin to regulate my life by other rules of 
 conduct now. If you can be happier at Mrs. 
 Todgers's than in your father's house, my dear, 
 go to Mrs. Todgers's ! Do not think of me, my 
 girl !" said Mr. Pecksniff, with emotion : " I shall 
 get on pretty well, no doubt." 
 
 Miss Charity, who knew he had a secret plea- 
 sure in the contemplation of the proposed change, 
 suppressed her own, and went on to negociate the 
 terms. His views upon this subject were at first 
 so very limited, that another difference, involving 
 possibly another shaking, threatened to ensue; 
 but by degrees they came to something like an 
 understanding, and the storm blew over. Indeed 
 Miss Charity's idea was so agreeable to both, that 
 it would have been strange if they had not come 
 to an amicable agreement. It was soon arranged 
 between them that the project should be tried, and 
 that immediately ; and that Cherry's not being 
 well, and needing change of scene, and wishing 
 to be near her sister, should form the excuse for 
 her departure, to Mr. Chuzzlewit and Mary, to 
 both of whom she had pleaded indisposition for 
 some time past. These premises agreed on, Mr. 
 Pecksniff gave her his blessing, with all the 
 dignity of a self-denying man who had made a 
 hard sacrifice, but comforted himself with the 
 reflection that virtue is its own reward. Thus 
 they were reconciled for the first lime since that 
 not easily forgiven night, when Mr. Jonas, repu- 
 diating the elder, had confessed his passion for 
 the younger sister, and Mr. Pecksniff had abetted 
 him on moral grounds. 
 
 But how happened it — in the name of an un- 
 expected addition to that small family, the Seven 
 Wonders of the World, whatever and wherever 
 they may be, how happened it — that Mr. Peck- 
 sniff and his daughter were about to part? How 
 happened it that their mutual relations were so 
 greatly altered? Why was Miss Pecksniff so 
 clamorous to have it understood that she w r as 
 neither blind nor foolish, and she wouldn't bear 
 it ? It is not possible that Mr. Pecksniff" had any 
 thoughts of marrying again ! or that his daugh- 
 ter, with the sharp eye of a single woman, fathom- 
 ed his design ! 
 
 Let us inquire into this. 
 
 Mr. Pecksniff, as a man without reproach, from 
 whom the breath of slander passed like common 
 breath from any other polished surface, could 
 afford to do what common men could not. He 
 knew the purity of his own motives ; and when 
 he had a motive worked at it as only a very good 
 man (or a very bad one) can. Did he set before 
 himself any strong and palpable motives for 
 taking a second wife ? Yes : and not one or two 
 of them, but a combination of very many. 
 
 Old Martin Chuzzlewit had gradually under- 
 gone an important change. Even upon the night 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 
 
 187 
 
 when he made such an ill-timed arrival at .Mr. 
 Pecksniff's house, he was comparatively subdued 
 and easy to deal with. This Mr. Pecksniff at- 
 tnhut. -d, at the time, to Hie effect his brother's 
 •ieath had had upon him. But from that hour 
 ait character seemed to have modified by regular 
 JBfrees. and to have softened down into a dull in- 
 difference Rjr almost every one bat Mr. Pecksniff. 
 His looks were much Mm same as ever, but his 
 mind was singularly altered. It was not that this 
 or that passion stood out in brighter or in dimmer 
 hues ; but that the colour of the whole man was 
 faded. As one trait disappeared, no other trait 
 sprung up to take its place. His senses dwindled 
 too. He was less keen of sight ; was deaf some- 
 times; took little notice of what passed before 
 him ; and would be profoundly taciturn for days 
 together. The process of this alteration was so 
 easy, that almost as soon as it began to be observ. 
 ed "it was complete. But Mr. Pecksniff saw it 
 first, and having Anthony Chuzzlewit fresh in his 
 recollection, saw in his brother Martin the same 
 process of decay. 
 
 To a gentleman of Mr. Pecksniff's tenderness, 
 this wus a very mournful sight. He could not 
 but foresee the probability of his respected rela- 
 tive being made the victim of designing persons, 
 and of his riches falling into worthless hands. It 
 gave him so much pain that he resolved to secure 
 the property to himself; to keep bad testamentary 
 suitors at a distance ; to wall up the old gentle- 
 man, as it were, for his own use. By little and 
 little, therefore, he began to try whether Mr. 
 Chuzzlewit gave any promise of becoming an in- 
 strument in his hands; and finding that he did, 
 and indeed that he was very supple in his plastic 
 , he made it the business of his life — kind 
 soul ! — to establish an ascendancy over him : and 
 every little test he durst apply meeting with a suc- 
 cess beyond his hopes, he began to think he heard 
 old Martin's cash already chinking in his own 
 unworldly pockets. 
 
 But when Mr. Pecksniff pondered on this sub- 
 ject (as, in his zealous way, he often did), and 
 thought with an uplifted heart of the train of cir- 
 cumstances which had delivered the old gentle- 
 man into his hands for the confusion of evil-doers 
 and the triumph of a righteous nature, he always 
 felt that Mary Graham was his stumbling-block. 
 Let the old man say what he would, Mr. Peck- 
 sniff knew he had a strong affection for her. He 
 knew that he showed k in a thousand little ways ; 
 that he liked to have her near him, and was never 
 quite at case when she was absent long. That he 
 had ever really sworn to leave her nothing in his 
 will, Mr. Pecksniff greatly doubted. That even 
 if he had, there were many ways by which he 
 could evade the oath and satisfy his conscience, 
 Mr. Pecksniff knew. That her unprotected state 
 was no light burden on the old man's mind, he 
 also knew, for Mr. Chuzzlewit had plainly told 
 him so. "Then," said Mr. Pecksniff, "what if I 
 . her! What," I Hr. Pecksniff, 
 
 sticking up his hair and glancing at his bust by 
 : " What if, making sure of his approval 
 first — he is nearly imbecile, poor gentleman — I 
 married her!" 
 
 .Mr. Pecksniff had a lively sense of the Beau- 
 tiful: especially hi women. His manner towards 
 the sex, was remarkable for its insinuating char- 
 
 acter. Jt is recordtt! of him in another part of 
 these pages, that he embraced Mrs. Todgcrs on 
 the smallest provocation : and it was a way he 
 had : it was a part of the gentle placidity of his 
 'dfspositlofL lie fore any thought of matrimony 
 was in his mind, he had bestowed on Mary many 
 little tokens of his spiritual admiration. They 
 had been indignantly received, but that was no- 
 thing. True, as the idea expanded within him, 
 these had become too ardent to escape the piercing 
 eye of Cherry, who read his scheme at once ; but 
 he had always felt the power of Mary's i 
 So Interest and Inclination made a pair, and drew 
 the curricle of Mr. Pecksniff's plan. 
 
 As to any thought of revenging himself oil 
 young Martin for his insolent expressions when 
 they parted, and of shutting him out still more 
 effectually from any hope of reconciliation with 
 his grandfather, Mr. Pecksniff was, much too 
 meek and forgiving to be suspected ofharl>ourinif 
 it. As to being refused by Mary, Mr. Pecksniff 
 was quite satisfied that in her position she could 
 never bold out if he and Mr. Chuzzlewit were 
 both against her. As to consulting the wishes of 
 her heart in such a case, it formed no part of Mf. 
 Pecksniff's moral Code ; for he knew what a good 
 man he was, and what a blessing he must be, to 
 anybody. His daughter having broken the ice, 
 and the murder being out between them, Mr. 
 Pecksniff had now only to pursue his design as 
 cleverly as he could, and by the craftiest ap- 
 proaches. 
 
 u Well, my good Sir," said Mr. Pecksniff meet- 
 ing old Martin in the garden, for it was his habit 
 to walk in and out by that way, as the fancy took 
 him : "and how is my dear friend this delicious 
 morning ?" 
 44 Do you mean me?" asked the old man. 
 "Ah!" said Mr. Pecksniff, "one of his deaf 
 days, I see. Could I mean any one else, my dear 
 Sir?" 
 
 44 You might have meant Mary," said tlie old 
 man. 
 
 44 Indeed I might. Quite true. I might speak 
 of her as a dear, dear friend, I hope ?" observed 
 Mr. Pecksniff. 
 
 14 1 hope so," returned old Martin. 4l I think 
 she Jescrves it." 
 
 44 Think !" cried Pecksniff. « Think, Mr. Chuz- 
 zlewit !" 
 
 44 You are speaking I know," retnrned Martin, 
 44 but I don't catch what you say. Spenk up !" 
 
 44 He's getting deafer than a flint," said Peck- 
 sniff. "I was saying, my dear Sir, that I am 
 afraid I must make up my mind to part with 
 Cherry." 
 
 41 What has she been doing?" asked the old 
 man. , 
 
 44 He puts the most ridiculous questions I 
 heard !" muttered Mr. Pecksniff. "He'sa child 
 to-day • After which he added, in a mild roar, 
 44 She hasn't been doing anything, my dear friend." 
 41 What are you going to part with her for?" 
 demanded Martin. 
 
 44 She hasn't her health by any means," said 
 Mr. Pecksniff. 44 She misses her sister, my dear 
 Sir; they doated on each other from the cradle. 
 And I think of giving her a ran in London for a 
 change. A good long run Sir, if I find she liken 
 it." 
 
188 
 
 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 M Quite right," cried Martin. " It 's judicious." 
 
 " I am glad to hear you say so. I hope you 
 
 mean to hear me company in this dull part, while 
 
 she 's away 
 
 id Mr. Pecksniff. 
 
 I have no intention of removing from it," was 
 Martin's answer. 
 
 "Then why," said Mr. Pecksniff, taking the 
 old man's arm in his, and walking slowly on : 
 " Why, my good Sir, can't you come and stay 
 with me ? I am sure I could surround you with 
 more comforts — lowly as is my Cot, than you can 
 obtain at a village house of entertainment. And 
 pardon me, Mr. Chuzzlewit, pardon me if I say 
 that such a place as the Dragon, however well- 
 conducted (and, as far as I know, Mrs. Lupin is 
 one of the worthiest creatures in this county), is 
 hardly a home for Miss Graham." 
 
 Martin mused a moment: and then said, as he 
 shook him by the hand, 
 
 " No. You 're quite right ; it is not." 
 
 " The very sight of skittles," Mr. Pecksniff 
 eloquently pursued, " is far from being congenial 
 to a delicate mind." 
 
 " It 's an amusement of the vulgar," said old 
 Martin, " certainly." 
 
 "Of the very vulgar," Mr. Pecksniff answered. 
 "Then why not bring Miss Graham here, Sir? 
 Here is the house ! Here ami alone in it, for 
 Thomas Pinch I do not count as any one. Our 
 lovely friend shall occupy my daughter's cham- 
 ber; you shall choose your own; we shall not 
 quarrel, I hope !" 
 
 " We are not likely to do that," said Martin. 
 
 Mr. Pecksniff pressed his hand. " We under- 
 stand each other, my dear Sir, I see ! — I can wind 
 him," he thought, with exultation, " round my 
 little finger !" 
 
 "You leave the recompense to me?" said the 
 old man, after a minute's silence. 
 
 " Oli ! Do not speak of recompense !" cried 
 Pecksniff. 
 
 " I say," repeated Martin, with a glimmer of 
 his old obstinacy, "you leave the recompense to 
 me. Do you ?" 
 
 " Since you desire it, my good Sir." 
 
 " I always desire it," said the old man. " You 
 know I always desire it. I wish to pay as I go, 
 even when I buy of you. Not that I do not leave 
 a balance to be settled one day, Pecksniff." 
 
 The architect was too much overcme to speak. 
 He tried to drop a tear upon his patron's hand, 
 but couldn't find one in his dry distillery. 
 
 " May that day be very distant !" was his pious 
 exclamation. "Ah, Sir ! If I could say how deep 
 an interest I have in you and yours ! I allude to 
 our beautiful young friend." 
 
 " True," he answered. " True. She need have 
 s^mc one interested in her. I did her wrong to 
 train her as I did. Orphan though she was, she 
 would have found some one to protect her whom 
 she might have loved again. When she was a 
 child, I pleased myself with the thought that in 
 gratifying my whim in placing her between me 
 and false-hearted knaves, I had done her a kind- 
 ness. Now she is a woman, I have no such com- 
 fort She has no protector but herself. I have 
 put her ai such odds with the world, that any dog 
 may bark or fawn upon her at his pleasure. In- 
 deed she stands in need of delicate consideration. 
 Yes . indeed she does !" 
 
 " If her position could be altered and defined, 
 ' Sir ?" Mr. Pecksniff hinted. 
 
 " How can that be done ? Should I make a 
 seamstress of her, or a governess ?" 
 
 " Heaven forbid !" said Mr. Pecksniff. ■ My 
 dear Sir, there are other ways. There are, in- 
 deed. But I am much excited and embarrassed 
 at present, and would rather not pursue the sub- 
 ject. I scarcely know what I mean. Permit 
 me to resume it at another time." 
 
 " You are not unwell ?" asked Martin, anxi- 
 ously. 
 
 " No, no !" cried Pecksniff. " No. Permit me 
 to resume it at another time. I '11 walk a little. 
 Bless you !" 
 
 Old Martin blessed him in return, and squeez- 
 ed his hand. As he turned away, and slowly 
 walked towards the house, Mr. Pecksniff stood 
 gazing after him : being pretty well recovered 
 from his late emotion, which, in any other man, 
 one might have thought had been assumed as a 
 machinery for feeling Martin's pulse. The change 
 in the old man found such a slight expression in 
 his figure, that Mr. Pecksniff, looking after him, 
 could not help saying to himself, 
 
 " And I can wind him round my little finger ! 
 Only think!" 
 
 Old Martin happening to turn his head, saluted 
 him affectionately. Mr. Pecksniff returned the 
 gesture. 
 
 " Why the time was," said Mr. Pecksniff; " and 
 not long ago, when he wouldn't look at me ! How 
 soothing is this change ! Such is the delicate 
 texture of the human heart: so complicated is 
 the process of its being softened ! Externally he 
 looks the same, and I can wind him round my 
 little finger. Only think !" 
 
 In sober truth, there did appear to be nothing 
 on which Mr. Pecksniff might not have ventured 
 with Martin Chuzzlewit; for whatever Mr. Peck- 
 sniff said or did was right, and whatever he 
 advised was done. Martin had escaped so many 
 snares from needy fortune-hunters, and had with- 
 ered in the shell of his suspicion and distrust for 
 so many years, but to become the good man's 
 tool and plaything. With the happiness of this 
 conviction painted on his face, the architect went 
 forth upon his morning walk. 
 
 The summer weather in his bosom was reflect- 
 ed in the breast of Nature. Through deep green 
 vistas where the boughs arched over-head, and 
 showed the sunlight flushing in the beautiful per- 
 spective ; through dewy fern from which the 
 strrtled hares leaped up, and fled at his approach ; 
 by mantled pools, and fallen trees, and down in 
 hollow places, rustling among last year's leaves 
 whose scent was Memory ; the placid Pecksniff 
 strolled. By meadow gates and hedges fragrant 
 with wild roses; and by thatched-roofed cottages 
 whose inmates humbly bowed before him as a 
 man both good and wise; the worthy Pecksniff 
 walked in tranquil meditation. The bee passed 
 onward, humming of the work he had to do ; the 
 idle gnats for ever going round and round in one 
 contracting and expanding ring, yet always going 
 on as fast as he, danced merrily before him ; the 
 colour of the long grass came and went, as if the 
 light clouds made it timid as they floated through 
 the distant air. The birds, so many Pecksniff 
 consciences, sang gaily upon every branch ; and 
 

 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 
 
 1S9 
 
 ksniff paid hit homage to the day by ru- 
 mir«atiug on his projects as he walked along. 
 
 Chancing to trip, in his abstraction, over the 
 spreading root of an old tree, he raised his pious 
 eyes to take a survey of the ground before him. 
 It startled him to see thu embodied image of his 
 thoughts not far a-head. Mary herseIC And 
 alone. 
 
 At first Mr. Pecksniff stopped, as if with the 
 intention of avoiding her; but his next impulse 
 was, to advance, which he did at a brisk pace ; ca- 
 rolling as he wenj, so swei tly ami with so much 
 innocence, that he only wanted leathers and wings 
 to be a bird. 
 
 1 1 ring notes behind her, not belonging to the 
 rs of the grove, she looked round. Mr. 
 Pecksniff kissed his hand, and was at her side 
 immediately. 
 
 "Communing with Nature?" said Mr. Peck- 
 sniff. M So am I.'* 
 
 She said the morning was so beautiful that she 
 had walked further than she intended, and would 
 return. Mr. Pecksniff said it was exactly his 
 case, and he would return with her. 
 
 44 Take my arm, sweet girl," said Mr. Pcck- 
 aniff. 
 
 Mary declined it, and walked so very fast that 
 he remonstrated. " You were loitering when I 
 came upon you," Mr. Pecksniff said. " Why be 
 ■o cruel as to hurry now ! You would not shun 
 me, would you ?" 
 
 44 Yes, I would," she answered, turning her 
 
 flowing cheek indignantly upon him, 44 you know 
 would. Release me, Mr. Pecksniff. Your touch 
 ia disagreeable to me." 
 
 His touch ! What, that chaste patriarchal touch 
 which Mrs. Todgers — surely a discreet lady — had 
 endured, not only without complaint, but with ap- 
 parent satisfaction ! This was positively wrong. 
 Mr. Pecksniff was sorry to hear her say it. 
 
 " If you have not observed," said Mary, "that 
 it is so, pray take the assurance from my lips, and 
 do not, as you are a gentleman, continue to offend 
 me." 
 
 -Well, well!" said Mr. Pecksniff, mildly, 44 1 
 feel that I might consider this becoming in a 
 daughter of my own, and why should I object to 
 it in one so beautiful ! It 's harsh. It cats me 
 to the soul," said Mr. Pecksniff: "but I cannot 
 quarrel with you, Mary." 
 
 She tried to say she was sorry to hear it, but 
 burst into tears. Mr. Pecksniff now repeated the 
 Todgers p- rtbrmance on a comfortable scale, as 
 if he intended it to last some time; and in his 
 disengaged hand, catching hers, employed him- 
 self in separating the fingers with his own, and 
 sometimes kissing them, as he pursued the con- 
 versation thus: 
 
 44 1 am glad we met. I am very glad we met. 
 
 I am able now to case my bosom of a heavy load, 
 
 snd speak to you in confidence. Mary," said Mr. 
 
 Pecksniff, in his tender* st tones: indeed, they 
 
 o very tender that he almost squeaked: 
 
 "•* My soul ! I love you !" 
 
 A fant istie tiling, that maiden affectation ! She 
 Bade-belfere to shudder. 
 
 44 1 love you," said Mr. Pecksniff, 44 my gentle 
 life, with a devotion which ia quite surprising, 
 even to myself. I did suppose that the st 
 was buried in the silent tornb of a lady, only se- 
 
 cond to you in qualities of the mind and form ; 
 but I find I am mistaken." 
 
 She tried to disengage her hand, but might as 
 well have tried to free herself from the embrace 
 of an affectionate boa-constrictor : if anything so 
 wily may be brougnt into comparison with Peck- 
 sniff. 
 
 44 Although I am a widower," said Mr. Peck- 
 sniff, examining the ring9 upon her fingers, and 
 tracing the course of one delicate blue vein with 
 his fat thumb, ,4 a widower with two daughters, 
 still I am not encumbered, my love. One of them, 
 as you know, is married. The other, by her own 
 desire, but with a view, I will confess — why not? 
 — to my altering my condition, is about to leave 
 her father's house. I have a character, I hope. 
 People are pleased to speak well of me, I think. 
 My person and manner are not absolutely those 
 of a monster, I trust. Ah, naughty Hand!" said 
 Mr. Pecksniff, apostrophising the reluct mt prize, 
 44 why did you take me prisoner ! Go, go !'* 
 
 He slapped the hand to punish it; but relent- 
 ing, folded it in his waistcoat, to comfort it again. 
 
 44 Blessed in each other, and in the society of 
 our venerable friend, my darling," said Mr. Peck- 
 sniff, " we shall be happy. When he is wafted 
 to a haven of rest, we will console each other. 
 My pretty primrose, what do you say ?" 
 
 44 It is possible," Mary answered, in a hurried 
 manner, 44 that I ought to feel grateful for this 
 mark of your confidence. I cannot say that I 
 do, but I am willing to suppose you may deserve 
 my thanks. Take them ; and pray leave me, Mr. 
 Pecksniff." 
 
 The good man smiled a greasy smile : and drew 
 her closer to him. 
 
 44 Pray, pray release me, Mr. Pecksniff. I can- 
 not listen to your proposal. I cannot receive it. 
 There are many to whom it may be acceptable, 
 but it is not so to me. As an act of kindness and 
 an act of pity, leave me !" 
 
 Mr. Pecksniff walked on with his arm round 
 her waist, and her hand in his, as contentedly as 
 if they had been all in all to each other, and were 
 joined together in the bonds of truest love. 
 
 41 If you force me by your superior strength," 
 said Mary, who, finding that good words had not 
 the least effect upon him, made no further effort 
 to suppress her indignation : 44 if you force me 
 by your superior strength to accompany you back, 
 and to be the subject of your insolence upon the 
 way, you cannot constrain the expression of my 
 thoughts. I hold you in the deepest abhorrence. 
 I know your real nature and despise it." 
 
 44 No, no," said Mr. Pecksniff, sweetly. *• No, 
 no, no !" 
 
 44 By what arts or unhappy chances you have 
 gained your influence over Mr. Chuzzlewit, I do 
 not know," said Mary : " it may be strong enough 
 to soften even this, but he shall know of this, ' 
 trust me, Sir." 
 
 Mr. Pecksniff raised his heavy cyrlils languid- 
 ly, and let them full again. It was saving with 
 perfect coolness, "Ay^ay! Indeed!*' 
 
 44 Is it not enough," said M rv, " tint you warp 
 and change his nature, adapt I I ■ jndice 
 
 to your had ends, and harden a heart naturally 
 kind by shutting out the truth and allowing noha 
 but false and distorted views to reach it ; is it not 
 enough that you have the power cf doing this. 
 
190 
 
 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 and that you exercise it, but must you also be so 
 coarse, so cruel, and so cowardly to me ?" 
 
 Still Mr. Pecksniff led her calmly on, and look- 
 ed as mild as any lamb that ever pastured in the 
 iields. 
 
 u Will nothing- move you, Sh !" cried Mary. 
 
 '• My dear," observed Mr. Pecksniff, With a pla- 
 cid leer, " a habit of self-examination, and the 
 practice of— shall I say of virtue?" 
 
 " Of hypocrisy," said Mary. 
 
 " No, no," resumed Mr. Pecksniff, chafing the 
 captive hand reproachfully: "of virtue — have en- 
 abled me to set such guards upon myself, that it 
 is really difficult to ruffle me. It is a curious fact, 
 but it is difficult, do you know, for any one to 
 ruffle me. And did she think," said Mr. Peck- 
 sniff, with a playful tightening of his grasp, "that 
 she could ! How little did she know his heart !" 
 
 Little indeed ! Her mind was so strangely con- 
 stituted that she would have preferred the caresses 
 of a toad, an adder, or a serpent : nay, the hug 
 of a bear: to the endearments of Mr. Pecksniff. 
 
 " Come, come," said that good gentleman, " a 
 word or two will set this matter right, and estab- 
 lish a pleasant understanding between us. I am 
 not angry, my love." 
 
 " You angry !" 
 
 " No," said Mr. Pecksniff, " I am not. I say 
 so. Neither are you." 
 
 There was a beating heart beneath his hand 
 that told another story though. 
 
 " I am sure you are not," said Mr. Pecksniff: 
 " and I will tell you why. There are two Mar- 
 tin Chuzzlewits, my dear ; and your carrying your 
 anger to one might have a serious effect, who 
 knows, upon the other. You wouldn't wish to 
 hurt him, would you !" 
 
 She trembled violently, and looked at him with 
 such a proud disdain that he turned his eyes away. 
 No doubt lest he should be offended with her in 
 spite of his better self. 
 
 " A passive quarrel, my love," said Mr. Peck- 
 sniff, " may be changed into an active one, re- 
 member. It would be sad to blight even a disin- 
 herited young man in his already blighted pros- 
 pects : but how easy to do it ! Ah, how easy ! 
 Have I influence with our venerable friend, do 
 you think? Well, perhaps I have. Perhaps I 
 have. 
 
 He raised his eyes to hers; and nodded with 
 an air of banter that was charming. 
 
 " No," he continued, thoughtfully. " Upon the 
 whole, my sweet, if I were you, I 'd keep my se- 
 cret to myself. I am not at all sure: very far 
 from it : that it would surprise our friend in any 
 way, for he and I have had some conversation 
 together only this morning, and he is anxious, 
 very anxious, to establish you in some more set- 
 tled manner. But whether he was surprised or 
 not surprised, the consequence of your imparting 
 it might be the same. Martin, junior, might suf- 
 fer severely. I 'd have compassion on Martin, 
 junior, do you know !" said Mr. Pecksniff, with 
 & persuasive smile. " Yes. He don't deserve it, 
 but I would." 4 
 
 She wept so bitterly now, and was so much dis- 
 tressed, that ne thought it prudent to unclasp her 
 waist, and hold her only by the hand. 
 
 " As to our own share in the precious little mys- 
 tery." said Mr. Pecksniff, " we will keep it to 
 
 ourselves, and talk of it between ourselves, and 
 you shall think it over. You will consent, my 
 love ; you will consent, I know. Whatever you 
 may think ; you will. I seem to remember to 
 have heard : I really don't know where, or how :" 
 he added, with bewitching frankness, " that you 
 and Martin, junior, when you were children, had 
 a sort of childish fondness for each other. When 
 we are married, you shall have the satisfaction of 
 thinking that it didn't last, to ruin him, but pass- 
 ed away, to do him good ; for we '11 see then, what 
 we can do to put some trifling help in Martin ju- 
 nior's way. Have I any influence with our ven- 
 erable friend ? Well ! Perhaps I have. Perhaps 
 I have." 
 
 The outlet from the wood in which these ten- 
 der passages occurred, was close to Mr. Pecksniff's 
 house. They were now so near it that he stopped, 
 and holding up her little finger, said in playful 
 accents, as a parting fancy : 
 
 "Shall I bite it?" 
 
 Receiving no reply he kissed it instead ; and 
 then stooping down, inclined his flabby face to 
 hers — he had a flabby face, although he was a 
 good man — and with a blessing, which from such 
 a source was quite enough to set her up in life, 
 and prosper her from that time forth, permitted her 
 to leave him. 
 
 Gallantry in its true sense is supposed to enno- 
 ble and dignify a man ; and love has shed refine- 
 ments on innumerable Cymons. But Mr. Peck- 
 sniff: perhaps because to one of his exalted na- 
 ture these were mere grossnesses : certainly did 
 not appear to any unusual advantage, now that he 
 was left alone. On the contrary, he seemed to be 
 shrunk and reduced ; to be trying to hide himself 
 within himself; and to be wretched at not having 
 the power to do it. His shoes looked too large ; 
 his sleeves looked too long ; his hair looked too 
 limp; his hat looked too little; his features look- 
 ed too mean ; his exposed throat looked as if a 
 halter would have done it good. For a minute or 
 two, in fact, he was hot, and pale, and mean, and 
 shy, and slinking, and consequently not at all 
 Pecksniffian. But after that, he recovered him- 
 self, and went home with as beneficent an air as 
 if he had been the High Priest of the summer 
 weather. 
 
 ■ I have arranged to go, Papa," said Charity, 
 " to-morrow." 
 
 " So soon, my child !" 
 
 " I can't go too soon," said Charity, " under 
 the circumstances. I have written to Mrs. Tod- 
 gers to propose an arrangement, and have request- 
 ed her to meet me at the coach, at all events. 
 You '11 be quite your own master now, Mr. Pinch !" 
 
 Mr. Pecksniff had just gone out of the room, 
 and Tom had just come into it. 
 
 " My own master !" repeated Tom. 
 
 "Yes, you Ml have nobody to interfere with 
 you," said Charity. " At least I hope you won't. 
 Hem ! It's a changing world." 
 
 "What! are — are you going to be married, 
 Miss Pecksniff?" asked Tom in great surprise. 
 
 "Not exactly," faltered Cherry. "I haven't 
 made up my mind to be. I believe I could be 
 if I chose, Mr. Pinch." 
 
 " Of course you could !" said Tom. And he 
 said it in perfect g-ood faith. He believed it froi» 
 the bottom of his heart. 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT, 
 
 191 
 
 "No," said Cherry, "/am not going to be 
 married. Nobody is, that 1 know of. Hem! 
 But I ;uh m>t going to live with Papa. I have 
 "lis, hut it's all a secret. I shall always 
 J kindly towards you, I assure you, tor the 
 boldness \un shewed tliat night. As to you and 
 rue, Mr I'li.t ii, ;/•/• part the best i'rii nds, po 
 
 Tom thai.: i hi-r <'i»:itiili toot, and for 
 
 >, bat there wai a mystery in the 
 farmer, which perfectly bewildered liim. In his 
 extravagant devotion to the family, he had felt the 
 loss of Merry more than any one hut those who 
 knew tli.it for all the slights he underwent ha 
 thought his own demerits were to blame, could 
 possibly have understood. He had scarcely re- 
 eoneiled himself to that, when liere was Charity 
 about to leave them. She had grown up, as it 
 were, under Tom's eye. The sisters were a part 
 
 of Pecksniff, and a part of Tom , items in Peek* 
 sniff's goodness, and in Tom's service, lie 
 couldn't bear it: not two hours' sleep had Tom 
 that night, through dwelling in his bed upon these 
 dreadful changes. 
 
 When morniug dawned, he thought he must ' 
 have dreamed this piece of ambiguity ; but no, 
 on going down stairs he found them packing 
 irding boxes, and making other pre- 
 paraticms for .Miss Chafity's departure, which last- 
 ed all day long. In good time for the evening - 
 coach, Miss Charity deposited her housekeeping 
 keys with much ceremony upon the parlour-table; 
 took a gracious leave of all the house; and quil- 
 ted ber paternal roof — a blessing, for whish the 
 Pecksniffian servant was observed by some pro- 
 fane persons to be particularly active in the thanks- 
 giving at church next Sunday. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXI. 
 
 MR. PINCH IS DISCHARGED OF A DUTY WHICH HE NEVER OWED TO ANY- 
 BODY; AND MR. PECKSNIFF DISCHARGES A DUTY WHICH HE OWES TO 
 SOCIETY. 
 
 The closing words of the last chapter, lead na- 
 turally to the commencement of this, its succes- 
 sor ; for it has to do with a church. With the 
 church so often mentioned heretofore, in which 
 Tom Pinch played the organ for nothing. 
 
 One Bultry afternoon, about a week after Miss 
 Charity's departure for London, Mr. Pecksniff be- 
 ing out walking by himself, took it into his head 
 to stray into the churchyard. As he was linger- 
 ing among the tombstones, endeavouring to ex- 
 tract an available sentiment or two from the epi- 
 taphs — for he never lost an opportunity of mak- 
 ing op a few moral crackers, to be let off as oc- 
 casion served — Tom Pinch began to practise. 
 Tom could run down to the church and do so 
 whenever he had time to spare; for it was a sim- 
 ple little organ, provided with wind by the action 
 of the musichn's feet: and he was independent, 
 even of a bellows-blower. Though if Tom had 
 wanted one at any time, there was not a man or 
 boy in all the village, and away to the turnpike 
 (tollman included), but would have blown away 
 for him till he was black in the face. 
 
 Mr. Pecksniff had no objection to music; not 
 the least. He was tolerant of everything — he 
 often said so. He considered it a vagabond kind 
 of trifling, in general, just suited to Tom's capa- 
 city. Rut in regard to Tom's performance upon 
 this same organ, he was remarkably lenient, sin- 
 gularly amiable ; for when Tom played it on Sun- 
 days, Mr. Pecksniff in his unbounded sympathy 
 felt a^ if he pfayed it himself, and were a bene- 
 factor to the congregation. 8o whenever it was 
 Impossible to devise any other means of taking 
 the value of Tom's wages out of him, Mr. Peck- 
 sniff' gave him leave to cultivate this instrument. 
 For which mark of his consideration, Tom was 
 very grateful. 
 
 The afternoon was remarkably warm, and Mr. 
 Pecksniff had been strolling a lei He had 
 
 not what may he called a fine ' *r tor music, but 
 he knew when it had u tranquillizing influence on 
 his soul ; and that was tltc case now, for it sound- 
 
 ed to him like a melodious snore. He approached 
 the church, and looking through the diamond lat- 
 tice of a window near the porch, saw Tom, with 
 the curtains in the loft drawn back, playing away 
 with great expression and tenderness. 
 
 The church had an inviting air of coolness. 
 The old oak roof supported by cross-beams, the 
 hoary walls, the marble tablets, and the cracked 
 stone pavement, were refreshing to look at. There 
 were leaves of ivy tapping gently at the opposi/.r- 
 windows; and the sun poured in through on.; 
 one : leaving the body of the church in tempting 
 shade. But the most tempting spot of all, was 
 one red-curtained and soft-cushioned pew, where- 
 in the official dignitaries of the place (of whom 
 Mr. Pecksniff was the head and chief) enshrined 
 themselves on Sundays. Mr. Pecksniff's seat 
 was in the corner : a remarkably comfortable cor- 
 ner : where his very large Prayer-Book was at 
 that minute making the mast of its quarto self 
 upon the desk. He determined to go ki and rest. 
 
 He entered very softly ; in part because it was 
 a church ; in part because his tread was always 
 soft; in part because Tom played a solemn tune > 
 in part because he thought he would surprise him 
 when he stopped. Unbolting the door off the high 
 pew of state, he glided in and shut it after him , 
 then sitting in his usual place, and stretching out 
 his legs upon the hassocks, ho composed himself 
 to listen to the music. 
 
 It is an unaccountable circumstance that he 
 should have felt drowsy there, where the force of 
 association might surely have been enough to 
 keep him wide awake; but he did. He had not 
 been in the snug little corner five minutes before 
 he began to nod. He had not recovered himself 
 one minute beforo he began to nod again. In thn 
 very act of opening his eyes indolently, he nod- 
 ded again. In the very act of shutting them, he 
 nodded sgnirw So he fell out of one nod into an 
 other until at last he ceased to nod stall, and •»*< 
 as fast as the church itself. 
 
 He had a corsciousners of the organ, long after 
 
192 
 
 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 he fell asleep, though as to its being an organ he 
 had no more idea of that, than he had of its be- 
 ing a Bull. After a while he began to have at 
 intervals the same dreamy impression of voices ; 
 and awakening to an indolent curiosity upon the 
 subject, opened hk? eyes. 
 
 He was so indolent, that after glancing at the 
 hassocks and the pew, he -was already half-way 
 off" to sleep again, when it occurred to him that 
 there really were voices in the church : low voices, 
 talking earnestly hard by : while the echoes seem- 
 ed to mutter responses. He roused himself, and 
 listened. 
 
 Before he had listened half-a-dozen seconds, he 
 became as broad awake as ever he had been in 
 all his life. With eyes, and ears, and mouth, 
 wide open, he moved himself a very little with 
 the utmost caution, and gathering the curtain in 
 his hand, peeped out. 
 
 Tom Pinch and Mary. Of course. He had re- 
 cognised their voices, and already knew the topic 
 they discussed. Looking like the small end of a 
 guillotined man, with his chin on a level with the 
 top of the pew, so that he might duclc down im- 
 mediately in case of either of them turning round, 
 he listened. Listened with such concentrated 
 eagerness, that his very hair and shirt-collar stood 
 bristling up to help him. 
 
 " No," cried Tom. " No letters have ever 
 readied me, except that one from New York. But 
 don't be uneasy on that account, for it 's very 
 ikely they have gone away to some far-off place, 
 where the posts are neither regular nor frequent. 
 He said in that very letter that it might be so, 
 even in that city to which they thought of travel- 
 ling — Eden, you know." 
 
 " It is a great weight upon my mind," said 
 Mary. 
 
 "Oh, but you mustn't let it be," said Tom. 
 " There 's a true saying that nothing travels so 
 fast as ill news; and if the slightest harm had 
 happened to Martin, you may be sure you would 
 have heard of it long ago. I have often wished 
 to say this to you," Tom continued with an em- 
 barrassment that became him very well, " but you 
 have never given me an opportunity." 
 
 "I have sometimes been almost afraid," said 
 Mary, "that you might suppose I hesitated to 
 confide in you, Mr. Pinch." 
 
 "No," Tom stammered, "I — I am not aware 
 that I ever supposed that. I am sure that if I 
 have, I have checked the thought directly, as an 
 injustice to you. I feel the delicacy of your situ- 
 ation in having to confide in me at all," said Tom, 
 u but I would risk my life to save you from one 
 day's uneasiness : indeed I would !" 
 
 Poor Tom ! 
 
 ** I have dreaded sometimes," Tom continued, 
 ** That I might have displeased you by — by hav- 
 ing the boldness to try ana anticipate your wishes 
 now and then. At other times I have fancied 
 that your kindness prompted you to keep aloof 
 from me." 
 
 " indeed !" 
 
 " It was very foolish : very presumptuous and 
 tidiculous: to think so," Tom pursued: "but I 
 feared you might suppose it possWe that I — I — 
 ■hould admire you too much for my own peace ; 
 »nd so denied yourself the slight assistance you 
 would otherwise have accepted from me. If such 
 
 an idea has ever presented itself to you," faltered 
 Tom, " pray dismiss it. I am easily made hap- 
 py : and I shall live contented here long after you 
 and Martin have forgotten me. I am a poor, shy, 
 awkward creature : not at all a man of tiie world : 
 and you should think no more of me, bless you, 
 than if I were an old friar !* 
 
 If friars bear such hearts as thine, Tom, let 
 friars multiply; though they have no such rule 
 in all their stern arithmetic. 
 
 " Dear Mr. Pinch 1" said Mary, giving him her 
 hand ; " I cannot tell you how your kindness 
 moves me. I have never wronged you by the 
 slightest doubt, and have never for an instant 
 ceased to feel that you were all ; much more than 
 all ; that Martin found you. Without the silent 
 care and friendship I have experienced from you, 
 my life here would have been unhappy. But you 
 have been a good angel to me ; filling me with 
 gratitude of heart, hope, and courage." 
 
 " I am as little like an angel, I am afraid," re- 
 plied Tom, shaking his head, " as any stone cher- 
 ubim among the gravestones ; and I don't think 
 there are many real angels of that pattern. But 
 I should like to know (if you will tell me) why 
 you have been so very silent about Martin." 
 
 " Because I have been afraid," said Mary, " of 
 injuring you." 
 
 " Of injuring me !" cried Tom. 
 
 " Of doing you an injury with 3/our employer." 
 
 The gentleman in question dived. 
 
 "With Pecksniff!" rejoined Tom, with cheer- 
 ful confidence. "Oh dear, he'd never think of 
 us ! He 's the best of men. The more at ease 
 you were, the happier he would be. Oh dear, you 
 needn't be afraid of Pecksniff. He 's not a spy." 
 
 Many a man in Mr. Pecksniff's place, if he 
 .could have dived through the floor of the pew of 
 state and come out at Calcutta or any inhabited 
 region on the other side of the earth, would have 
 done it instantly. Mr. Pecksniff sat down upon 
 a hassock, and listening more attentively than 
 ever, smiled. 
 
 Mary seemed to have expressed some dissent 
 in the meanwhile, for Tom went on to say, with 
 honest energy : 
 
 " Well, I don't know how it is, but it always 
 happens, whenever I express myself in this way, 
 to anybody almost, that I find they won't do jus- 
 tice to Pecksniff. It is one of the most extraor- 
 dinary circumstances that ever came within my 
 knowledge, but it is so. There 's John Westlock, 
 who used to be a pupil here, one of the best-heart- 
 ed young men in the world, in all other matters 
 — I really believe John would have Pecksniff 
 flogged at the cart's tail if he could. And John 
 is not a solitary case, for every pupil we have had 
 in my time has gone away with the same invete- 
 rate hatred of him. There was Murk Tapley, 
 too, quite in another station of life," said Tom : 
 " the mockery he used to make of Pecksniff when 
 he was at the Dragon was shocking. Martin, 
 too; Martin was worse than any of 'em. But I 
 forgot He prepared you to dislike Pecksniff, of 
 course. So you came with a prejudice, you know, 
 Miss Graham, and are not a fair witness." 
 
 Tom triumphed very much in this discovery, 
 and rubbed his hands with great satisfaction. 
 
 "Mr. Pinch," said Mary, "you mistake him." 
 
 "No, no!" cried Tom. " You mistake him. 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT 
 
 193 
 
 But," he added, with a rapid change in his tone, 
 "what is the matter? Miss Graham, what is the 
 matt 
 
 Mr. Pecksniff brought up to the top of the pew, 
 by slow degrees, his hair, his forehead, his eye- 
 brow, liis eye. She was sitting on a bench be- 
 side the door witli her hands before her luce; and 
 Tom was bending OW her. 
 
 44 What is the mallei !" cried Tom. 44 Have I 
 said anything to hurt you? Has anyone said 
 anvthing to hurt joq ' l>"i»'t cry. Pray tell me 
 what it is. I cannot bear to sec you so distressed. 
 Mercy M so surprised and griev- 
 
 ed in all my hie!" 
 
 .Mr. Pecksniff kept his eye in the same place. 
 He could have moved it now for nothing short of 
 a gimlet or a red-hot wire. 
 
 44 1 wouldn't have told you, Mr. Pinch," said 
 Marv, "if 1 could have helped it; but your de- 
 lusion is so absorbing, and it is so necessary that 
 we should be upon our guard ; that you should 
 not be compromised; and to that end that you 
 should know by whom I am beset; that no alter- 1 
 native is left me. 1 came here purposely to tell 
 you, but I think I should have wanted courage 
 if you had not chanced to lead me so directly to 
 the object of my coming." 
 
 Tom gazed at her steadfastly, and seemed to 
 say, 44 What else ?" But he said not a word. 
 
 "That person whom you think the best of 
 men," said Mary, looking up, and speaking with 
 a quivering lip and flashing eye : 
 
 41 Lord bless me !" muttered Tom, staggering 
 back. " Wait a moment That person whom 1 
 think the best of men ! You mean Pecksniff, of 
 course. Yes. I see you mean Pecksniff'. Good 
 gracious me, don't speak without authority. What 
 has he done ? If he is not the best of men, what 
 is he ?" 
 
 44 The worst. The falsest, the craftiest, mean- 
 est, crudest, most sordid, most shameless," said 
 the trembling girl— trembling with her indigna- 
 tion. 
 
 Tom sat down on a seat, and clasped his hands. 
 
 4 ' What is he," said Mary, 44 who receiving me 
 in his house as his guest: his unwilling guest: 
 knowing my history, and how defenceless and I 
 alone I am, presumes before his daughters to af- 
 front me so that if I had a brother but a child, 
 who saw it, he would instinctively have helped 
 me?" 
 
 44 He is a scoundrel !" exclaimed Tom. 44 Who- 
 ever he may be, he is a scoundrel." 
 
 Mr. Pecksniff dived again. 
 
 44 What is he," said Mary, "who, when my 
 only friend; a dear and kind one too: was in full 
 health of mind, humbled himself before him, but 
 was spurned away (tor he knew him then) like a 
 dog. Who, in his forgiving spirit, now that that 
 friend is sunk into a failiqg state, can crawl about 
 him again, and use the influence he basely gains, 
 rv base and wicked purpose, and not for 
 one — not one — that's true and good?" 
 
 44 1 my be is ■ scoundrel,* 1 answered Tom. 
 44 But v.h. if is be: oh Mr. Pinch, what is he: 
 
 who, thinking he could compass these designs the 
 
 better were I his wife, aseafls me with t!. 
 ard's argument thai it" I marry him, Martin, on 
 whom } have brought SO much misfortune, snail 
 be restored to something of his former hopes ; and | 
 25 
 
 if I do not, shall be plunged in deeper ruin ? 
 What is be who makes my very constancy toono 
 I love with all my heart a torture to myself and 
 wrong to him ; who makes me, do what I will, 
 the instrument to hurt a head I would heap bless- 
 ings on ! What is he who, winding all these cruel 
 snares about me, explains their purpose to me, 
 with a smooth tongue and a smiling face, in the 
 broad light of day : dragging me on the while in 
 his embrace, and holding to his lips a hand," pur- 
 sued the agitated girl, extending it, "which I 
 would have struck off, if with it I could lose the 
 shame and degradation of his touch 7" 
 
 44 1 say," cried Tom, in great excitement, "he 
 is a scoundrel and a villain. I don't care who he 
 is, I say he is a double-dyed and most intolerable 
 villain !*" 
 
 Covering her face with her hands again, as if 
 the passion which had sustained her through theso 
 disclosures lost itself in an overwhelming sen?o 
 of shame and grief, she abandoned herself to 
 tears. 
 
 Any sight of distress was sure to move the ten- 
 derness of Tom, but this especially. Tears and 
 sobs frrnn her, were arrows in his heart He tried 
 to comfort her; sat down beside her; expended 
 all his store of homely eloquence; and spoke in 
 words of praise and hope of Martin. Ay, though 
 he love'd hef from his soul with such a self-deny- 
 ing love as woman seldom wins : he spoke from 
 first to last of Martin. Not the wealth of the rich 
 Indies would have tempted Tom to shirk one 
 mention of her lover's name. 
 
 When she was more composed, she impressed 
 upon Tom that this man she had described, was 
 Pecksniff in his real colours ; and word by word 
 and phrase by phrase, as well as she remembered 
 it, related what had passed between them in the 
 wood : which was no doubt a source of high grati- 
 fication to that gentleman himself, who in his de- 
 sire to see and his dread of being seen, was con- 
 stantly diving down into the state pew, and com- 
 ing up again like the intelligent householder iu 
 Punch's Show, who avoids being knocked on the 
 head with a cudgel. When she had concluded 
 her acount, and had besought Tom to be very dis. 
 tant and unconscious in his manner towards her 
 after this explanation, and had thanked him very 
 much, they parted on the alarm of footsteps in 
 the burial-ground ; and Tom was left alone in the 
 church again. 
 
 And now the full agitation and misery of the 
 disclosure, came rushing upon Tom indeed. The 
 star of his whole life from boyhood, had become, 
 in n moment, putrid vapour. It was not that Peck- 
 sniff: Tom's Pecksniff: had ceased to e.xi-f, but 
 that he never had existed. In his death, Tom 
 would have had the comfort of remembering what 
 he used to be; but in this discovery, he had.th* 
 anguish of recollecting what i; - For 
 
 as Tom's blindness in this matter had bc< 
 and not partial, so was his restored sight. // < 
 Pecksniff Could never have worked the wicked- 
 which he had just now heard, but any 
 other Pecksniff could J and the Pecksniff who 
 Could do that, could do anything, and no doubt 
 had been doing snytihng and everything except 
 the right thing, all through his career. From the 
 h.ftv h< ight on which poor Tom had placed hi« 
 idol it was tumbled down headlong, and 
 
194 
 
 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 Not all the king's horses nor all the king's men 
 Could have set Mr. Pecksniff up again. 
 
 Legions of Titans couldn't have got him out of 
 the mud ; and serve him right. But it was not 
 he who suffered ; it was Tom. His compass was 
 broken, his chart destroyed, his chronometer had 
 stopped, his masts were gone by the board; his 
 anchor was adrift, ten thousand leagues away. 
 
 Mr. Pecksniff watched him with a lively inter- 
 est, for he divined the purpose of Tom's rumina- 
 tions, and was curious to see how he conducted 
 himself. For some time, Tom wandered up and 
 down the aisle like a man demented, stopping oc- 
 casionally to lean against a pew and think it over ; 
 then he stood staring at a blank old monument 
 bordered tastefully with skulls and cross-bones, 
 as if it were the finest work of Art he had ever 
 seen, although at other times he held it in un- 
 speakable contempt ; then he sat down ; and then 
 walked to and fro again ; and then went wander- 
 ing up into the organ-loft, and touched the keys. 
 But their minstrelsy was changed, their music 
 gone ; and sounding one long melancholy chord, 
 Tom drooped his head upon his hands, and gave 
 it up as hopeless. 
 
 * I wouldn't have cared," said Tom Pinch, ris- 
 ing from his stool, and looking down into the 
 church as if he had been the Clergyman, * I 
 wouldn't have cared for anything he might have 
 done to Me, for I have tried his patience often, 
 and have lived upon his sufferance, and have ne- 
 ver been the help to him that others could have 
 been. I wouldn't have minded, Pecksniff," Tom 
 continued, little thinking who heard him, " if you 
 had done Me any wrong; I could have found 
 plenty of excuses for that; and though you might 
 have hurt, me, could have still gone on respecting 
 you. But why did you ever fall so low as this in 
 my esteem ! Oh Pecksniff, Pecksniff, there is 
 nothing I would not have given to have had you 
 deserve my old opinion of you ; nothing !" 
 
 Mr. Pecksniff sat upon the hassock pulling up 
 his shirt-collar, while Tom, touched to the quick, 
 delivered this apostrophe. After a pause he heard 
 Tom coming down the stairs, jingling the church 
 keys ; and bringing his eye to the top of the pew 
 again, saw him go slowly out, and lock the door. 
 
 Mr. Pecksniff durst not issue from his place of 
 concealment; for through (he windows of the 
 church, he saw Tom passing on among the graves, 
 and sometimes stopping at a stone, and leaning 
 there, as if he were a mourner who had lost a 
 friend. Even when he had left the churchyard, 
 Mr. Pecksniff still remained 6hut up: not being 
 at all secure but that in his restless state of mind 
 Tom might come wandering back. At length 
 he issued forth, and walked with a pleasant coun- 
 tenance into the vestry ; where he knew there 
 was a window near the ground, by which he could 
 release himself by merely stepping out. 
 
 He was in a curious frame of mind, Mr. Peck- 
 sniff: he'wg in no hurry to go, but rather inclin- 
 ing to a dilatory trifling with the time, which 
 prompted him to open the vestry cupboard, and 
 look at himself in the parson's little glass that 
 hung within the door. Seeing that his hair was 
 rumpled, he took the liberty of borrowing the ca- 
 nonical brush and arranging it. He also took the 
 liberty of opening another cupboard ; but he shut 
 it up again q uckly, being rather startled by the 
 
 sight of a black and a white surplice dangling 
 against the wall ; which had very much the ap- 
 pearance of two curates who had committed sui- 
 cide by hanging themselves. Remembering that 
 he had seen in the first cupboard a port-wine bot- 
 tle and some biscuits, he peeped into it again, and 
 helped himself with much deliberation : cogitat- 
 ing all the time though, in a very deep and weigh- 
 ty manner, as if his thoughts were otherwise em- 
 ployed. 
 
 He soon made up his mind, if it had ever been 
 in doubt ; and putting back the bottle and biscuits, 
 opened the casement. He got out into the church- 
 yard without any difficulty; shut the window af 
 ter him ; and Walked straight home. 
 
 "Is Mr. Pinch in-doors ?" asked Mr. Pecksniff 
 of his serving-maid. 
 
 " Just come in, Sir." 
 
 " Just come in, eh ?" repeated Mr. Pecksniff, 
 cheerfully. " And gone up-stairs, I suppose ?" 
 
 " Yes, Sir. Gone up-stairs. Shall I call him, 
 Sir?" 
 
 "No," said Mr. Pecksniff, "no. You needn't 
 call him, Jane. Thank you, Jane. How are your 
 relations, Jane ?" 
 
 " Pretty well, I thank you, Sir." 
 
 " I am glad to hear it. Let them know I asked 
 about them, Jane. Is Mr. Chuzzlewit in the way, 
 Jane?" 
 
 " Yes, Sir. He's in the parlour, reading." 
 
 "He's in the parlour, reading, is he, Jane?" 
 said Mr. Pecksniff. " Very well. Then I think 
 I '11 go and see him, Jane." 
 
 Never had Mr. Pecksniff been beheld in a more 
 pleasant humour ! 
 
 But when he walked into the parlour where the 
 old man was engaged as Jane had said ; with pen 
 and ink and paper on a table close at hand (for 
 Mr. Pecksniff was always very particular to have 
 him well supplied with writing materials) ; he 
 became less cheerful. He was not angry, he was 
 not vindictive, he was not cross, he was not moody, 
 but he was grieved : he was sorely grieved. As 
 he sat down by the old man's side, two tears : not 
 tears like those with which recording angels blot 
 their entries out, but drops so precious that they 
 use them for their ink : stole down his meritori- 
 ous cheeks. 
 
 "What is the matter?" asked old Martin. 
 " Pecksniff, what ails you, man ?" 
 
 " I am sorry to interrupt yoo, my dear Sir, and 
 I am still more sorry for the cause. My good, 
 my worthy friend, I am deceived." 
 
 " You are deceived !" 
 
 " Ah !" cried Mr. Pecksniff, in an agony, " de- 
 ceived in the tenderest point. Cruelly deceived 
 in that quarter, Sir, in which I placed the most 
 unbounded confidence. Deceived, Mr. Chuzzle- 
 wit, by Thomas Pinch." 
 
 "Oh! bad, bad, bad!" said Martin, laying 
 down his book. " Very bad. I hope not. Are 
 you certain ?" 
 
 " Certain, my good Sir ! My eyes and ears are 
 witnesses. I wouldn't have believed it otherwise. 
 I wouldn't have believed it, Mr. Chuzzlewit, if a 
 Fiery Serpent had proclaimed it from the top of 
 Salisbury Cathedral. I would have said," cried 
 Mr. Pecksniff, " that the Serpent lied. Such was 
 my faith in Thomas Pinch, that I would have 
 cast the falsehood back into the Serpent's teeth, 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 
 
 195 
 
 and would have taken Thomas to my heart. Ilut 
 I am not a Serpent, Sir, myself, I grieve to say, 
 and no excuse or hope is left me. 
 
 Martin was greatly disturbed to see him so 
 much agitated, and to hear snch unexpected news. 
 He begged him to compose himself", and asked 
 upon what subject Mr. Pinch's treucliery had In en 
 developed. 
 
 "That is almost the worst of all, Sir," Mr. 
 Pecksniff answered. u On a subject nearly con- 
 cerning you. Oh ! is it not enough," said Mr. 
 Pecksniff, looking upward, "that these blows 
 must full on me, but must they also hit my 
 friends !" 
 
 44 You alarm me," cried the old man, changing 
 colour. ** I am not so strong as I was. You ter- 
 rify me, Pecksniff!" 
 
 "Cheer up, my noble Sir," said Mr. Pecksniff, 
 taking courage, "and we will do what is required 
 of us. You shall know all, Sir, and shall be right- 
 ed. But first excuse me, Sir, ex — cuse me. I 
 have a duty to discharge, which I owe to soci- 
 ety." 
 
 He rang the bell, and Jane appeared. 
 
 " Send Mr. Pinch here, if you please, Jane !" 
 
 Tom came. Constrained and" altered in his 
 manner, downcast and dejected, visibly confused; 
 not liking to look Pecksniff in the face. 
 
 The honest man bestowed a glance on Mr. 
 Chuzzlewit, as who should say, "You see!" and 
 addressed himself to Tom in these terms : 
 
 ■ Mr. Pinch, I have left the vestry-window un- 
 fastened. Will you do me the favour to go and 
 secure it ; then bring the keys of the sacred edi- 
 fice to me !" 
 
 "The vestry-window, Sir!" cried Tom. 
 
 " You understand me, Mr. Pinch, I think," re- 
 turned his patron. " Yes, Mr. Pinch, the vestry- 
 window. I grieve to say that sleeping in the 
 church after a fatiguing ramble, I overheard just 
 now some fragments" he emphasized that word 
 "of a dialogue between two parties ; and one of 
 them locking the church when he went out, I was 
 obliged to leave it myself by the vestry-window. 
 Do me the favour to secure that vestry-window, 
 Mr. Pinch, and then come back to me." 
 
 No physiognomist that ever dwelt on earth 
 could have construed Tom's face when he heard 
 these words. Wonder was in it, and a mild look 
 of reproach, but certainly no fear or guilt, althongh 
 a host of strong emotions struggled to display 
 themselves. He bowed, and without saying one 
 word, good or bad, withdrew. 
 
 " Pecksniff," cried Martin, in a tremble, u what 
 does all this mean ? You are not going to do 
 anything in haste, you may regret!" 
 
 "No, my good Sir," said Mr. Pecksniff, firmly, 
 "No. But I have a duty to discharge which I 
 owe to society ; and it shall be discharged, my 
 friend, at any cost !" 
 
 Oh late remembered, much-forgotten, mouth- 
 ing, braggart duty, always owed, and seldom paid 
 in any other coin than punishment and wrath, 
 when will mankind begin to know thee! When 
 will men acknowledge thec in thy neglected cra- 
 dle, and thy stunted youth, and not begin their 
 recognition in thy sinful manhood and thy deso- 
 late old age ! Oh ermined Judge, whose duty to 
 society is now to doom the ragged criminal to 
 punishment and death, hadst thou never, Man, a 
 
 duty to discharge in barring up the hundred open 
 gates that wooed him to the felon's dock, and 
 throwing but ajar the portals to a decent life ! Oh 
 prelate, prelate, whose doty to society it is to mourn 
 in melancholy phrase the sad degeneracy of these 
 bad times in which thy lot of honours has been 
 oast, did nothing go before thy elevation to the lofty 
 seat, from which thoo dealest out thy homilies to 
 other tarriers for dead men's shoes, whose duty 
 to society has not begun ! Oh magistrate, so rare 
 a country gentleman and a brave squire, had you 
 no duty to society, before the ricks were blazing 
 and the mob were mad ; or did it spring up armed 
 and booted from the earth, a corps of yeomanry, 
 full-grown ! 
 
 Mr. Pecksniff's duty to society could not be 
 paid till Tom came back. The interval which 
 preceded the return of that young man, he occu- 
 pied in a close conference with his friend ; so that 
 when Tom did arrive, he found the two quite rea- 
 dy to receive him. Mary was in her own room 
 above, whither Mr. Pecksniff, always considerate, 
 had besought old Martin to entreat her to remain 
 some half-hour longer, that her feelings might be 
 spared. 
 
 When Tom came back, he found old Martin 
 sitting by the window, and Mr. Pecksniff in an 
 imposing attitude at the table. On one side of 
 him was his pocket-handkerchief; and on the 
 other, a little heap (a very little heap) of gold and 
 silver, and odd pence. Tom saw, at a glance, that 
 it was his own salary for the current quarter. 
 
 "Have you fastened the vestry-window, Mr. 
 Pinch ?" said Pecksniff. 
 " Yes, Sir." 
 
 " Thank you. Put down the keys if you please, 
 Mr. Pinch." 
 
 Tom placed them on the table. He held the 
 bunch by the key of the organ-loft (though it was 
 one of the smallest) and looked hard at it as he 
 laid it down. It had been an old, old friend of 
 Tom's; a kind companion to him, many and 
 many a day. 
 
 " Mr. Pinch," said Pecksniff, shaking his head : 
 " Oh Mr. Pinch ! I wonder you can look me in 
 the face !" 
 
 Tom did it though ; and notwithstanding that 
 he has been described as stooping generally, he 
 stood as upright then as man conld stand. 
 
 "Mr. Pinch," said Pecksniff, taking up his 
 handkerchief, as if he felt that he should want it 
 soon, " I will not dwell upon the past. I will 
 spare you, and I will spare myself, that pain at 
 least" 
 
 Tom's was not a very bright eye, but it was a 
 very expressive one when he looked at Mr. Peck- 
 sniff, and said : 
 
 44 Thank you, Sir. I am very glad you will not 
 refer to the past." 
 
 "The present is enough,* said Mr. Pecksniff, 
 dropping a penny, " and the sooner that is past, 
 the better. Mr. Pinch, I will not dismiss yon 
 without a word of explanation. Even such a 
 Course would be quite justifiable under the cir- 
 cumstances; but it might wear an appearance of 
 hurry, and I will not do it ; for I am," said Mr. 
 Pecksniff, knocking down another penny, ** per- 
 fectly self-possessed. Therefore I will say to you, 
 what I have already said to Mr. Chuzzlewit" 
 Tom glanced at the old gentleman, who nodded 
 
196 
 
 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 now and then as approving of Mr. Pecksniff's 
 sentences and sentiments, but interposed between 
 them in no other way. 
 
 " From fragments of a conversation which I 
 overheard in the church, just now, Mr. Pinch," 
 faid Pecksniff, " between yourself and Miss Gra- 
 ham — I say fragments, because I was slumbering 
 at a considerable distance from you, when I was 
 roused by your voices — and from what I saw, I 
 ascertained (I would have given a great deal not 
 to have ascertained, Mr. Pinch,) that you, forget- 
 ful of all ties of duty and of honour, Sir ; regard- 
 less of the sacred laws of hospitality, to which 
 you were pledged as an inmate of this house ; 
 have presumed to address Miss Graham with un- 
 returned professions of attachment and proposals 
 of love." 
 
 Tom looked at him steadily. 
 
 " Do you deny it, Sir," asked Mr. Pecksniff, 
 dropping one pound two and fourpence, and mak- 
 ing a great business of picking it up again. 
 
 " No, Sir," replied Tom. " I do not." 
 
 "You do not," said Mr. Pecksniff, glancing at 
 the old gentleman. " Oblige me by counting this 
 money, Mr. Pinch, and putting your name to this 
 r-eceipt. You do not?" 
 
 No, Tom did not. He scorned to deny it. He 
 saw that Mr. Pecksniff, having overheard his own 
 disgrace, cared not a jot for sinking lower yet in 
 his contempt. He saw that he had devised this 
 fiction as the readiest means of getting rid of him 
 at once, but that it must end in that any way. 
 He saw that Mr. Pecksniff reckoned on his not 
 denying it, because his doing so and explaining, 
 would incense the old man more than ever against 
 Martin, and against Mary : while Pecksniff him- 
 self would only have been mistaken in his " frag- 
 ments." Deny it ! No. 
 
 " You find the amount correct, do you, Mr. 
 Pinch ?" said Pecksniff. 
 
 " Quite correct, Sir," answered Tom. 
 
 " A person is waiting in the kitchen," said Mr. 
 Pecksniff, " to carry your luggage wherever you 
 please. We part, Mr. Pinch, at once, and are 
 strangers from this time." 
 
 Something without a name; compassion, sor- 
 row, old tenderness, mistaken gratitude, habit: 
 none of these, and yet all of them ; smote upon 
 Tom's gentle heart, at parting. There was no 
 such soul as Pecksniff's in that carcase ; and yet, 
 though his speaking out had not involved the com- 
 promise of one he loved, he couldn't have de- 
 nounced the very shape and figure of the man. 
 Not even then. 
 
 " I will not say," cried Mr. Pecksniff, shedding 
 tears, " what a blow this is. I will not say how 
 much it tries me ; how it works upon my nature ; 
 how it grates upon my feelings. I do not care 
 for that. I can endure as well as another man. 
 But what I have to hope, and what you have to 
 hope, Mr. Pinch (otherwise a great responsibility 
 rests upon you) is, that this deception may not 
 alter my ideas of humanity ; that it may not im- 
 pair my freshness, or contract, if I may use the 
 expression, my Pinions. I hope it will not I 
 don't think it will. It may be a comfort to you, 
 if not now, at some future time, to know, that I 
 shall endeavour not to think the worse of my fel- 
 low-creatures in general, for what has passed be- 
 tween us. Farewell !" 
 
 Tom had meant to spare him one little punctu- 
 ration with a lancet, which' he had it in his power 
 to administer, but he changed his mind on hear- 
 ing this, and said : 
 
 " I think you left something i n the church, 
 Sir." 
 
 " Thank you, Mr. Pinch," said Pecksniff. " 1 
 am not aware that I did." 
 
 "This is your double eye-glass, I believe?" 
 said Tom. 
 
 " Oh !" cried Pecksniff, with some degree of 
 confusion. " I am obliged to you. Put it down 
 if you please." 
 
 " I found it," said Tom, slowly — " when I went 
 to bolt the vestry-window — in the Pew." 
 
 So he had. Mr. Pecksniff had taken it off 
 when he was bobbing up and down, lest it should 
 strike against the panelling : and had forgotten it. 
 Going back to the church with his mind full of 
 having been watched, and wondering very much 
 from what part, Tom's attention was caught by 
 the door of the state pew standing open. Look- 
 ing into it he found the glass. And thus he knew, 
 and by returning it gave Mr. Pecksniff the infor- 
 mation that he knew, where the listener had been ; 
 and that instead of overhearing fragments of the 
 conversation, he must have rejoiced in every word 
 of it. 
 
 " I am glad he 's gone," said Martin, drawing 
 a long breath when Tom had left the room. 
 
 " It is a relief," assented Mr. Pecksniff. " It 
 is a great relief. But having discharged : I hope 
 with tolerable firmness : the duty which I owed 
 to society, I will now, my dear Sir, if you will 
 give me leave, retire to shed a few tears in the 
 back garden, as an humble individual." 
 
 Tom went up-stairs ; cleared his shelf of books : 
 packed them up with his music" and an old fiddle 
 in his trunk; got out his clothes (they were not 
 so many that they made his head ache) ; put them 
 on the top of his books ; and went into the work- 
 room for his case of instruments. There was a 
 ragged stool there, with the horsehair all sticking 
 out of the top like a wig: a very Beast of a stool 
 in itself: on which he had taken up his daily 
 seat, year after year, during the whole period of 
 his service. They had grown older and shabbier 
 in company. Pupils had served their time ; sea- 
 sons had come and gone ; Tom and the worn-out 
 stool had held together through it all. That part 
 of the room was traditionally called " Tom's Cor- 
 ner." It had been assigned to him at first be- 
 cause of its being situated in a strong draught, 
 and a great way from the fire ; and he had occu- 
 pied it ever since. There were portraits of hirn 
 on the wall, with all his weak points monstrously 
 portrayed. Diabolical sentiments, foreign to his 
 character, were represented as issuing from his 
 mouth in fat balloons. Every pupil had added 
 something, even unto fancy portraits of his fa- 
 ther with one eye, and of his mother with a dis- 
 proportionate nose, and especially of his sister : 
 who always being presented as extremely beauli- 
 j ful, made full amends to Tom for any other joke. 
 Under less uncommon circumstances, it would 
 have cut Tom to the heart to leave these things, 
 and think that he saw them for the last time ; but 
 it didn't now. There was no Pecksniff; there 
 never had been a Pecksniff; and all his other 
 griefs were swallowed up in that 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT, 
 
 197 
 
 So when he returned into the bedroom, and 
 having fastened up his box and a carpet-bag, had 
 put on liis walking gaiters, and his great-coat, and 
 iiis hat, and tlJiea his stick in his hand, he looked 
 round it for the last time. Karly on summer 
 mornings, and by the Itehfl of private candle-ends 
 on winter Dlgifta, be had read himself half Wind 
 in this same room. He had tried in this same 
 room to learn the fiddle under the bed-clothes, but 
 yielding to i bjectkxM from the other pupils, had 
 reluctantly abandoned the design. At any other 
 time he would have parted from it with a pang, 
 thinking of all he had learned there, of the many 
 hours he had passed there : for the love of his very 
 dreams. But there was no Pecksniff; there ne- 
 ver had been a Pecksniff; and the unreality of 
 Pecksniff extended itself to the chamber, in which, 
 sitting on one particular bed, the thing supposed 
 to be that Great Abstraction had often preached 
 morality with such effect, that Tom had felt a 
 moisture in his eyes, while hanging breathless on 
 the words. 
 
 The man engaged to bear his box : Tom knew 
 him well. A Dragon man: came stamping up 
 the stairs, and made a roughish bow to Tom (to 
 whom in common times he would have nodded 
 with a grin) as though he were aware of what had 
 happened, and wished him to perceive it made no 
 difference in him. It was clumsily done ; he was 
 a mere waterer of horses; but Tom liked the 
 man for it, and felt it more than going away. 
 
 Tom would have helped him with the box, but 
 he made no more of it, though it was a heavy one, 
 than an elephant would have made of a castle : 
 just swinging it on his back and bowling down 
 stairs as if, being naturally a heavy sort of fellow, 
 he could carry a box infinitely better than he 
 could go alone. Tom took the carpet-bag, and 
 went down stairs along with him. At the outer 
 door stood Jane, crying with all her might; and 
 on the steps was Mrs. Lupin, sobbing bitterly, and 
 putting out her hand for Tom to shake. 
 
 " You 're coming to the Dragon, Mr. Pinch ?" 
 
 "No," said Tom, "no. I shall walk to Salis- 
 bury to-night. I couldn't stay here. For good- 
 ness' sake, don't make me so unhappy, Mrs. Lu- 
 pin." 
 
 * But you '11 come to the Dragon, Mr. Pinch. 
 If it 's only for to-night To see me, you know : 
 not as a traveller." 
 
 " God bless my soul !" said Tom, wiping his 
 eyes. "The kindness of people is enough to 
 break one's heart ! I mean to go to Salisbury to- 
 night, my dear good creature. If you '11 take care 
 of my box for me, till I write for it, I shall con- 
 sider it the greatest kindness you can do for me." 
 
 "I wish," cried Mrs. Lupin, "there were 
 twenty boxes, Mr. Pinch, that I might have 'em 
 all." 
 
 " ThankV," said Tom. " It 's like you. Good 
 bye. Good bye." 
 
 There were several people, young and old, stand- 
 ing about the door, some of whom cried with 
 Mrs. Lupin ; while others tried to keep up a stout 
 heart as Tom did ; and others were absorbed in 
 admiration of Mr. Pecksniff — a man who could 
 build a church, as one may say, by squinting at 
 »f paper ; and others were divided between 
 ling, and sympathy with Tom. Mr. Peck - 
 snitf had appeared on the top of the steps, simul- 
 
 taneously with his old pupu, and while Tom was 
 talking with Mrs. Lupin kept his hand stretched 
 out, as though he said " Go forth !" When Tom 
 went forth, and had turned the corner, Mr. Peck- 
 sniff shook his head, shut his eyes, and heaving 
 a deep sigh, likewise shut the door. On which, 
 the best of Tom's supporters said he must have 
 done some dreadful deed, or such a man as Mr. 
 Pecksniff never could have felt like that. If it 
 had been a common quarrel (they observed) he 
 would have said something, but when he didn't, 
 Mr. Pinch must have shocked him dreadfully. 
 
 Tom was out of hearing of their shrewd opin- 
 ions, and plodded on as steadily as he could go, 
 until he came within sight of the turnpike where 
 the tollman's family had cried out M Mr. Pinch !" 
 that frosty morning, when he went to meet young 
 Martin. He had got through the village, and this 
 tollbar was his last trial ; but when the infant toll- 
 takers came screeching out, he had half a mind 
 to run for it, and make a bolt across the country. 
 
 " Why deary Mr. Pinch ! oh deary Sir !" ex- 
 claimed the tollman's wife. " What an unlikely 
 time for you to be a going this way with a bag !" 
 
 " I 'm going to Snlisbury," said Tom. 
 
 " Why, goodness, where 's the gig then 7" cried 
 the tollman's wife, looking down the road, as if 
 she thought Tom might have been upset without 
 observing it. 
 
 "I haven't got it," said Tom. "I — " he 
 couldn't evade it; he felt she would have him in 
 the next question, if he got over this one. " I 
 have left Mr. Pecksniff." 
 
 The tollman — a crusty customer, always smok- 
 ing solitary pipes in a Windsor chair, inside, set 
 artfully between two little windows that looked 
 up and down the road, so that when he saw any- 
 thing coming up, he might hug himself on hav- 
 ing toll to take, and when he saw it going down, 
 might hug himself on having taken it — the toll- 
 man was out in an instant 
 
 " Left Mr. Pecksniff!" cried the tollman. 
 
 " Yes," said Tom, "left him." 
 
 The tollman looked at his wife, uncertain whe- 
 ther to ask her if she had anything to suggest or 
 to order her to mind the children. Astonishment 
 making him surly, he preferred the latter, and 
 sent her into the toll-house, with a flea in her 
 ear. 
 
 "You left Mr. Pecksniff!" cried the tollman, 
 folding his arms, and spreading his legs. " I 
 should as soon have thought of his head leaving 
 him." 
 
 " Ay !" said Tom, " so should I yesterday. 
 Good night !" 
 
 If a heavy drove of oxen hadn't come by, im- 
 mediately, the tollman would have gone down to 
 the village straight to inquire into it As things 
 turned out he smoked another pipe, and took his 
 wife into his confidence. But their united saga- 
 city could make nothing of it and they went to 
 bed — metaphorically — in the dark. But several 
 times that night when a wagon or other vehicle 
 came through, and the driver asked the tollkeeper 
 " What news ?" he looked at the man by the light 
 of his lantern, to assure himself that he had an 
 interest in the subject and then said, wrapping 
 his watch-coat round his legs : 
 
 "You've heerd of Mr. Pecksniff do* n yon 
 der?" 
 
108 
 
 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 "Ah! surely!" 
 
 44 And of his young man, Mr. Pinch, p'raps ?" 
 
 " Ah !" 
 They 've parted." 
 
 After every one of these disclosures, the toll- 
 man plunged into his house again, and was seen 
 no more, while the other side went on, in great 
 amazement. 
 
 But this was long after Tom was abed, and 
 Tom was now with his face towards Salisbury, 
 doing his best to get there. The evening was 
 beautiful at first, but it became cloudyand dull 
 at sunset, and the rain fell heavily soon afterwards. 
 For ten long miles he plodded on, wet through, 
 until at last the lights appeared, and he came into 
 the welcome precincts of the city. 
 
 He went to the inn where he had waited for 
 Martin, and briefly answering their inquiries after 
 Mr. Pecksniff, ordered a bed. He had no heart 
 for tea or supper, meat or drink of any kind, but 
 sat by himself before an empty table in the pub- 
 lic-room while the bed was getting ready : revolv- 
 ing in his mind all that had happened that event- 
 ful day, and wondering what he could or should 
 
 do for the future. It was a great relief when 
 the chambermaid came in, and said the bed was 
 ready. 
 
 It was a low four-poster shelving downward in 
 the centre like a trough, and the room was crowd- 
 ed with impracticable tables and exploded chests 
 of drawers, full of damp linen. A graphic repre- 
 sentation in oil of a remarkably fat ox hung over 
 the fire-place, and the portrait of some ibrmer 
 landlord (who might have been the ox's brother, 
 he was so like him) stared roundly in, at the foot 
 of the bed. A variety of queer smells were par- 
 tially quenched in the prevailing scent of very 
 old lavender; and the window had not .been open- 
 cd for such a long space of time, that it pleaded 
 immemorial usage, and wouldn't come open now. 
 
 These were trifles in themselves, but they add- 
 ed to the strangeness of the place, and did not 
 induce Tom to forget his new position. Peck- 
 sniff had gone out of the world — had never been 
 in it — and it was as much as Tom could do to say 
 his prayers without him. But he felt happier 
 afterwards, and went to sleep, and dreamed about 
 him as he Never Was. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXII. 
 
 TREATS OF TODGERS'S AGAIN; AND OF ANOTHER BLIGHTED PLANT BE- 
 SIDES THE PLANTS UPON THE LEADS. 
 
 Early on the day next after that on which she 
 bade adieu to the halls of her youth and the scenes 
 of her childhood, Miss Pecksniff, arriving safely 
 at the coach-office in London, was there received, 
 and conducted to her peaceful home beneath the 
 shadow of the Monument, by Mrs. Todgers. M. 
 Todgers looked a little worn by cares of gravy 
 and other such solicitudes arising out of her estab- 
 lishment, but displayed her usual earnestness and 
 warmth of manner. 
 
 " And how, my sweet Miss Pecksniff," said she, 
 " how is your princely pa ?" 
 
 Miss Pecksniff signified (in confidence) that he 
 contemplated the introduction of a princely ma ; 
 and repeated the sentiment that she wasn't blind, 
 and wasn't quite a fool, and wouldn't bear it. 
 
 Mrs. Todgers was more shocked by the intelli- 
 gence than any one could have expected. She 
 was quite bitter. She said there was no truth in 
 man, and that the warmer he expressed himself, 
 as a general principle, the falser and more treach- 
 erous he was. She foresaw with astonishing 
 clearness that the object of Mr. Pecksniff's at- 
 tachment was designing, worthless, and wicked ; 
 and receiving from Charity the fullest confirma- 
 tion of these views, protested with tears in her 
 eyes that she loved Miss Pecksniff like a sister, 
 and felt her injuries as if they were her own. 
 
 " Your real darling sister, I have not seen more 
 tnan once since her marriage," said Mrs. Todgers, 
 " and then I thought her looking poorly. My 
 nweet Miss Pecksniff, I always thought that you 
 was to be the lady." 
 
 44 Oh dear no !" cried Cherry, shaking her head. 
 
 " Oh no, Mrs. Todgers. Thank you. No ! not 
 for any consideration he could offer." 
 
 " I dare say you are right," said Mrs. Todgers, 
 with a sigh. " I feared it all along. But the 
 misery we have had from that match, here among 
 ourselves, in this house, my dear Miss Pecksniff, 
 nobody would believe." 
 
 "Lor, Mrs. Todgers!" 
 
 "Awful, awful!" repeated Mrs. Todgers, with 
 strong emphasis. " You recollect our youngest 
 gentleman, my dear ?" 
 
 " Of course I do," said Cherry. 
 
 "You might have observed," said Mrs. Tod- 
 gers, " how he used to watch your sister ; and 
 that a kind of stony dumbness came over him 
 whenever she was in company ?" 
 
 " I am sure I never saw anything of the sort," 
 said Cherry, in a peevish manner. " What non- 
 sense, Mrs. Todgers !" 
 
 " My dear," returned that lady in a hollow 
 voice, " I have seen him, again and again, sitting 
 over his pie at dinner, with his spoon a perfect 
 fixture in his mouth, looking at your sister. I 
 have seen him standing in a corner of our draw- 
 ing-room, gazing at her, in such a lonely, melan- 
 choly state, that he was more like a Pump than a 
 man, and might have drawed tears." 
 
 "I never saw it!" cried Cherry; "that's all I 
 can say." 
 
 44 But when the marriage took place," said Mrs. 
 Todgers, proceeding with her subject, 44 when it 
 was in the paper, and was read out here at break- 
 fast, I thought he had taken leave of his senses, 
 I did indeed. The violence of that young man 
 
MARTIN CIIUZZLEWIT. 
 
 199 
 
 my dear Miss Pecksniff; the frightful opinions 
 he expressed upon the subject of self-drstruction ; 
 the extraordinary uctions he performed with his 
 tea; the clenching way in which In- i > ■ t. hit t »r<?;. <1 
 and butter; the maimer in which he taunted Mr. 
 Jinkins; all combined to form a picture never to 
 be forgotten." 
 
 " It '■ a pity he didn't destroy himself, I think," 
 observed M i i I'. . mrf. 
 
 "Himself!" said Mrs. Mni; "it took an-' 
 other turn at night He was for destroying other 
 people then. There was a little chaffing going 
 on — I hope you don't consider that a low expres- 
 sion, Miss Pecksniff; it is always in our gentle- 
 men's mouths — a little chaffing going on, my 
 dear, among 'em, all in good nature, when sud- 
 denly he rose up, foaming with his fury, and but 
 for being held by three, would have had Mr. Jin- 
 kins's life with a boot-jack!" 
 
 Pecksniff's face expressed supreme indif- 
 ference. 
 
 " And now," said Mrs. Todgers, " now he is 
 the meekest of men. You can almost bring the 
 tears into his eyes by looking at him. He sits 
 with me the whole day long on Sundays, talking 
 in such a dismal way that 1 find it next to impos- 
 sible to keep my spirits up equal to the accommo- 
 dation of the boarders. His only comfort is in 
 female society. He takes me half-price to the 
 play, to an extent which I sometimes fear is be- 
 yond his means; and I see the tears a standing 
 in his eyes during the whole performance : par- 
 ticularly if it is anything of a comic nature. The 
 turn t experienced only yesterday," said Mrs. 
 Todgers, putting her hand to her side, " when 
 the housemaid threw his bedside carpet out of the 
 window of his room, while I was sitting here, no 
 one can imagine. I thought it was him, and that 
 he had done it at last!" 
 
 The contempt with which Miss Charity receiv- 
 ed this pathetic account of the state to which the 
 youngest gentleman in company was reduced, did 
 not say much for her power of sympathising with 
 that unfortunate character. She treated it with 
 great levity, and went on to inform herself, then 
 and afterwards, whether any other changes had 
 occurred in the commercial boarding-house. 
 
 M* Bailey was gone, and had been succeeded 
 (such is the decay of human greatness !) by an 
 old woman whose name was reported to be Tam- 
 aroo: which seemed an impossibility. Indeed it 
 appeared in the fullness of time that the jocular 
 boarders had appropriated the word from an Eng- 
 lish ballad, in which it is supposed to express the 
 bold and fiery nature of a certain hackney-coach- 
 rn an ; and that it was bestowed upon Mr. Bailey's 
 successor by reason of her having nothing fiery 
 about her, except an occasional attack of that fire 
 which is called St. Anthony's. This ancient fe- 
 male had been engaged, in fulfilment of a vow, 
 registered by Mrs. Todgers, that no more boys 
 should darken the commercial doors ; and she 
 was chiefly remarkable for a total absence of all 
 comprehension upon every subject whatever. She 
 was a perfect Tomb for messages and smell per- 
 ccis; and when despatched to the Post-office with 
 letters, had be fre quen tly seen endeavouring to 
 insinuate them into casual chinks in private doors, 
 under the delu mu that any door with a hole in it 
 would answer tho purpose. She was a very little 
 
 1 old woman, and always wore a very coarse apron 
 with a bib before and a loop behind, together with 
 !> and.iges on her wrists, which appeared to be af- 
 vith an everlawUng sprain. She wa» on 
 all occasions chary of opening the street-door, 
 and ardent to shut it again ; and she waited at 
 tuMe jn a bonnet. 
 
 This was the only great change over and above 
 the change which had fallen on the youngest gen- 
 tleman. As for him, he more than corroborated 
 the account of Mrs. Todgers: possessing greater 
 sensibility than even she had given him credit for. 
 He entertained some terrible notions of Destiny, 
 among other matters, and talked much about peo- 
 ple's " Missions :" ujhhi which he seemed to have 
 some private information not generally attainable, 
 as he knew it had been poor Merry's mission to 
 crush him in the bud. He was very frail, and 
 tearful; for being aware that a shepherd' 
 sion was to pipe to his flocks, and that a boat- 
 swain's mission was to pipe all hands, and that 
 one man's mission was to be a paid piper, and 
 another man's mission was to pay the piper, so 
 he had got it into his head that his own peculiar 
 mission was to pipe his eye. Which he did per- 
 petually. 
 
 He often informed Mrs. Todgers that the sun 
 had set upon him ; that the billows had rolled 
 over him ; that the Oar of Juggernaut had crushed 
 him ; and also that the deadly Upas tree of Java 
 had blighted him. His name was Moddlc. 
 
 Towards this most unhappy Moddle, Miss Peck- 
 sniff conducted herself at first with distant haugh- 
 tiness, being in no humour to be entertain- d with 
 dirges in honour of her married sister. The poor 
 young gentleman was additionally crushed by 
 this, and remonstrated with Mrs. Todgers on the 
 subject. 
 
 " Even she turns from me, Mrs. Todgers," said 
 Moddle. 
 
 " Then why don't you try and be a little bit 
 more cheerful, Sir?" retorted Mrs. Todgers. 
 
 " Cheerful, Mrs. Todgers ! Cheerful !" cried the 
 youngest gentleman : " when she reminds me of 
 duyt» for ever fled, Mrs. Todgers !" 
 
 " Then you had better avoid her for a short 
 time if she does," said Mrs. Todgers, " and come 
 to know her again, by degrees. That 's my ad- 
 vice." 
 
 " But I can't avoid her," replied Moddle. " I 
 haven't strength of mind to do it. Oh Mrs. Tod- 
 gers, if you knew what a comfort her nose is to 
 me !" 
 
 " Her nose. Sir!" Mrs. Todgers cried. 
 
 "Her profile in general," said the youngest 
 gentleman, "but particularly her nose. It's so 
 like;" here he yielded to a burst of prief; " It's 
 so like hers who is Another's, Mrs. Todgers!" 
 
 The observant matron did not tail to report this 
 conversation to Charity, who laughed at the time, 
 but treated Mr. Moddlc that very evening with 
 increased Consideration, and ■resented her Ride- 
 face to him as much as possible. Mr. Moddle 
 was not less sentimental than usual ; was rather 
 more so, if anything ; but he sat and stared at her 
 with glistening eyes, and seemed grateful. 
 
 ••Well, Sir!" said the lady of the Boarding 
 House next day, "you held up your head last' 
 night. You 're coming round, I think." 
 "Only because she's so like her who is An 
 
200 
 
 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 other's, Mrs. Todgers," rejoined the youth. 
 " When she talks, and when she smiles, I think 
 1 'm looking- on hkr brow again, Mrs, Todgers." 
 
 This was likewise carried to Charity, who talk- 
 ed and smiled next evening in her most engaging 
 manner, and rallying Mr. Moddle on the lowness 
 of his spirits, challenged him to play a rubber at 
 cribbage. Mr. Moddle taking up the gauntlet, 
 they played several rubbers for sixpences, and 
 Charity won them all. This may have been par- 
 tially attributable to the gallantry of the youngest 
 gentleman, but it was certainly referable to the 
 state of his feelings also ; for his eyes being fre- 
 quently dimmed by tears, he thought that aces 
 were tens, and knaves queens, which at times oc- 
 casioned some confusion in his play. 
 
 On the seventh night of cribbage, when Mrs. 
 Todgers, sitting by, proposed that instead of gamb- 
 ling they should play for " love," Mr. Moddle was 
 seen to change colour. On the fourteenth night, 
 he kissed Miss Pecksniff's snuffers, in the pas- 
 sage, when she went up stairs to bed : meaning 
 to have kissed her hand, but missing it. 
 
 In short, Mr. Moddle began to be impressed 
 with the idea that Miss Pecksniff's mission was 
 to couuort him ; and Miss Pecksniff began to 
 speculate on the probability of its being her mis- 
 sion to become ultimately Mrs. Moddle. He was 
 a young gentleman (Miss Pecksniff was not a 
 very young lady) with rising prospects, and " al 
 most" enough to live on. 
 well. 
 
 said Mrs. Todgers, bridling. " No, no. You give 
 Mr. Moddle a little encouragement, Miss Peck. 
 sniff, if you wish him to speak; and he'll speak 
 fast enough, depend upon it." 
 
 "I am sure I don't know what encouragement 
 he would have, Mrs. Todgers," returned Charity. 
 u He' walks with me, and plays cards with me, 
 and he comes and sits alone with me." 
 
 "Quite right," said Mrs. Todgers. "That's 
 indispensable, rny dear." 
 
 " And he sits very close to me." 
 
 " Also quite correct," said Mrs. Todgers. 
 
 " And he looks at me." 
 
 " To be sure he does," said Mrs. Todgers. 
 
 " And he has his arm upon the back of the 
 chair or sofa, or whatever it is — behind me, you 
 know." 
 
 " / should think so," said Mrs. Todgers. 
 
 " And then he begins to cry !" 
 
 Mrs. Todgers admitted that he might do better 
 than that ; and might undoubtedly profit by the 
 recollection of the great Lord Nelson's signal at 
 the battle of Trafalgar. Still, she said, he would 
 come round, or, not to mince the matter, would 
 be brought round, if Miss Pecksniff took up a 
 decided position, and plainly showed him that it 
 must be done. 
 
 Determining to regulate her conduct by this 
 
 opinion, the young lady received Mr. Moddle, on 
 
 the earliest subsequent occasion, with an air of 
 
 Really it looked very j constraint ; and gradually leading him to inquire, 
 
 in a dejected manner, why she was so changed, 
 
 Besides — besides — he had been regarded as de- | confessed to him that she felt it necessary for 
 voted to Merry. Merry had joked about him, ! their mutual peace and happiness to take a decid- 
 and had once spoken of it to her sister as a con- j ed step. They had been much together lately, 
 quest. He was better looking, better shaped, bet- she observed, much together, and had tasted the 
 ter spoken, better tempered, better mannered than ! sweets of a genuine reciprocity of sentiment. 
 Jonas. He was easy to manage, could be made j She never could forget him, nor could she ever 
 to consult the humours of his Betrothed, and could cease to think of him with feelings of the liveli- 
 be shown off like a lamb when Jonas was a bear. I est friendship ; but people had begun to talk, the 
 There was the rub ! thing had been observed; and it was necessary 
 
 In the meantime the cribbage went on, and ' that they should be nothing more to each other, 
 Mrs. Todgers went off; for the youngest gentle- j than any gentleman and lady in society usually 
 man, dropping her society, began to take Miss I are. She was glad she had had the resolution to 
 Pecksniff to the play. He also began, as Mrs. say thus much before her feelings had been tried 
 
 Todgers said, to slip home "in his dinner-times," 
 and to get away from " the office" at unholy sea- 
 sons ; and twice, as he informed Mrs. Todgers 
 himself, he received anonymous letters, inclosing 
 
 too far ; they had been greatly tried, she would 
 admit; but though she was weak and silly, she 
 would soon get the better of it, she hoped. 
 
 Moddle, who had by this time become in the 
 
 cards from Furniture Warehouses — clearly the last degree maudlin, and who wept abundantly, 
 act of that ungentlemanly ruffian Jinkins : only J inferred from the foregoing avowal, that it was 
 he hadn't evidence enough to call him out upon, his mission to communicate to others the blight 
 All of which, so Mrs. Todgers told Miss Peck- which had fallen on himself; and that, being a 
 
 sniff, spoke as plain English as the shining sun. 
 
 " My dear Miss Pecksniff, you may depend 
 upon it," said Mrs. Todgers, a that he is burning 
 to propose." 
 
 " My goodness me, why don't he then !" cried 
 Cherry. 
 
 " Men are so much more timid than we think 
 'em, my dear," returned Mrs. Todgers. " They 
 baulk themselves continually. I saw the words 
 nn'Todgers's lips for months and months and 
 months, before he said 'em." 
 
 Miss Pecksniff submitted that Todgers might 
 .tot have been a fair specimen. 
 
 Oh yes he was. Oh bless you, yes my dear. 
 
 kind of unintentional Vampire, he had had Miss 
 Pecksniff assigned to him by the Fates, as Vic- 
 tim Number One. Miss Pecksniff controverting 
 this opinion as sinful, Moddle was goaded on to 
 ask whether she could be contented with a blight- 
 ed heart; and it appearing on further examina- 
 tion that she could be, plighted his dismal troth, 
 which was accepted and returned. 
 
 He bore his good fortune with the utmost mode- 
 ration. Instead of being triumphant, he shed 
 more tears than he had ever been known to shed 
 before : and, sobbing, said : 
 
 " Oh, what a day this has been ! I can't go 
 back to the office this afternoon. Oh, what a try 
 
 1 was very particular in those days, I assure you," | ing day this has been, Good Gracious 1" 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 
 
 201 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII. 
 
 FURTHER PROCEEDINGS IN EDEN, AND.A PROCEEDING OUT OF IT. 
 MARTIN MAKI.s a DISCOVERY OF SOME IMPORTANCE. 
 
 
 From Mr. M oddly to Eden is an easy and natu- 
 ral transition. Mr. Moduli-, living in the atmos- 
 phere of Miss Pccksnill"s lovr, (iv-r.lt (if he had 
 but known it) in a terrr.stn.il l'ara/iise. The 
 thriving eity of Eden was also a terrestrial Pura- 
 disej upon the showing of its proprietors. The 
 beautiful Miss Pecksniff might have been poeti- 
 cally described as a something too good for man 
 in his fallen and degraded state. That was exactly 
 the character of the thriving city of Eden, as po- 
 etically heightened by Zephuniah Scadder, Gene- 
 ral Choke, and other worthies : part and parcel 
 of the talons of that great American Eagle, which 
 is always airing itself sky-high in purest athcr, 
 and never, no never, never tumbles down, with 
 draggled wings, info the mud. 
 
 When Mark Tapley, leaving Martin in the ar- 
 chitectural and surveying offices, had effectually 
 strengthened and encouraged his own spirits by the 
 contemplation of their joint misfortunes, he pro- 
 ceeded, with new cheerfulness, in search of help : 
 congratulating himself, as he went along, on the 
 enviable position to which he had at last attained. 
 
 " I used to think, sometimes," said Mr. Tapley, 
 ■ as a desolate island would suit me, but I should 
 only have had myself to provide for there, and be- 
 ing naterally a easy man to manage, there wouldn't 
 have been much credit in that. Now here I 've 
 got my partner to take care on, and he 's some- 
 thing like the sort of man for the purpose. I 
 want a man as is always a sliding off his legs when 
 he ought to be on 'em. I want a man as is so low 
 down in the school of life, that he 's always a mak- 
 ing figures of one in his copy-book, and can't get 
 no further. I want a man as is his own great- 
 coat and cloak, and is always a wrapping himself 
 up in himself. And I have got him too," said 
 Mr. Tapley, after a long moment's silence. u What 
 a happiness !" 
 
 He paused to look round, uncertain to which of 
 die log- houses he should repair. 
 
 " I don't which to take," he observed ; " that 's 
 the truth. They 're equally prepossessing outside, 
 and equally commodious, no doubt, within ; being 
 fitted up with every convenience that a Alligator, 
 in a state of natur', could possibly require. Let 
 me see ! The citizen as turned out last night 
 lives under water, in the right hand dog-kennel at 
 the corner. I don't want to trouble him if I can 
 kelp it, poor man, for he is a melancholy object : 
 a reg'lar Settler in every respect There's a 
 house with a winder, but I 'm afraid of their be- 
 ing proud. I don't know whether a door ain't too 
 aristocratic ; but here goes for the first one !" 
 
 He went up to the nearest cabin, and knocked 
 with his hand. Being desired to enter, he com- 
 plied. 
 
 •• Neighbour," said Mark ; "for I am a neigh- 
 bour, though you don't know me; I've come a 
 
 begging. Hallo! hal — lo! Am I a-bed, and 
 
 J rearm 
 
 He made this exclamation on hearing his own 
 26 B 
 
 name pronounced, and finding himself clasped 
 about the skirts by two littls boys, whose faces 
 be had often washed, and whose suppers he had 
 often cooked, on board of that noble, and fast-sail- 
 ing line of packet ship, the Screw. 
 
 "My eyes is wrong!" said Mark. M I don't 
 believe 'em. That ain't my fellow. passenger yon- 
 der, a nursing her little girl, who, I am sorry to 
 see, is so delicate ; and that aint her husband as 
 come to New York to feteh her. Nor these," he 
 added, looking down upon the boys, "ain't them 
 two young shavers as was so familiar to me ; 
 though they are uncommon like 'em. That I 
 must confess." 
 
 The woman shed tears, in very joy to see him ; 
 the man shook both his hands, and would not let 
 them go; the two boys hugged his legs; the sick 
 child, in the mother's arms, stretched out her 
 burning little fingers, and muttered, in her hoarse, 
 dry throat, his well-remembered name. 
 
 It was the same family, sure enough. Altered 
 by the salubrious air of Eden. But the same. 
 
 u This is a new sort of a morning call," said 
 Mark, drawing a long breath. " It strikes one all 
 of a heap. Wait a little bit! I'm a coming 
 round, fast. That '11 do ! These gentlemen ain't 
 my friends. Are they on the waiting list of the 
 house ?" 
 
 The inquiry referred to certain gaunt pigs, who 
 had walked in after him, and were much interest- 
 ed in th« heeis of the family. As they did not 
 belong to the mansion, they were expelled by the 
 two little boys. 
 
 " I ain't superstitious about toads," said Mark, 
 looking round the room, u but if yon could pre- 
 vail upon the two or three I see in company, to 
 step out at the same time, my young friends, I 
 think they 'd find the open air refreshing. Not 
 that I at all object to 'em. A very handsome ani- 
 mal is a toad," said Mr. Tapley, sitting down 
 upon a stool : u very spotted ; very like a partick- 
 ler style of old gentleman about the throat; very 
 bright-eyed, very cool, and very slippy. But one 
 sees 'em to the best advantage out of doors per- 
 haps." 
 
 While pretending, with such talk as this, to be 
 perfectly at his ease, and to be the most indiffer- 
 ent and careless of men, Mark Tapley had an eye 
 on all around him. The wan and meagre aspect 
 of the family, the changed looks of the poor mo- 
 ther, the fevered child she held in her lap, the air 
 of great despondency and little hope on every- 
 thing, were plain to him, and ffmdca deep impres- 
 sion on his mind. He sa\^ it all as clearly and 
 as quickly, as with his bodily eyes be saw the 
 rough shelves supported by pegs driven between 
 . of which the house was made; the flour- 
 cask in the conn r, serving also for a table; the 
 blankets, spades, and other articles against the 
 walls; the damp that blotched the ground ; or the 
 crop of vegetable rottenness in every crevice of 
 the hut. 
 
202 
 
 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 " How is it that you have come here ?" asked 
 the man, when their fiist expressions of surprise 
 were over. 
 
 " Why, we come by the steamer last night," 
 replied Mark. "Our intention is to make our 
 fbrtuns with punctuality and dispatch ; and to re- 
 tire upon our property as soon as ever it's real- 
 ized. .But how are you all ? You 're looking no- 
 ble !" 
 
 "We are but sickly now," said the poor wo- 
 man, bending over her child. " But we shall do 
 better when we are seasoned to the place." 
 
 " There are some here," thought Mark, " whose 
 seasoning will last for ever." 
 
 But he said cheerfully, " Do better ! To be sure 
 you will. We shall all do better. What we 've 
 got to do, is, to keep up our spirits, and be neigh- 
 bourly. We shall coine all right in the end, ne- 
 ver fear. That reminds me, by the bye, that my 
 partner's all wrong just at present; and that I 
 looked in, to beg for him. I wish you 'd come, 
 and give me your opinion of him, master." 
 
 That must have been a very unreasonable re- 
 quest on the part of Mark Tapley, with which, in 
 their gratitude for his kind offices on board the 
 ship, they would not have complied instantly. 
 The man rose to accompany him without a mo- 
 ment's delay. Before they went, Mark took the 
 sick child in his arms, and tried to comfort the 
 mother ; but the hand of death was on it then, he 
 saw. 
 
 They found Martin in the house, lying wrapped 
 up in his blanket on the ground. He was, to all 
 appearance, very ill indeed, and shook and shiv- 
 ered horribly : not as people do from cold, but in 
 a frightful kind of spasm or convulsion, that rack- 
 ed his whole body. Mark's friend pronounced 
 his disease an aggravated kind of fever, accom- 
 panied with ague ; which was very common in 
 those parts, and which he predicted would be 
 worse to-morrow, and for many more to-morrows. 
 He had had it himself off and on, he said, for a 
 couple of years or so; but he was thankful that, 
 while so many he had known had died about him, 
 he had escaped with life. 
 
 " And with not too much of that," thought 
 Mark, surveying his emaciated form. M Eden for 
 ever !" 
 
 Tbcy had some medicine in their chest; and 
 this man of sad experience showed Mark how 
 and when to administer it, and how he could best 
 alleviate the sufferings of Martin. His attention 
 did not stop there; for he was backwards and for- 
 wards constantly, and rendered Mark good ser- 
 vice in all his brisk attempts to make their situ- 
 ation more endurable. Hope or comfort for the 
 future he could not bestow. The season was a 
 sickly one ; the settlement a grave. His child 
 died that night; and Mark, keeping the secret 
 from Martin, helped to bury it, beneath a tree, 
 next day. *^s 
 
 With all his various duties of attendance upon 
 Martin (who became the more exacting in his 
 claims, the worse- he grew), Mark worked out of 
 doors, early and late ; and with the assistance of 
 his friend and others, laboured to do something 
 with their land. Not that he had the least strength 
 of heart or hope, or steady purpose in so doing, 
 beyond the habitual cheerfulness of his disposi- 
 tion, and his amazing power of self-sustainment ; 
 
 for within himself, he looked on their condition 
 as beyond all hope, and, in his own words, " came 
 out strong" in consequence. 
 
 " As to coming out strong as I could wish, Sir," 
 he confided to Martin in a leisure moment; that 
 is to say, one evening, while he was washing the 
 linen of the establishment, after a hard day's work, 
 " that I give up. It 's a piece of good fortune as 
 never is to happen to me, I see !" 
 
 M Would you wish for circumstances stronger 
 than these ?" Martin retorted with a groan, from 
 underneath his blanket. 
 
 "Why, only see how easy they might have 
 been stronger, Sir," said Mark, " if it wasn't for 
 the envy of that uncommon fortun of mine, which 
 is always after me, and tripping me up. The 
 night we landed here, I thought things did look 
 pretty jolly. I won't deny it. I thought they 
 did look pretty jolly." 
 
 " How do they look now ?" groaned Martin. 
 u Ah!" said Mark, "Ah to be sure. That's 
 the question. How do they look now ! On the 
 very first morning of my going out, what do I 
 do? Stumble on a family I know, who are con. 
 stantly assisting of us in all sorts of ways, from 
 that time to this! That won't do, you know: 
 that ain't what I'd a right to expect. If I had 
 stumbled on a serpent, and got bit; or stumbled 
 on a first-rate patriot, and got bowie-knifed ; or 
 stumbled on a lot of Sympathizers with inverted 
 shirt-collars, and got made a lion of; I might have 
 distinguished myself, and earned some credit. As 
 it is, the great object of my voyage is knocked on 
 the head. So it would be, wherever I went. How 
 do you feel to-night, Sir ?" 
 
 " Worse than ever," said poor Martin. 
 " That 's something," returned Mark, " but not 
 enough. Nothing but being very bad myself, and 
 jolly to the last, will ever do me justice." 
 
 " In Heaven's name, don't talk of that," saia 
 Martin, with a thrill of terror. " What should I 
 do, Mark, if you were taken ill !" 
 
 Mr. Tapley's spirits appeared to be stimulated 
 by this remark, although it was not a very flat- 
 tering one. He proceeded with his washing in a 
 brighter mood ; and observed " that his glass was 
 a-rising." 
 
 "There's one good thing in this place, Sir," 
 said Mr. Tapley, scrubbing away at the linen, 
 " as disposes me to be jolly ; and that is, that it 's 
 a reg'lar little United States in itself. There 's 
 two or three American settlers left ; and they cool- 
 ly comes over one, even here Sir, as if it was the 
 wholesomest and loveliest spot in the world. But 
 they 're like the Cock that went and hid himself 
 to save his life, and was found out by the noise he 
 made. They can't help crowing. They was born 
 to do it; and do it they must, whatever comes 
 of it." 
 
 Glancing from his work, out at the door, as he 
 said these words, Mark's eyes encountered a lean 
 person in a blue frock and a straw hat, with a 
 short black pipe in his mouth, and a great hickory 
 stick, studded all over with knots, in his hand; 
 who, smoking and chewing as he came along, and 
 spitting frequently, recorded his progress by a train 
 of decomposed tobacco on the ground. 
 
 " Here 's one on 'em," cried Mark, " HannibaJ 
 Chollop." 
 
 "Don't let him in," said Martin, feebly. 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 
 
 203 
 
 " He won't want any tettirtg in," replied Mark. 
 "He'll come in, Sir." Which turned out to be 
 quite true, for he did. HU face was almost as 
 hard and knobby as his stick ; and so v. 
 hands. Him head was like an old black hearth- 
 broom. He s it down on the chcxt with his hat 
 on ; and crossing his legs and looking up at Mirk, 
 •aid, without removing his pipe: 
 
 "Well, Mr. Co! and how do you git along, 
 Sir ?" 
 
 It may be neceaaary to observe that Mr. Tapley 
 had gravely introduced himself to all strangers, 
 by that name. 
 
 "Pretty well, Sir; pretty well," said Mark. 
 
 u If this ain't .Mr. Clm/zlewit, ain't it!" ex- 
 claimed the visiter. " How do you git along, 
 Sir ?" 
 
 Martin shook his head, and drew the blanket 
 over it involuntarily ; for he felt that Hannibal 
 was going to spit ; and his eye, as the song says, 
 was upon him. 
 
 " You need not regard me, Sir," observed Mr. 
 Chollop, complacently. "I am fever proof, and 
 likewise agur." 
 
 ■ Mine was a more selfish motive," said Mar- 
 tin, looking out again. ■ I was afraid you were 
 going to " 
 
 " F can calc'late my distance, Sir," returned 
 Mr. Chollop, "to an inch." 
 
 With a proof of which happy faculty he imme- 
 diately favoured him. 
 
 44 1 re-quire, Sir," said Hannibal, "two foot 
 clear in a cire'lar di-rection and can engage my- 
 self toe keep within it. I have gone ten foot, in 
 a cire'lar di-rection, but that was for a wager." 
 
 " I hope you won it, Sir," said Mark. 
 
 M W "ell, Sir, I realized the stakes," said Chollop. 
 ■ Yes, Sir." 
 
 He was silent for a time, during which he was 
 actively engaged in the formation of a magic cir- 
 cle round the chest on which he sat. When it 
 was completed, he began to talk again. 
 
 " How do you like our country, Sir ?" he in- 
 quired, looking at Martin. 
 
 " Not at all," was the invalid's reply. 
 
 Chollop continued to smoke without the least 
 appearance of emotion, until he felt disposed to 
 speak again. That time at length arriving, he 
 took his pipe from his mouth, and said : 
 
 "I am not surprised to hear you say so. It 
 re-quires An elevation, and A preparation of the 
 intellect. The mind of man must be prepared 
 for Freedom, Mr. Co." 
 
 He addressed himself to Mark : because he 
 saw that Martin, who wished him to go, being 
 already half-mad with feverish irritation which 
 the droning voice of this new horror rendered al- 
 most insupportable, had closed his eyes, and turn- 
 ed on his uneasy bed. 
 
 "A little bodily preparation wouldn't be amiss, 
 either, would it, Sir," said Mark, " in the case of 
 a hlessed old swamp like this?" 
 
 " Do you con-sider this a swamp, Sir ?" inquir- 
 ed Ch'tlJop gravely. 
 
 " Why'v -s, Sir"," returned Mark. "I haven't 
 a douht about it, myself." 
 
 " The sentiment is quite Baropian," said the 
 Major, "and does not surprise tnc : what would 
 i^lish millions say to §ueh a ■wamp in 
 fcmrland, Sir ?" 
 
 "They'd say it was an uncommon nasty one. 
 I should think" suid Mark; "and that they 
 would rather be inoculated for fever in tome other 
 way." 
 
 " Europian !" remarked Chollop, wkh sardonic 
 pity. "Quite Europian ! M 
 
 And" there he sat. Silent and cool, as if the 
 house were his; smoking away like a factory 
 chimney. 
 
 Mr. Chollop was, of coarse, one of the most 
 remarkable men in the country ; but he really 
 was a notorious person besides. He was usually 
 described by his friends, in the South and West, 
 as "a splendid sample of our na-tive raw mate. 
 rial, Sir," and was much esteemed for hi- 
 tion to rational Liberty ; for the better propaga- 
 tion whereof he usually carried a brace of revolv. 
 ing-pistols in his coat-pocket, with seven barrels 
 apiece. He also carried, amongst other trinkets, 
 a sword-stick, which he called his "Tickler;" 
 and a great knife, which (for he was a man of a 
 pleasant turn of humour) he called "Ripper," in 
 allusion to its usefulness as a means of ventilating 
 the stomach of any adversary in a close contest 
 He had used these weapons with distinguished 
 effect in several instances ; all duly chronicled in 
 the newspapers ; and was greatly beloved for the 
 gallant manner in which he had "jobbed cut" the 
 eye of one gentleman, as he was in the act. *f 
 knocking at his own street-door. 
 
 Mr. Chollop was a man of a roving disposition; 
 and, in any less advanced community, might have 
 been mistaken for a violent vagabond. But his 
 fine qualities being perfectly understood and ap- 
 preciated in those regions where his lot was cast 
 and where he had many kindred spirits to consort 
 with, he may be regarded as having been born 
 under a fortunate star, which is not always the 
 case with a man so much before the age in which 
 he lives. Preferring, with a view to the gratifi- 
 cation of his tickling and ripping fancies, to dwell 
 upon the outskirts of society, and in the more 
 remote towns and cities, he was in the habit of 
 emigrating from place to place, and establishing 
 in each some business — usually a newspaper— 
 which he presently sold: for the most part closing 
 the bargain by challenging, stabbing, pistolling, 
 or gouging, the new editor, before he had quite 
 taken possession of the property. 
 
 He had come to Eden on a speculation of this 
 kind, but had abandoned it, and was about to 
 leave. He always introduced himself to strnngers 
 as a worshipper of Freedom; was the consistent 
 advocate of Lynch law and slavery ; and invari- 
 ably recommended, both in print and speech, tho 
 "tarring and feathering" of any unpopular per- 
 son who differed from himself. He called this 
 "planting the standard of civilization in the wild- 
 er gardens of My country." 
 
 There is little doubt that Chollop would have 
 planted this standard in Eden at Mark's expense, 
 in return for his plainness of speech (for the gen- 
 uine Freedom is dumb save when she vaunts her- 
 self,) but for the utter desolation and decay pre- 
 vailing in tho settlement, and his own approach- 
 ing departure from it As it was, he contented 
 himself with showing Mark one of the revolving- 
 pistols, and asking him what he thought of that 
 weapon. 
 
 " It ain't long, since I shot a man down with 
 
204 
 
 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 Jiat, Sir, in the State of Illinoy," observed Chol- 
 lop. 
 
 " Did you, indeed !'' said Mark, without the 
 smallest agitation. " Very free of you. And very 
 independent !" 
 
 " I shot him dowD, Sir," pursued Chollop, "for 
 asserting- in the Spartan Portico, a tri-weekly 
 journal, that the ancient Athenians went a-head 
 of the present Locofoco Ticket." 
 
 "And what's that?" asked Mark. 
 
 " JEuropian not to know," said Chollop, smok- 
 ing- placidly. " Europian quite !" 
 
 After -a short devotion to the interests of the 
 magic circle, he resumed the conversation by ob- 
 serving: 
 
 " You won't half feel yourself at home in Eden, 
 now ?" 
 
 " No," said Mark, " I don't." 
 
 " You miss the imposts of your country. You 
 miss the house dues ?" observed Chollop. 
 
 " And the houses — rather," said Mark. 
 
 " No window dues here, Sir," observed Chollop. 
 
 " And no windows to put 'em on*' said Mark. 
 
 " No stakes, no dungeons, no blocks, no racks, 
 no scaffolds, no thumb-screws, no pikes, no pillo- 
 ries," said Chollop. 
 
 "Nothing but rewolvers and bowie-knives," re- 
 turned Mark. " And what are they ? Not worth 
 mentioning !" 
 
 The man who had met them on the night of 
 their arrival came crawling up at this juncture, 
 and looked in at the door. 
 
 " Well, Sir !" said Chollop. " How do you git 
 along ?"• 
 
 He had considerable difficulty in getting along 
 at all, and said as much in reply. 
 
 '.' Mr. Co And me, Sir," observed Chollop, " are 
 disputating a piece. He ought to be slicked up 
 pretty smart, to disputate between the Old World 
 and the New, I do expect ?" 
 
 " Well !" returned the miserable shadow. " So 
 he had." 
 
 " I was merely observing, Sir," said Mark, ad- 
 dressing this new visiter, " that I looked upon the 
 city in which we have the honour to live, as be- 
 ing swampy. What \s your sentiments ?" 
 
 " I opinionate it 's moist, perhaps, at certain 
 times," returned the man. 
 
 " But not as moist as England, Sir ?" cried 
 Chollop, with a fierce expression in his face, 
 
 " Oh ! Not as moist as England ; let alone its 
 Institutions," said the man. 
 
 " I should hope there ain't a swamp in all Ame- 
 ricay, as don't whip that small island into mush 
 and molasses," observed Chollop, decisively. " You 
 bought slick, straight, and right away, of Scad- 
 der, Sir ?" to Mark. 
 
 He answered in the affirmative. Mr. Chollop 
 winked at the other citizen. 
 
 " Scadder is a smart man, Sir ? He is a rising 
 man? He is a man as will come up'ards, right 
 side up, Sir ?" Mr. Chollop winked again at the 
 other citizen. 
 
 " He should have his right side very high up, 
 if I had my way," said Mark. " As high up as 
 Vhe top of a good tall gallows, perhaps." 
 
 Mr. Chollop was so delighted at the smartness 
 nf his excellent countrvman having been too much 
 r or the Britisher, and at the Britisher's resenting 
 t, that he could contain himself no longer, and 
 
 broke forth in a shout of delight. But the strangest 
 exposition of this ruling passion was in the other: 
 the pestilence-stricken, broken, miserable shadow 
 of a man : who derived go much entertainment 
 from the circumstance, that he seemed to forget 
 his own ruin in thinking of it, and laughed out- 
 right when lie said "that Scadder was a smart 
 man, and had drawd a lot of British capital that 
 way, as sure as sun-up." 
 
 After a full enjoyment of this joke, Mr. Hanni- 
 bal Chollop sat smoking and improving the circle, 
 without making any attempts either to converse, ' 
 or to take leave ; apparently labouring under the 
 not uncommon delusion, that for a free and en- 
 lightened citizen of the United States to convert 
 another man's house into a spittoon for two or 
 three hour's together, was a delicate attention, full 
 of interest and politeness, of which nobody could 
 ever tire. At last he rose. 
 
 "lama going easy," he observed. 
 
 Mark entreated him to take particular care of 
 himself. 
 
 " Afore I go," he said sternly, " I have got a 
 leetle word to say to you. You are damnation 
 'cute, you are." 
 
 Mark thanked him for the compliment. 
 
 " But you are much too 'cute to last. I can't 
 con-ceive of any spotted Painter in the bush, as 
 ever Was so riddled through and through as you 
 will be, I bet." 
 
 " What for ?" asked Mark. 
 
 " We must be cracked-up, Sir," retorted Chol- 
 lop, in a tone of menace. " You are not now in 
 A despotic land. We are a model to the airth, 
 and must be jist cracked-up, I tell you." 
 
 "What, I speak too free, do I ?" cried Mark. 
 
 " I have draw'd upon A man, and fired upon A 
 man for less," said Chollop, frowning. " I have 
 know'd strong men obleeged to make themselves 
 uncommon skase for less. I have know'd strong 
 men Lynched for less, and beaten into punkin'- 
 sarse for less, by an enlightened people. We are 
 the intellect and virtue of the airth, the cream Of 
 human natur', and the flower Of moral force. 
 Our backs is easy ris. We must be cracked-up, or 
 they rises, and w r e snarls. We shows our teeth, 
 I tell you, fierce. You 'd better crack us up, you 
 had !" 
 
 After the delivery of this caution, Mr. Chollop 
 departed ; with Ripper, Tickler, and the revolvers, 
 all ready for action on the shortest notice. 
 
 " Come out from under the blanket, Sir," said 
 Mark, " he 's gone. What 's this !" he added 
 softly : kneeling down to look into his partner's 
 face, and taking his hot hand. " What's come 
 of all that chattering and swaggering ? He 's 
 wandering in his mind to-night, and don't know 
 me!" 
 
 Martin indeed was dangerously ill ; very near 
 his death. He lay in that state many days, dur- 
 ing which time Mark's poor friends, regardless 
 of themselves, attended him. Mark* fatigued in 
 mind and body; working all the day and sitting 
 up at night; worn with hard living and the unac- 
 customed toil of his new life ; surrounded by dis- 
 mal and discouraging circumstances of every 
 kind; never complained or yielded in the least 
 degree. If ever he had thought Martin selfish 
 or inconsiderate, or had deemed him energetic 
 only by fits and starts, and then too passive for 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 
 
 their desperate fortunes, he now forgot it all. He 
 remembered nothing but the better qualities of 
 his fellow-wanderer, and was devoted to him, heart 
 and hand. 
 
 Many weeks elapsed before Martin was strong 
 enough to move about with the help of a stick 
 and Mark's arm; and even thin his HMW rv, for 
 want of wholesome air and proper nourishment, 
 was very slow. He was vet in a feeble and weak 
 condition, when the misfortune he had so much 
 dreaded fell upon tlirm. Mark was taken ill. 
 
 Mark fought igaiaftt it; but the malady fought 
 harder, and his efforts were in vain. 
 
 "Floored for the present, Sir," he said one 
 morning, sinking hack upon his bed: " but jol- 
 ly 1" 
 
 Floored indeed, and by a heavy blow ! As any 
 one but Martin might have known beforehand. 
 
 If Mark's friends had been kind to Martin 
 (and they had been very), they were twenty times 
 kinder to Mark. And now it was Martin's turn 
 to work, and sit beside the bed and watch, and 
 listen through the long, long nights, to every 
 sound in the gloomy wilderness ; and hear poor 
 Mr. Tapley, in his wandering fancy, playing at 
 skittles in the Dragon, making love-remonstrances 
 to Mrs. Lupin, getting his sea-legs on board the 
 Screw, travelling with old Torn Finch on English 
 roads, and burning stumps of trees in Eden, all 
 at once. 
 
 But whenever Martin gave him drink or medi- 
 cine, or tended him in any way, or came into the 
 house returning fro'" some drudgery without, the 
 patient Mr. Tapley brightened up, and cried : 
 "I'm jolly, Sir: I'm jolly !" 
 
 Now, when Martin began to think of this, and 
 to look at Mark as he lay there ; never reproach- 
 ing him by so much as an expression of regret ; 
 never murmuring; always striving to be manful 
 and staunch ; he began to think how was it that 
 this man who had had so few advantages, was so 
 much better than he who had had so many ? Arid 
 attendance upon a sick bed, but especially the sick 
 bed of one whom we have been accustomed to see 
 in full activity and vigour, being a great breeder 
 of reflection, he began to ask himself in what 
 they differed. 
 
 He was assisted in coming to a conclusion on 
 this head by the frequent presence of Mark's 
 friend, their fellow-passenger across the ocean : 
 which suggested to him that in regard to having 
 aided her, for example, they had differed very 
 much. Somehow he coupled Tom Pinch with 
 this train of reflection ; and thinking that Tom 
 would be very likely to have struck up the same 
 sort of acquaintance under similar circumstances, 
 began to think in what respects two people so ex- 
 tremely different were like each other, and were 
 unlike him. At first sight there was nothing 
 very distressing in these meditations, but they did 
 undoubtedly distress him for all that. 
 
 Martin's nature was a frank and generous one ; 
 but he had been bred up in his grandfather's 
 house; and it will usually be found, that the 
 meaner domestic vices propagate tliemselves to 
 be their own antagonists. Selfishness does this 
 especially ; so do suspicion, cunning, stealth, and 
 covetous propensities. .Martin had uncon^ 
 reasoned as a child, M My guardian takes so much 
 thought of himself, that unless I do the like by 
 
 my-. If, I shall be forgotten.'* So he had grown 
 selfish. 
 
 But he had never known it. If any one had 
 taxed him with the vice, he would have indignant- 
 ly repelled the accusation, and conceived himself 
 unworthily aspersed. He never would have known 
 it, but that being newly ruten from a bed of dan- 
 gerous sickness, to watch by such another couch, 
 he felt how nearly Self had dropped into the 
 grave, and what a poor, dependent, miserable 
 thing it was. 
 
 It was natural for him to reflect — he had months 
 to do it in — upon his own escape, and Mark's ex- 
 tremity. This led him to consider which of them 
 could be the better spared, and why? Then the 
 curtain slowly rose a very little way ; and Serf, 
 Self, Self, was shown below. 
 
 He asked himself, besides, when dreading 
 Mark's decease (as all men do and must, at such 
 a time), whether he had done his duty by him, 
 and had deserved and made a good response to 
 his fidelity and zeal. No. Short as their com- 
 panionship had been, he felt in many, many in- 
 stances, that there was blame against himself; 
 and still inquiring why, the curtain slowly rose a 
 little more, and Self, Self, Self, dilated on the 
 scene. 
 
 It was long before he fixed the knowledge of 
 himself so firmly in his mind that he could tho- 
 roughly discern the truth ; but in the hideous soli- 
 tude of that most hideous place, with Hope so far 
 removed, Ambition quenched, and Death beside 
 him rattling at the very door, reflection came, as 
 in a plague-beleagured town ; and so he* felt and 
 knew the failing of his life, and saw distinctly 
 what an ugly spot it was. 
 
 Eden was a hard school to learn so hard a les- 
 son in ; but there were teachers in the swamp and 
 thicket, and the pestilential air, who had a search- 
 ing method of their own. 
 
 He made a solemn resolution that when his 
 strength returned he would not dispute the point 
 or resist the conviction, but would look upon it as 
 an established fact, that selfishness was in his 
 breast, and must be rooted out. He was so doubt- 
 ful (and with justice) of his own character, that 
 he determined not to say one word of vain regiet 
 or good resolve to Mark, but steadily to keep his 
 purpose before his own eyes solely : and there was 
 not a jot of pride in this ; nothing but humility 
 and steadfastness : the best armour he could wear. 
 So low had Eden brought him down. So high 
 had Eden raised him up. 
 
 After a long and lingering illness (in certain 
 forlorn stages of which, when too far gone to 
 speak, he had feebly written "jolly!" on a slate,) 
 Mark showed some symptoms of returning health. 
 They came, and went, and flickered for a time; 
 but he began to mend at last decidedly ; and after 
 that, continued to iniprmv from day to day. 
 
 As soon as he was well enough to talk without 
 fatigue, Martin consulted him upon a project lie 
 hud in his mind, and which a few months back 
 he would have carried into execution without 
 troubling anybody's head but his own. 
 
 "Ours is a desperate case," said Martin. 
 " Plainly. The place is deserted ; its failure must 
 have become known ; and selling what we have 
 bought to any one, for anything, is hopeless, < 
 if it were honest We left home on a mad 
 
206 
 
 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 prise, and have failed. The only hope left us : 
 the only one end for which we have now to try, 
 is to quit this settlement for ever, and get back to 
 England. Any how ! by any nmans 1 Only to 
 get back there, Mark." 
 
 "That's all, Sir," returned Mr. Tapley, with 
 a significant stress upon the words : ■ only that !" 
 "Now, upon this side of the water," said Mar- 
 tin, " we have but one friend who can help us, 
 and that is Mr. Bevan." 
 
 " I thought of him when- you was ill," said Mark. 
 "But for the time that would be lost, I would 
 even write to my grandfather," Martin went on 
 to say, "and implore him for money to free us 
 from this trap into which we were so cruelly de- 
 coyed. Shall I try Mr. Bevan first ?" 
 
 " He 's a very pleasant sort of a gentleman," 
 said Mark. " I think so." 
 
 "The few goods we bought here, and in which 
 we spent our money, would produce something if 
 sold," resumed Martin ; " and whatever they real- 
 ize shall be paid him instantly. But tbey can't 
 be sold here." 
 
 " There 's nobody but corpses to buy 'em," said 
 Mr. Tapley, shaking his head with a rueful air, 
 "and pigs." 
 
 " Shall I tell him so, and only ask him for mo- 
 ney enough to enable us by the cheapest means to 
 reach New York, or any port from which we may 
 hope to get a passage home, by serving in any ca- 
 pacity ? Explaining to him at the same time how 
 I am connected, and that I will endeavour to re- 
 pay him, even through my grandfather, immedi- 
 ately on our arrival in England ?" 
 
 " Why to be sure," said Mark : " he can only 
 say no, "nd he may say yes. If you don't mind 
 
 trying him, Sir " 
 
 " Mind !" exclaimed Martin. "I am to blame 
 for coming here, and I would do anything to get 
 away. I grieve to think of the past. If I had 
 taken your opinion sooner, Mark, we never should 
 have been here, I am certain." 
 
 Mr. Tapley was very much surprised at this ad- 
 mission, but protested with great vehemence, that 
 they would have been there all the same ; and 
 that he had set his heart upon coming to Eden, 
 from the first word he had ever heard of it. 
 
 Martin then read him a letter to Mr. Bevan, 
 which he had already prepared. It was frankly 
 and ingenuously written, and described their situ- 
 ation without the least concealment ; plainly stat- 
 ed the miseries they had undergone ; and prefer- 
 red their request in modest but straight-forward 
 terms. Mark highly commended it ; and they 
 determined to despatch it by the next steam-boat 
 going the right way, that might call to take in 
 wood at Eden, — where there was plenty of wood 
 to spare. Not knowing how to address Mr. Be- 
 van at his own place of abode, Martin superscribed 
 it to the care of the memorable Mr. Norris of 
 New York, and wrote upon the cover an entreaty 
 that it might be forwarded without delay. 
 
 More than a week elapsed before a boat appear- 
 ed ; but at length they w T ere awakened very early 
 one morning by the high-pressure snorting of the 
 "" Esau Slodge :" named after one of the most re- 
 markable men in the country, who had been very 
 eminent somewhere. Hurrying down to the land- 
 ing-place, they got it safe on board ; and waiting 
 anxiously to see the boat depart, stopped up the 
 
 gangway: an instance of neglect which caused 
 the " Capting" of the Esau Slodge to " wish he 
 might be sifted fine as flour, and whittled small as 
 chips; that if they didn't come off that there fix- 
 ing, right smart too, he 'd spill 'em in the drink :" 
 whereby the Capting metaphorically said he'd 
 throw them in the river. 
 
 They were not likely to receive an answer for 
 eight or ten weeks at the earliest. In the mean- 
 time they devoted such strength as they had to 
 the attempted improvement of their land ; to clear- 
 ing some of it, and preparing it for useful pur- 
 poses. Monstrously defective as their farming 
 was, still it was better than their neighbours' ; for 
 Mark had some practical knowledge of such mat- 
 ters, and Martin learned of him ; whereas the 
 other settlers who remained upon the putrid swamp 
 (a mere handful, and those withered by disease), 
 appeared to have wandered there with the idea 
 that husbandry was the natural gift of all man- 
 kind. They helped each other after their own 
 manner in these struggles, and in all others ; but 
 they worked as hopelessly and sadly as a gang 
 of convicts in a penal settlement. 
 
 Often at night when Mark and Martin were 
 alone, and lying down to sleep, they spoke of 
 home, familiar places, houses, roads, and people 
 whom they knew, sometimes in the lively hope 
 of seeing them again, and sometimes with a sor- 
 rowful tranquillity, as if that hope were dead. It 
 was a source of great amazement to Mark Tap- 
 ley to find, pervading all these conversations, a 
 singular alteration in Martin. 
 
 " I don't know what to make of him," he 
 thought one night, "he ain't what I supposed. 
 He don't think of himself half as much. I '11 try 
 him again. Asleep, Sir?" 
 "No, Mark." 
 
 " Thinking of home, Sir ?" 
 " Yes, Mark." 
 
 " So was I, Sir. I was wondering how Mr. 
 Pinch and Mr. Pecksniff gets on now." 
 " Poor Tom !" said Martin, thoughtfully. 
 " Weak-minded man, Sir," observed Mr. Tap- 
 ley. " Plays the organ for nothing, Sir. Takes 
 no care of himself?" 
 
 * I wish he took a little more, indeed," said 
 Martin. "Though I don't know why I should. 
 We shouldn't like him half as well, perhaps." 
 "He gets put upon, Sir," hinted Mark. 
 " Yes," said Martin, after a short silence. "/ 
 know that, Mark." 
 
 He spoke so regretfully, that his partner aban 
 doned the theme, and was silent for a short time 
 until he had thought of another. 
 
 "Ah, Sir!" said Mark, with a sigh. "Dear 
 me ! You 've ventured a good deal for a young 
 lady's love !" 
 
 " I tell you what. I 'm not so sure of that, 
 Mark," was the reply: so hastily and energeti- 
 cally spoken, that Martin sat up in his bed to give 
 it. " I begin to be far from clear upon it. You may 
 depend upon it, she is very unhappy. She has 
 sacrificed her peace of mind; she has endangered 
 her interests very much ; she can't run away from 
 those who are jealous of her, and opposed to her, 
 as I have done. She has to endure, Mark : to en- 
 dure without the possibility of action, poor girl ! 
 I begin to think she has more to bear than ever 
 I have had. Upon my soul I do !" 
 
MARTIN CIIUZZLEWIT. 
 
 207 
 
 Mr. Tapley opened his eyes wide, in the dark ; 
 but did not interrupt. 
 
 44 Ann 1 I '11 tell you a secret, Mark," said Mar- 
 tin, "since we are upon this subject. That 
 ring " 
 
 '♦Which ring, Sir 7** Mark inqtiired : opening 
 his eyes still wider. 
 
 44 Th it ring she gavevne when we parted, Mark. 
 She bought if; bought it; knowing I was poor 
 and proud (Heaven help me! Proud !) and want- 
 ed money." 
 
 " Who says so, Sir?" asked Mark. 
 
 ** I say so. I know it. . I thought of it, my 
 good fellow, hundreds of times, while you were 
 lying ill. And like a beast, I took it from her 
 ha/id, and wore it on my own, and never dreamed 
 of this even at the moment when I parted with 
 it, when some faint ghmmering of the truth might 
 surely have possessed me! But it's late," said 
 Martin, checking himself, M and you arc weak 
 and tired, I know. You only talk to cheer me 
 up. Good night ! God bless you, Mark !" 
 
 44 God bless you, Sir ! But I 'm reg'larly de- 
 frauded," thought Mr. Tapley, turning round, 
 with a happy face. u It's a swindle. I never 
 entered for this sort of service. There'll be no 
 credit in being jolly with him .'" 
 
 The time wore on, and other steam-boats com- 
 ing from the point on which their hopes were fix- 
 ed, arrived to take in wood ; but still no answer 
 to the letter. Rain, heat, foul slime, and noxious 
 vapour, with all the ills and filthy things they bred, 
 prevailed. The earth, the air, the vegetation, and 
 the water that they drank, all teemed with deadly 
 properties. Their fellow-passenger had lost two 
 children long before ; and buried now her last. 
 Such things are much too common to be widely 
 known or cared for. Smart citizens grow rich, and 
 friendless victims smart and die, and are forgot- 
 ten. That is all. 
 
 At last, a boat came panting up the ugly river 
 and stopped at Eden. Mark was waiting at the 
 wood-hut, when it came, and had a letter handed 
 to him from on board. He bore it off to Marun. 
 They looked at one another, trembling. 
 
 14 It feels heavy," faltered Martin. And open 
 ing it, a little roll of dollar-notes fell out upon the 
 ground. 
 
 What either of them said, or did, or felt, at 
 first, neither of them knew. All Mark could ever 
 tell was, that he was at the river's bank again 
 out, of breath, before the boat had gone, inquir- 
 ing when it would retrace its track, and pat in 
 there. 
 
 The answer was, in ten or twelve days : not- 
 withstanding which, they began to get their goods 
 together and to tie them up, that very night. 
 When this stage of excitement was passed, each 
 of them believed (they found this out, in talking 
 of it afterwards) that he would surely die before 
 the boat returned. 
 
 They lived, however, and it came, after the 
 lapse of three long crawling weeks. At sunrise, 
 on an autumn day, they stood upon her deck. 
 
 "Courage ! We shall meet again !" cried Mar- 
 tin, waving his hand to two thin figures on the 
 bank. M In the old world !" 
 
 44 Or in the next one," added Mark below his 
 breath. " To see them standing side by side, so 
 quirt, is a'most the worst of all !" 
 
 They looked at one another, as. the vessel moved 
 away, and then looked backward at the spot from 
 which it hurried fast The log-house, with the 
 open door, and drooping trees about it ; the stag. 
 nant mqrning mist, and red sun, dimly seen be- 
 yond ; the vapour rising up from land and river ; 
 the quick stream making the loathsome banks it 
 washed more fiat and dull : how often they re- 
 turned in dreams ! How often it was happiness to 
 wake, and find them Shadows that had vanished ! 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV. 
 
 IN WHICH THE TRAVELLERS MOVE HOMEWARD, AND ENCOUNTER SOME 
 DISTINGUISHED CHARACTERS UPON THE WAY. 
 
 Among the passengers on board the steam-boat, 
 there was a taint gentleman sitting on a low camp- 
 stool, with his legs on a high barrel of flour, as if 
 he were looking at the propect with his ankles ; 
 who attracted their attention speedily. 
 
 He had straight black hair, parted up the mid- 
 dle of his head, and hanging down upon his coat ; 
 a little fringe of hair upon his chin ; wore no 
 neckcloth ; a white hat ; a suit of black, long in 
 the sleeves, and short in the legs ; soiled brown 
 •lockings, and laced shoes. His complexion, nat- 
 urally muddy, was rendered muddier by too strict 
 an economy of soap and water ; and the same 
 observation will apply to the washable part ef his 
 attire, which he might have changed with rum- 
 fort to himself, and gratification to his friends. 
 He was about five-and-thirty ; was crushed and 
 
 jammed up in a heap, under the shade of a large 
 green cotton umbrella ; and ruminated over Ins 
 tobacco-plug like a cow. 
 
 He was not singular, to be sure, in these re- 
 spects ; for every gentleman on board appeared to 
 have had a difference with his laundress, and to 
 have left off washing himself in early youth. 
 Every gentleman, too, was perfectly stopped up 
 with tight plugging, and was dislocated in tin- 
 greater part of his joints. But about this gentle- 
 man there was a peculiar air of sagacity and 
 wisdom, which convinced Martin that he was no 
 common character ; and this turned out to be the 
 case. 
 
 44 How do you do, Sir ?" said a voice in Martin'* 
 ear. 
 
 44 How do you do, Sir ?" said Martin. 
 
203 
 
 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 It was a tall, thin gentleman who spoke to him, 
 with a carpet-cap on, and a long, loose coat of 
 green-baize, ornamented about the pockets with 
 black velvet. 
 
 " You air from Europe, Sir ?" 
 " I am," said Martin. 
 " You air fortunate, Sir." 
 
 Martin thought so, too : but he soon discovered 
 that the gentleman and he attached different mean- 
 ings to this remark. 
 
 "You air fortunate, Sir, in having an opportu- 
 nity of beholding our Elijah Pogram, Sir." 
 
 "Your Elijahpogram !" said Martin, thinking 
 it was all one word, and a building of some sort. 
 " Yes, Sir." 
 
 Martin tried to look as if he understood him, 
 but he couldn't make it out 
 
 " Yes, Sir," repeated the gentleman. " Our 
 Elijah Pogram, Sir, is, at this minute, identically 
 settin' by the en-gine biler." 
 
 The gentleman under the umbrella put his 
 right forefinger to his eyebrow, as if he were re- 
 volving schemes of state. % 
 " That is Elijah Pogram, is it ?" said Martin. 
 " Yes, Sir," replied the other. " That is Elijah 
 Pogram." 
 
 " Dear me !" said Martin. " I am astonished." 
 But he had not the least idea who this Elijah Po- 
 gram was; having never heard the name in all 
 his life. 
 
 " If the biler of this vessel was Toe bust, Sir," 
 said his new acquaintance, " and Toe bust now, 
 this would be a fesTival day in the calendar of 
 despotism ; pretty nigh equallui', Sir, in its effects 
 upon the human race, our Fourth of glorious July. 
 Yes, Sir, that is the Honourable Elijah Pogram, 
 Member of Congress ; one of the master-minds 
 of our country, Sir. There is a brow, Sir, there !" 
 "Quite remarkable," said Martin. 
 " Yes, Sir. Our own immortal Chiggle, Sir, is 
 said Jo have observed, when he made the celebrat- 
 ed Pogram statter in marble, which rose so much 
 con-test and preju-dice in Europe, that the brow 
 was more than mortal. This was before the Po- 
 gram Defiance, and was, therefore, a pre-diction, 
 cruel smart." 
 
 " What is the Pogram Defiance ?" asked Mar- 
 tin, thinking, perhaps, it was the sign of a public- 
 house. 
 
 " An o-ration, Sir," returned his friend. 
 
 " Oh ! to be sure," cried Martin. " What am 
 
 I thinking of! It defied " 
 
 " It defied the world, Sir," said the other grave- 
 ly. " Defied the world in genral to com-pete with 
 our country upon any hook ; and devellop'd our 
 internal resources for making war upon the uni- 
 versal airth. You would like to know Elijah Po- 
 gram, Sir?" 
 
 " If you please," said Martin. 
 " Mr. Pogram," said the stranger — Mr. Pogram 
 having overheard every word of the dialogue — 
 "this is a gentleman from Europe, Sir; from 
 England, Sir. But gen'rous ene-mies may meet 
 upon the neutral sile of private life, I think." 
 
 The languid Mr. Pogram shook hands with 
 Martin, like a clock-work figure that was just 
 running down. But he made amends by chewing 
 like one that was just wound up. 
 
 " Mr Pogram," said the introducer, "is a pub- 
 
 lic servant, Sir. When Congress is recessed, he 
 makes himself acquainted with those free United 
 States, of which he is the gifted son." 
 
 It occurred to Martin, that if the Honourable 
 Elijah Pogram had staid at home, and sent his 
 shoes upon a tour, they would have answered the 
 same purpose ; for they were the only part of him 
 in a situation to see anything. 
 
 In course of time, however, Mr. Pogram rose ; 
 and having ejected certain plugging consequences 
 which would have impeded his articulation, took 
 up a position where there was something to lean 
 against, and began to talk to Martin : shading 
 himself with the green umbrella all the time. 
 
 As he began with the words, " How do you 
 like ?" Martin took him up, and said : 
 
 " The country, I presume ?" 
 
 "Yes, Sir," said Elijah Pogram. A knot of 
 passengers gathered round to hear what followed ; 
 and Martin heard his friend say, as he whispered 
 to another friend, and rubhed his hands, " Pogram 
 will smash him into sky-blue fits, I know !" 
 
 " Why," said Martin, after a moment's hesita- 
 tion, " I have learned by experience, that you take 
 an unfair advantage of a stranger, when you ask 
 that question. You don't mean it to be answered, 
 except in one way. Now, I don't choose to an- 
 swer it in that way, for I cannot honestly answer 
 it in that way. And therefore, I would rather not 
 answer it at all." 
 
 But Mr. Pogram was going to make a great 
 speech in the next session about foreign relations, 
 and was going to write strong articles on the 
 subject; and as he greatly favoured the free and 
 independent custom (a very harmless one) of pro- 
 curing information of any sort in any kind of 
 confidence, and afterwards perverting it publicly 
 in any manner that happened to suit him, he had 
 determined to get at Martin's opinions somehow 
 or other. For, if he could have got nothing out 
 of him, he would have had to invent it for him, 
 and that would have been laborious. He made a. 
 mental note of his answer, and went in again. 
 
 " You are from Eden, Sir ? How did you like 
 Eden ?" 
 
 Martin said what he thought of that part of 
 the country, in pretty strong terms. 
 
 " It is strange," said Pogram, looking round 
 upon the group, "this hatred of our country, and 
 her Institutions ! This national antipathy is 
 deeply rooted in the British mind !" 
 
 " Good Heaven, Sir !" cried Martin. " Is the 
 Eden Land Corporation, with Mr. Scaddcr at its 
 head ; and all the misery it has worked, at its 
 door ; an Institution of America ? A part of any 
 form of government that ever was known or heard 
 of?" 
 
 "I con-sider the cause of this to be," said Po- 
 gram, looking round again, and taking himself 
 up where Martin had interrupted him, "partly 
 jealousy and preju-dice, and partly the nat'ral 
 unfitness of the British people to appreciate the 
 ex-alted Institutions of our native land. I expect, 
 Sir," turning to Martin again, "that a gentleman 
 named Chollop happened in upon you during your 
 lo-cation in the town of Eden ?" 
 
 " Yes," answered Martin • " but my friend can 
 answer this better than I can, for I was very ill 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 
 
 209 
 
 at the time. Mark ! the gentleman is speaking 
 of Mr. Chollop." 
 
 " Oh, Yea, Sir. Yea. J see him," observed 
 Mark. 
 
 splendid example of our na-tivc raw mate- 
 rial, Sir 1" said Pogram, interrogatively. 
 
 " Indeed, .Sir !" cried Mark. 
 
 The Honourable Elijah Pogram glanced at his 
 friends as though he would have said, "Observe 
 this ! See what follows !" and they rendered tri- 
 bute to the Pogram genius, by a gentle murmur. 
 
 "Our fellow-countryman is a model of a man, 
 quite fresh from Natur'a mould !" said Pogrom, 
 with enthusiasm. " He is a true-born child of 
 this hemisphere ! Verdant as the mountains of 
 our country ; bright and flowing as our mineral 
 Licks; unspiled by withering conventionalities as 
 air our broad and boundless Perearers ! Rough 
 he may be so. So air our Barrs. Wild he may 
 be. So air our Hutlalors. But he is a child of 
 Natur', and a child of Freedom ; and his boastful 
 answer to the Despot and the Tyrant is, that his 
 bright home is in the Settin Sun." 
 
 Part of this referred to Chollop, and part to a 
 western postmaster, who, being a public defaulter 
 not very long before (a character not at all un- 
 common in America), had been removed from 
 office; and on whose behalf Mr. Pogram (he vot- 
 ed for Pogram) had thundered the last sentence 
 from his seat in Congress, at the head of an un- 
 popular President. It told brilliantly ; for the 
 bystanders were delighted, and one of them said 
 to Martin, "that he guessed he had now seen 
 something of the eloquential aspect of our coun- 
 try, and was chawed up pritty small." 
 
 Mr. Pogram waited until his hearers were calm 
 again, before he said to Mark : 
 
 " You do not seem to coincide, Sir ?" 
 
 " Why," said Mark, " I didn't like him much ; 
 and that 's the truth, Sir. I thought he was a 
 bully; and I didn't admire his carryin' them 
 murderous little persuaders, and being so ready 
 to use 'em." 
 
 " It 's singler !" said Pogram, lifting his um- 
 brella high enough to look all round from under 
 lL " It 's strange! You observe the settled op- 
 position to our institutions which pervades the 
 British mind !" 
 
 " W hat an extraordinary people you are !" cried 
 Martin. "Are Mr. Chollop and the class he 
 represents, an Institution here ? Are pistols with 
 revolving barrels, sword-sticks, bowie-knives, and 
 such things, Institutions on which you pride your- 
 ■elves ? Are bloody duels, brutal combats, savage 
 assaults, shootings down and stabbing in the 
 street*, your Institutions! Why, I shall hear 
 next, that Dishonour and Fraud are among the 
 Institutions of the great republic !" 
 
 The moment the words passed his lips, the 
 Honourable Elijah Pogram looked round again. 
 
 "This morbid hatred of our Institutions," he 
 observed, " is quite a study for the physchological 
 observer. He's alludin to Repudiation now !" 
 
 **Oh! You may make anything an Institution 
 if you like," said Martin, laughing, "and I con- 
 fess you had me there, fur you certainly have 
 made that, one. But the greater part of these 
 things are one Institution with us, and we call it 
 by the generic name of Old Bailey !" 
 27 
 
 The bell being rung for dinner at this moment, 
 everybody ran away into the cabin, whither the 
 Honourable Elijuh Pogram fiVd frith McN pre- 
 cipitation that he forgot his umbrella was up, sin! 
 so tightly in the cabin-door that it could 
 neither be let down nor got out For a minute 
 or so this accident created a perfect rebellion 
 among the hungry passengers behind, who, see- 
 ing the dishes and hearing the knives and forks 
 at work, well knew what would happen unless 
 they got there instantly, and were nearly mad : 
 while several virtuous citizens at the table were 
 in deadly peril of choking themselves in 
 unnatural efforts to get rid of all the meat before 
 these others came. 
 
 They carried the umbrella by storm, however, 
 and rushed in at the breach. The Honourable 
 Elijah Pogram and .Martin found themselves, 
 after a severe struggle, side by side, as they might 
 have come together in the pit of a London thea- 
 tre ; and for ibur whole minutes afterwards, Po- 
 gram was snapping up great blocks of everything 
 he could get hold of, like a raven. When he had 
 taken this unusually protracted dinner, he began" 
 to talk to Martin; and begged him not to have 
 the least delicacy in speaking with perfect free- 
 dom to Kim, for he was a calm philosopher. 
 Which Martin was extremely glad to hpar; for 
 he had begun to speculate on Elijah being a dis- 
 ciple of that other school of republican philoso- 
 phy, whose noble sentiments are carved with 
 knives upon a pupil's body, and written, not with 
 pen and ink, but tar and feathers. 
 
 " What do you think of my countrymen who 
 are present, Sir ?" inquired Elijah Pograln. 
 
 " Oh ! very pleasant," said Martin. 
 
 They were a very pleasant party. No man 
 had spoken a word ; every one had been intent, 
 as usual, on his own private gorging ; and the 
 greater part of the company were decidedly dirty 
 feeders. 
 
 The Honourable Elijah Pogram looked at Mar- 
 tin as if he thought * You don't mean that, I 
 know!" And he was soon confirmed in this 
 opinion. 
 
 Sitting opposite to them was a gentleman in a 
 high state of tobacco, who wore quite a little 
 beard, composed of the overflowing* of that weed, 
 as they had dried about his mouth and chin: so 
 common an ornament that it scarcely attracted 
 Martin's observation : but this good citiren, burn- 
 ing to assert his equality against nil comers, suck- 
 ed his knife for some moments, and mude a cut 
 with it at the butter, just as Martin was in the 
 act of taking some. There was a juirynesa 
 about the deed that might have sickened a scav- 
 enger. 
 
 When Elijah Pogram (to whom this was an 
 every-day incident) saw that Martin pot the plate 
 away, and took no butter, lie was quite delighted, 
 and said : 
 
 " Well ! The morbid hatred of you British 
 to the Institutions of our country, is as-TO.tieh. 
 in :" 
 
 "Upon my life!" cried Martin, in his turn, 
 "this is the most wonderful community that ere/ 
 existed. A man deliberately makes a hog of him. 
 self, and that '* an Institution !*' 
 
210 
 
 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 We have no time to ac-quire forms, Sir " said 
 Elijah Pogram. 
 
 "Acquire!" cried Martin. "But it's not a 
 question of acquiring anything. It's a question 
 of losing the natural politeness of a savage, and 
 that instinctive good breeding which admonishes 
 one man not to offend and disgust another. Don't 
 you think that man over the way, for instance, 
 naturally knows better, but considers it a very 
 fine and independent thing to be a brute in small 
 matters ?" 
 
 " He is a na-tive of our country, and is nat'rally 
 bright and spry, of course," said Mr. Pogram. 
 
 "Now, observe what this comes to, Mr. Po- 
 gram," pursued Martin. "The mass of your 
 countrymen begin by stubbornly neglecting little 
 social observances, which have nothing to do with 
 gentility, custom, usage, government, or country, 
 but are acts of common, decent, natural, human 
 politeness. You abet them in this, by resenting 
 all attacks upon their social offences as if they 
 were a beautiful natural feature. From disre- 
 garding small obligations they come in regular 
 course to disregard great ones ; and so refuse to 
 pay their debts. What they may do, or what 
 they may refuse to do next, I don't know ; but 
 any man may see if he will, that it will be some- 
 thing following in natural succession, and a part 
 of one great growth, which is rotten at the root." 
 
 The mind of Mr. Pogram was too philosophi- 
 cal to see this ; so they went on deck again, where, 
 resuming his former post, he chewed until he 
 was in a lethargic state, amounting to insensi- 
 bility. 
 
 After a weary voyage of several days, they came 
 again to that same wharf where Mark had been 
 so nearly left behind on the night of starting for 
 Eden. Captain Kedgick, the landlord, was stand- 
 ing there, and was greatly surprised to see them 
 coming from the boat. 
 
 "Why, what the 'tarnal!" cried the captain. 
 " Well ! I do admire at this, I do !" 
 
 " We can stay at your house until to-morrow, 
 Captain, I suppose?" said Martin. 
 
 " I reckon you can stay there for a twelvemonth 
 if you like," retorted Kedgick coolly. " But our 
 people won't best like your coming back." 
 
 " Won't like it, Captain Kedgick !" said Mar- 
 tin. 
 
 " They did ex-pect you was a-going to set- 
 tle," Kedgick answered, as he shook his head. 
 " They 've been took in, you can't deny 1" 
 
 " What do you mean?" cried Martin. 
 
 *' You didn't ought to have received 'em," said 
 the Captain. " No you didn't !" 
 
 "My good friend," returned Martin, "did I 
 want to receive them ? Was it any act of mine ? 
 Didn't you tell me they would rile up, and that I 
 should be flayed like a wild cat ; and threaten all 
 kinds of vengeance, if I didn't receive them ?" 
 
 " I don't know about that," returned the cap- 
 tain. " But when our people's frills is out, they 're 
 starched up pretty stiff, I tell you !" 
 
 With that, he fell into the rear to walk with 
 Mark, while Martin and Elijah Pogram went on 
 to the National. 
 
 " We 've come back alive, you see !" said 
 Mark. 
 
 u It ain't the thing x did expect," the captain 
 
 grumbled. " A man ain't got no right to be a 
 public man, unless he meets the public viewi/. 
 Our fashionable people wouldn't have attended his 
 le-vee, if they had know'd it." 
 
 Nothing mollified the captain, who persisted in 
 taking it very ill that they had not both died in 
 Eden. The boarders at the National felt strongly 
 on the subject too ; but it happened by good for- 
 tune that they had not much time to think about 
 this grievance, for it was suddenly determined to 
 pounce upon the Honourable Elijah Pogram, and 
 give him a le-vee forthwith. 
 
 As the general evening meal of the house was 
 over before the arrival of the boat, Martin, Mark, 
 and Pogram, were taking tea and fixings at the 
 public table by themselves, when the deputation 
 entered, to announce this honour: consisting of 
 six gentlemen boarders, and a very shrill boy. 
 
 ■ Sir !" said the spokesman. 
 
 " Mr. Pogram !" cried the shrill boy. 
 
 The spokesman, thus reminded of the shrill 
 boy's presence, introduced him. " Doctor Ginery 
 Dunkle, Sir. A gentleman of great poetical ele- 
 ments. He has recently jined us here, Sir, and 
 is an acquisition to us, Sir, I do assure you. Yes, 
 Sir. Mr. Jodd, Sir. Mr. Izzard, Sir. Mr. Julius 
 Bib, Sir." 
 
 "Julius Washington Merryweather Bib," said 
 the gentleman himself to himself. 
 
 " I beg your pardon, Sir. Ex-cuse me. Mr. 
 Julius Washington Merryweather Bib, Sir ; a 
 gentleman in the lumber line, Sir, and much es- 
 teemed. Colonel Groper, Sir. Pro-fessor Piper 
 Sir. My own name, Sir, is Oscar Buffum." . 
 
 Each man took one slide forward as he was 
 named ; butted at the Honourable Elijah Pogram 
 with his head ; shook hands, and slid back again. 
 The introductions being completed, the spokes- 
 man resumed. 
 
 "Sir!" 
 
 " Mr. Pogram !" cried the shrill boy. 
 
 " Perhaps," said the spokesman, with a hopeless 
 look, " you will be so good, Doctor Ginery Dun- 
 kle, as to charge yourself with the execution of 
 our little office, Sir ?" 
 
 As there was nothing the shrill boy desired 
 more; he immediately stepped forward. 
 
 " Mr. Pogram ! Sir ! A handful Of your fel- 
 low citizens, Sir, hearing Of your arrival at the 
 National Hotel ; and feeling the patriotic charac- 
 ter Of your public services ; wish, Sir, to have the 
 gratification Of beholding you ; and mixing with 
 you, Sir ; and unbending with you, Sir, in those 
 moments which " 
 
 " Air," suggested Buffum. 
 
 " Which air so peculiarly the lot, Sir, Of our 
 great and happy country." 
 
 " Hear !" cried Colonel Groper, in a loud voice. 
 "Good! Hear him! Good!" 
 
 "And therefore, Sir," pursued the Doctor, 
 " they request ; as A mark Of their respect ; the 
 honour of your company at a little le-Vee, Sir, in 
 the ladies' ordinary, at eight o'clock." 
 
 Mr. Pogram bowed, and said : 
 
 " Fellow-countrymen !" 
 
 "Good!" cried the Colonel. "Hear him! 
 Good !" 
 
 Mr. Pogram bowed to the Colonel individually 
 and then resumed : 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 
 
 211 
 
 44 Your approbation of My labours in the com. 
 mon cause, goes to-My heart. At all times and 
 in all places ; in the ladies' ordinary, My friends, 
 
 and in the Battle Field " 
 
 bd, very good! Hear him ! Hear him!" 
 said the Colonel. 
 
 "The Mine Of Pogram will be proud to jine 
 you. And may it, My t'riemts, be written on My 
 tomb, 'lie was a member of the Con-grcss of 
 our common country, and was ac-Tive in his 
 triM.'" 
 
 u The Tom-mittce, Sir," said the shrill boy, 
 " will wait upon you at five minutes afore eight. 
 I take My leave, Sir!" 
 
 Mr. Pogram shook hands with him, and every- 
 body else, once more; and when they came back 
 again at five minutes before eight, they said, one 
 by one, in a melancholy voice, " How do you do, 
 Sir ?" and shook hands with Mr. Pogram all over 
 again, as if he had been abroad for a twelve- 
 month in the meantime, and they met, now, at a 
 funeral. 
 
 But by this time Mr. Pogram had freshened 
 himself up, and had composed his hair and fea- 
 tures after the Pogram statue, so that any one 
 with half an eye might cry out, "There he is! 
 as he delivered the Defiance !" The Committee 
 were embellished also; and when they entered 
 the ladies' ordinary in a body, there was much 
 clapping of hands from ladies and gentlemen, 
 accompanied by cries of " Pogram ! Pogram !" 
 and some standing up on chairs to see him. 
 
 The object of the popular caress looked round 
 the room as he walked up it, and smiled : at the 
 same time observing to the shrill boy, that he 
 knew something of the beauty of the daughters 
 of their common country, but had never seen it 
 in such lustre and perfection as at that moment. 
 Which the shrill boy put in the paper next day ; 
 to Elijah Pogram's great surprise. 
 
 " We will re-quest you, Sir, if you please," said 
 Buffum, laying hands on Mr. Pogram as if he 
 were taking his measure for a coat, "to stand up 
 with your back agin the wall right in the furthest 
 corner, that there may be more room for our fel- 
 low cit-izcns. If you could set your back right 
 slap agin that curtain-peg, Sir, keepin your left 
 leg everlastingly behind the stove, we should be 
 fixed quite slick." 
 
 Mr. Pogram did as he was told, and wedged 
 himself into such a little corner, that the Pogram 
 statue wouldn't have known him. 
 
 The entertainments of the evening then began. 
 Gentlemen brought ladies up, and brought them- 
 selves up, and brought each other up; and asked 
 Elijah Pogram what he thought of this political 
 question, and what he thought of that; and look- 
 ed at him, and looked at one another, and seemed 
 very unhappy indeed. The ladies on the chairs 
 looked at Elijah Pogram through their glasses, 
 and said audibly, U I wish he'd speak. Why 
 don't he speak. Oh, do ask him to speak !" And 
 Elijah Pogram looked sometimes at the ladies 
 and sometimes elsewhere, delivering senatorial 
 opinions, as he was asked for them. But the 
 great end and object of the meeting seemed to be, 
 not to let Elijah Pogram out of the corner on any 
 account: so there they kept him, hard and fast 
 
 A great bustle at the door, in the course of the 
 
 evening, announced the arrival of some remark, 
 able person ; and immediately afterwards an 
 elderly gentleman, much excited, was seen to pre- 
 cipitate himself upon the crowd, and battle his 
 way towards the Honourable EKjah Pogram. 
 Martin, who had found a snug place of observa- 
 tion in a distant comer, where he stood with Mark 
 beside him (for he did not so often forget him now 
 as formerly, though he still did sometimes), 
 thought he knew this gentleman, but had no doubt 
 of it, when he cried as loud as he could, with his 
 eyes starting out of his head : 
 
 44 Sir, Mrs. Hominy !" 
 
 14 Lord bless that woman, Mark. She has turn- 
 ed up again !" 
 
 44 Here she comes, Sir," answered Mr. Tapley. 
 44 Pogram knows her. A public character ! Al- 
 ways got her eye upon her country, Sir ! If that 
 there lady's husband is of my opinion, what a 
 jolly old gentleman he must be !" 
 
 A lane was made ; and Mrs. Hominy, with the 
 aristocratic stalk, the pocket-handkerchief, the 
 clasped hands, and the classical cap, came slowly 
 up it, in a procession of one. Mr. Pogram testi- 
 fied emotions of delight on seeing her, and a gen- 
 eral hush prevailed. For it was known that when 
 a woman like Mrs. Hominy encountered a man 
 like Pogram, something interesting must be 
 said. 
 
 Their first salutations were exchanged in a 
 voice too low to reach the impatient ears of the 
 throng ; but they soon became audible, for Mrs. 
 Hominy felt her position, and knew what was 
 expected of her. 
 
 Mrs. H. was hard upon him at first; and put 
 him through a rigid catechism, in reference to a 
 certain vote he had given, which she had found it 
 necessary, as the mother of the modern Gracchi, 
 to deprecate in a line by itself, set up expressly 
 for the purpose in German text. But Mr. Pogram 
 evading it by a well-timed allusion to the star- 
 spangled banner, which, it appeared, had the re- 
 markable peculiarity of flouting the breeze when 
 ever it was hoisted where the wind blew, she for- 
 gave him. They now enlarged on certain ques- 
 tions of tariff, commercial treaty, boundary, im- 
 portation, and exportation, with great effect. And 
 Mrs. Hominy not only talked, as the saying is, 
 like a book, but actually did talk her own books, 
 word for word. 
 
 44 My ! what is this ?" cried Mrs. Hominy, open- 
 ing a little note which was handed her by her 
 excited gentleman-usher. " Do tell ! oh, well, 
 now ! on'y think!" 
 
 And then she read aloud, as follows : 
 
 41 Two literary ladies present their compliments 
 to the mother of the modern Gracchi, and claim 
 her kind introduction, as their talented country- 
 woman, to the honourable (and distinguished) 
 Elijah Pogram, whom the two L.L.'s have often 
 contemplated in the speaking marble of the soul- 
 subduing Chiggle. On a verbal intimation from 
 the mother of the M. G., that she will comply 
 with the request of the two L.L.'«, they will have 
 the immediate pleasure of joining the galaxy as- 
 sembled to do honour to the patriotic conduct of 
 a Pogram. It may be another bond of union be 
 tween the two LX.'s and the mother of the M (i 
 
212 
 
 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 to observe, that the two L.L.'s are Transcenden- 
 tal." 
 
 Mrs. Hominy promptly rose, and proceeded to 
 the door, whence she returned, after a minute's 
 interval, with the two L.L.'s, whom she led, 
 through the lane in the crowd, with all that state- 
 liness of deportment which was so remarkably 
 her own, up to the great Elijah Pogram. It was 
 (as the shrill boy cried out in an ecstacy) quite 
 the Last Scene from Coriolanus. 
 
 One of the L.L.'s wore a brown wig of uncom- 
 mon size. Sticking on the forehead of the other, 
 by invisible means, was a massive cameo, in size 
 and shape like the raspberry tart which is ordi- 
 narily sold for a penny, representing on its front, 
 the capitol at Washington. 
 
 " Miss Toppit, and Miss Codger !" said Mrs. 
 Hominy. 
 
 " Codger 's the lady so often mentioned in the 
 English newspapers, I should think, Sir," whis- 
 pered Mark. "The oldest inhabitant, as never 
 remembers anything." 
 
 " To be presented to a Pogram," said Miss Cod- 
 ger, " by a Hominy, indeed, a thrilling moment 
 is it in its impressiveness on what we call our 
 feelings. But why we call them so, or why im- 
 pressed they are, or if impressed they are at all, 
 or if at all we are, or if there really is, oh gasp- 
 .ng one ! a Pogram or a Hominy, or any active 
 principle, to which we give those titles, is a topic 
 Spirit-searching, light-abandoned, much too vast 
 to enter on, at this unlooked for crisis." 
 
 " Mind and matter," said the lady in the wig, 
 "glide swift into the vortex of immensity. Howls 
 the sublime, and softly sleeps the calm Ideal, in 
 the whispering chambers of Imagination. To 
 hear it, sweet it is. But then, outlaughs the stern 
 philosopher, and saith to the Grotesque, ' What 
 ho ! arrest for me that Agency. Go bring it here !' 
 And so the vision fadeth." 
 
 After this, they both took Mr. Pogram by the 
 hand, and pressed it to their lips, as a patriotic 
 palm. That homage paid, the mother of the 
 modern Gracchi called for chairs, and the three 
 literary ladies went to work in earnest, to bring 
 poor Pogram out, and make him show himself in 
 all his brilliant colours. 
 
 How Pogram got out of his depth instantly, 
 and how the three L.L.'s were never, in theirs, is 
 a piece of history not worth recording. Suffice 
 it, that being all four out of their depths, and all 
 unable to swim, they splashed up words in all di- 
 rections, and floundered about famously. On the 
 whole, it was considered to have been the severest 
 mental exercise ever heard in the National Hotel. 
 Tears stood in the shrill boy's eyes several times ; 
 and the whole company observed that their heads 
 ached with the effort — as well they might. 
 
 When it at last became necessary to release 
 Elijah Pogram from the corner, and the Commit- 
 tee saw him safely back again to the next room, 
 they were fervent in their admiration. 
 
 " Which," said Mr. Buffum, " must have vent, 
 or it will bust. Toe you, Mr. Pogram, I am 
 grateful. Toe-wards you, Sir, I am inspired with 
 lofty veneration, and with deep e-mo-tion. The 
 sentiment Toe which I would propose to give ex- 
 pression, Sir, is this : 4 May you ever be as firm, 
 
 Sir, as your marble statter ! May it ever be as 
 great a terror Toe its ene-mies as you.' " 
 
 There is some reason to suppose that it was 
 rather terrible to its friends; being a statue of the 
 Elevated or Goblin School, in which the Honour- 
 able Elijah Pogram was represented as. in a very 
 high wind, with his hair all standing on end, and 
 his nostrils blown wide open. But Mr. Pogram 
 thanked his friend and countryman for the aspi- 
 ration to which he had given utterance, and the 
 Committee, after another solemn shaking of hands, 
 retired to bed, except the Doctor ; who immedi- 
 ately repaired to the newspaper-office, and there 
 wrote a short poem suggested by the events of the 
 evening, beginning with fourteen stars, and head- 
 ed, " A Fragment. Suggested by witnessing the 
 Honourable Elijah Pogram engaged in a philo- 
 sophical disputation with three 'of Columbia's 
 fairest daughters. By Doctor Ginery Dunkle. Of 
 Troy." 
 
 If Pogram was as glad to get to bed as Martin 
 was, he must have been well rewarded for his la- 
 bours. They started off again next day (Martin 
 and Mark previously disposing of their goods to 
 the store-keepers of whom they had purchased 
 them, for anything they would bring), and were 
 fellow-travellers to within a short distance of New 
 York. When Pogram was about to leave them 
 he grew thoughtful, and after pondering for soma 
 time, took Martin aside. 
 
 " We air going to part, Sir," said Pogram. 
 
 "Pray don't distress yourself," said Martin* 
 " we must bear it." 
 
 "It ain't that, Sir," returned Pogram, "not at 
 all. But I should wish you to accept a copy of 
 My oration." 
 
 " Thank you," said Martin, '• you are very 
 good. I shall be most happy." 
 
 " It ain't quite that, Sir, neither," resumed Po- 
 gram : " air you bold enough to introduce a copy 
 into your country ?" 
 
 " Certainly," said Martin. " Why not ?" 
 
 " Its sentiments air strong, Sir," hinted Pogram, 
 darkly. 
 
 " That makes no difference," said Martin. " I '11 
 take a dozen if you like." 
 
 " No, Sir," retorted Pogram. " Not a dozen. 
 That is more than I require. If you are content 
 to run the hazard, Sir, here is one for your Lord 
 Chancellor," producing it, "and one for Your 
 principal Secretary of State. I should wish them 
 to see it, Sir, as expressing what my opinions air. 
 That they may not plead ignorance at a future 
 time. But don't get into danger, Sir, on my ac- 
 count !" 
 
 " There is not the least danger, I assure you," 
 said Martin. So he put the pamphlets in his 
 pocket, and they parted. 
 
 Mr. Bevan had written in his letter that at a 
 certain time, which fell out happily just then, he 
 would be at a certain hotel in the city, anxiously 
 expecting to see them. To this plnce they re- 
 paired without a moment's delay. They had the 
 satisfaction of finding him within; and of being 
 received, by their good friend, with his own 
 warmth and heartiness. 
 
 " I am truly sorry and ashamed," said Martin, 
 " to have begged of you. But look at us. See 
 what we are, and judge to what we are reduced !" 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 
 
 213 
 
 44 So far from claiming to have done you any 
 service," returned the other, " I reproach myself 
 with having been, unwittingly, the original cause 
 of your misfortunes. I no more supposed you 
 would go to Eden on such representations as you 
 received; or, indeed, that. you would do anything 
 but be dispossessed, by the readiest means, of your 
 idea that fortunes were so easily made here ; than 
 I thought of going to Eden myself." 
 
 44 The fact is, I closed with the thing in a mad 
 and sanguine manner," said Martin, "and the 
 less said about it the better for me. Mark, here, 
 hadn't a voice in the matter." 
 
 44 Well ! But he hadn't a voice in any other 
 matter, had he ?" returned Mr. Bevan : laughing 
 with an air that showed his understanding of 
 Mark and Martin too. 
 
 44 Not a very powerful one, I am afraid," said 
 Martin with a blush. " But live and learn, Mr. 
 Bevan ! Nearly die and learn : and we learn the 
 quicker." 
 
 44 Now," said their friend, "about your plans. 
 You mean to return home at once ?" 
 
 44 Oh, I think so," returned Martin hastily, for 
 he turned pale at the thought of any other sug- 
 gestion. " That is your opinion too, I hope ?" 
 
 44 Unquestionably. For I don't know why you 
 ever came here ; though it's not such an unusual 
 case, I am sorry to say, that we need go any fur- 
 ther into that You don't know that the ship in 
 which you came over, with our friend General 
 Fladdock, is in port ; of course ?" 
 
 44 Indeed !" said Martin. 
 
 44 Yes. And is advertised to sail to-morrow." 
 
 This was tempting news, but tantalizing too: 
 for Martin knew that his getting any employment 
 on board a ship of that class, was hopeless. The 
 money in his pocket would not pay one-fourth of 
 the sum he had already borrowed, and if it had 
 been enough for their passage-money, he could 
 hardly have resolved to spend it. He explained 
 this to Mr. Bevan, and stated what their project 
 was. 
 
 " Why, that's as wild as Eden every bit," re- 
 turned his friend. u You must take your passage 
 like a Christian ; at least, as like a Christian as 
 a fore-cabin passenger can ; and owe me a few 
 more dollars than you intend. If Mark will go 
 down to the ship and see what passengers there 
 are, and finds that you can go in her, without be- 
 ing actually suffocated ; my advice is, go ! You 
 and I will look about us m the meantime (we 
 won't call at the Norris's, unless you like), and 
 we will all three dine together in the afternoon." 
 
 Martin had nothing to express but gratitude, 
 and so it was arranged. But he went out of the 
 room a! ukd advised him to take their 
 
 passage in the Screw, though they lay upon the 
 bare deck ; which Mr. Tapley, who needed no 
 entreaty on the subject, readily promised to do. 
 
 When he and Martin met again, and were 
 alone, he was in high spirits, and evidently had 
 something to communicate, in which he gloried 
 very m- 
 
 44 1 've done Mr. Bevan. Sir," said Mark. 
 
 "Done Mr. Bevan !* repeated Martin. 
 
 " The I -.ok of the Screw went and got married 
 vesterday Sir," said Mr. Tapley. 
 
 Martin looked at him for farther explanation. 
 
 " And when I got on board, and the word was 
 passed that it was me," said Mark, " the mate he 
 comes and asks me whether 1 'd engage to take 
 this said cook's place upon the passage home. 
 4 For you're used to it,' he says: 4 you were al- 
 ways a cooking for everybody on your passage 
 ouL' And so I was," said Mark, "although I 
 never cooked before, I '11 take my oath." 
 
 "What did you say 7" demanded Martin. 
 
 " Say !" cried Mark. " That I '« take any- 
 thing I could get ' If that 's so,' says the mate, 
 4 why, bring a glass of rum;' which they brought 
 according. And my wages, Sir," said Mark in 
 high glee, " pays your passage ; and, I 've put the 
 rolling-pin in your berth to rake it (it's the easy 
 one up in the corner) ; and there we are, Rule 
 Britannia, and Britons strike home !" 
 
 " There never was such a good fellow as you 
 are!" cried Martin, seizing him by the hand. 
 " But what do you mean by 4 doing' Mr. Bevan, 
 Mark ?" 
 
 44 Why, don't you see," said Mark. " We don't 
 tell him, you know. We take his money, but we 
 don't spend it, and we don't keep it - What we 
 do is, write him a little note, explaining this en- 
 gagement, and roll it up, and leave it at the bar, 
 to be given to him after we are gone. Don't you 
 see?" 
 
 Martin's delight in this idea was not inferior to 
 Mark's. It was all done as he proposed. They 
 passed a cheerful evening; slept at the hotel; left 
 the letter as arranged ; and went off to the ship 
 betimes next morning, with such light hearts, as 
 the weight of their past misery engendered. 
 
 44 Good bye ! a hundred thousand times good 
 bye !" said Martin to their friend. " How shall I 
 remember all your kindness ! How shall I ever 
 thank you !" 
 
 44 If you ever become a rich man, or a powerful 
 one," returned his friend, " you shall try to make 
 your Government more careful of its subjects 
 when they roam abroad to live. Tell it what you 
 know of emigration in yonr own case, and im- 
 press upon it how much suffering may be prevent- 
 ed with a little pains !" 
 
 Cheerily lads, cheerily ! Anchor weighed. Ship 
 in full sail. Her sturdy bowsprit pointing true 
 to England. America a cloud upon the sea be- 
 hind them ! 
 
 " Why Cook ! what are you thinking of so 
 steadily ?" said Martin. 
 
 " Why I was a thinking, Sir," returned Mark, 
 u that if I was a painter, and was called upon to 
 paint the American Eagle, how should I do it ?" 
 
 " Paint it as like an Eagle as you could, I sup- 
 pose." 
 
 44 No," said Mark. " That wouldn't do for me, 
 Sir. I should want to draw it like a Bat for its 
 short-sightedness; like a Bantam, for its brag- 
 glftf : like a Magpie, for its honesty; like a Pea- 
 cock, for its vanity ; like an Ostrich, for its put- 
 ting its head in the mud, and thinking nobody 
 sees it " 
 
 " And like a Phoenix, for its power of springing 
 from the ashes of its faults and vices, and sea fif 
 
 up anew into the sky !' 
 Mark. Let us hope so." 
 
 amid Martin. " We) 
 
214 
 
 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 CHAPTER XXXV. 
 
 ARRIVING IN ENGLAND, MARTIN WITNESSES A CEREMONY, FROM WHICH 
 liE DERIVES THE CHEERING INFORMATION THAT HE HAS NOT BEEN 
 FORGOTTEN IN HIS ABSENCE. 
 
 It was mid-day, and high water in the English 
 port for which the Screw was bound, when, borne 
 in gallantly upon the fulness of the tide, she let 
 go her anchor in the river. 
 
 Bright as the scene was ; fresh, and full of mo- 
 tion ; airy, free, and sparkling; it was nothing to 
 the life and exultation in the breasts of the two 
 travellers, at sight of the old churches, roofs, and 
 darkened chimney stacks of Home. The distant 
 roar, that swelled up hoarsely from the busy 
 streets, was music in their ears; the lines of peo- 
 ple gazing from the wharves, were friends held 
 dear; the canopy of smoke that overhung the 
 town, was brighter and more beautiful to them, 
 than if the richest silks of Persia had been wav- 
 ing in the air. And though the water, going on 
 its glistening track, turned, ever and again, aside, 
 to dance and sparkle round great ships, and heave 
 them up ; and leaped from off the blades of oars, 
 a shower of diving diamonds; and wantoned with 
 the idle boats, and swiftly passed, in many a spor- 
 tive chase, through obdurate old iron rings, set 
 deep into the stone-work of the quays ; not even 
 it, was half so buoyant, and so restless, as their 
 fluttering hearts, when yearning to set foot, once 
 more, on native ground. 
 
 A year had passed, since those same spires and 
 roofs had faded from their eyes. It seemed to 
 them a dozen years. Some trifling changes, here 
 and there, they called to mind ; and wondered 
 that they were so few and slight. In health and 
 fortune, prospect and resource, they came back 
 poorer men than they had gone away. But it 
 was home. And though home is a name, a word, 
 it is a strong one ; stronger than magician ever 
 spoke, or spirit answered to, in strongest conjura- 
 tion. 
 
 Being set ashore, with very little money in their 
 pockets, and no definite plan of operation in their 
 heads, they sought out a cheap tavern, where they 
 regaled upon a smoking steak, and certain flow- 
 ing mugs of beer, as only men just landed from 
 the sea can revel in the generous dainties of the 
 earth. When they had feasted, as two grateful- 
 tempered giants might have done, they stirred the 
 fire, drew back the glowing curtain from the win- 
 dow, and making each a sofa for himself, by union 
 of the great unwieldy chairs, gazed blissfully into 
 the street. 
 
 Even the street was made a fairy street, by be- 
 ing half hidden in an atmosphere of steak, and 
 strong, stout, stand-up English beer. For on the 
 window-glass hung such a mist, that Mr. Tapley 
 was obliged to rise and wipe it with his handker- 
 chief, before the passengers appeared like com. 
 mon mortals. And even then, a spiral little cloud 
 
 went curling up from their two glasses of hot 
 grog, which nearly hid them from each other. 
 
 It was one of those unaccountable little rooms 
 which are never seen anywhere but in a tavern, 
 and are supposed to have got into taverns by rea- 
 son of the facilities afforded to the architect for 
 getting drunk while engaged in their construc- 
 tion. It had more corners in it than the brain of 
 an obstinate man ; was full of mad closets, into 
 which nothing could be put that was not specially 
 invented and made for that purpose ; had myste- 
 rious shelvings and bulk-heads, and indications 
 of staircases in the ceiling; and was elaborately 
 provided with a bell that rung in the room itself, 
 about two feet from the handle, and had no con. 
 nection whatever with any other part of the estab- 
 lishment. It was a little below the pavement, and 
 abutted close upon it ; so that passengers grated 
 against the window-panes with their buttons, and 
 scraped it with their baskets ; and fearful boys 
 suddenly coming between a thoughtful guest and 
 the light, derided him, or put out their tongues as 
 if he were a physician; or made white knobs on 
 the ends of their noses by flattening the same 
 against the glass, and vanished awfully, like spec- 
 tres. 
 
 Martin and Mark sat looking at the people as 
 they passed, debating every now and then what 
 their first step should be. 
 
 " We want to see Miss Mary, of course," said 
 Mark. 
 
 " Of course," said Martin. " But I don't know 
 where she is. Not having had the heart to write 
 in our distress — you yourself thought silence most 
 advisable — and consequently, never having heard 
 from her since we left New York the first time, 
 I don't know where she is, my good fellow." 
 
 " My opinion is, Sir," returned Mark, " that 
 what we 've got to do, is to travel straight to the 
 Dragon. There 's no need for you to go there, 
 where you 're known, unless you like. You may 
 stop ten mile short of it. I '11 go on. Mrs. Lu- 
 pin will tell me all the news. Mr. Pinch will give 
 me every information that we want : and right 
 glad Mr. Pinch will be to do it. My proposal is : 
 To set off walking this afternoon. To stop when 
 we are tired. To get a lift when we can. To 
 walk when we can't. To do it at once, and do it 
 cheap." 
 
 11 Unless we do it cheap, we shall have some 
 difficulty in doing it at all," said Martin, pulling 
 out the bank, and telling it over in his hand. 
 
 u The greater reason for losing no time, Sir," 
 replied Mark. " Whereas, when you 've seen the 
 young lady ; and know what state of mind the 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEVVIT. 
 
 215 
 
 jld (gentleman's in, and all about; then yott MI 
 know what to (to next." 
 
 " No doubt," said Martin. " You are quite 
 right." 
 
 Tlir y were raining their glasses to their lips, 
 when their hands stopped midway, and their gaze 
 was arrested by a figure, which slowly, very slow, 
 ly, and reflectively, passed the window at that 
 moment 
 
 Mr. Pecksniff. Placid, calm, but prom!. Ho- 
 nestly proud. Dressed with pceuli.tr cm , smil- 
 ing with even more than usual blandncss, ponder- 
 ing on the beauties of his art with a mild abstrac- 
 tion from all sordid thoughts, and jjfentl v travel- 
 ling across the disc, as if he were a figure in a 
 magic lantern. 
 
 As Mr. Pecksniff passed, a person coming in 
 the opposite direction stopped to look after him 
 with threat interest and respect : almost with vene- 
 ration : and the landlord bouncing out of the 
 house, as if he had seen him too, joined this per- 
 son, and spoke to him, and shook his head grave- 
 ly, and looked after Mr. Pecksniff likewise. 
 
 Martin and Mark sat staring at each other, as 
 if they could not believe it; but there stood the 
 landlord, and the other man still. In spite of the 
 indignation with which this glimpse of Mr. Peek- 
 sniff had inspired him, Martin could not help 
 laughing heartily. Neither could Mark. 
 
 44 We must inquire into this!" said Martin. 
 44 Ask the landlord in, Mark." 
 
 Mr. Tapley retired for that purpose, and imme- 
 diately returned with their large-headed host in 
 safe convoy. 
 
 "Pray landlord!" said Martin, "who is that 
 gentleman who passed just now, and whom you 
 were looking after ?" 
 
 The landlord poked the fire as if, in his desire 
 to make the most of his answer, he had become 
 indifferent even to the price of coals; and putting 
 his hands in his pockets, said, after inflating him- 
 self to give still further effect to his reply : 
 
 " That, gentlemen, is the great Mr. Pecksniff! 
 The celebrated architect, gentlemen !" 
 
 He looked from one to the other while he said 
 it, as it' he were ready to assist the first man who 
 might be overcome by the intelligence. 
 
 " The great Mr. Pecksniff, the celebrated archi- 
 tect, gentlemen," said the landlord, " has come 
 down here, to help lay the first stone of a new 
 and splendid public building." 
 
 "Is it to be built from his designs?" asked 
 Martin. 
 
 44 The great Mr. Pecksniff, the celebrated archi- 
 tect, gentlemen," returned tl»e landlord, who seem- 
 ed to have an unspeakable delight in the repeti- 
 tion of these words, " carried off the First Premi- 
 um, and will erect the building." 
 
 44 Who lays the stone?" asked Martin. 
 ** Our member has come down express," return- 
 ed the landlord. " No scrubs would do for no 
 such a purpose. Nothing less would satisfy our 
 Directors than our menhflC in the House of Com- 
 mons, who is returned upon the Gentlemanly In- 
 terest" 
 
 "Which interest is that?" asked Martin. 
 44 What, don't you know !" returned the land- 
 lord. 
 It was quite clear the landlord didn't They 
 
 always told him at election time, that it was the 
 Gentlemanly side, and he immediately put on his 
 top-boots, and voted for it. 
 
 44 When does the coremony take place 7" asked 
 Martin. 
 
 " This day," replied the landlord. The« pull- 
 ing out his watch, he added impressively, "almost 
 this minute." 
 
 m hastily inquired wlicther there was any 
 possibility of getting in to witness it; and find- 
 ing that there would be no objection to the admit- 
 tance of any decent person, unless rodt-ed the 
 ground were fu4l, hurried off with Mark, as bard 
 as they could go. 
 
 They were fortunate enough to squeeze them- 
 selves into a famous corner on the ground, where 
 they could sec all that passed, without much dread 
 of being beheld by Mr. Pecksniff in return. They 
 were not a minute too soon, for as they wero in 
 the act of congratulating each other, a great noise 
 was heard at some distance, and everybody looked 
 towards the gate. Several ladies prepared their 
 pocket-handkerchiefs for waving; and a stray 
 teacher belonging to the charity school being 
 much cheered by mistake, was immensely groan, 
 ed at when detected. 
 
 44 Perhaps he has Tom Pinch with him," Mar 
 tin whispered Mr. Tapley. 
 
 44 It would be rather too much of a treat for 
 him, wouldn't it, Sir ?" whispered Mr. Tapley in 
 return. 
 
 There was no time to discuss the probabilities 
 cither way, for the charity school, in clean linen, 
 came filing in two and two, so much to the self- 
 approval of all the people present who didn't sub- 
 scribe to it, that many of them shed tears. A 
 band of'music followed, led by a conscientious 
 drummer who never left off. Then came a great 
 many gentlemen with wands in their hands, and 
 bows on their breasts, whose share in the proceed- 
 ings did not appear to be distinctly laid down, and 
 who trod upon each other, and bloeked up the 
 entry for a considerable period. These were fol- 
 lowed by the Mayor and Corporation, all chister- 
 ing round the member for the Gentlemanly Inter- 
 est; who had the great Mr. Pecksniff, the cele- 
 brated architect, on his right hand, and con 
 with him familiarly as they came along. Then 
 the ladies waved their handkerchiefs, and the gen- 
 tlemen their hats, and the charity children shriek- 
 ed, and the member for the Gentlemanly Interest 
 bowed. 
 
 Silence being restored, the member for the Gen. 
 tlemanly Interest rubbed his hands, and wagged 
 his head, and looked about him pleasantly ; and 
 there was nothing this member did, at which some 
 lady or other did not burst into an ecstatic wav 
 ing of her pocket-handkerchief. When he Ioo|rd 
 up at the stone, they said how graceful ! when 
 he peeped into the hole, they said how eond 
 ing ! when he chatted with the Mayor, they said 
 bow easy ! when he folded his arms, they cried 
 with one accord, how statesman-like! 
 
 Mr. Pecksniff was observed too ; closely. When 
 he talked to the Mayor, they said, Oh, really, what 
 a courtly man he was ! When he laid his hana 
 upon the mason's shoulder, giving him directions, 
 how pleasant his demeanour to the working cloi». . 
 
216 
 
 LIFE AND ADVENTURES tfF 
 
 es : just the sort of man who made their toil a 
 pleasure to them, poor dear souls ! 
 
 But now a silver trowel was brought ; and when 
 the member for the Gentlemanly Interest, tucking 
 up his coat-sleeve, did a little sleight-of-hand with 
 the mortar, the air was rent, so loud was the ap- 
 plause. The workman-like manner in which he 
 did it was amazing. No one could conceive where 
 such a gentlemanly creature could have picked 
 the knowledge up. 
 
 When he had made a kind of dirt-pie under 
 the directum of the mason, they brought a little 
 vase containing coins, the which the member for 
 the Gentlemanly Interest jingled, as if he were 
 going to conjure. Whereat they said how droll, 
 how cheerful, what a flow of spirits ! This put 
 into its place, an ancient scholar read the inscrip- 
 tion, which was in Latin: not in English: that 
 would never do. It gave great satisfaction ; espe- 
 cially every time there was a good long substan- 
 tive in the third declension, ablative case, with an 
 adjective to match ; at which periods the assem- 
 bly became very tender, and were much affected. 
 
 And now the stone was lowered down into its 
 place, amidst the shouting of the concourse. 
 When it was firmly fixed, the member for the 
 Gentlemanly Interest struck upon it thrice with 
 the handle of the trowel, as if inquiring, with a 
 touch of humour, whether anybody was at home. 
 Mr. Pecksniff then unrolled his Plans (prodigious 
 plans they were), and people gathered round to 
 look at and admire them. 
 
 Martin, who had been fretting himself— quite 
 unnecessarily, as Mark thought — during the 
 whole of these proceedings, could no longer re- 
 strain his impatience ; but stepping forward among 
 several others, looked straight over the shoulder 
 of the unconscious Mr. Pecksniff, at the designs 
 and plans he had unrolled. Here turned to Mark, 
 boiling with rage. 
 
 " Why, what 's the matter, Sir ?" cried Mark. 
 
 " Matter ! This is my building." 
 
 "Your building, Sir!" said Mark. 
 
 " My grammar-school. I invented it. I did it 
 all. He has only put four windows in, the villain, 
 and spoilt it !" 
 
 Mark could hardly believe it at first, but being 
 assured that it was really so, actually held him to 
 prevent his interference foolishly, until his tem- 
 porary heat was past. In the mean time, the 
 member addressed the company on the gratifying 
 deed which he had just performed. 
 
 He said that since he had sat in Parliament to 
 represent the Gentlemanly Interest of that town ; 
 and he might add, the Lady Interest he hoped, 
 besides (pocket-handkerchiefs) ; it had been his 
 pleasant duty to come among them, and to raise 
 hif voice on their behalf in Another Place (pock- 
 et-handkerchiefs and laughter), often. But he 
 had never come among them, and had never raised 
 his voice, with half such pure, such deep, such un- 
 alloyed delight, as now. "The present occasion," 
 he said, " will ever be memorable to me : not only 
 for the reasons I have assigned, but because it 
 has afforded me an opportunity of becoming per- 
 sonally known to a gentleman " 
 
 Here he pointed the trowel at Mr. Pecksniff, 
 who v/as greeted with vociferous cheering, and 
 laid his hand upon his heart. 
 
 " To a gentleman who, I am happy to believe, 
 will reap both distinction and profit from this field : 
 whose fame had previously penetrated to me — as 
 to whose ears has it not! — but whose intellectual 
 countenance I never had the distinguished honour 
 to behold until this day, and whose intellectual 
 conversation I had never before the improving 
 pleasure to enjoy." 
 
 Everybody seemed very glad of this, and ap- 
 plauded roord*than ever. 
 
 " But I hope my Honourable Friend," said the 
 Gentlemanly member — of course he added 'if he 
 will allow me to call him so,' and of course Mr. 
 Pecksniff bowed — " will give me many opportu- 
 nities of cultivating the knowledge of him ; and 
 that I may have the extraordinary gratification 
 of reflecting in after time that I laid on this day 
 two first stones, both belonging to structures 
 which shall last my life !" 
 
 Great cheering again. All this time, Martin 
 was cursing Mr. Pecksniff up hill and down 
 dale. 
 
 " My friends !" said Mr. Pecksniff, in reply. 
 " My duty is to build, not speak ; to act, not talk ; 
 to deal with marble, stone, and brick : not lan- 
 guage. I am very much affected. God bless 
 you!" 
 
 This address, pumped out apparently from Mr. 
 Pecksniff's very heart, brought the enthusiasm to 
 its highest pitch. The pocket-handkerchiefs were 
 waved again ; the charity children were admon- 
 ished to grow up Pecksniffs, every boy among 
 them ; the corporation, gentlemen with wands, 
 member for the Gentlemanly Interest, all cheered 
 for Mr. Pecksniff. Three cheers for Mr. Peck- 
 sniff! Three more for Mr. Pecksniff! Three 
 more for Mr. Pecksniff, gentlemen, if you please ! 
 One more, gentlemen, for Mr. Pecksniff, and let 
 it be a good one to finish with ! 
 
 In short, Mr. Pecksniff was supposed to have 
 done a great work, and was very kindly, courte- 
 ously, and generously rewarded. When the pro- 
 cession moved away, and Martin and Mark were 
 left almost alone upon the ground, his merits and 
 a desire to acknowledge them formed the common 
 topic. He was only second to the Gentlemanly 
 member. 
 
 " Compare that fellow's situation to-day, with 
 ours !" said Martin, bitterly. 
 
 " Lord bless you, Sir !" cried Mark, " what 's 
 the use ! Some architects are clever at making 
 foundations, and some architects are clever at 
 buildin on 'em when they 're made. But it '11 all 
 come right in the end, Sir ; it '11 all come right P* 
 
 " And in the mean time," began Martin. 
 
 " In the mean time, as you say, Sir, we have a 
 deal to do, and far to go. So sharp 's the word, 
 and Jolly !" 
 
 " You are the best master in the world, Mark," 
 said Martin, "and I will not be a bad scholar if 1 
 can help it, I am resolved ! So come ! Best foot 
 foremost, old fellow '" 
 

t^M^L^^s^ ■ t&fa&rZ/ & Mmy ^^A^^/yyPz^/ 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 
 
 217 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVI. 
 
 TOM PIN OH DlIi'AUTS TO SEKK HIS FORTUNE. — WHAT HE FINDS AT 
 
 \RTING. 
 
 On ! what a different town Salisbury was in 
 Torn I'll !>-• Miff, when the substan- 
 
 tial I*-. k*a\& of his heart melted away into ;m 
 <ir< n:i : He possessed the same fuitli in the 
 nsified upftr«oif> 
 ;:nd wickedness of the | 
 jn;.,i u- Malted estimate of its wealth, 
 
 population, aii'. •'••is not the 
 
 old i nything like it. He walked into 
 
 kmHM t while they were getting breakfast 
 ready for him at the Inn : and though it w i 
 kiuiii: market as of old, crowded by the same 
 buyers and Mil ' ith the same bu.-:: 
 
 noisy with the same confusion of tongues and 
 cluttering of fowls in coops ; fair with the same 
 display of rolls of butter, newly made, set forth 
 in linen cloths of dazzling whiteness ; green with 
 the same fresh show of dewy vegetables ; dainty 
 with the .-aim array in higglers' baskets of small 
 shaving-glasses, laces, braces, trouser-straps, and 
 hap: ;ry with the same unstinted show 
 
 of d ami j>i's made precious by 
 
 the pork that once had walked upon them : still 
 it was strangely changed to Tom. For in the 
 centre of the market-place he missed a statue he 
 had set up there, as in all other places of his per- 
 gonal resort; and it looked cold and bare without 
 that ornament. 
 
 Tlf change lay no deeper than this, for Tom 
 was far from being sage enough to know, that, 
 mg been disappointed in one man, it would 
 have hem a strictly rational and eminently wise 
 proce ed ing to have revenged himself upon man- 
 kind Mistrusting them one and all. 
 Ind- M of justice, though it is upheld 
 by the authority of divers profound poets and 
 honoiuaM.: men, bears a nearer resemblance to 
 the justice of that good Vizier in the Thousand- 
 and-one Nights, who issues orders for the destruc- 
 tion of all tnc Porters in Bagdad, because one of 
 that unfortunate fraternity is supposed to have 
 . miscondooted himself, than to any logical, not to 
 say Christian system of conduct, known to the 
 world in later W 
 
 Tom had so long been used to steep the Peck- 
 sniff' of his fancy in his tea, and spread him out 
 upon his toast, and take him as a relish with his 
 beer, that he mnde but a poor breakfast on the 
 first morning atler his expulsion. Nor did he 
 much improve his appetite for dinner by seriously 
 considering his own affairs, and taking counsel 
 thereon with his friend the ■— istprst. 
 
 distant gave it as his decided 
 
 opinion that whatever Tom did, he must gsj to 
 
 Ion ; for tlicre was no place like it. iffcidi 
 
 may he 1 n a in, though hardly perl*aps, 
 
 in itself, a sufficient reason for Tom's going then-. 
 
 But Ton h id thought of I/ondon before, and 
 had coupled with it thoughts of his sister, and of 
 his old frn ml John Westlock, whose advice he 
 naturally Ml disposed to seek in this important 
 
 f his fortunes. To London, therefore, hC 
 d to go ; and be v. 
 office at once, to secure his place. The coach 
 being already full, he was obliged to postpone his 
 departure until the next night; but even tiiis cir- 
 cumstain e had its bright side as well as its dark 
 one, lor though it threatened to reduce his poor 
 purse with unexpected country-charges, it afford- 
 ed him an opportunity of writing to M/s. Lupin 
 and appointing his box to be brought to the old 
 finger-post at the old time ; which would enable 
 him to take that treasure with him to the metro- 
 polis, and save the expense of its carriage. u &V' 
 said Tom, comforting himself, " it \ very nearly 
 as broad as it 's long." 
 
 And it cannot be denied, that, when he had 
 made up his mind to even this extent, he felt an 
 unaccustomed sense of freedom — a vague and in- 
 distinct impression of holiday-making — which 
 ry luxurious. He had his moments of 
 ion and anxiety, and they were, with good 
 . pretty numerous; but still, it was won* 
 derfully pleasant to reflect that he was his own 
 master, and could plan and scheme for himself. 
 It was startling, thrilling, vast, difficult to under- 
 stand ; it was a stupendous truth, teeming with 
 responsibility and self-distrust; but, in spite of 
 ull his cares, it gave a curious relish to the viands 
 at the Inn, and interposed a dreamy haze between 
 him and his prospects, in which they sometimes 
 showed to magical advantage. 
 
 In this unsettled state of mind, Tom went once 
 more to bed in the low four-poster, to the same 
 immoveable surprise of the rrffigics of the former 
 landlord and the fat ox; and in this condition, 
 passed the whole of the succeeding day. 
 the coach came round at last, with "London" 
 blazoned in letters of gold upon the boot, it gave 
 Tom such a turn, that he w as half disposed to 
 run away. But lie didn't do it ; tor he took his 
 seat upon the box instead, and looking down upon 
 the tour grays, felt as if he were another gray 
 himself, or, at all e\i nts, a part of the turn-out; 
 and was quite confused by the novelty and 
 splendour of his situation. 
 
 And really it might have confused a less modest 
 man than Tom to find himself sitting next that 
 coachman ; for of all the swells that ever flourish- 
 ed a whip, professionally, he might have been 
 elected emperor. He didn't handle his gloves 
 like another man, but put them on — even when 
 be was standing on the pavement, quite d< 
 from Uie coach — as if the four grays were, some- 
 how or other, at the ends of the lingers. I 
 the same with his hat He did things with his 
 hat, which nothing but an unlimited knowledge 
 of horses and the wildest freedom of the road, 
 • >ie him perfect in. Valuable 
 little parcels were brought to him w Uniarticular 
 instructions, and he pitched them into this hat, 
 and stuck il on again ; as if the laws of gravity 
 
218 
 
 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 did not admit of such an event as its being 
 knocked off', or blown off, and nothing like an 
 accident could befal it. The guard, too ! Seventy 
 breezy miles a-day were written in his very 
 whiskers. His manners were a canter ; his con- 
 versation a round trot. He was a fast coach upon 
 a down-hill turnpike road; he was all pace. A 
 wagon couldn't have moved slowly, with that 
 guard and his key-bugle on the top of it. 
 
 These were all foreshadowings of London, Tom 
 thought, as he sat upon the box, and looked about 
 him. Such a coachman, and such a guard, never 
 could have existed between Salisbury and any 
 other place. The coach was none of your steady- 
 going, yokel coaches, but a swaggering, rakish, 
 dissipated, London coach ; up all night, and lying 
 by all day, and leading a devil of a life. It cared 
 no more for Salisbury than if it had been a ham- 
 let. It rallied noisily through the best streets, 
 defied the Cathedral, look the worst corners 
 sharpest, went cutting in everywhere, making 
 everything get out of its way ; and spun along 
 the open country-road, blowing a lively defiance 
 out of its key-bugle, as its last glad parting 
 legacy. 
 
 It was a charming evening. Mild and bright. 
 And even with the weight upon his mind which 
 arose out of the immensity and uncertainty of 
 London, Tom could not resist the captivating 
 sense of rapid motion through the pleasant air. 
 The four grays skimmed along, as if they liked it 
 quite as well as Tom did ; the bugle was in as 
 high spirits as the grays ; the coachman chimed 
 in sometimes with his voice; the wheels hummed 
 cheerfully in unison ; the brass-work on the har- 
 ness was an orchestra of little bells; and thus, as 
 they went clinking, jingling, rattling, smoothly 
 on, the whole concern, from the buckles of the 
 leaders' coupling-reins, to the handle of the hind 
 boot, was one great instrument of music. 
 
 Yoho, past hedges, gates, and trees ; past cot- 
 tages and barns, and people going home from 
 work. Yoho, past donkey-chaises, drawn aside 
 into the ditch, and empty carts with rampant 
 horses, whipped up at a bound upon the little 
 watercourse, and held by struggling carters close 
 to the five-barred gate, until the coach had passed 
 the narrow turning in the road. Yoho, by churches 
 dropped down by themselves in quiet nooks, with 
 rustic burial-grounds about them, where the graves 
 are green, and daisies sleep — for it is evening — 
 on the bosoms of the dead. Yoho, past streams, 
 in which the cattle cool their feet, and where the 
 rushes grow ; past paddock-fences, farms, and 
 rick-yards; past last year's stacks, cut, slice by 
 slice, away, and showing, in the waning light, 
 like ruined gables, old and brown. Yoho, down 
 the pebbly dip, and through the merry water- 
 splash, and up at a canter to the level road again. 
 Yoho! Yoho! 
 
 Was the box there, when they came up to the 
 old finger-post? The box! Was Mrs. Lupin 
 herself? Had she turned out magnificently as a 
 hostess should, in her own chaise-cart, and was 
 she sitting in a mahogany chair, driving her own 
 !ior«e Dragon (who ought to have been called 
 Dumpling), and looking lovely ? Did the stage- 
 coach pull up beside her, shaving her very wheel, 
 and even while the guard helped h«r man up with 
 the trunk, did he send the glad echoes of his bugle 
 
 careering down the chimneys of the distant Peck 
 sniff, as if the coach expressed its exultation in 
 the rescue of Tom Pinch ? 
 
 " This is kind indeed !" said Tom, bending 
 down to shake hands with her. "I didn't mean 
 to give you this trouble." 
 
 "Trouble, Mr. Pinch!" cried the hostess of the 
 Dragon. 
 
 " Well ! It 's a pleasure to you, I know," said 
 Tom, squeezing her hand heartily. " Is there 
 any news ?" 
 
 The hostess shook her head. 
 " Say you saw me," said Tom, " and that I was 
 very bold and cheerful, and not a bit down-heart 
 ed ; and that I entreated her to be the same, for 
 all is certain to come right at last. Good bye !" 
 
 u You '11 write when you get settled, Mr. Pinch ?" 
 said Mrs. Lupin. 
 
 " When I get settled !" cried Tom, with an in- 
 voluntary opening of his eyes. " Oh, yes, I '11 
 write when I get settled. Perhaps I had better 
 write before, because I may find that it takes a 
 little time to settle myself: not having too much 
 money, and having only one friend. I shall give 
 your love to the friend, by the way. You were 
 always great with Mr. Westlock, you know. 
 Good bye !" 
 
 " Good bye!" said Mrs. Lupin, hastily producing 
 a basket with a long bottle sticking out of it 
 u Take this. Good bye !" 
 
 " Do you want me to -carry it to London for 
 you ?" cried Tom. She was already turning the 
 chaise-cart round. 
 
 " No, no," said Mrs. Lupin. " It 's only a little 
 something for refreshment on the road. Sit fast, 
 Jack. Drive on, sir. All right ! Good bye !" 
 
 She was a quarter of a mile off, before Tom 
 collected himself; and then he was waving his 
 hand lustily ; and so was she. 
 
 " And that 's the last of the old finger-post," 
 thought Tom, straining his eyes, " where I have 
 so often stood, to see this very coach go by, and 
 where I have parted with so many companions! 
 I used to compare this coach to some great mon 
 ster that appeared at certain times to bear my 
 friends away into the world. And now it's bear- 
 ing me away, to seek my fortune, Heaven knows 
 where and how !" 
 
 It made Tom melancholy to picture himself 
 walking up the lane and back to Pecksniff's au 
 of old ; and being melancholy, he looked down- 
 wards at the basket on his knee, which he had 
 for the moment forgotten. 
 
 " She is the kindest and most considerate crea- 
 ture in the world," thought Tom. " Now I know 
 that she particularly told that man of her's not to 
 look at me, on purpose to prevent my throwing 
 him a shilling ! I had it ready for him all the 
 time, and he never once looked towards me; 
 whereas that man naturally (for I know him very 
 well), would have done nothing but grin and 
 stare. Upon my word, the kindness of people 
 perfectly melts me." 
 
 Here he caught the coachman's eye. The 
 coachman winked. "Remarkable fine woman 
 for her time of life," said the coachman. 
 
 " I quite agree with you," returned Tom. ■ So 
 she is." 
 
 " Finer than many a young one, I mean to 
 say," observed the coachman. " Eh ?" 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 
 
 219 
 
 M Tlian many a young <>n« ■," Tom assented. 
 
 ** I don't care for 'em myself when they 're too 
 young," remarked the coachman. 
 
 was a matter of taste, which Tom did not 
 feel himself called upon to disease* 
 
 44 You '11 seldom find 'em possessing correct 
 opinions about refreshment, for instance, when 
 they 're too young, yon know," said the coacfw 
 man: * 4 a woman must have arrived at maturity, 
 before her mind 'i equal to coining provided with 
 a basket like that." 
 
 " Perhaps jron would like to know what it con- 
 tains ?" said Tom, smiling. 
 
 Afl the coachman only laughed, and as Tom 
 was curious himself, he unpacked it, and put the 
 articles, one by one, upon the footboard. A cold 
 roast fowl, a packet of ham in slices, a crusty loaf, 
 a piece of cheese, a paper of biscuits, half-a-dozen 
 apples, a knife, some butter, a screw of salt, and 
 a bottle of old sherry. There was a letter besides, 
 which Tom put in his pocket. 
 
 The coachman was so earnest in his approval 
 of Mr-. Lupin's provident habits, and congratu- 
 lated Tom so warmly on his good fortune, that 
 Torn flit it necessary, for the lady's sake, to ex- 
 plain that the basket was a strictly Platonic bas- 
 ket, and had merely been presented to him in the 
 way of friendship. When he had made the state- 
 ment with perfect gravity ; for he felt it ineum- 
 bent on him to disabuse the mind of this lax rover 
 of any incorrect impressions on the subject; he 
 signified that he would be happy to share the gifts 
 with him, and proposed that they should attack 
 the basket in a spirit of good fellowship ut any 
 time in the course of the night which the coach- 
 man's experience and knowledge of the road might 
 suggest, as being best adapted to the purpose. 
 From this time they .chatted so pleasantly toge- 
 ther, that although Tom knew infinitely more of 
 unicorns than horses, the coachman informed his 
 friend the guard, at the end of the next stage, 
 " that rum as the box-seat looked, he was as good 
 a one to go, in point of conversation, as ever he 'd 
 wish to sit by." 
 
 Yoho, among the gathering shades; making 
 of no account the deep reflections of the trees, 
 but scampering on through light and darkness, 
 all the same, as if the light of London fifty miles 
 away, were quite enough to travel by, and some 
 to spare. Yoho, beside the village-green, where 
 cricket-players linger yet, and every little inden- 
 tation made in the fresh grass by bat or wicket, 
 ball or player's foot, sheds out its perfume on the 
 nirht. Away with four fresh horses from the 
 Bald-faced Stag, where topers congregate about 
 the door admiring; and the last team, with traces 
 hanging loose, go roaming off towards the pond, 
 uniil obs< rved and shouted after by a dozen throats, 
 while volunteering boys pursue them. Now with 
 a clattering or hoofs and striking out of fiery 
 sparks, across the old stone bridge, and down 
 again into the shadowy road, and through the open 
 gate, nnd fir away, awiy, into the wold. Yoho | 
 
 Yoho, behind there, stop that bugle for a mo- 
 RMnt! Obme creeping over to the front, along 
 ''-roof, guard, and make one at this bat- 
 kct ! Not that >»e slacken in our pace the while, 
 not we: we rather put the bits of blood upon tin ir 
 mettle, for the L rr, ater glory of the snack. Ah! 
 it is long since this bottle of old wine was brought 
 
 into contact with the mellow breath of night, you 
 may depend, and rare good stuff it is to wet a 
 bugler's whistle with. Only try it. Don't be 
 afraid of turning up your ringer, Hill, another 
 pull ! Now, take your breath, and try the bugle. 
 Bill. There's music! There's a tone ! "<Ker 
 the hills and fur away," indeed. Yoho! The 
 skittish mare is all alive to-night. Yoho! Yo* 
 ho! 
 
 Seethe bright moon ! High up before we know 
 it: making the earth Defied the ebjecU on it9 
 breast like water. Hedges, trees, low cottages, 
 church steeples, blighted stumps and flourishing 
 young slips, have all grown vain upon the sudden, 
 and mean to contemplate their own fair images 
 till morning. The poplars yonder rustle, thut 
 their quivering leaves may see themselves upon 
 the ground. Not so the oak; trembling does 
 not become him ; and he watches himself in his 
 stout old burly steadfastness, without the motion 
 of a twig. The moss-grown gate, ill-poised upon 
 its creaking hinges, crippled and decayed, swings 
 to and fro before its glass, like some fantastic 
 dowager; while our own ghostly likeness travels 
 on, Yoho! Yoho! through ditch and brake, upon 
 the ploughed land and the smooth, along the steep 
 hill-side and steeper wall, as if it were a phantom- 
 Hunter. 
 
 Clouds too ! And a mist upon the Hollow ! Not 
 a dull fog that hides it, but a light airy gauze -like 
 mist, which in our eyes of modest admiration 
 gives a new charm to the beauties it is spread 
 before ; as real gauze has done ere now, and would 
 again, so please you, though we were the Pope. 
 Yoho! Why now we travel like the Moon her- 
 self. Hiding this minute in a grove of trees; next 
 minute in a patch of vapour ; emerging now upon 
 our broad clear course; withdrawing now, but 
 always dashing on, our journey is a counterpart 
 of hers. Yoho ! A match against the Moon. Ys- 
 ho, yoho ! 
 
 The beauty of the night is hardly felt, when 
 Day comes leaping up. Yoho ! Two stages, and 
 the country roads are almost changed to a continu- 
 ous street. Yoho, past market-gardens, rows of 
 houses, villas, crescents, terraces, and squares; 
 past wagons, coaches, carts ; past early workmen, 
 late stragglers, drunken men, and sober carriers 
 of loads ; past brick and mortar in its every shape ; 
 and in among the rattling pavements, where a 
 jaunty-seat upon a coach is not so easy to pre- 
 serve ! Yoho, down countless turnings, and 
 through countless mazy ways, until an old Inn- 
 yard is gained, and Tom Pinch, getting down, 
 quite stunned and giddy, is in London ! 
 
 44 Five minutes before the time, too!" said the 
 driver, as he received his fee of Tom. 
 
 44 Upon my word," said Tom, 44 1 should not 
 have minded very much, if we had been five hours 
 after k ; for at this early hour I don't know where 
 to go, or what to do with myself." 
 
 "Don't they expect you then?" inquired the 
 driver. 
 
 "Who?" said Tom. 
 
 44 Why, tin in," returned the driver. 
 
 His mind was socleirly running on the assump 
 
 tton of Tom's having come to town to see an ex 
 
 circle of anxious relations and friends, 
 
 that it would have been pretty hard work to un 
 
 deceive him. Tom did not try. Ho cheerfully 
 
220 
 
 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 evaded the subject, and going- into the Inn fell 
 fast asleep before a fire in one of the public rooms 
 opening from the yard. When he awoke, the 
 people in the house were all astir, so he washed 
 and dressed himself; to his great refreshment 
 after the journey ; and, it being by that time 
 eight o'clock, went forth at once to see his old 
 friend John. 
 
 John Westlock lived in Furnival's Inn, High 
 Holborn, which was within a quarter of an hour's 
 walk of Tom's starting point, but seemed a long 
 way off, by reason of his going two or three miles 
 out of the straight road to make a short cut. 
 When at last he arrived outside John's door, two 
 stories up, he stood filtering with his hand upon 
 the knocker, and trembled from head to foot. For 
 he was rendered very nervous by the thought of 
 having to relate what had fallen out between him- 
 self and Pecksniff; and he had a misgiving that 
 John would exult fearfully in the disclosure. 
 
 " But it must be made," thought Tom, " sooner 
 or later ; and I had better get it over." 
 
 Rat tat. 
 
 "I am afraid that's not a London knock," 
 thought Tom. " It didn't sound bold. Perhaps 
 that's the reason why nobody answers the door." 
 
 It is quite certain that nobody came, and that 
 Tom stood looking at the knocker : wondering 
 whereabouts in the neighbourhood a certain gen- 
 tleman resided, who was roaring out to somebody 
 "Come in !" with all his might. 
 
 " Bless my soul !" thought Tom at last. " Per- 
 haps he lives here, and is calling to me. I never 
 thought of that. Can I open the door from the 
 outside, I wonder. Yes, to be sure I can." 
 
 To be sure he could, by turning the handle: 
 and to be sure when he did turn it, the same voice 
 came rushing out, crying " Why don't you come 
 in ? Come in, do you hear ? What are you 
 standing there for ?" quite violently. 
 
 Tom stepped from the little passage into the 
 room from which these sounds proceeded, and had 
 barely caught a glimpse of a gentleman in a 
 dressing-gown and slippers (with his boots beside 
 him ready to put on), sitting at his breakfast with 
 a newspaper in his hand, when the said gentle- 
 man, at the imminent hazard of oversetting his tea 
 table, made a plunge at Tom, and hugged him. 
 
 "Why, Tom, my boy!" cried the gentleman. 
 *» Tom 1" 
 
 " How glad I am to see you, Mr. Westlock !" 
 said Torn Pinch, shaking both his hands, and 
 trembling more than ever. " How kind you are !" 
 
 "Mr. Westlock!" repeated John, "what do 
 you mean by that, Pinch ? You have not forgot- 
 ten my Christian name, I suppose ?" 
 
 ■ No John, no. I have not forgotten it," said 
 Thomas Pinch. " Good gracious me, how kind 
 you are !" 
 
 " I never saw such a fellow in all my life !" 
 cried John. " What do you mean by saying that 
 over and over again ? What did you expect me to 
 be, I wonder ! Here, sit down Tom, and be a 
 reasonable creature. How are you, my boy ? I 
 am delighted to see you !" 
 
 "And I am delighted to see you" said Tom. 
 
 " It's mutual of course," returned John. "It 
 always was, I hope If I had known you had 
 been coming, Turn, I would have had something 
 for breakfast. I would rather have such a sur- 
 
 prise than the best breakfast in the world, myself; 
 but yours is another case, and I have no doubt 
 you are as hungry as a hunter. You must make 
 out as well as 3'ou can, Tom, and we '11 recom- 
 pense ourselves at dinner time. You take sugar 
 I know : I recollect the sugar at Pecksniff's. Ha, 
 ha, ha! How is Pecksniff/ When did you come 
 to town ? Do begin at something or other, Tom. 
 There are only scraps here, but they are not at 
 all bad. Boar's Head potted. Try it Tom ! Make 
 a beginning whatever you do. What an old 
 Blade you are ! I am delighted to see you." 
 
 While he delivered himself of these words in a 
 state of great commotion, John was constantly 
 running backwards and forwards to and from the 
 closet, bringing out all sorts of tilings in pots, 
 scooping extraordinary quantities of tea out of the 
 caddy, dropping French rolls into his boots, pour- 
 ing hot water over the butter, and making a va- 
 riety of similar mistakes without disconcerting 
 himself in the least. 
 
 " There !" said John, sitting down for the fifti- 
 eth time, and instantly starting up again to make 
 some other addition to the breakfast. " Now we 
 are as well off as we are likely to be till dinner. 
 And now let us have the news Tom. Imprimis, 
 How 's Pecksniff?" 
 
 " I don't know how he is," was Tom's grave 
 answer. 
 
 John Westlock put the tea-pot down, and look- 
 ed at him, in astonishment. 
 
 " I don't know how he is," said Thomas Pinch ; 
 "and saving that I wish him no ill, I don't care. 
 I have left him, John. I have left him for ever." 
 
 " Voluntarily ?" 
 
 " Why no, for he dismissed me. But I had 
 first found out that I was mistaken in him ; and 
 I could not have remained with him under any 
 circumstances. I grieve to say that you were 
 right in your estimate of his character. It may 
 be a ridiculous weakness, John, but it has been 
 very painful and bitter to me to find this out, I do 
 assure you." 
 
 Tom had no need to direct that appealing look 
 towards his friend, in mild and gentle deprecation 
 of his answering with a laugh. John Westlock 
 would as soon have thought of striking him down 
 upon the floor. 
 
 " It was all a dream of mine," said Tom, " and 
 it is over. I'll tell you how it happened, at some 
 other time. Bear with my folly, John. I do not, 
 just now, like to think or speak about it." 
 
 " I swear to you, Tom," returned his friend, 
 with great earnestness of manner, after remain- 
 ing silent for a few moments, " that when I see, 
 as I do now, how deeply you feel this, I don't 
 know whether to be glad or sorry, that you have 
 made the discovery at last. I reproach myself 
 with the thought that I ever jested on the sub- 
 ject; I ought to have known better." 
 
 " My dear friend," said Tom t extending his 
 hand, " it is very generous and gallant in you tc 
 receive me and my disclosure in this spirit ; it 
 makes me blush to think that I should have felt a 
 moment's uneasiness as I came along. You can't 
 think what a weight is lifted off my mind," said 
 Tom, taking up his knife and fork again, and 
 looking very cheerful. " I shall punish the Boar's 
 Head dreadfully." 
 
 The host, thus reminded of his duties, instantly 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT, 
 
 betook himself to piling up all kind* of irrecon- 
 cilable and contradictory viands in Tom's plate, 
 and a very capital breakfast Tom made, and very 
 much the better for it, Tom tilt. 
 
 "That's all right," said John, after contem- 
 plating Ins vi litor 8 proceedings with infn 
 isfaction. " Now, about our plans. Yon are 
 going to stay with me, of course. Where's your 
 box?" 
 
 "It's at the Inn," said Tom. U I didn't in- 
 tend " 
 
 "Never mind what yon didn't intend," John 
 Westlock interposed. " What you did intend is 
 more to the purpose. Y<m intended, in coming 
 here, to ask niv advice, did you not Torn ?" 
 
 •Certainly/' 
 
 44 And to take it when I gave it to you ?" 
 
 • 1 > a," rejoined Tom, smiling, " if it were good 
 advice, which, being yours, I have no doubt it 
 will be." 
 
 44 Very well. Then don't be an obstinate old 
 humbug in the outset, Tom, or I shall shut up 
 shop and dispense none of that invaluable com- 
 modity. You are on a visit to me. I wish I had 
 an organ for you, Tom !" 
 
 ** So do the gentlemen down stairs, and the gen- 
 tlemen overhead, I have no doubt," was Tom's 
 reply. 
 
 44 Let me see. In the first place, you will wish 
 to see your sister this morning," pursued his 
 friend, 44 and of course you will like to go there 
 alone. I 'II walk part of the way with you ; and 
 see about a little business of my own, and meet 
 you here again in the afternoon. Put that in 
 your pocket, Tom. It's only the key of the door. 
 If you come home first, you 'II want it." 
 
 "Really," said Tom, "quartering one's self 
 upon a friend in this way — " 
 
 44 Why, there are two keys," interposed John 
 Westlock. 41 1 can't open the door with them 
 both at once, can I ? What a ridiculous fellow 
 you are, Tom ! Nothing particular you 'd like 
 for dinner, is there ?" 
 
 M Oh dear no," said Tom. 
 
 ** Very well, then you may as well leave it to 
 me. Have a glass of cherry brandy, Tom ?" 
 
 "Not a drop! What remarkable chambers 
 theae are?" said Pinch, 44 there's everything in 
 'em !" 
 
 44 Bless your soul, Tom, nothing but a few 
 bachelor contrivances! the sort of impromptu ar- 
 rangements that might have suggested themselves 
 to Philip Quarll or Robinson Crusoe: that's all. 
 What do you say ? Shall we walk ? 
 
 44 By all means," cried Tom. 4 / As soon as you 
 like." 
 
 Accordingly, John Westlock took the French 
 rolls out of his boots) and put his boots on, and 
 dressed himself: giving Tom the paper to read in 
 the meanwhile VVbj n he returned, equipped for 
 walking, he found Tom in a brown study with the 
 paper in his hand. 
 
 " Preaming, Torn ""'' 
 
 44 No," said Mr. Pinch, •' No. I have been 
 looking over the advertising sheet, thinking there 
 might be something in it, which would be likely 
 me. But, as I often think, the strange 
 thing seems to bo that nobody is suited. Here are 
 all kinds of employers wanting all sorts of ser- 
 vants, and all sorts of servants wanting all kinds 
 
 of employers, and they never seem to 
 gether. Here is a gentleman in a public office in 
 a position of temporary difficulty who wants to 
 borrow five hundred [touiids; and in the v. I 
 advertisement here is another gentleman who has 
 got exactly that sum to lend. But he'll never 
 lend it to him, John, you'll find. Here is a lady 
 po s s essi ng a moderate independence-, who wants to 
 board and lodge with a quiet, cheerful family; 
 and here is a family describing themselves in 
 those very words, 4 a quiet, cheerful family,' who 
 want exactly such a lady to come- and live with 
 them. But she 'II never go, John. Neither do 
 any of these single gentlemen who want an airy 
 bedroom, with the occasional use of a parlour, 
 ever appear to come to terms with these other 
 people who live in a rural situation, remarkable 
 for its bracing atmosphere, within fi\e minutes' 
 walk of the Royal Exchange. Even those letters 
 of the alphabet, who are always running away 
 from their friends and being entreated at the tope 
 of columns to come back, never do come hack, if 
 we may judge from the number of times they are 
 asked to do it, and don't. It really | seems," said 
 Tom, relinquishing the paper, with a thoughtful 
 sigh, "as if people had the same gratification in 
 printing their complaints as in making them 
 known by word of mouth ; as if they found it a 
 comfort and consolation to proclaim 4 1 want such 
 and such a thing, and I can't get it, and I don't 
 expect I ever shall !' " 
 
 John Westlock laughed at the idea, and they 
 went* out together. So many years had passed 
 since Tom was last in London, and he had known 
 so little of it then, that his interest in all he saw 
 was very great. He was particularly anxious, 
 among other notorious "localities, to have those 
 streets pointed out to him which were appropriated 
 to the slaughter of countrymen ; and was quite 
 disappointed to find, after half-an-hour's walking, 
 that he hadn't had his pocket picked. But on 
 John Westlock's inventing a pickpocket for his 
 gratification, and pointing out a highly respecta- 
 ble stranger as one of that fraternity, he was much 
 delighted. 
 
 His friend accompanied him to within a short 
 distance of Camberwell, and having put him be- 
 yond the possibility of mistaking the wealthy 
 hrass-and-copper founder's, left him to make his 
 visit. Arriving before the great bell-handle, Tom 
 gave it a gentle pull. The porter appeared. 
 
 44 Pray does Miss Pinch live here ?" said Tom 
 
 44 Miss Pinch is Governess here," replied the 
 porter. 
 
 At the same time he looked at Tom from head 
 to foot, as if he would have said, 4 You are a niee 
 man, you are; where did you come from!' 
 
 44 It 's the same young lady," said Tom. ■ It's 
 quite right. Is she at home ?" 
 
 "I don't know, I'm sure," rejoined the porter. 
 
 44 Do you think you could have ths goodness to 
 ascertain?" said Tom. He had quite a delicacy 
 it) otl'ering the suggestion, for tl»e possibility of such 
 a step did not appear to present itself to the por- 
 ter's mind at all. 
 
 The fact was that the porter in answering the 
 gato-bell had, according to usage, rang the house- 
 bell (for it is as well to do these things in the 
 Baronial style while you are about it), and that 
 there the functions of his office bad ceased. Be 
 

 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 'ng hired to open and shut the gate, and not to 
 explain himself to strangers, he left this little in- 
 cident to be developed by the footman with the 
 tags, who, at this juncture, called out from the door 
 steps : 
 
 " Hollo, there ! wot are you up to ! This way, 
 young man ! 
 
 " Oh !" said Tom, hurrying towards him. " I 
 didn't observe that there was anybody else. Pray 
 is Miss Pinch at home ?" 
 
 " She 's in" replied the footman. As much as 
 to say to Tom: ' But if you think she has any- 
 thing to do with the proprietorship of this place, 
 you had better abandon that idea.' 
 
 " I wish to see her if you please," said Tom. 
 
 The footman being a lively young man, hap- 
 pened to have his attention caught at that moment 
 by the flight of a pigeon, in which he took so 
 warm an interest, that his gaze was riveted on 
 the bird until it was quite out of sight. He then 
 invited Tom to come in, and showed him into a 
 parlour. 
 
 " Hany neem ?" said the young man, pausing 
 languidly at the door. 
 
 It was a good thought : because without pro- 
 viding the stranger, in case he should happen to 
 be of warm temper, with a sufficient excuse for 
 knocking him down, it implied this young man's 
 estimate of his quality, and relieved his breast of 
 the oppressive burden of rating him in secret as a 
 nameless and obscure individual. 
 
 "Say her brother, if you please," said Tom. 
 
 " Mother ?" drawled the footman. ♦ 
 
 " Brother," repeated Tom, slightly raising his 
 voice. u And if you will say, in the first instance, 
 a gentleman, and then say her brother, I shall be 
 obliged to you, as she does not expect me, or 
 know I am in London, and I do not wish to startle 
 her." 
 
 The young man's interest in Tom's observations 
 had ceased long before this time, but he kindly 
 waited until now; when shutting the door, he 
 withdrew. 
 
 "Dear me!" said Tom. "This is very disre- 
 spectful and uncivil behaviour. I hope these are 
 new servants here, and that Ruth is very different- 
 ly treated." 
 
 His cogitations were interrupted by the sound 
 of voices in the adjoining room. They seemed to 
 be engaged in high dispute, or in indignant repri- 
 mand of some offender ; and gathering strength 
 occasionally, broke out into a perfect whirlwind. 
 It was in one of these gusts, as it appeared to 
 Tom, that the footman announced him ; for an 
 abrupt and unnatural calm took place, and then a 
 dead silence. He was standing before the win- 
 dow, wondering what domestic quarrel might have 
 caused these sounds, and hoping Ruth had nothing 
 to do with it, when the door opened, and his sister 
 ran into his arms. 
 
 " Why, bless my soul !" said Tom, looking at 
 her with great pride, when they had tenderly em- 
 braced each other, "how altered you are, Ruth ! 
 I should scarcely have known you, my love, if I 
 had seen you anywhere else, I declare ! You are 
 so improved," said Tom, with inexpressible de- 
 i.ght: "you are so womanly; you are so — posi- 
 tively, you know, you are so handsome !" 
 
 " If you think so, Tom — " 
 
 ** Oh, but everybody must think so, you know," 
 
 said Tom, gently smoothing down her hair. "It's 
 matter of fact; not opinion. But what's the mat- 
 ter ?" said Tom, looking at her more intently, 
 "how flushed you are ! and you have been crying." 
 
 " No, I have not, Tom." 
 
 " Nonsense," said her brother stoutly. " That's 
 a story. Don't tell me ! I know better What is 
 it, dear? I'm not with Mr. Pecksniff now; I am 
 going to try and settle myself in London ; and if 
 you are not happy here (as I very much fear you 
 are not, for I begin to think you have been deceiv- 
 ing me with the kindest and most affectionate in- 
 tention) you shall not remain here." 
 
 Oh! Tom's blood was rising; mind that. Per- 
 haps the Boar's Head had something to do with 
 it, but certainly the footman had. So had the sight 
 of his pretty sister — a great deal to do with it. 
 Tom could bear a good deal himself, but he was 
 proud of her, and pride is a sensitive thing. He 
 began to think, " there are more Pecksniff's than 
 one, perhaps," and by all the pins and needles that 
 run up and down in angry veins, Tom was in a 
 most unusual tingle all at once. 
 
 " We will talk about it, Tom," said Ruth, giv- 
 ing him another kiss to pacify him. "I am afraid 
 I cannot stay here." 
 
 "Cannot!" replied Tom. "Why then, you shall 
 not, my love. Heyday ! You are not an object of 
 charity ! Upon my word !" 
 
 Tom was stopped in these exclamations by the 
 footman, who brought a message from his master, 
 importing that he wished to speak with him be- 
 fore he went, and with Miss Pinch also. 
 
 "Show the way," said Tom. " I'll wait upon 
 him at once." 
 
 Accordingly they entered the adjoining room 
 from which the noise of altercation had proceeded ; 
 and there they found a middle-aged gentleman, 
 with a pompous voice and manner, and a middle- 
 aged lady, with what may be termed an excise- 
 able face, or one in which starch and vinegar 
 were decidedly employed. There was likewise 
 present that eldest pupil of Miss Pinch, whom 
 Mrs. Todgers, on a previous occasion, had called 
 a syrup, and who was now weeping ard sobbing 
 spitefully. 
 
 " My brother, sir," said Ruth Pincn, timidly 
 presenting Tom. 
 
 " Oh !" cried the gentleman, surveying Tom 
 attentively. "You really are Miss Pinch's brother, 
 I presume ? You will excuse my asking. I don't 
 observe any resemblance." 
 
 " Miss Pinch has a brother, I know," observed 
 the lad/. 
 
 " Miss Pinch is always talking about her bro- 
 ther, when she *ought to be engaged upon my 
 education," sobbed the pupil. 
 
 " Sophia ! Hold your tongue !" observed the 
 gentleman. "Sit down, if you please," addressing 
 Tom. 
 
 Tom sat down, looking from one face to an- 
 other, in mute surprise. 
 
 "Remain here, if you please, Miss Pinch," 
 pursued the gentleman, looking slightly over his 
 shoulder. 
 
 Tom interrupted him here, by rising to place 
 a chair for his sister. Having done which, he sat 
 down again. 
 
 " I am glad you chance to have called to see 
 your sister to-day, sir," resumed the brass and cop- 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEYVIT. 
 
 223 
 
 per founder. "For although I do not app 
 a principle, of any young person engaged, m pay 
 family, in the capacity of a governess^ reeeiving 
 fwilom, it happen* in this cane to be well-timed. 
 ! rry to inform you that we aro not at' all 
 
 satisfied with your ulster." 
 
 44 We are very much dissatisfied with her,** ob- 
 eerved the lady. 
 
 M I 'd never say another lesson to Miss Pinch if 
 I was to l»e l>cat to death for il !" sobbed the pupil. 
 
 "Sophia!" cried her father. "Hold your 
 tongn 
 
 "Will you allow me to inquire what your 
 ground of dissatisfaction is?" asked Tom. 
 
 • \ s," said the gentleman, " I will. I don't 
 recognise it as a right; but I will. Your sist» n 
 has not the slightest innate power of commanding 
 respect. It has been a constant source of differ- 
 ence between us. Although she has been in this 
 family for some time, and although the young lady 
 who is now present, has almost, as it were, grown 
 up under her tuition, that young lady has no 
 respect for her. Miss Pinch has been perfectly 
 unable to command my daughter's respect, or to 
 win my daughter's confidence. Now," said tire 
 g-ntleman, allowing the palm of his hand to fall 
 gravely down upon the table: "I maintain that 
 there is something radically wrong in that ! You, 
 as her brother, may be disposed to deny it — " 
 
 44 1 beg your pardon, sir," said Tom. 4i I am 
 not at all disposed to deny it. I am sure that 
 there is something radically wrong: radically 
 monstrous : in that." 
 
 44 CJood f leavens !" cried the gentleman, looking 
 round the room with dignity, 44 what do I find to 
 be the case ! what results obtrude themselves 
 upon me as flowing from this weakness of charac- 
 ter on the part of Miss Pinch ! What are my feel- 
 inge as a father, when, after my desire (repeatedly 
 expressed to Miss Pinch, as I think she will not 
 venture to deny) that my daughter should be 
 choice in her expressions, genteel in her deport- 
 ment, as becomes her station in life, and politely 
 to her inferiors in society, I find her, only 
 this very morning, addressing Miss Pinch herself, 
 as a beggar !" 
 
 44 A beggarly thing," observed the lady, iu cor- 
 rection. 
 
 44 W 'hich m worse," said the gentleman, tri- 
 tly ; ' 4 which is worse. A beggarly thing ! 
 A low, coarse, despicable expression !" 
 
 14 Most despicable," cried Tom. « I ana glad to 
 find that there is a just appreciation of it here." 
 
 44 So just, sir," said the gentleman, lowering his 
 voice to be the more impressive. 4t So just, that, 
 but for my knowing Miss Pinch to be an unpro- 
 tected young person, an orphan, and without 
 fritwda, I would, as I assured Miss Pinch, upon 
 my v. ra. ity and personal character, a few minutes 
 ago, I would have severed the connection between 
 it moment and from that time." 
 
 " fib ss my soul, sir !" cried Torn, rising from 
 his seat ; for he was now unable to contain him- 
 self any longer; ■ don't allow such considerations 
 as those to influence you, pray. They doi. 
 •tr. She is not unprotected. She is ready to de- 
 part this instant Ruth, my dear, get your bon- 
 
 44 Oh, a pretty family !" cried the lady. . 4t Oh, 
 
 I he's her brother! There's no doubt about 
 that !" 
 
 44 As little doubt, madam," said Tom, M as that 
 the young lady yonder is the child of year teach- 
 ing, and not my sister'*. Ruth, my dear, get your 
 Ixninrt on !" 
 
 44 When you say, young man," intern- 
 brass-and-coppcr founder, haughtily, " with that 
 impertinence which is natural to you, and which 
 I therefore do not condescend to notice further, 
 that the young lady, my eldest daughter, has been 
 educated by any one but .Miss Pinch, \ou — I 
 needn't proceed. You comprehend me fully. I 
 > doubt you are used to it." 
 
 "Sir!" cried Torn, after regarding him in 
 silence for some little time. M If you do not un- 
 derstand what I mean, I will tell you. If you do 
 understand what I mean, I beg you not to repeat 
 that mode of expressing yourself in answer to it. 
 My meaning is, that no man can expect his 
 children to respect what lie degrades.'* 
 
 44 Ha, ha, ha !" laughed the gentleman. "Cant! 
 cant ! The common cant !" 
 
 44 The common story, • sir !" said Tom; "the 
 story of a common mind. Your governess can- 
 jiot win the confidence and respect of your chil 
 drcn, forsooth ! Let her begin by winning yours 
 and see what happens then." 
 
 * Miss Pinch is getting her bonnet on, I trust 
 my dear ?" said the gentleman. 
 
 44 1 trust she is," said Tom, forestalling the re- 
 ply. " I have no doubt she is. In the meantime, 
 I address myself to you, sir. You made youi 
 statement to me, sir ; you required to see me for 
 that purpose; and I have a right to answer it I 
 am not loud or turbulent," said Tom, which was 
 quite true, " though I can scarcely say as much 
 for you, in your manner of addressing yourself to 
 me. And I wish, on my sister's behalf, to state 
 the simple truth." 
 
 44 You may state anything you like, yaung 
 man," returned the gentleman, affecting to yawn 
 44 My dear ! Miss Pinch's money." 
 
 " When you tell me," resumed Tom, who waa 
 not the less indignant for keeping himself quiet, 
 44 that my sister has no innate power of com. 
 mantling the respect of your children, I must tell 
 you it is not so ; and that she has. She is as well 
 bred, as well taught, as well qualified by nature 
 to command respect, as any hirer of a governess 
 you know. But when you place her at a disad- 
 vantage in reference to every servant in your 
 house, how can you suppose, if you have the gift 
 of common sense, that she is not in a ten told 
 worse position in reference to your daughters ?" 
 
 44 Pretty well ! Upon my word," exclaimed the 
 gentleman, " this is pretty well !" 
 
 4 * It is very il), sir," said Tom. " It is very bad 
 and mean, and wrong and cruel. Respect! I 
 believe young people are quick enough to observe 
 and imitate; and why or how should they respect 
 whom no one else respects, and everybody slights ? 
 And very partial they must grow: oh, very par 
 tial: to their studies, when they see to what a 
 pass proficiency in those same tasks has brought 
 their governess ! Respect ! Put anything the 
 most deserving of respect before your daughters 
 in the light in which you place her, and you will 
 bring it down as low, no matter what it is ** 
 
224 
 
 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 " You speak with extreme impertinence, young 
 man," observed the gentleman. 
 
 " I speak without passion, but with extreme in- 
 dignation and contempt for such a course of treat- 
 ment, ' and for all who practise it," said Tom. 
 " Why, how can you, as an honest gentleman, 
 profess displeasure or surprise, at your daughter 
 telling my sister she is something beggarly and 
 humble, when you are for ever telling her the 
 same thing yourself in fifty plain, out-speaking 
 ways, though not in words ; and when your very 
 porter and footman make the same delicate an- 
 nouncement to all comers ? As to your suspicion 
 and distrust of her : even of her word : if she is 
 not above their reach, you have no right to employ 
 her." 
 
 "No right!" cried the brass-and-copper founder. 
 
 " Distinctly not," Tom answered. " If you 
 imagine that the payment of an annua] sum of 
 money gives it to you, you immensely exaggerate 
 its power and value. Your money is the least 
 part of your bargain in such a case. You may 
 be punctual in that to half a second on the clock, 
 and yet be Bankrupt. 'I have nothing more to 
 say," said Tom, much flushed and flustered, now 
 that it was" ove/, "except to crave permission to 
 stand in your garden until my sister is ready." 
 
 Not waiting to obtain it, Tom walked out. 
 
 Before he had well begun to cool, his sister 
 joined him. She was crying; and Tom could 
 not bear that any one about the house should see 
 her doing that. 
 
 " They will think you are sorry to go," said 
 Tom. " You are not sorry to go ?" 
 
 " No, Tom, no. I have been anxious to go for 
 a very long time." 
 
 " Very well, then ! Don't cry !" said Tom. 
 
 " I am so sorry for you, dear," sobbed Tom's 
 sister. 
 
 " But you ought to be glad on my account," 
 said Torn. "I shall be twice as happy with you 
 for a companion. Hold up your head. There ! 
 Now we go out as we ought. Not blustering, 
 you know, but firm and confident in ourselves." 
 
 The idea of Tom and his sister blustering, 
 under any circumstances, was a splendid absur- 
 dity. But Tom was very far from feeling it to be 
 so, in his excitement; and passed Out at the gate 
 with such severe determination written in his face 
 that the porter hardly knew him again. 
 
 It was not until they had walked some short 
 distance, and Torn found himself getting cooler 
 and more collected, that he was quite restored to 
 himself by an inquiry from his sister, who said in 
 her pleasant little voice: 
 
 " Where are we going, Tom ?" 
 
 " Dear me !" said Tom, stopping, " I don't 
 know." 
 
 " Don't you — don't you live anywhere, dear ?" 
 asked Tom's sister, looking wistfully in his face. 
 
 "No," said Tom. " Not at present. Not 
 exactly. I only arrived this morning. We must 
 have some lodgings." 
 
 He didn't tell her that he had been going to 
 stay with nis friend John, and could on no ac- 
 count think of billeting two inmates upon him, of 
 whom one was a young lady ; for he knew that 
 would make her uncomfortable, and would cause her 
 10 regard herself as being an inconvenience to him. 
 
 Neither did he like to leave her anywhere while 
 he called on John and told him of this change in 
 his arrangements; for he was delicate of seeming 
 to encroach upon the generous and hospitable 
 nature of his friend. Therefore he said again, 
 " We must have some lodgings, of course ;" and 
 said it as stoutly as if he had been a perfect 
 Directory and Guide-Book to all the lodgings in 
 London. * 
 
 " Where shall we go and look for 'em ?" said 
 Tom, " What do you think ?" 
 
 Tom's sister was not much wiser on such a 
 topic than he was. So she squeezed her little 
 purse into his coat-pocket, and folding the little 
 hand with which she did so on the other little 
 hand with which she clasped his arm, said no- 
 thing. 
 
 " It ought to be a cheap neighbourhood," said 
 Tom, " and not too far from London. Let me see. 
 Should you think Islington a good place ?" 
 
 " 1 should think it was an excellent place, 
 Tom ?" 
 
 " It used to be called Merry Islington, onco 
 upon a time," said Tom. u Perhaps it 's merry 
 now ; if so, it 's all the better. Eh ?" 
 
 " If it's not too dear," said Tom's sister. 
 
 " Of course, if it 's not too dear," assented Tom. 
 "Well, where is Islington? We can't do better 
 than go there, I should think. Let's go!" 
 
 Tom's sister would have gone anywhere with 
 him ; so they walked off, arm in arm, as comfort- 
 ably as possible. Finding presently that Islington 
 was not in that neighbourhood, Tom made inqui- 
 ries respecting a public conveyance thither : 
 which they soon obtained. As they rode along, 
 they were very full of conversation indeed, Tom 
 relating what had happened to him, a*nd Tom's 
 sister relating what had happened to her, and both 
 finding a great deal more to say than time to say 
 it in : for they had only just begun to talk, in com- 
 parison with what they had to tell each other, 
 when they reached their journey's end. 
 
 " Now," said Tom, "we must first look out for 
 some very unpretending streets, and then look cut 
 for bills in the windows." 
 
 So they walked off again, quite as happily as if 
 they had just stepped out of a snug little house 
 of their own, to look for lodgings on account of 
 somebody else. Tom's simplicity was unabated, 
 Heaven knows; but now that he had somebody to 
 rely upon him, he was stimulated to rely a little 
 more upon himself, and was, in his own opinion, 
 quite a desperate fellow. 
 
 After roaming up and down for hours, looking 
 at some scores of lodgings, they began to find it 
 rather fatiguing, especially as they saw none 
 which were at all adapted to their purpose. At 
 length, however, in a singular little old-fashioned 
 house, up a blind street, they discovered two small 
 bed-rooms and a triangular parlour, which pro- 
 mised to suit them well enough. Their desiring 
 to take possession immediately was a suspicious 
 circumstance, but even this was surmounted by 
 the payment of their first week's rent, and a re- 
 ference to John Westlock, Esquire, Furnival's 
 Inn, High Holborn. 
 
 Ah ! It was a goodly sight, when this import- 
 ant point was settled, to behold Tom and his sis- 
 ter trotting round to the baker's, and the butcher's. 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEU IT 
 
 225 
 
 and the grocer's, with a kind of dreadful delight 
 in the unaccustomed cares of housekeeping'; tak- 
 ing secret counsel together as they gave their 
 small orders, and distracted !>y the least sugges- 
 tion on the part of the shopkeeper! When they 
 got back to the triangular parlour, and Tom's sis. 
 ter, bustling to and fro, busy al>out a thotn md 
 pleasant nothing*, stopped every now and then 
 to give old Tom a kins, or smile upon him ; 
 Tom rubbed his hands, as if all Islington were 
 his. 
 
 It was late in the afternoon now, though, and 
 high time for Tom to keep his appointment. So, 
 after agreeing with his sister that in consideration 
 of not having dmed, they would venture on the 
 
 extravagance of chops for supper at nine, he 
 walked out again to narrate these marvellous 
 occurrences to John. 
 
 " I um quite a family man all at once," thought 
 Tom. "If I can only get something to do, how 
 comfortable Ruth and I may be ! Ah, that if! 
 But it 's of no use to despond. 1 can but do that 
 when I have tried everything and failed ; and 
 even then it won't serve me much. Upon my 
 word," thought Tqm, quickening his pace, ■ I 
 don't know what John will think has become of 
 me. He '11 begin to be afraid I have strayed into 
 one of those streets where the countrymen are 
 murdered ; and that I have been made meat-pies 
 of, or some horrible thing." 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVII. 
 
 TOM TINCH, GOING ASTRAY, FINDS THAT HE IS NOT THE ONLY PERSON 
 IN THAT PREDICAMENT. HE RETALIATES UPON A FALLEN FOE. 
 
 Tom's evil genius did not lead him into the 
 dens of any of those preparers of cannibulic pas- 
 try, who are represented in many standard coun- 
 try legends, as doing a lively retail business in the 
 Metropolis ; nor did it mark him out as the prey 
 of ring-droppers, pea and thimble-riggers, duffers, 
 touters, or any of those bloodless sharpers, who 
 are, perhaps, a little better known to the Police. 
 He fell into conversation with no gentleman, who 
 took him into a public-house, where there hap- 
 pened to be another gentleman, who swore he had 
 more money than any gentleman, and very soon 
 proved he had more ttfoney than one gentleman, 
 by taking his away from him : neither did he 
 fall into any other of the numerous man-traps 
 which are set up, without notice, in the public 
 grounds of this city. But he lost his way. He 
 very soon did that; and in trying to find it again, 
 he lost it more and more. 
 
 Now Tom, in his guileless distrust of London, 
 thought himself very knowing in coming to the 
 det'Tmi nation that he would not ask to be directed 
 to Furnival's lao, if he could help it; unit 
 deed, he should happen to find himself near the 
 Mint, or \he'Bank of England; in which case, he 
 would step in, and ask a civil question or two, 
 confiding in the perfect respectability of the con- 
 cern. So on he went, looking up all the streets 
 he came near, and going up half of them ; and 
 thus, by dint of not being true to Goswell Street, 
 and filing off into Aldcrmanbury, and bewildering 
 himself in Barbican, and being constant to the 
 wrong point of the compass in London Wall, and 
 then getting himself crosswise into Thames 
 by an instinct that would have been mar- 
 vellous if he had had the least desire or reason to 
 So there, lie found himself, at last, hard by the 
 loimment 
 The .Man in the Monument was quite as mys- ! 
 tcrious a being to Torn as the Man in the Moon. 
 It immediately occurred to him that the lonely 
 creature who held himself aloof from all man- 
 20 
 
 kind in that pillar, like some old hermit, was the 
 very man of whom to ask his way. Cold, he 
 might be; little sympathy he had, perhaps, with 
 human passion — the column seemed too tall for 
 that; but if Truth didn't live in the base of the 
 Monument, notwithstanding Pope's couplet about 
 the outside of it, where in London (Tom thought; 
 was she likely to be found ! 
 
 Coming close below the pillar, it was a great 
 encouragement to Tom to find that the Man in the 
 Monument had simple tastes ; that stony and arti- 
 ficial as his residence was, he still preserved some 
 rustic recollections; that he liked plants, hung up 
 bird-cages, was not wholly cut off from fresh 
 groundsel, and kept young trees in tuhs. The 
 Man in the Monument, himself, was sitting out- 
 side the door — his own door : the Monument- 
 door : what a grand idea ! — and was actually 
 yawning, as if there were no Monument to stop 
 his mouth, and give him a perpetual interest in 
 his own existence. 
 
 Tom was advancing towards this remarkable 
 creature, to inquire the way to Furnival's Inn, 
 when two people came to see the Monument. 
 Tin v were a gentleman and a lady ; and the 
 gentleman said, " How much a-piccc ?" 
 
 The Man in the Monument replied, "A Tanner." 
 
 It seemed a low expression, compared with t K e 
 Monument. 
 
 The gentleman put a shilling into his hand, 
 and the Man in the Monument opened a dark lit- 
 tle door. When the gentleman and lady had 
 passed out of view, he shut it again, and came 
 slowly back to his chair. 
 
 He sat down and laughed. 
 
 " They don't know what a many steps there 
 is !" he said. M It 's worth twice tl»e money lo stop 
 here. Oh, my eye !" 
 
 The Man in the Monument was a Cynic ; a 
 worldly man! Tom couldn't ask his way of Aim. 
 He was prepaicd to put no confidence in arn thmg 
 he said. 
 
226 
 
 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 * My Gracious !" cried a well-known voice be- 
 hind Mr. Pinch. " Why, to be sure it is !" 
 
 At the same time he was poked in the back by 
 a parasol. Turning round to inquire into this 
 salute, he beheld the eldest daughter of his late 
 patron. 
 
 ■ Miss Pecksniff!" said Torn. 
 
 " Why, my goodness, Mr. Pinch !" cried Cherry. 
 "What are you doing here?" 
 
 " I have rather wandered from my way," said 
 Tom. "I — " 
 
 " I hope you have run away," said Charity. " It 
 would be quite spirited and proper if you had, 
 when my Papa so far forgets himself." 
 
 " I have left him," returned Tom. " But it was 
 perfectly understood on both sides. It was not 
 done clandestinely." 
 
 " Is he married ?" asked Cherry, with a spas- 
 modic shake of her chin. 
 
 " No, not yet," said Tom, colouring : " to tell 
 you the truth, I don't think he is likely to be, if— 
 if Miss Graham is the object of his passion." 
 
 "Tcha, Mr. Pinch !" cried Charity, with sharp 
 impatience, "you're very easily deceived. You 
 don't know the arts of which such a creature is 
 capable. Oh! it's a wicked world." 
 
 "You are not married?" Tom hinted, to divert 
 the conversation. 
 
 " No — no !" said Cherry, tracing out one parti- 
 cular paving stone in Monument Yard with the 
 end of her parasol. " I — but really it's quite im- 
 possible to explain. Won't you walk in ?" 
 
 " You live here, then ?" said Tom. 
 
 " Yes," returned Miss Pecksniff, pointing with 
 her parasol to Todgers's : " I reside with this lady, 
 at present." 
 
 The great stress on the two last words suggest- 
 ed to Tom that he was expected to say something 
 in reference to them. So he said : 
 
 " Only at present ! Are you going home again, 
 Boon ?" 
 
 " No, Mr. Pinch," returned Charity. " No, 
 thank you. No ! A mother-in-law who is younger 
 than — I mean to say, who is as nearly as possible 
 about the same age as one's self, would not quite 
 suit my spirit Not quite !" said Cherry, with a 
 spiteful shiver. 
 
 " I thought from your saying at present" — Tom 
 observed, 
 
 " Really upon my word ! I had no idea you 
 would press me so very closely on the subject, 
 Mr. Pinch," said Charity, blushing, "or I should 
 not have been so foolish as to allude to — Oh 
 really ! — won't you walk in ?" 
 
 Tom mentioned, to excuse himself, that he had 
 an appointment in Furnival's Inn, and that com- 
 ing from Islington he had taken a few wrong 
 turnings, and arrived at the Monument instead. 
 Miss Pecksniff simpered very much when he 
 asked her if she knew the way to Furnival's Inn, 
 and at length found courage to reply : 
 
 " A gentleman who is a friend of mine, or at 
 least who is not exactly a friend so much as a 
 bort of acquaintance — Oh, upon my word, I 
 hardly know what I say, Mr. Pinch; you must n't 
 suppose there is any engagement between us; or 
 tit least if there is, that it is at all a settled thing 
 as yet — is going to Furnival's Inn immediately, 
 I believe upon a little business, and I am sure he 
 would be very glad to accompany you, so as to 
 
 prevent your going wrong again. You had bettei 
 walk in. You will very likely find my sister 
 Merry here," she said, with a curious toss of her 
 head, and anything but an agreeable smile. 
 
 " Then, 1 think, I '11 endeavour to find my way 
 alone," said Tom ; " for I fear she would not bi 
 very glad to see me. That unfortunate ocrurrenc< 
 in relation to which you and I had some arnica 
 ble words together, in private, is not likely to have 
 impressed her with any friendly feeling towards 
 me. Though it really was not my fault." 
 
 " She has never heard of that, you may de 
 pend," said Cherry, gathering up the corners oi 
 her mouth, and nodding at Tom. " I am far 
 from sure that she would bear you any mighty 
 ill will for it, if she had." 
 
 " You don't say so ?" cried Tom, who was 
 really concerned by this insinuation. 
 
 "1 say nothing," said Charity. "If I had not 
 already known what shocking things treachery 
 and deceit are in themselves, Mr. Pinch, I might 
 perhaps have learnt it from the success they meet 
 with — from the success they meet with." Here 
 she smiled as before. " But I don't say anything. 
 On the contrary, I should scorn it. You had 
 better 1 walk in !" 
 
 There was something hidden here, which piqued 
 Tom's interest and troubled his tender heart. 
 When, in a moment's irresolution he looked at 
 Charity, he could not but observe a struggle in 
 her face between a sense of triumph and a sense 
 of shame; nor could he but remark how, meeting 
 even his eyes, which she cared so little for, she 
 turned away her own, for all the splenetic defi- 
 ance in her manner. 
 
 An uneasy thought entered Tom's head ; a 
 shadowy misgiving that the altered relations be- 
 tween himself and Pecksniff, were somehow to 
 involve an altered knowledge on his part of other 
 people, and were to give him an insight into much 
 of which he had had no previous suspicion. And 
 yet he put no definite construction upon Charity's 
 proceedings. He certainly had no idea that as he 
 had been the audience and spectator of her mor- 
 tification, she grasped with eager delight at any 
 opportunity of reproaching her sister with his 
 presence in her far deeper misery ; for he knew 
 nothing of it, and only pictured that sister as the 
 same giddy, careless, trivial creature she always 
 had been, with the same slight estimation of him- 
 self which she had never been at the least pains 
 to conceal. In short, he had merely a confused 
 impression that Miss Pecksniff was not quite 
 sisterly or kind; and being curious to set it right, 
 accompanied her, as she desired. 
 
 The house-door being opened, she went in be 
 fore Tom, requesting him to follow her; and led 
 the way to the parlour door. 
 
 "Oh, Merry !" she said, looking in, "I am so 
 glad you have not gone home. Who do you think 
 I have met in the street, and brought to see you I 
 Mr. Pinch ! There. Now you are surprised, I 
 am sure !" 
 
 Not more surprised than Tom was, when ho 
 looked upon her. Not so much. Not half so much. 
 
 " Mr. Pinch has left Papa, my dear," said 
 Cherry, "and his prospects are quite flourishing. 
 I have promised that Augustus, who is going 
 that way, shall escort him to the place he wants. 
 Augustus, my child, where are you ?" 
 
MARTIN CHUZ^ZLEWIT. 
 
 227 
 
 With which Miss Pecksniff screamed oat of 
 the parlour, calling on Augustus Moddlo to ap- 
 pear; and left Tom Pinch alone with her. 
 
 If she had always been his kindest friend; if 
 she had treated him through all his servitude with 
 such consideration as was never yet received by 
 struggling man; if she had lightened every mo- 
 ment of those many years, and had ever spared 
 and never wounded him ; his honest heart could 
 not have swelled before her with a deeper pity, or 
 a purer freedom from all base remembrance than 
 it did then. 
 
 ■ My gracious me ! You are really the last 
 person in the world I should have thought of 
 seeing, I am sure !" 
 
 Tom was sorry to hear her speaking in her old 
 manner. He had not expected that. Yet he did 
 not feel it a contradiction that he should be sorry 
 to see her so unlike her old self, and sorry at the 
 same time to hear her speaking in her old man- 
 ner. The two things seemed quite natural. 
 
 M I wonder you find any gratification in com- 
 ing to see me. I can't think what put it in your 
 head. I never had much in seeing you. There 
 was no love lost between us, Mr. Pinch, at any- 
 time, I think." 
 
 Her bonnet lay beside her on the sofa, and she 
 was very busy with the ribbons as she spoke. 
 Much too busy to be conscious of the work her 
 ringers did. 
 
 * We never quarrelled," said Tom. — Tom was 
 right in that, for one person can no more quarrel 
 without an adversary, than one person can play 
 at chess, or fight a duel. " I hoped you would be 
 glad to shake hands with an old friend. Don't 
 let us rake up byegones," said Tom. u If I ever 
 offended you, forgive me." 
 
 She looked at him for a moment; dropped her 
 bonnet from her hands ; spread them before her 
 altered face ; and burst into tears. 
 
 M Oh, Mr. Pinch !" she said, " although I never 
 used you well, I did believe your nature was for- 
 giving. I did not think you could be cruel." 
 
 She spoke as little like her old self now, for 
 certain, as Tom could possibly have wished. But 
 she seemed to be appealing to him reproachfully, 
 and he did not understand her. 
 
 44 1 seldom showed it — never — I know that. 
 But I had that belief in you, that if I had been 
 a«?ked to name the person in the world least likely 
 to ri t.»rt upon me, I would have named you, con- 
 fident ry." 
 
 44 Would have named me !" Tom repeated. 
 
 44 Yes," she said with energy, 4i and I have often 
 thought so." 
 
 Afler a moment's reflection, Tom sat himself 
 upon a chair beside her. 
 
 44 Do you believe," said Tom, 44 oh, can you 
 think, that what I said just now, I said with any 
 but the true and plain intention which my words 
 professed ? I mean it, in the spirit and the letter. 
 If I ever offended you, forgive me ; I may have 
 done so, many times. You never injured or 
 offended me. How, then, could I possibly retort, 
 if even I were stern and bad enough to wish to 
 do it!" 
 
 Afler a little while she thanked him, through 
 her tears and sobs, and told him she had never 
 been ut once so sorry and so comforted, since she 
 
 left home. Still she wept bitterly ; and it was 
 the greater pain to Tom to see her weeping, from 
 her standing in especial need, just then, of sym- 
 pathy and tenderncs?. 
 
 44 Come, come !" said Tom, 44 you used to be as 
 cheerful as the day was long." 
 
 44 Ah ! used !" she cried, in such a toee as rent 
 Tom's heart. 
 
 44 And wilj be again," said Tom. 
 
 44 No, "never more. No, never, never more. If 
 you should talk with old Mr.Chuzzlewit, at any 
 time," she added, looking hurriedly into his face 
 — 44 1 sometimes thought he liked you, but sup- 
 pressed it — wili you promise me to tell him that 
 you saw me here', and that I said I bore in mind 
 the time we talked together in the churchyard ?" 
 
 Tom promised that lie would. 
 
 44 Many times since then, when I have wished 
 I had been carried there before that day, I have 
 recalled his words. I wish that he should know 
 how true they were, although the least acknow- 
 ledgment to that effect has never passed my lips, 
 and never will." 
 
 Tom promised this, conditionally, too. He did 
 not tell her how improbable it waS that he and 
 the old man would ever meet again, because he 
 thought it might disturb her more. 
 
 44 If he should ever know this, through your 
 means, dear Mr. Pinch," said Mercy, 44 tell him 
 that I sent the message, not for myself, but that 
 he might be more forbearing, and more patient, 
 and more trustful to some other person, in some 
 other time of need. Tell him that if he could 
 know how my heart trembled in the balance that 
 day, and what a very little would have turned the 
 scale, his own would bleed with pity for me." 
 
 44 Yes, yes," said Tom, 44 1 will." 
 
 44 When I appeared to him the most unworthy 
 of his help, I was — I know I was, for I have 
 often, often, thought about it since — the most in- 
 clined to yield to what he showed me. Oh ! If 
 he had relented but a little more ; if he had 
 thrown himself in my way for but one other 
 quarter of an hour ; if he had extended his com- 
 passion for a vain, unthinking miserable girl in 
 but the least degree ; he might, and I believe he 
 would, have saved her ! Tell him that I don't 
 blame him, but am grateful for the effort that he 
 made ; but ask him for the love of God, and 
 youth, and in a merciful consideration for the 
 struggle which an ill-advised and unawakened 
 nature makes to hide the strength it thinks its 
 weakness — ask him never, never to forget this, 
 when he deals with one again!" 
 
 Although Tom did not hold the clue to her full 
 meaning, he could guess it pretty nearly. Touch- 
 ed to the quick, he took her hand and said, or 
 meant to say, some words of consolation. She 
 felt and understood them, whether the. 
 spoken or no. He was not quite certain after- 
 wards but that she had tried to kneel down at his 
 feet, and bless him. 
 
 He found that he was not alone in the room 
 when she had left it. Mrs. Todgcrs wa« there, 
 shaking her head. Tom had never seen Mr*. 
 Todgers, it is needless to say, but he had a per 
 ception of her being the lady of the house ; and 
 he saw some genuine compassion in her eyen, 
 that won his good opinion. 
 
228 
 
 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 " Ah, Sir ! You are an old friend, I see," said 
 Mrs. Todgers. 
 
 " Yes," said Tom. 
 
 * And yet," quoth Mrs. Todgers, shutting the 
 door softly, " she hasn't told you what her trou- 
 bles are, I 'm certain." 
 
 Tom was struck by these words, for they were 
 quite true. " Indeed," he said, " she has not." 
 
 " And never would," said Mrs. Todgers, " if 
 you saw her daily. She never makes the least 
 complaint to me, or utters a single word of expia- 
 tion or reproach. But I know," said Mrs. Tod- 
 gers, drawing in her breath, " / know !" 
 
 Tom nodded sorrowfully, " so do I." 
 
 " I fully believe," said Mrs, Todgers, taking her 
 pocket-handkerchief from the flat reticule, " that 
 nobody can tell one half of what that poor young 
 creature has to undergo. But though she comes 
 here, constantly, to ease her poor full heart with- 
 out his knowing it; and saying, ' Mrs. Todgers, 
 I am very low to-day ; I think that I shall soon 
 be dead,' sits crying in my room until the fit is 
 past ; I know no more from her. And, I believe," 
 said Mrs. Todgers, putting back her handkerchief 
 again, " that she considers me a good friend too." 
 
 Mrs. Todgers might have said her best friend. 
 Commercial gentlemen and gravy had tried Mrs. 
 Todgers's temper ; the main chance — it was such 
 a very small one in her case, that she might have 
 been excused for looking sharp after it, lest it 
 should entirely vanish from her sight — had taken 
 a firm hold on Mrs. Todgers's attention. But in 
 some odd nook of Mrs. Todgers's breast, up a 
 great many steps, and in a corner easy to be over- 
 looked, there was a secret door, with " Woman" 
 written on the spring, which at a touch from Mer- 
 cy's hand had flown wide open, and admitted her 
 for shelter. 
 
 When boarding-house accounts ore balanced 
 with all other ledgers, and the books of the Re- 
 cording Angel are made up for ever, perhaps there 
 may be seen an entry to thy credit, lean Mrs. Tod- 
 gers, which shall make thee beautiful ! 
 
 She was growing beautiful so rapidly in Tom's 
 eyes ; for he saw that she was poor, and that this 
 good had sprung up in her from among the sordid 
 strivings of her life ; that she might have been a 
 very Venus in a minute more, if Miss Pecksniff 
 had not entered with her friend. 
 
 " Mr. Thomas Pinch," said Charity, perform- 
 ing the ceremony of introduction with evident 
 pride, " Mr. Moddle. Where 's my sister ?" 
 
 "Gone, Miss Pecksniff," Mrs. Todgers answer- 
 ed. " She had appointed to be home." • 
 
 " Ah !" sighed Charity, looking at Tom. " Oh, 
 dear me !" 
 
 " She 's greatly altered since she 's been An- 
 oth — since she 's been married, Mrs. Todgers !" 
 observed Moddle. 
 
 " My dear Augustus !" said Miss Pecksniff, in 
 a low voice, " I verily believe you have siiid that 
 «fty thousand times, in my hearing. What a 
 Prose you are !" 
 
 This was succeeded by some trifling love pas- 
 sages, which appeared to originate with, if not to 
 be wholly carried on by, Miss Pecksniff. At any 
 rate, Mr. Moddle was much slower in his responses 
 than is customary with young lovers, and exhib- 
 
 ited a lowness of spirits which was quite oppres. 
 sive. 
 
 He did not improve at all when Tom and he 
 were in the streets, but sighed so dismally that it 
 was dreadful to hear him. As a means of cheer- 
 ing him up, Tom told him that he wished him 
 
 joy- 
 
 u Joy !" cried Moddle. u Ha, ha !" 
 
 " What an extraordinary young man !" thought 
 Tom. 
 
 " The Scorner has not set his seal upon you. 
 You care what becomes of you ?" said Moddle. 
 
 Tom admitted that it was a subject in which 
 he certainly felt some interest. 
 
 " I don't," said Mr. Moddle. " The elements 
 may have me when they please. I 'm ready." 
 
 Tom inferred from these, and other expressions 
 of the same nature, that he was jealous. There- 
 fore he allowed him to take his own course ; which 
 was such a gloomy one, that he felt a load remov. 
 ed from his mind when they parted company at 
 the gate of Furnival's Inn. 
 
 It was now a couple of hours past John West- 
 lock's dinner-time ; and he was walking up and 
 down the room, quite anxious for Tom's safety. 
 The table was spread ; the wine was carefully 
 decanted ; and the dinner smelt delicious. 
 
 " Why, Tom, old boy, where on earth have you 
 been? Your box is here. Get your boots off 
 instantly, and sit down !" 
 
 " I am sorry to say I can't stay, John," replied 
 Tom Pinch, who was breathless with the haste 
 he had made in running up stairs. 
 
 " Can't stay !" 
 
 ** If you '11 go on with your dinner," said Tom, 
 " I '11 tell you my reason the while. I mustn't 
 eat myself, or I shall have no appetite for the 
 chops." 
 
 " There are no chops here, my good fellow." 
 
 " No. But there are, at Islington," said Tom. 
 
 John Westlock was perfectly confounded by 
 this reply, and vowed he would not touch a mor. 
 sel until Torn had explained himself fully. So 
 Tom sat down, and told him all ; to which he lis- 
 tened with the greatest interest. 
 
 He knew Tom too well, and respected his deli- 
 cacy too much, to ask him why he had taken 
 these measures without communicating with him 
 first. He quite concurred in the expediency of 
 Tom's immediately returning to his sister, as he 
 knew so little of the place in which he had left 
 her; and good-humouredly proposed to ride back 
 with him in a cab, in which he might convey his 
 box. Tom's proposition that he should sup with 
 them that night, he flatly rejected, but made an 
 appointment with him for the morrow. " And now, 
 Tom," he said, as they rode along, " I have a 
 question to ask you, to which I expect a manly 
 and straight- forward answer. Do you want any 
 money ? I am pretty sure you do." 
 
 " I don't indeed," said Tom. 
 
 " I believe you are deceiving me." 
 
 "No. With many thanks to you, I am quite 
 in earnest," Tom replied. " My sister has some 
 money, and so have I. If I had nothing else, 
 John I have a five-pound note, which that good 
 creature, Mrs. Lupin, of the Dragon, handed up 
 to me outside the coach, in a letter, begging mi 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEVVIT. 
 
 229 
 
 to borrow it ; and then drove off as hard as she 
 could go." 
 
 "And a blessing on every dimple in her hand- 
 km in iaoe, say I ?" cried John, M though why you 
 should give her the preference over me, 1 don't 
 know. Never mind. I bide my time, Tom." 
 
 "And I hope you'll continue to bide it," returned 
 Tom gaily. M For I owe you more already, in a 
 hundred other ways, than I can ever hope to 
 pay." 
 
 They parted at the door of Tom's new resi- 
 dence. John Westlock, sitting in the cab, and, 
 catching a glimpse of a blooming little busy crea- 
 ture darting out to kiss Tom and to help him 
 
 with his box, would not have had the least objec 
 tion to change places with him. 
 
 Well ! she teas a cheerful little thing ; and had 
 a quaint, bright quietness about her, that was 
 infinitely pleasant Surely she was the best sauce 
 for chops ever invented. The potatoes seemed to 
 take a pleasure in sending up their grateful steam 
 before her ; the froth upon the pint of porter pouted 
 to attract her notice. But it was all in vain. She 
 saw nothing but Tom. Tom was the first and 
 last thing in the world. 
 
 As she sat opposite to Tom at supper, fingering 
 one of Tom's pet tunes upon the table-cloth, and 
 smiling in his face, he had never been so happy 
 in his life. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVIII. 
 
 SECRET SERVICE. 
 
 In walking from the City with his sentimental 
 friend, Tom Pinch had looked into the face, and 
 brushed against the threadbare sleeve, of Mr. 
 Nadgett man of mystery to the Anglo- Bengalee 
 Disinterested Loan and Life Insurance Company. 
 Mr. Nadgett naturally passed away from Tom's 
 remembrance, as he passed out of his view ; for he 
 didn't know him, and had never heard his name. 
 
 As there are a vast number of people in the 
 huge metropolis of England who rise up every 
 morning, not knowing where their heads will rest 
 at night, so there are a multitude who shooting 
 arrows over houses as their daily business, never 
 know on whom they fall. Mr. Nadgett might 
 have passed Tom Pinch ten thousand times; 
 might even have been quite familiar with his face, 
 his name, pursuits, and character ; yet never once 
 have dreamed that Tom had any interest in any 
 act or mystery of his. Tom might have done the 
 like by him, of course. But the same private 
 man out of all the men alivo, was in the mind of 
 each at the same moment; was prominently con- 
 nected, though in a different manner, with the 
 day's adventures of both; and formed, when they 
 passed each other in the street, the one absorbing 
 topic of their thoughts. 
 
 Why Tom had Jonas Chuzzlewit in his mind 
 requires no explanation. Why Mr. Nadgett should 
 have had Jonas Chuzzlewit in his, is quite another 
 tiling. 
 
 But somehow or other that amiable and worthy 
 orphan had become a part of the mystery of Mr. 
 Nadgett's existence. Mr. Nadgett took an interest 
 in his lightest proceedings; and it never flagged 
 or wavered. He watched him in and out of the 
 Insurance Office, where he was now formally 
 installed as a Director; he dogged his footsteps in 
 the streets; ho stood listening when he talked; 
 he sat in coffee-rooms entering his name in the 
 
 ffreat pocket-book, over and over again ; he wrote 
 etters to himself about him constantly; and when 
 he found them in his pocket put them in the fire, 
 with such distrust and caution that he would bend 
 down to watch the crumpled tinder while it floated 
 nward, as if his mind misgave him, that the 
 
 mystery it had contained might come out at the 
 chimney-pot 
 
 And yet all this was quite a secret Mr. Nad- 
 gett kept it to himself, and kept it close. Jonas 
 had no more idea that Mr. Nadgett's eyes were 
 fixed on him, than he had that he was living under 
 the daily inspection and report of a whole order 
 of Jesuits. Indeed Mr. Nadgett's eyes were sel- 
 dom fixed on any other objects than the ground, 
 the clock, or the fire ; but every button on his 
 coat might have been an eye : he saw so much. 
 
 The secret manner of the man disarmed sus- 
 picion in this wise ; suggesting, not that he was 
 watching any one, but that he thought some other 
 man was watching him. He went about so 
 stealthily, and kept himself so wrapped up in him- 
 self, that the whole object of his life appeared to 
 be, to avoid notice, and preserve his own mystery. 
 Jonas sometimes saw him in the street hovering 
 in the outer office, waiting at the door for the man 
 who never came, or slinking off with his immov- 
 able £ice and drooping head, and the one beaver 
 glove dangling before him ; but he would as soon 
 have thought of the cross upon the top of St 
 Paul's Cathedral taking i ote of what he did, or 
 slowly winding a great net about his feet as of 
 Nadgett's being engaged in such an occupation. 
 
 Mr. Nadgett made a mysterious change about 
 this time in his mysterious life : for whereas he 
 had, until now, been first seen every morning 
 coming down Cornhill, so exactly like the Nadgett 
 of the day before as to occasion a popular belief 
 that he never went to bed or took his clothes off, 
 he was now first seen in Holborn, coming out of 
 Kingsgate-street ; and it was soon discovered that 
 he actually went every morning to a barber's 
 shop in that street to get shaved ; and that the 
 barber's .name was Sweedlepipe. He seemed to 
 make appointments with the man who never 
 came, to meet him at this barber's ; for he would 
 frequently take long spells of waiting in the shop, 
 and would ask for pen and ink, and pull out his 
 pockeUbook, and be very busy over it for an hour 
 at a time. Mrs. Gamp and Mr. Sweedlepipe had 
 many deep discoursings on the subject of this 
 
230 
 
 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 mysterious customer ; but they usually agreed 
 that he had speculated too much and was keeping 
 out of the way. 
 
 He must have appointed the man who never 
 . kept his word, to meet him at another new place 
 too ; for one day he was found, for the first time, 
 by the waiter at the Mourning Coach-Horse, the 
 House-of-call for Undertakers, down in the City 
 there, making figures with a pipe-stem in the saw- 
 dust of a clean spittoon ; and declined to call for 
 anything, on the ground of expecting a gentleman 
 presently. As the gentleman was not honourable 
 enough to keep his engagements, he came again 
 next day, with his pocket-book in such a state of 
 distention that he was regarded in the bar as a 
 man of large property. After that, he repeated 
 his visits every day, and had so much writing to 
 do, that he made nothing of emptying a capacious 
 leaden inkstand in two sittings. Although he 
 never talked much, still by being there among the 
 regular customers, he made their acquaintance ; 
 and in course of time became quite intimate with 
 Mr. Tacker, Mr. Mould's foreman ; and even 
 with Mr. Mould himself, who openly said he was 
 a long-headed man, a dry one, a salt fish, a deep 
 file, a rasper : and made him the subject of many 
 other flattering encomiums. . 
 
 At the same time, too, he told the people at the 
 Insurance Office, in his own mysterious way, 
 that there was something wrong (secretly wrong, 
 of course) in his liver, and that he feared he" must 
 put himself under the doctor's hands. He was 
 delivered over to Jobling upon this representa- 
 tion ; and though Jobling could not find out where 
 his liver was wrong, wrong Mr. Nadgett said it 
 was ; observing, that it was his own liver, and he 
 hoped he ought to know. Accordingly, he be- 
 came Mr. Jobling's patient ; and detailing his 
 symptoms in his slow and secret way, was in and 
 out of that gentleman's room a dozen times a-day. 
 
 As he pursued all these occupations at once ; 
 and all steadily ; and all secretly : and never 
 slackened in his watchfulness of everything that 
 Mr. Jones said and did, and left unsaid and un- 
 done : it is not improbable that they were, secret- 
 ly, essential parts of some great secret scheme 
 which Mr. Nadgett had on foot. 
 
 It was on the morning of this very day on 
 which so much had happened to Tom Pinch, that 
 Nadgett suddenly appeared before Mr. Montague's 
 house in Pan 1 Mall — he always made his appear- 
 ance as if he had that moment come up a trap — 
 when the clocks were striking nine. He rang 
 the bell in a covert under-handed way, as though 
 it were a treasonable act ; and passed in at the 
 door, the moment it was opened wide enough to 
 receive his body. That done, he shut it imme- 
 diately, with his own hands. 
 
 Mr. Bailey, taking up his name without delay, 
 returned with a request that he would follow him 
 into his master's chamber. The chairman of the 
 Anglo-Bengalee Disinterested Loan and Life In- 
 surance Board was dressing, and received him as 
 a business person who was often backwards and 
 forwards, and was received at all times for his 
 ousiness' sake. 
 
 " Well, Mr. Nadgett !" 
 
 Mr. Nadgett put his hat upon the ground and 
 coughed. The boy having withdrawn and shut 
 the door, he went to it softly, examined the han- 
 
 I die, and returned to within a pace or two of the 
 chair in which Mr. Montague sat. 
 
 " Any rjews, Mr. Nadgett ?" 
 
 " I think we have some news at last, Sir." 
 
 " lam happy to hear it. I began to fear you 
 were off the scent, Mr. Nadgett." 
 
 " No, Sir. It grows cold occasionally. It will 
 sometimes. We can't help that." 
 
 " You are Truth itself, Mr. Nadgett. Do you 
 report a great success ?" 
 
 " That depends upon- your judgment and con- 
 struction of it," was his answer, as he put on his 
 spectacles. 
 
 " What do you think of it yourself? Have you 
 pleased yourself?" 
 
 Mr. Nadgett rubbed his hands slowly, stroked 
 his chin, looked round the room, and said " Yes, 
 yes, I think it's a good case. I am disposed to 
 think it 's a good case. Will you go into it at 
 once ?" 
 
 " By all means.'-' 
 
 Mr. Nadgett picked out a certain chair from 
 among the rest, and having planted it in a particu- 
 lar spot, as carefully as if he had been going to 
 vault over it, placed another chair in front of it : 
 leaving room for his own legs between them. He 
 then sat down in chair number two, and laid his 
 pocket-book, very carefully, on chair number one. 
 He then untied the pocket-book, and hung the 
 string over the back of chair number one. He 
 then drew both the chairs a little nearer Mr. Mon- 
 tague, and opening the pocket-book spread out its 
 contents. Finally, he selected a certain memo- 
 randum from the rest, and held it out to his em- 
 ployer, who, during the whole of these prelirni. 
 nary ceremonies, had been making violent efforts 
 to conceal his impatience. 
 
 "I wish you wouldn't be so fond of making 
 notes, my excellent friend," said Tigg Montague 
 with a ghastly smile. " I wish you would con- 
 sent to give me their purport by word of mouth." 
 
 " I don't like word of mouth," said Mr. Nad- 
 gett, gravely. " We never know who 's listening." 
 
 Air. Montague was going to retort, when Nad- 
 gett handed him the paper, and said, with quiet 
 exultation in his tone, " We'll begin at the begin- 
 ning, and take that one first, if you please, Sir.'" 
 
 The chairman cast his eyes upon it, coldly, and 
 with a smile which did not render any great hom- 
 age to the slow and methodical habits of his spy. 
 But he had not read half-a-dozen lines when the 
 expression of his face began to change, and before 
 he had finished the perusal of the paper, it was 
 full of grave and serious attention. 
 
 " Number Two," said Mr. Nadgett, handing 
 him another, and receiving back the first. " Read 
 Number Two, Sir, if you please. There is more 
 interest as you go on." 
 
 Tigg Montague leaned backward in his chair, 
 and cast upon his emissary such a look of vacant 
 wonder (not un mingled with alarm), that Mr. Nad- 
 gett considered it necessary to repeat the request 
 he had already twice preferred : with the v iew of 
 recalling his attention to the point in hand. Pre 
 fiting by the hint, Mr. Montague went on with 
 Number Two, and afterwards with Numbers 
 Three, and Four, and Five, and so on. 
 
 These documents were all in Mr. Nadgett's 
 writing, and were apparently a series of memo- 
 randa, jotted down from time to time upon the 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLKWIT, 
 
 231 
 
 backs of old le* tors, or any scrap of paper that 
 came first to band. Loose struggling scrawls 
 they were, and of very uninviting exterior; but 
 
 they had weighty purpose in them, it* the chair- 
 man's fuce were any index to the character of 
 their contents. 
 
 The progress of Mr. Nudgctt's secret satisfac- 
 faction arising out of the effect they made, kept 
 pace with the emotions of the reader. At first, 
 Mr. Nadgett sat with his spectacles low down 
 upon his nose, looking over them at his employer, 
 and nervously running his hands. After a little 
 while, he changed his posture in his chair for one 
 of greater ease, and leisurely perused the next do- 
 cument he held ready, as if an occasional glance 
 at his employer's face were now enough, and all 
 occasion lor anxiety or douht were gone. And 
 finally he rose and looked out of the window, 
 where he stood, with a triumphant air, until Till 
 Montague had finished. 
 
 " And this is the last Mr. Nadgett!" said that 
 gentleman, drawing a long breatii. 
 
 44 That, Sir, is the last." 
 
 M You are a wonderful man, Mr. Nadgett !" 
 
 44 1 think it is a pretty good case," he returned, 
 as he gathered up his papers. 44 It cost me some 
 trouble, Sir." 
 
 44 The trouble shall be well rewarded, Mr. Nad- 
 gett." Nadgett bowed. 44 There is a deeper im- 
 pression of Somebody's Hoof here, than I had 
 expected, Mr. Nadgett I may congratulate my- 
 self upon your being such a good hand at a 
 secret." 
 
 44 Oh ! nothing has an interest to me that's not 
 a secret," replied Nadgett, as lie tied the string 
 about his pocket-book, and put it up. 44 It almost 
 takes away any pleasure I may have had in this 
 inquiry even to make it known to you." 
 
 44 A most invaluable constitution," Tigg re- 
 torted. "A great gift for a gentleman employed 
 as you are, Mr. Nadgett. Much better than dis- 
 cretion : though you possess that quality also in 
 an eminent degree. I think I heard a double 
 knock. Will you put your head out of the window, 
 and tell me whether there is any body at the 
 door T 
 
 Mr. Nadgett softly raised the sash, and peered 
 out from the very, corner, as a man might who 
 was looking down into a street from whence a 
 brisk discharge of musketry might be expected at 
 any moment Drawing in his head with equal 
 caution, he observed, not altering his voice or 
 manner : 
 
 44 Mr. Jonas Chtrczlcwit !" 
 
 ** I thought so," Tigg retorted. 
 
 -Shall I go?" 
 
 44 1 think you had better. Stay though ! No ! 
 remain here, Mr. Nadgett, if you please." 
 
 It was remarkable how pale and flurried he had 
 become »n an instant There was nothing to ac- 
 count for it. His eye had fallen on his razors : 
 but what of them ! 
 
 Mr. Chuzzlcwit was announced. 
 
 u Show him up directly, Nadgett! Don't you 
 leave us alone together. Mind you don't, now ! 
 By the Lord !" he added in a whisper to himself: 
 44 We don't know what may happ 
 
 Saying this, Iks hurriedly took up a couple of 
 hair-brushes, and began to exercise them on his 
 own head, as if his toilet had not been interrupted. 
 
 1 Mr Nadgett withdrew to the stove in which there 
 
 a small fire for the convenience of heating 
 
 curling-irons ; and taking advantage of so favour 
 
 opportunity for drying his pocket-hand- 
 
 kerchief, produoed it without loss of time. There 
 
 he stood, during (be whole interview, holding it 
 
 the bars, and sometimes, but not often, 
 
 glancing over his shoulder. 
 
 dear Chuzzlcwit!'' cried Montague, as 
 Jonas entered : "you rise with the lark. Though 
 you go to bed with the nightingale, you rise with 
 the lark. You have superhrunan energy, my dear 
 Chuzzlewit !" 
 
 44 Ecod !" said Jonas, with an air of languor 
 and ill-humour, as he took a chair, M I should be 
 very glad not to get up with the lark, if I could 
 help it. But I am a light sleeper ; and it's better 
 to be up, than lying awake, counting the dismal 
 old church-clocks, in bed." 
 
 44 A light sleeper !" cried his friend. ** Now, 
 what is a light sleeper? I often hear the expres- 
 sion, but upon my life I haVe not the least con- 
 ccption what a light sleeper is." 
 
 44 Hallo!" said Jonas, •* Who's that? Oh, old 
 what's-his-name : looking (as usual) as if he 
 wanted to skulk up the chimney." 
 
 44 Ha, ha ! I ljave no doubt he does." 
 
 44 Well ! He's not wanted here, I suppose. He 
 may go, mayn't he ?" 
 
 44 Oh, let him stay, let him stay !" said Tigg. 
 44 He's a mere piece of furniture. He has been 
 making his report, and is waiting for further 
 orders. He has been told," said Tigg, raising his 
 voice, 44 not to lose sight of certain friends of ours 
 or to think that he has done with them by any 
 means. He understands his business." 
 
 41 He need," replied Jonas : 4i for of all the pre- 
 cious old dummies in appearance that ever I saw 
 he's about the worst He's afraid of me, I think." 
 
 44 It's my belief," said Tigg, 44 that you are 
 Poison to him. Nadgett I give me that towel !'' 
 
 He had as little occasion for a towel as Jonas 
 had for a start But Nadgett brought it quickly, 
 and, having lingered for a moment, fell back upon 
 his old post by the fire. 
 
 44 You see, my dear fellow," resumed Tigg, 
 
 44 you are too what's the matter with your lips 7 
 
 How while they are !" 
 
 44 1 took some vinegar just now," said Jonas. 
 44 1 had oysters for my breakfast Where are 
 they white ?" he added, muttering an oath, and 
 rubbing them upon his handkerchief. i4 I don't 
 believe they are white." 
 
 44 Now I look again, they are not," replied his 
 friend. 44 They are coming right again." 
 
 44 Say what you were going to say," cried 
 Jonas, angrily, u and let my face be ! As long as 
 I can show my teeth when I want to (and I can 
 do that pretty well,) the colour uf my lips is not 
 inut<rial." 
 
 44 Quite true," said Tigg ! ** [ was only going 
 to say that you are too qnick and active for our 
 friend. He is too shy to cope with such a man- aa 
 you, but docs his duty well. Oh very well ! But 
 what is a light sleeper ?" 
 
 44 Hang a light sleeper!" exclaimed Jonas, 
 pettishly. 
 
 44 No, no," interrupted tigg. ,4 No. We'll not 
 do that." 
 
 *' A light sleeper an't a br i - ?," said Jc 
 
232 
 
 LIFE AtfD ADVENTURES OF 
 
 in his sulky way : " don't sleep much, and don't 
 Bleep well, and don't sleep sound." 
 
 "And dreams," said Tigg, "and cries out in 
 an ugly manner ; and when the candle burns 
 down in the night, is in an agony ; and all that 
 sort of thing. 1 see !" 
 
 They were silent for a little time. Then Jonas 
 spoke : 
 
 " Now we 've done with child's talk, I want to 
 have a word with you. I want to have a word 
 with you before we meet up yonder to-day. I am 
 not satisfied with the state of affairs." 
 
 "Not satisfied!" cried Tigg. "The money 
 comes in well." 
 
 " The money comes in well enough," retorted 
 Jonas : " but it don't come out well enough. It 
 can't be got at, easily enough. I haven't suffi- 
 cient power ; it's all in your hands. Ecod ! what 
 with one of your bye-laws, and another of your 
 bye-laws, and your votes in this capacity, and 
 your votes in that capacity, and your official 
 rights, and your individual rights, and other peo- 
 ple's rights who are only you again, there are no 
 rights left for me. Everybody else's rights are 
 my wrongs. What 's the use of my having a 
 voice if it 's always drowned ? I might as well be 
 dumb, and it would be. much less aggravating. 
 I 'm not going to stand that, you know." 
 
 " No ?" said Tigg in an insinuating tone, 
 
 " No!" returned Jonas, " I 'm not indeed. I '11 
 pray old Gooseberry with the office, and make you 
 glad to buy me out at a good high figure, if you 
 try any of your tricks with me."" 
 
 " I give you my honour " Montague 
 
 began. 
 
 " Oh ! confound your honour," interrupted 
 Jonas, who became more coarse and quarrelsome 
 as the other remonstrated, which may have been 
 a part of Mr. Montague's intention: " I want a 
 little more control over the money. You may 
 have all the honour, if you like ; I '11 never bring 
 you to book for that. But I 'm not agoing to 
 stand it, as it is now. If you should take it into 
 your honourable head to go abroad with the bank, 
 I don't see much, to prevent you. Well ! That 
 won't do. I 've had some very good dinners here, 
 but they 'd come too dear on such terms : and 
 therefore, that won't do." 
 
 " I am unfortunate to find you in this humour," 
 said Tigg, with a remarkable kind of smile : "for 
 I was going to propose to you — for your own ad- 
 vantage ; solely for your own advantage — that 
 you should venture a little more with us." 
 
 " Was you, by G — ?" said Jonas, with a short 
 laugh. 
 
 " Yes. And to suggest," pursued Montague, 
 "that surely you have friends; indeed, I know 
 you have ; who would answer our purpose admi- 
 rably, and whom we should be delighted to re- 
 ceive." 
 
 " How kind of you ! You 'd be delighted to 
 receive 'em, would you ?" said Jonas, bantering. 
 
 " I give you my sacred honour, quite trans- 
 ported. As your friends, observe !" 
 
 " Exactly," said Jonas : " as my friends, of 
 course. You'll be very much delighted when 
 you get 'cm, I have no doubt. And it '11 be all 
 io my advantage, won't it ?" 
 
 " T t will be very much to your advantage," an- 
 swered Montague, poising a brush in each hand, 
 
 and looking steadily upon him. " It will be very 
 much to your advantage, I assure you." 
 
 " And you can tell me how," said Jonas, " Can't 
 you ?" 
 
 " Shall I tell you how ?" returned the other. 
 
 " I think you had better," said Jonas. " Strange 
 things have been done in the Insurance way 
 before now, by strange sorts of men, and I mean 
 to take care of myself." 
 
 "Chuzzlewit !" replied Montague, leaning for- 
 ward, witli his arms upon his knees, and looking 
 full into his face. "Strange things have been 
 done, and are done every day ; not only in our 
 way, but in a variety of other ways ; and nu one 
 suspects them. But ours, as you say, my good 
 friend, is a strange way ; and we strangely hap- 
 pen, sometimes, to come into the knowledge of 
 very strange events." 
 
 He beckoned to Jonas to bring his chair nearer; 
 and looking slightly round, a-s if to remind him 
 of the presence of Nadgett, whispered in his ear. 
 
 From red to white ; from white to red again ; 
 from red to yellow; then to a cold, dull, awful, 
 sweat-bedabbled blue. In that short whisper, all 
 these changes fell upon the face of Jonas Chuz- 
 zlewit ; and when at last he laid his hand upon 
 the whisperer's mouth, appalled, lest any syllable 
 of what he said should reach the ears of the third 
 person present, it was as bloodless, and as heavy 
 as the hand of Death. 
 
 He drew his chair away, and sat a spectacle 
 of terror, misery, and rage. He was afraid to 
 speak, or look, or move, or jsit still. Abject, 
 crouching, and miserable, he was a greater de- 
 gradation to the form he bore, than if he had been 
 a loathsome wound from head to heel. 
 
 His companion leisurely resumed his dressing, 
 and completed it, glancing sometimes with a smile 
 at the transformation he had effected, but never 
 speaking once. 
 
 " You '11 not object," he said, when he was 
 quite equipped, " to venture further with us, 
 Chuzzlewit, my friend ?" 
 
 His pale lir)s faintly stammered out a " No." 
 
 "Well said! That's like yourself. Do you 
 know, I was thinking yesterday that your father- 
 in-law, relying on your advice as a man of great 
 sagacity in money matters, as .no doubt you are, 
 would join us, if the thing were well presented to 
 him. He has money?" 
 
 " Yes, he has money." 
 
 "Shall I leave Mr. Pecksniff to you? Will 
 you undertake for Mr. Pecksniff?" 
 
 " I '11 try. I '11 do my best." 
 
 " A thousand thanks," replied the other, clap- 
 ping him upon the shoulder. " Shall we walk 
 down stairs ? Mr. Nadgett ! Follow us, if you 
 please." 
 
 They went down in that order. Whatever 
 Jonas felt in reference to Montague ; whatever 
 sense he had of being caged, and barred, and 
 trapped, and having fallen down into a pit of 
 deepest ruin; whatever thoughts came crowding 
 on his mind even at that early time, of one terri 
 ble chance of escape, of one red glimmer in a 
 sky of blackness ; he no more thought that the 
 slinking figure half a dozen stairs behind him 
 was his pursuing Fate, and that the other figure 
 at his side was his Good Angel. 
 
MARTIN CHUzjv ^WIT. 
 
 2^3 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIX. 
 
 CONTAINING SOME FURTHER PARTICULARS OF THE DOMESTIC ECONOMY 
 OF THE PIN' Mill STRANGE NEWS FROM THE CITY, NARROWLY 
 
 CONCERNING T< 
 
 Pleasant little Ruth ! Cheerful, tidy, hustling, 
 quiet little Ruth! No doll's-house ever yielded 
 
 Cter delight to its young mistress, than little 
 i dtriwd from her glorious dominion over the 
 triangular parlour and the two small bed-rooms. 
 
 To be Tom's housekeeper! What dignity! 
 Housekeeping, upon the commonest terms, asso- 
 ciated itself with elevated responsibilities of all 
 sorts and kinds ; but housekeeping for Tom, im- 
 plied the utmost complication of grave trusts and 
 mighty charges. Well might she take the keys 
 otit of the little chifibnnier which held the tea and 
 sugar; and out of the two little damp cupboards 
 down by the fire-place, where the very black bee- 
 tles got mouldy, and had the shine taken out of 
 their backs by envious mildew ; and jingle thern 
 upon a ring before Tom's eyes when he came 
 down to breakfast! Well might she, laughing 
 musically, put them up in that blessed little pocket 
 of her's with a merry pride ! For it was such a 
 grand novelty to be mistress of anything, that if 
 she had been the most relentless and despotic of 
 al! little housekeepers, she might have pleaded just 
 that much for her excuse, and have been honour- 
 ably acquitted. 
 
 So far from being despotic, however, there was 
 a coyness about her very way of pouring out the 
 tea, which Tom quite revelled in. And when she 
 asked him what he would like to have for dinner, 
 and faltered out "chops" as a reasonably good sug- 
 gestion after their last night's successful supper, 
 Tom grew quite facetious and rallied her despe- 
 rately. 
 
 44 I don't know Tom," said his sister, blushing, 
 "I am not quite confident, but I think I could 
 makt a beef-steak pudding, if I tried, Tom." 
 
 44 In the whole catalogue of cookery, there is 
 nothing I should like so much as a beefsteak pud- 
 ding!" cried Tom: slapping his leg to give the 
 greater force to this reply. 
 
 44 Yes, dear, that 's excellent ? But if it should 
 happen not to come quite right the first time," his 
 sister faltered; "if it should happen not to be a 
 pudding exactly, but should turn out a stew, or a 
 soup, or something of that sort, you'll not be 
 vexed Tom, will you ?" 
 
 The serious way in which she looked at Tom ; 
 the way in which Tom tooked at her; and the way 
 in which she gradually broke into a merry laugh 
 at her own expense ; would have enchanted you. 
 
 44 Why," said Tom, 44 this is capital. It gives 
 us a new, and quite an uncommon interest in the 
 dinner. We put into a lottery for a beef-steak 
 pudding, and it is impossible to say what we may 
 get We may make some wonderful discovery, 
 perhaps, and produce such a dish as never was 
 known before." 
 
 44 1 shall not be at all surprised if we do, Tom," 
 
 returned his sister, still laughing merrily, " or if 
 
 it should prove to be such a dish as we shall not 
 
 feel very anxious to produce again; but the meat 
 
 30 
 
 must come out of the saucepan at last, somehow 
 or other, you know. We can't cook it into no- 
 thing at all ; that 's a great comfort. So if you 
 like to venture, /will." 
 
 " I have not the least doubt," rejoined Tom, 
 44 that it will come out an excellent pudding; or 
 at all events, I am sure that I shall think it so. 
 There is naturally something so handy and brisk 
 about you, Ruth, that if you said you could make a 
 bowl of faultless turtle soup, I should believe you." 
 
 And Tom was right She was precisely that 
 sort of person. Nobody ought to have been able to 
 resist her coaxing manner ; and nobody had any 
 business to try. Yet she never seemed to know 
 it was her manner at all. That was the best of it 
 
 Well ! she washed up the breakfast cups, chat- 
 ting away the whole time, and telling Tom all 
 sorts of anecdotes about the brass and copper 
 founder; put everything in its place; made the 
 room as neat as herself; — you must not suppose 
 its shape was half as neat as her's though, or any- 
 thing like it ; and brushed Tom's old hat round 
 and round and round again, until it was as sleek 
 as Mr. Pecksniff. Then she discovered, all in a 
 moment tna t Tom's shirt-collar was frayed at the 
 edge ; and flying up stairs for a needle and thread, 
 came flying down again with her thimble on, and 
 set it right with wonderful expertness ; never once 
 sticking the needle into his face, although she was 
 humming his pet tune from first to last ar| d beat- 
 ing time with the fingers of her left hand upon 
 his neckcloth. She had no sooner done this, than 
 off she was again ; and there she stood once more, 
 as brisk and busy as a bee, tying that compact little 
 chin of her's into an equally compact little bonnet : 
 intent on bustling out to the butclipr's, without a 
 minute's loss of time ; and inviting Tom to come 
 and sec the steak cut with his own eyes. As to 
 Torn, he was ready to go anywhere : so off they 
 trotted, arm-in-arm, as nimbly as you please : saying 
 to each other what a quiet street it was to lodge-in, 
 and how very cheap, and what an airy situation. 
 
 To see the butcher slap the steak, before he laid 
 it on the block, and gave his knife a sharpening, 
 was to forget breakfast instantly. It was agree- 
 able, too — it really was — to see him cut it off, so 
 smooth and juicy. There was nothing savage in 
 the act although the knife was large and keen ; 
 it was a piece of art, high art ; there was delicacy 
 of touch, clearness of tone, skilful handling of the 
 subject, fine shading. It was the triumph of mind 
 over matter; quite. 
 
 Perhaps the greenest cabbage-leaf ever grown 
 in a garden was wrapped about this steak, before 
 it was delivered over to Tom. But the butcher had 
 a sentiment for his business, and knew how to 
 refine upon it When he saw Tom putting the 
 eabb«ge leaf into his pocket awkwardly, ho beg- 
 ged to be allowed to do it for him ; " for meat" 
 he said, with some emotion, " must be humoured. 
 not drove." 
 
234 
 
 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 Back they went to the lodgings again, after they 
 had bought some eggs, and flour, and such small 
 matters ; and Tom sat gravely down to write, at 
 one end of the parlour table, while Ruth prepared 
 to make the pudding, at the other end : for there 
 was nobody in the house but an old woman, (the 
 landlord being a mysterious sort of man, who 
 went out early in the morning, and was scarcely 
 ever seen) ; and, saving jn mere household drud- 
 gery, they waited on themselves. 
 
 44 What are you writing, Tom ?" inquired his 
 sister, laying her hand upon his shoulder. 
 
 44 Why, you see, my dear," said Tom, leaning 
 back in his chair, and looking up in her face, 44 1 
 am very anxious, of course, to obtain some suita- 
 ble employment; and, before Mr. Westlock comes 
 this afternoon, 1 think 1 may as well prepare a 
 little description of myself and my qualifications; 
 such as he could show to any friend of his." 
 
 44 You had better do the same for me, Tom, 
 also," said his sister, casting down her eyes. 44 1 
 should dearly like to keep house for you, and take 
 care of you, always, Tom ; but we are not rich 
 enough ior that." 
 
 44 We are not rich," returned Tom, " certainly ; 
 and we niay be much poorer. But we will not 
 part, if we can help it. No, no : we will make up 
 our minds, Ruth, that, unless we are so very un- 
 fortunate as to render me quite sure that you 
 would be better off" away from me than with me, 
 we will battle it out together. I am certain we 
 shall be happier if we can battle it out together. 
 Don't you think we shall ?" 
 
 44 Think, Tom !" 
 
 41 Oh, tut, tut !" interposed Tom, tenderly. 44 You 
 mustn't cry." 
 
 • 44 No, no ; I won't, Tom. But you can't afford 
 it, dear. You can't, indeed." 
 ' 4t W T e don't know that," said Tom. 44 How are 
 we to know that yet awhile, and without trying ? 
 Lord bless my soul 1" Tom's energy became quite 
 grand ; " There is no knowing what may happen, 
 if we try hard. And I am sure we can live con- 
 tentedly upon a very little — if we can only get it." 
 
 44 Yes : that I am sure we can, Tom." 
 
 41 W ; hy, then," said Tom, 44 we must try for it. 
 My friend, John W'estlock, is a capital fellow, and 
 very sh/ewd and intelligent. I '11 take his advice. 
 We Ml talk it over With him — both of us together. 
 You'll like John very much, when you come to 
 know him, I am certain. Don't cry, don't cry. 
 You make a beef-steak pudding, indeed !" said 
 Tom, giving her a gentle push. 44 Why, you 
 haven't boldness enough for a dumpling !" 
 
 44 You will call it a pudding, Tom. Mind ! I 
 told you not !" 
 
 44 1 may as well call it that, 'till it proves to be 
 something else," said Tom. 44 Oh, you are going 
 to work in earnest, are you ?" 
 
 Aye, aye ! That she was. And in such pleasant 
 earnest, moreover, that Tom's attention wandered 
 from his writing, every moment. First, she tripped 
 down stairs into the kitchen for the flour, then for 
 tht pie-board, then for the eggs, then for the but- 
 ter, then for a jug of water, then for the rolling- 
 pin, then for a pudding-basin, then for the pepper, 
 then for .the salt: making a separate journey for 
 everything, and laughing every time she started 
 ofT afresh. When all the materials were collected, 
 she was horrified to find she had no anron on. 
 
 [ and so ran vp stairs, by way of variety, to fetch 
 I it. She didn't put it on up stairs, but came dancing 
 1 down with it in her hand ; and being one of those 
 ' little women to whom an apron is a most becom- 
 1 ing little vanity, it took an immense time to ar- 
 | range ; having to be carefully smoothed down 
 ; beneath — Oh, heaven, what a wicked little sto- 
 i macher ! — and to be gathered up into little plaits 
 by the strings before it could be tied, and to be 
 tapped, rebuked, and wheedled, at the pockets, 
 before it would set right, which at last it did, and 
 when it did — but never mind ; this is a sober 
 chronicle ; Oh, never mind ! And then there were 
 her cuffs to be tucked up, for fear of flour ; and 
 she had a little ring to pull off her finger, which 
 wouldn't come off (foolish little ring !) ; and dur- 
 ing the whole of these preparations she looked 
 demurely every now and then at Tom, from un- 
 der her dark eye-lashes, as if they were all a part 
 of the pudding, and indispensable to its composi- 
 tion. 
 
 For the life and soul of him, Tom could get no 
 further in his writing than, 44 A respectable young 
 man aged thirty-five," and this, notwithstanding 
 the show she made of being supernaturally quiet, 
 and going about on tiptoe, lest she. should disturb 
 him : which only served as an additional means 
 of distracting his attention, and keeping it upon 
 her. 
 
 44 Tom," she said at last, in high glee. 44 Tom !" 
 44 What now ?" said Tom, repeating to himself, 
 44 aged thirty-five !" 
 
 44 Will you look here a moment, please ?" 
 As if he hadn't been looking all the time ! 
 44 1 am going to begin, Tom. Don't you won- 
 der why I butter the inside of the basin ?" said 
 his busy little sister. 44 Eh, Tom ?" 
 
 44 Not more than you do, I dare say," replied 
 Tom, laughing. 44 For I believe you don't know 
 anything about it." 
 
 44 What an infidel you are, Tom ! How else do 
 you think it would turn out easily when it was 
 done ? For a civil-engineer and land-surveyor not 
 j to know that. My goodness, Tom !" 
 
 It was wholly out of the question to try tc 
 ; write. Tom lined out 44 A respectable young 
 j man, aged thirty-five ;" and sat looking on, pen 
 ! in hand, with one of the most loving smiles ima- 
 ginable. 
 
 Such a busy little woman as she was ! So full 
 1 of self-importance, and trying so hard not to smile, 
 1 or seem uncertain about anything ! It was a per- 
 ; feet treat to Tom to see her with her brows knit, 
 i and her rosy lips pursed up, kneading away at the 
 I crust, rolling it out, cutting it up into strips, lining 
 I the basin with it, shaving it off fine round the 
 I rim ; chopping up the steak into srriall pieces, 
 j raining down pepper and salt upon them, packing 
 I them into the basin, pouring in cold water for 
 gravy ; and never venturing to steal a look in his 
 [ direction, lest her gravity should be disturbed ; 
 ! until at last, the basin being quite full and only 
 ! wanting the top crust, she clapped her hands, all 
 1 covered with paste and flour, at Tom, and burst 
 out heartily into such a charming little laugh of 
 triumph, that the pudding need have had no other 
 seasoning to commend it to the taste of any rea- 
 sonable man on earth. 
 
 44 Where 's the pudding?" said Tom. For he 
 | was cutting his jokes, Tom was. 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 
 
 44 Where !" she answered, holding it up with 
 ooth hands. " Look at it !" 
 
 « That a pudding!" said Tom. 
 
 44 It will be, you stupid fellow, when it *» cover- 
 ed in," returned his sinter. Tom still pretending 
 to look incredulous, she gave him a tap on the 
 head with the rolling-pin, and still laughing mer- 
 rily, had returned to the composition of the t..->- 
 crust, when she started and turned very red. 
 Tom started, too, for following her eyes, he saw 
 John Westlock in the room. 
 
 ** Why, my goodness, John ! How did you 
 come in 7" 
 
 44 1 beg pardon," said John — 44 your sister's 
 pardon especially : but I met an old lady at the 
 street door, who requested me to enter here ; and 
 as you didn't hear me knock, and the door was 
 I made bold to do so. I hardly know," said 
 John, with a smile, 4t why any of us should be 
 disconcerted at my having accidentally intruded 
 upon such an agreeable domestic occupation, so 
 very agreeably and skilfully pursued; but I must 
 confess that / am. Tom, will you kindly come to 
 ray relief 7" 
 
 44 Mr. John Westlock," said Tom. u My sister." 
 
 44 1 hope, that as the sister of so old a friend," 
 said John, laughing*, * 4 you will have the goodness 
 tq detach your first impressions of me from my 
 anfortunate entrance." 
 
 44 My sister is not indisposed perhaps to say the 
 same to you on her own behalf," retorted Tom. 
 
 John said, of course, that this was quite unne- 
 cessary, for he had been transfixed in silent ad- 
 miration ; and he held out his hand to Miss Pinch ; 
 who couldn't take it, however, by reason of the 
 flour and paste upon her own. This, which might 
 seem calculated to increase the general confusion 
 and render matters worse, had in reality the best 
 effect in the world, for neither of them could help 
 laughing; and so they both found themselves on 
 easy terms immediately. 
 
 u I am delighted to see you," said Tom. " Sit 
 down." 
 
 44 1 can only think of sitting down, on one con* 
 dition," returned his friend : 44 and that is, that 
 your sister goes on with the pudding, as if you 
 were still alone." 
 
 "That I am sure she will," said Tom. M On 
 one other condition, and that is, that you stay and 
 help us to eat it." 
 
 Poor little Ruth was seized with a palpitation 
 of the heart when Tom committed this appalling 
 indiscretion, for she felt that if the dish turned out 
 a failure, she never would be able to hold up her 
 head before John Westlock ajjain. Quite uncon- 
 scious of her state of mind, John accepted the in- 
 vitation with all imaginable heartiness; and after 
 a little more pleasantry concerning this Bame 
 pudding, and the tremendous expectations he 
 made belief to entertain of it, she blushingly re- 
 sumed her occupation, and he took a chair. 
 
 44 I am hen much earlier than I intended, 
 Tom ; I. ut I will tell you what brings me, and I 
 think I can answer for your being glad to hear it. 
 is that anything you wish to show me 7" 
 
 44 Oh dear no!" cried Tom, who had fb/fOtten 
 the blotted scrap of pajn-r in his hand, until this 
 inquiry brought it to his recollection. " 4 A rc- 
 sneotable young man, aged thirty-five' — The be- 
 giiinin:' ofa description of myself. That's all." 
 
 44 1 don't think you will have occasion to finish 
 
 it, Tom. But how is it, you never told me you 
 had friends in London 7" 
 
 Tom looked at his sister with all his might ; and 
 certainly his sister looked with all her might at 
 him. 
 
 44 Friends in London !" echoed Tom. 
 
 " Ah !" said Westlock, » 4 to be sure." 
 
 " Bare you any friends in London, Ruth, ray 
 dear ?" asked Tom. 
 
 44 No, Ton.." 
 
 44 1 am very happy to hear that / have," said 
 Tom, ** but it *s news to me. I never knew it 
 They must be capital people to keep a? secret, 
 John." 
 
 44 You shall judge for yourself," returned the 
 other. "Seriously, Tom, here is the phin stale 
 of the case. As I was sitting at breakfast this 
 morning, there comes a knock at my door." 
 
 44 On which you cried out, very loud, 'Come 
 in !' " suggested Tom. 
 
 44 So I did. And the person who knocked, not 
 being a respectable young man aged thirty-five, 
 from the country, came in when he was invited, 
 Tom, instead of standing gaping and staring 
 about him on the landing. Well ! when he came 
 in, I found he was a stranger ; a grave, business. 
 like, sedate-looking, stranger. • Mr. Westlock ?' 
 said he. 4 That is my name,' said I. 4 The favour 
 of a few words with you 7' said he. 4 Pray be 
 seated, sir,' said I." 
 
 Here John stopped for an instant, to glance to- 
 wards the table, where Tom's sister, listening 
 attentively, was still busy with the basin, which 
 by this time made a noble appearance. Then he 
 resumed :' 
 
 44 The pudding having taken a chair, Torn" — 
 
 44 What!" cried Tom. 
 
 44 Having taken a chair." 
 
 44 You said a pudding." 
 
 44 No, no," replied John, colouring rather ; * a 
 chair. The idea of a stranger coming into my 
 rooms at half-past eight o'clock in the morning, 
 and taking a pudding! Having taken a chair, 
 Tom, a chair — amazed me by opening the con- 
 versation thus : 4 1 believe you are acquainted, 
 sir, with Mr. Thomas Pinch 7' " 
 
 44 No !" cried Tom. 
 
 44 His very words, I assure you. I told him 
 that I was. Did I know where you were at pre- 
 sent residing ? Yes. In London 7 Yes. He 
 had casually heard, in a roundabout way, that 
 you had left your situation with Mr. Pecksniff. 
 Was that the iact 7 Yes, it was. Did you want 
 another? Yes, you did." 
 
 "Certainly," said Tom, nodding his head. 
 
 44 Just what I impressed uj>on him. You' may 
 rest assured that I set that point beyond the pos- 
 sibility of any mistake, and gave him distinctly 
 to understand that he mt?ht make up his mind 
 about it Very well. 4 Then,' said he, * I think 
 I can accommodate him.' " 
 
 Tom's sister stopped short. 
 
 "Lord bless me!" cried Tom. "Ruth, my 
 dear, 4 think I can accommodate him.' ** 
 
 44 Of course I begged him," pursued John West 
 lock, glancing at Tom's sister, who was not tee* 
 eager nn her interest than Tom himself, "to pro- 
 ceed, and said that I would undertake to see you 
 immediately. He replied that he had very little 
 to say, being a man of few words, jui such as it 
 was, it was to the purpose * and so indeed, it 
 
236 
 
 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 turned out r for he immediately went on to tell 
 me that a friend of his was in want of a kind of 
 secretary and librarian ; and although the salary 
 was small, being only a hundred pounds a year, 
 with neither board nor lodging, still the duties 
 were not heavy, and there the post was. Vacant, 
 and ready for your acceptance." 
 
 " Good gracious me 1" cried Tom ; " a hundred 
 pounds a year I My dear John ! Ruth, my love ! 
 A hundred pounds a year!" 
 
 " But the strangest part of the story," resumed 
 John VVestlock r laying his hand on Tom's wrist, 
 to bespeak his attention, and repress his ecstacies 
 for the moment : " the strangest part of the story, 
 Miss Pinch, is this. I don't know this man from 
 Adam ; neither does this man know Tom." 
 
 " He can't," said Tom, in great perplexity, " if 
 he 's a Londoner. I don't know any one in Lon- 
 don." 
 
 " And on my observing," John resumed, still 
 keeping his hand upon Tom's wrist, " that I had 
 xio doubt he would excuse the freedom I took, in 
 inquiring who directed him to me; how he came 
 to know of the change which had taken place in 
 my friend's position ; and how he came to be ac- 
 quainted with my friend's peculiar fitness for such 
 an office as he had described ; he drily said that 
 he was not at liberty to enter into any explana- 
 tions." 
 
 " Not. at liberty to enter into any explanations !" 
 repeated Tom, drawing a long breath. 
 
 " ' I must be perfectly aware,' he said," John 
 added, " ' that to any person who had ever been 
 in Mr. Pecksniff's neighbourhood, Mr. Thomas 
 Pinch, and his acquirements were as well known 
 as the Church steeple, or the Blue Dragon.' " 
 
 " The Blue Dragon !" replied Tom, staring al- 
 ternately at his friend and his sister. 
 
 " Aye ; think of that ! He spoke as familiarly 
 of the Blue Dragon, I give you my word, as if he 
 had been Mark Tapley. I opened my ey'es, I can 
 tell you, when he did so ; but I could not fancy I 
 had ever seen the man before, although he said 
 with a smile, ' You know the Blue Dragon, Mr. 
 Westlock ; you kept it up there, once or twice, 
 yourself.' Kept it up there! So I did. You re- 
 member, Tom ?" 
 
 Tom nodded with great significance, and, fall- 
 ing into a state of deeper perplexity than before, 
 observed that this was the most unaccountable and 
 extraordinary circumstance he had ever heard of 
 in his life. 
 
 " Unaccountable !" his friend repeated. " I be- 
 came afraid of the man. Though it was broad 
 day, and bright sunshine, I was positively afraid 
 of him. I declare I half suspected him to be a 
 supernatural visitor, and not a mortal, until he 
 took out a common-place description of pocket- 
 book, and handed me this card." 
 
 " Mr. Fips," said Tom, reading it aloud. " Aus- 
 tin Friars. Austin Friars sounds ghostly, John." 
 
 " Fips don't, I think," was John's reply. " But 
 ihere he lives, Tom, and there he expects us to 
 call this morning. And now you know as much 
 of this strange incident as I do, upon my honour." 
 
 Tom's face, between his exultation in the hun- 
 dred pounds a year, and his wonder at this narra- 
 Vion, was only to be equalled by the face of his 
 pister, on which there sit the very best expression 
 of blooming surprise that any painter could have 
 «*iened to see. What the beef-steak pudding 
 
 would have come to, if it had not been by this time 
 finished, astrology itself could hardly determine, 
 
 "Tom," said Ruth, after a little hesitation, 
 " Perhaps Mr. Westlock, in his friendship for you, 
 knows more of this than he chooses to tell. 
 
 "No, indeed !" cried John, eagerly. " It is not 
 so, I assure you. I wish it were. I cannot take 
 credit to myself, Miss Pinch, for any such thing. 
 All that I know, or so far as I can judge, am 
 likely to know, I have told you." 
 
 " Couldn 't you know more if you thought pro- 
 per !" said Ruth, scraping the pie-board industri- 
 ously. 
 
 " No," retorted John. " Indeed, no. It is very 
 ungenerous in you, to be so suspicious of me, 
 when I repose implicit faith in you. I have un- 
 bounded confidence in the pudding, Miss Pinch." 
 
 She laughed at this, but they soon got back into 
 a serious vein, and discussed the subject with pro- 
 found gravity. Whatever else was obscure in the 
 business, it appeared to be quite plain that Tom 
 was offered a' salary of one hundred pounds a 
 year ; and this being the main point, the surround- 
 ing obscurity rather set it off than otherwise. 
 
 Tom, being in a great flutter, wished to start 
 for Austin Friars instantly, but they waited nearly 
 an hour, by John's advice, before they departed. 
 Tom made himself as spruce as he could before 
 leaving home, and when John Westlock, through 
 the half-opened parlour door, had glimpses of that 
 brave little sister brushing the collar of his coat in 
 the passage, taking up loose stitches in his gloves, 
 and hovering lightly about and about him, touch- 
 ing him up here and there in the height of her 
 quaint, little, old-fashioned tidiness, he called to 
 mind the fancy-portraits of her on the wall of the 
 Pecksniffian work-room, and decided with uncom- 
 mon indignation that they were gross libels, and 
 not half pretty enough : though, as hath been 
 mentioned in its place, the artists always made 
 those sketches beautiful, and he had drawn at least 
 a score of them with his own hands. 
 
 " Tom," he said, as they were walking along, 
 " I begin to think you must be somebody's son." 
 
 " I suppose I am," Tom answered in his quiet 
 way. 
 
 " But I mean somebody's of consequence." 
 
 " Bless your heart," replied Tom. " My poor 
 father was of no consequence, nor my mother 
 either." 
 
 " You remember them perfectly, then ?" 
 
 "Remember them? oh dear, yes. My poor 
 mother was the last. She died when Ruth was a 
 mere baby, and then we both became a charge 
 upon the savings of that good old grandmother I 
 used to tell you of. You remember ! Oh ! There 's 
 nothing romantic in our history, John." 
 
 " Very well," said John in quiet despair. " Then 
 there is no way of accounting for my visitor of this 
 morning. So we '11 not try, Tom." 
 
 They did try notwithstanding, and never left 
 off trying until they got to Austin Friars, where, 
 in a very dark passage on the first floor, oddly 
 situated at the back of a house, across some leads, 
 they found a little blear-eyed glass door up in one 
 corner, with Mr. Fips painted on it in characters 
 which were meant to be transparent. There was 
 also a wicked old sideboard hiding in the gloom 
 hard by, meditating designs upon the ribs of visit- 
 ors ; and an old mat, worn into lattice work, 
 which, being useless as a mat (even if anybody 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 
 
 237 
 
 could have seen it, which was impossible), had for 
 many years directed its industry into another 
 channel, and regularly tripped up every one of 
 Mr. Fips's clients. 
 
 Mr. Fips, hearing a violent concussion between 
 a human hat and his office door, was apprised, by 
 the usual means of communication, that some- 
 body had come to call ii|>on him, and giving that 
 somebody admission, observed that it was " ra- 
 ther 4ark." 
 
 44 Dark indeed," John whispered in Tom Pinch's 
 ear. "Not a bad place to dispose of a country- 
 man in, I should think, Tom." 
 
 Tom had been already turning over in his mind 
 the possibility of their having been tempted into 
 that region to furnish forth a pie; but the sight 
 of Mr. Fips, who was small and spare, and looked 
 peaceable, and wore black shorts and powder, dis- 
 pelled his doubts. 
 
 44 Walk in," said Mr. Fips. 
 
 They walked in And a mighty yellow-jaun- 
 diced little office Mr. Fips had of it : with a great, 
 black, sprawling splash upon the floor in one cor- 
 ner, as if some old clerk had cut his throat there, 
 years ago, and had let out ink instead of blood. 
 
 14 1 have brought my friend Mr. Pinch, sir," 
 •aid John Westlock. 
 
 44 Be pleased to sit," said Mr. Fips. 
 
 They occupied the two chairs, and Mr. Fips took 
 the office stool, from the stuffing whereof he drew 
 forth a piece of horsehair of immense length, which 
 he put into his mouth with a great appearance of 
 appetite. 
 
 He looked at Tom Pinch curiously, but with an 
 entire freedom from any such expression as could 
 be reasonably construed into an unusual display of 
 interest. After a short silence, during which Mr. 
 Fips was so perfectly unembarrassed as to render 
 it manifest that he could have broken it sooner 
 without hesitation, if he had felt inclined to do so, 
 he asked if Mr. Westlock had made his offer fully 
 known to Mr. Pinch. 
 
 John answered in the affirmative. 
 
 44 And you think it worth your while, sir, do 
 you ?" Mr. Fips inquired of Tom. 
 
 44 1 think it a piece of great good fortune, sir," 
 aaid Tom. ** I am exceedingly obliged to you for 
 the offer." 
 
 44 Not to me," said Mr. Fips. " I act upon in- 
 structions." 
 
 44 To your friend, sir, then," said Tom. u To the 
 gentleman with whom I am to engage, and whose 
 confidence I shall endeavour to deserve. When 
 he knows me better, sir, I hope he will not lose 
 his good opinion of me. He will find me punctual 
 and vigilant, and anxious to do what is right. That 
 I think I ean answer for, and so," looking towards 
 him, "c.-.n Mr. Westlock." 
 
 ^Most assuredly," said John. 
 
 Mr. Fips appeared to have some little difficulty 
 in resuming the conversation. To relieve himself, 
 he took up the wafer-stamp, and began stamping 
 capital Ps all over his legs. 
 
 **Thc fact is," said Mr. Fips, " thnt my friend 
 f> is not, at this present moment, in town." 
 
 Tom s countenance fell ; for he thought this 
 equivalent to telling him thnt his appearance did 
 not answer ; and that Fips must look out for some- 
 body else. 
 
 44 When do you think he will be in town, sir ?" 
 be asked 
 
 44 1 can't say; it's impossible to tell. I really 
 have no idea. But," said Fips, taking off a very 
 deep impression of the wafer-stamp upon the calf 
 of his left leg, and looking steadily at Tom, 4 ' I 
 don't know that it's a matter of much consequence.'* 
 
 Poor Tom inclined his head deferentially, but 
 appeared to doubt that. 
 
 44 1 say," repeated Mr. Pips, ** that I don't know 
 it's a matter of much consequence. The business 
 lies entirely between yourself and me, Mr. Pinch. 
 With reference to your duties, I can set you going; 
 and with reference to your salary, I can pay it 
 Weekly," said Mr. Fips, putting down the wafer, 
 stamp, and looking at John Westlock and Tom 
 Pinch by turns, 44 weekly ; in this office ; at any 
 time between the hours of four and five o'clock in 
 the afternoon." As Mr. Fips said this, he made 
 up his face as if he were going to whistle. But 
 he didn't. 
 
 44 You are very good," said Tom, whose coun- 
 tenance was suffused with pleasure: "and no- 
 thing can be more satisfactory or straightforward. 
 My attendance will be required — " 
 
 44 From half-past nine to four o'clock or so, 1 
 should say," interrupted Mr. Fips. " About that - " 
 
 44 1 did not mean the hours of attendance," re- 
 torted Tom, "which are light and easy, I am sure; 
 but the place." 
 
 " Oh, the place ! The place is in the Temple." 
 
 Tom was delighted. 
 
 44 Perhaps," said Mr. Fips, " you would like to 
 see the place ?" 
 
 " Oh dear !" cried Tom. " I shall only be too 
 glad to Consider my self engaged, if you will allow 
 me ; without any further reference to the place." 
 
 44 You may consider yourself engaged, by all 
 means," said Mr. Fips : " you could n't meet me 
 at the Temple-Gate in Fleet-street, in an hour 
 from this time, I suppose, could you ?" 
 
 Certainly Tom could. 
 
 "Good," said Mr. Fips, rising. "Then I will 
 show you the place ; and you can begin your at- 
 tendance to-morrow morning. In an hour, there- 
 fore. I shall see you, too, Mr. Westlock ? Very 
 good. Take care how you go. It 's rather dark." 
 
 With this remark, which seemed superfluous, 
 he shut them out upon the staircase, and they 
 groped their way into the street again. 
 
 The interview had done so little to remove the 
 mystery in which Tom's new engagement was 
 involved, and had done so much to thicken it, that 
 neither could help smiling at the puzzled looks of 
 the other. They agreed, however, that the intro- 
 duction of Tom to his new office and office com- 
 panions could hardly fail to throw a light upon the 
 subject; and therefore postponed its further con- 
 sideration until after the fulfilment of the appoint, 
 ment tbey had made with Mr. Fips. 
 
 After looking in at John Westlock's chambers, 
 and devoting a few spare minutes to the Boar's 
 Head, they issued forth again to the place of meet- 
 ing. The time agreed upon had not quite come, 
 but Mr. Fips was already at the Temple-Gate, and 
 expressed his satisfaction at their punctuality. 
 
 He led the way through sundry lanes and 
 courts, into one more quiet and more gloomy thar. 
 the rest, and, singling out a certain house, ascend- 
 ed a common staircase; taking from his pocket, 
 as he went, a bunch of rusty keys. Stopping be- 
 fore a door upon an upper story, which had no- 
 thing but a yellow smear of paint where custom 
 
238 
 
 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 would have placed the tenant's name, he began to 
 beat the dust out of one of these keys, very delibe- 
 rately, upon the great broad hand-rail of the balus- 
 trade. 
 
 " You had better have a little plug made," he 
 said, looking round at Tom, after blowing a shrill 
 whistle into the barrel of the key. " It 's the only 
 way of preventing them from getting stopped up. 
 You'll find the lock go the better, too, I dare say, 
 for a little oil." 
 
 Tom thanked him, but was too much occupied 
 with his own speculations, and John Westlock's 
 looks, to be very talkative. In the mean time, 
 Mr. Fips opened the door, which yielded to his 
 hand very unwillingly, and with a horribly dis- 
 cordant sound. He took the key out when he had 
 done so, and gave it to Tom. 
 
 " Aye, aye !" said Mr. Fips. " The dust lies 
 rather thick here." 
 
 Truly, it did. Mr. Fips might have gone so far 
 as to say, very thick. It had accumulated every- 
 where, lay deep on everything, and in one part, 
 where a ray of sun shone through a crevice in the 
 shutter and struck upon the opposite wall, it went 
 twirling round and round like a gigantic squirrel- 
 cage. 
 
 Dust was the only thing in the place that had 
 any motion about it. When their conductor ad- 
 mitted the light freely, and, lifting up the heavy 
 window-sash, let in the summer air, he showed the 
 mouldering furniture, discoloured wainscoting and 
 ceiling, rusty stove and ashy hearth, in all their 
 inert neglect. Close to the door there stood a 
 candlestick, with an extinguisher upon it, as if the 
 last man who had been there had paused, after 
 securing a retreat, to take a parting look at the 
 dreariness he left behind, and then had shut out 
 light and life together, and closed the place up 
 like a tomb. 
 
 There were two rooms on that floor ; and in the 
 first or outer one a narrow staircase, leading to 
 two more above. These last were fitted up as 
 bed-chambers. Neither in them, nor in the rooms 
 below, was any scarcity of convenient furniture 
 observable, although the fittings were of a by-gone 
 fashion ; but solitude and want of use seemed to 
 have rendered it unfit for any purposes of com- 
 fort, and to have given it a grisly, haunted air. 
 . Movables of every kind lay strewn about, with- 
 out the least attempt at order, and were intermixed 
 with boxes, hampers, and all sorts of lumber. On 
 all the floors were piles of books, to the amount 
 perhaps of some thousands of volumes : these still 
 in bales ; those wrapped in paper, as they had 
 been purchased ; others scattered singly or in 
 heaps; not one upon the shelves which fined the 
 walls. To these, Mr. Fips called Tom's atten- 
 tion. 
 
 "Before anything else can be done, we must 
 have them put in order, catalogued, and ranged 
 upon the book-shelves, Mr. Pinch. That will do 
 to begin with, I think, sir." 
 
 Tom rubbed his hands in the pleasant anticipa- 
 tion of a task so congenial to his taste, and said: 
 
 "An occupation full of interest for me, I assure 
 you. It will occupy me, perhaps, until Mr. " 
 
 " Until Mr. " repeated Fips, as much as to 
 
 ask Tom what he was stopping for. 
 
 " I forgot that you had not mentioned the gen- 
 tk'man's name," said Tom. 
 
 44 Oh !" cried Mr. Fips, pulling on his glove, 
 
 " didn't I ?" No, by-the-bye, I don't think I did. 
 Ah ! I dare say he '11 be here soon. You will get 
 on very well together, I have no doubt. I wish 
 you success, I am sure. You won't forget to shut 
 the door? It'll lock of itself, if you slam it. Half- 
 past nine, you know. Let us say from half-past 
 nine to four, or half-past four, or thereabouts ; one 
 day perhaps a little earlier, another day perhaps a 
 little later, according as you feel disposed, and as 
 you arrange your work. Mr. Pips, Austin Friars, 
 of course you '11 remember ? And you won't for- 
 get to slam the door, if you please ?" 
 
 He said all this in such a comfortable, easy 
 manner, that Tom could only rub his hands, and 
 nod his head, and smile in acquiescence, which 
 he was still doing, when Mr. Fips walked coolly 
 out. 
 
 " Why, he 's gone," cried Tom. 
 
 " And what 's more, Tom," said John West- 
 lock, seating himself upon a pile of books, and 
 looking up at his astonished friend, " he is evi- 
 dently not coming back again ; so here you are 
 installed. Under rather singular circumstances, 
 Tom !" 
 
 It was such an odd affair throughout, and Tom 
 standing there among the books with his hat in 
 one hand and the key in the other, looked so pro- 
 digiously confounded, that his friend could not 
 help laughing heartily. Tom himself was tickled, 
 no less by the hilarity of his friend, than by the 
 recollection of the sudden manner in which he 
 had been brought to u stop, in the very height of 
 his urbane conference with Mr. Fips ; so by de- 
 grees Tom burst out laughing too, and, each 
 making the other laugh more, they fairly roared. 
 
 When they had had their laugh out, which did 
 not happen very soon, for, give John an inch in 
 that way, and he was sure to take several ells, 
 being a jovial, good-tempered fellow, they looked 
 about them more closely, groping among the lum- 
 ber for any stray means of enlightenment that 
 might turn up. But no scrap or shred of inform 
 ation could they find. The books were marked 
 with a variety of owners' names, having no doubt 
 been bought at sales, and collected here and there 
 at different times ; but whether any one of these 
 names belonged to Tom's employer, and, if so, 
 which of them, they had no means whatever of 
 determining. It occurred to John as a very bright 
 thought, to make inquiry at the steward's office, 
 to whom the chambers belonged, or by whom they 
 were held; but he came back no wiser than he 
 went, the answer being, " Mr. Fips, of Austin 
 Friars." 
 
 " After all, Tom, I begin to think it lies no 
 deeper than this. Fips is an eccentric man, has 
 some knowledge of Pecksniff, despises him of 
 course, has heard or seen enough of you to know 
 that you are the man he wants, and engages you 
 in his own whimsical manner." 
 
 " But why in his own whimsical manner ?'* 
 asked Tom. 
 
 " Oh ! why does any man entertain his own 
 whimsical taste? Why does Mr. Fips wear shorts 
 and powder, and Mr. Fips's next door neighbour 
 boots and a wig ?" 
 
 Tom, being in that state of mind in which any 
 explanation is a great relief, adopted this last one 
 (which indeed was quite as feasible as any other) 
 readily, and said he had no doubt of it. Nor was 
 his faith at all shaken by his having said exactly 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 
 
 239 
 
 the same thing to each suggestion of his friend's 
 in turn, and being perfectly ready to nay it again 
 if lit- had had any new solution to propose. 
 
 As he had not, Tom drew down the window 
 sash, and folded the shutter; and they left the 
 rooms. He closed the door heavily, as Mr. Fips 
 had desired him ; tried it, found it all fast, and 
 put the key in his poc* 
 
 They made a pretty wide circuit in going: back 
 to Islington, as they had time to spare ; and Tom 
 was never tired of looking about him. It was 
 well he had John Westlock for his companion, for 
 most people would have been weary of his per- 
 petual stoppages at shop-windows, and his fre- 
 quent dashes* into the crowded carriage-way at the 
 peril of his life, to get the better view of church- 
 I, and other public buildings. But John 
 was charmed to see him so much interested, and 
 every time Tom came back with a beaming face 
 from among the wheels of carts and hackney- 
 coaches, wholly unconscious of the personal con- 
 gratulations addressed to him by the drivers, John 
 seemed to like him better than before. 
 
 There was no flour on Ruth's hands when she 
 received them in the triangular parlour, but there 
 were pleasant smiles upon her face, and a crowd 
 of welcomes shining out of every one, and gleam- 
 ing in her bright eyes. By-the-bye, how bright 
 they were ! Looking into them for but a moment, 
 when you took her hand, you saw in each such a 
 capital miniature of yourself, representing you as 
 such a restless, flashing, eager, brilliant little 
 fellow — 
 
 Ah ! if you could only have kept them for your 
 own miniature ! But wicked, roving, restless, too 
 impartial eyes, it was enough for any one to stand 
 before them, and straightway, there he danced 
 and sparkled quite as merrily as you. 
 
 The table was already spread for dinner ; and 
 though it was spread with nothing very choice in 
 the way of glass or linen, and with green-handled 
 knives, and very mountebanks of two-pronged 
 forks, which seemed to be trying how far asunder 
 they could possibly stretch their legs, without 
 converting themselves into double the number of 
 iron toothpicks ; it wanted neither damask, silver, 
 gold, nor china : no, nor any other garniture at 
 aJl. There it was : and, being there, nothing else 
 would have done as well. 
 
 The success of that initiative dish — that first 
 experiment of hers in cookery — was so entire, so 
 unalloyed and perfect, that John Westlock 'and 
 Tom agreed she must have been studying the art 
 in secret for a long time past; and urged her to 
 make a full confession of the fact. They were 
 c ccedinifly merry over this jest, and many smart 
 tnings were said concerning it ; but John was not 
 as fair in his behaviour. ns might have been ex- 
 pected, for, after luring Tom Pinch on for a long 
 time, he suddenly went over to the enemy, and 
 
 swore everything his sister said. However, at 
 Tom observed the same night before going to bed, 
 it was only in joke, and John had always been 
 famous for being polite to ladies, even when he 
 was quite a boy. Ruth said, " Oh ! indeed !" She 
 didn't say anything else. 
 
 . It is astonishing how much three people may 
 find to talk about. They scarcely left oft' talking 
 once. And it was not all lively chat which occu- 
 pied them ; for when Tom related how he had 
 Been Mr. Pecksniff's daughlers,and what a change 
 had fallen on the younger, they were very serious. 
 
 John Westlock became quite absorbed in her 
 fortunes; asking many questions of Tom Pinch 
 about her marriage, inquiring whether her hus- 
 band was the gentleman whom Tom had brought 
 to dine with him at Salisbury ; in what degree of 
 relationship they stood towards each other, being 
 different persons; and taking, in short, the great- 
 est interest in the subject. Tom then went into 
 it, at full length ; he told how Martin had gone 
 abroad, and had not been heard of for a long time; 
 how Dragon Mark had borne him company ; how 
 Mr. Pecksniff had got the poor old doting grand- 
 father into his power ; and how he basely sought 
 the hand of Mary Graham. But not a word said 
 Tom of what lay hidden in his heart; his heart, 
 6o deep, and true, and full of honour, and yet 
 with so much room for every gentle and unselfish 
 thought; not a word. 
 
 Tom, Tom ! The man in all this world most 
 confident in his sagacity and shrewdness; the 
 man in all this world most proud of his distrust 
 of other men, and having most to show in gold 
 and silver as the gains belonging to his creed ; the 
 meekest favourer of that wise doctrine, Every man 
 for himself, and God for ns all (there being high 
 wisdom in the thought that the Eternal Majesty 
 of Heaven ever was, or can be, on the side of 
 selfish lust and love !) : shall never find— oh, nevei 
 find, be sure of that — the time come home to him, 
 when all his wisdom is an idiot's folly, weighed 
 against a simple heart! 
 
 Well, well, Tom, it was simple, too, though 
 simple in a different way, to be so eager, touching 
 that same theatre, of which John said, when tea 
 was done, he had the absolute command, so far 
 as taking parties in without the payment of a six- 
 pence, was concerned ; and simpler yet, perhaps, 
 never to suspect that when he went in first, alone, 
 he paid the money ! Simple in thee, dear Tom, 
 to laugh and cry so heartily, at such a sorry show 
 so poorly shown ; simple, to be so happy and lo 
 quacious trudging home with Ruth ; simple, to be 
 so surprised to find that merry present of a cook. 
 ery-book, awaiting her in the parlour next morn 
 ing, with the beefsteak-pudding-leaf turned down, 
 and blotted out There ! Let the record stand ! 
 Thy quality of soul was simple, simple ; quite 
 contemptible, Tom Pinch ! 
 
 CHAPTER XL. 
 
 THE PINCIliv> MAKE A NEW ACQUAINTANCE, AND HAVE FRESH OCCASION 
 FOR SURPRISE AND WONDER. 
 
 Iukre was a ghostly air about these uninhabit- I he shut his door at Islington, he turned his f.ic* 
 
 ed chambers in the Temple, and attending every towards an atmosphere of unaccountable fascina- 
 
 circumstance of Tom's employment there, which tion.as surely as he turned it to the London smoke; 
 
 trange charm in it Every morning when ! and from that moment, it thickened rn.i.--» -nd 
 
240 
 
 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 round him all day long, until the time arrived for 
 going home again, and leaving it, like a motion- 
 less cloud, behind. 
 
 It seemed to Tom, every morning, that he ap- 
 proached this ghostly mist, and became enveloped 
 in it, by the easiest succession of degrees imagi- 
 nable. Passing from the roar and rattle of the 
 streets into the quiet court-yards of the Temple, 
 was the first preparation. Every echo of his foot- 
 steps sounded to him like a sound from the old 
 walls and pavements, wanting language to relate 
 the histories of the dim, dismal rooms ; to tell him 
 what lost documents were decaying in forgotten 
 corners of the shut-up cellars, from whose lattices 
 such mouldy sighs came breathing forth as he 
 went past; to whisper of dark bins of rare old 
 ,wine, bricked up in vaults among the old founda- 
 tions of the Halls; or mutter in a lower tone yet 
 darker legends of the cross-legged knights, whose 
 marble effigies were in the church. With the first 
 planting of his foot upon the staircase of his dusty 
 office, all these mysteries increased; until ascend- 
 ing step by step, as Tom ascended, they attained 
 their full growth in the solitary labours of the day. 
 
 Every day brought one recurring, never-failing 
 source of speculation. This employer; would he 
 come to-day, and what would he be like ? For 
 Tom could not stop short at Mr. Fips ; he quite 
 believed that Mr. Fips had spoken truly, when he 
 said he acted for another ; and what manner of 
 man that other was, became a full-blown flower 
 of wonder in the garden of Tom's fancy, which 
 never faded or got trodden down. 
 
 At one time he conceived that Mr. Pecksniff, 
 repenting of his falsehood, might, by exertion of 
 his influence with some third person, have devised 
 these means of giving him employment. He 
 found this idea so insupportable after what had 
 taken place between that good man and himself, 
 that he confided it to John Westlock on the very 
 same day ; informing John that he would rather 
 ply for hire as a porter, than fall so low in his own 
 esteem as to accept the smallest obligation from 
 the hand's of Mr. Pecksniff. But John assured 
 him that he (Tom Pinch) was far from doing jus- 
 tice to the character of Mr. Pecksniff yet, if he 
 supposed that gentleman capable of performing a 
 generous action ; and that he might make his 
 mind quite easy on that head, until he saw the 
 sun turn green and the moon black, and at the 
 same time distinctly perceived with the naked 
 eye, twelve first-rate comets careering round those 
 planets. In which unusual state of things, he 
 said (and not before), it might become not abso- 
 lutely lunatic to suspect Mr. Pecksniff of any- 
 thing so monstrous. In short he laughed the 
 idea down, completely ; and Tom, abandoning it, 
 was thrown upon his beam-ends again for some 
 other solution. 
 
 In the meantime Tom attended to his duties 
 daily, and made considerable progress with the 
 books : which were already reduced to some sort 
 of order, and made a great appearance in his 
 fairy-written catalogue. During his business 
 hours, he indulged himself occasionally with 
 snatches of reading; which were often indeed a 
 necessary part of his pursuit ; and as he usually 
 made bold to carry one of these goblin volumes 
 borne at night (always bringing it back again 
 uext morning, in case his strange employer 
 •hould appear and ask what had become of it), 
 
 he led a happy, quiet studious kind of life, aftei 
 his own heart. 
 
 But though the books were never so interesting, 
 and never so full of novelty to Tom, they could 
 not so enchain him, in those mysterious chambers, 
 as to render him unconscious for a moment of the 
 lightest sound. Any footstep on the flags without, 
 set him listening attentively, and when it turned 
 into that house, and came up, up, up, the stairs, 
 he always thought with a beating heart, "Now I 
 am coming face to face with him, at last!" But 
 no footstep ever passed the floor immediately be- 
 low : except his own. 
 
 This mystery and loneliness engendered fancies 
 in Tom's mind, the folly of which his common 
 sense could readily discover, but which his com. 
 mon sense was quite unable to keep away, not. 
 withstanding; that quality being with most of us, 
 in such a case, like the old French Police — ■ 
 quick at detection, but very weak as a preventive 
 power. Misgivings, undefined, absurd, inexplica- 
 ble, that there was some one hiding in the inner 
 room ; walking softly overhead, peeping in through 
 the door-chink; doing something stealthy, any- 
 where where he was not; came over him a hun- 
 dred times a day : making it pleasant to throw up 
 the sash, and hold communication even with the 
 sparrows who had built in the roof and water- 
 spout, and were twittering about the windows all 
 day long. 
 
 He sat with the outer door wide open at all 
 times, that he might hear the footsteps as they 
 entered, and turned off into the chambers on the 
 lower floors. He formed odd prepossessions too, 
 regarding strangers in the streets ; and would say 
 within himself of such or such a man, who struck 
 him as having anything uncommon in his dress 
 or aspect, " 1 shouldn't wonder now if that were 
 he !." But it never was. And though he actually 
 turned back and followed more than one of these 
 suspected individuals, in a singular belief that they 
 were going to the place he was then upon his way 
 from, he never got any other satisfaction by it, than 
 the satisfaction of knowing it was not the case. 
 
 Mr. Fips, of Austin Friars, rather deepened 
 than illumined the obscurity of his position ; for 
 on the first occasion of Tom's waiting on him to 
 receive his weekly pay, he said : 
 
 " Oh ! by-the-bye, Mr. Pinch, you needn't 
 mention it, if you please !" 
 
 Tom thought he was going to tell him a secret; 
 so he said that he wouldn't on any account, and 
 that Mr. Fips might entirely depend upon him. 
 But as Mr. Fips said " Very good," in reply, and 
 nothing more, Tom prompted him : 
 
 "Not on any account," repeated Tom, 
 
 Mr. Fips repeated " Very good." 
 
 " You were going to say" — Tom hinted. 
 
 "Oh dear no!" cried Fips. "Not at all." How- 
 ever, seeing Tom confused, he added, " I mean 
 that you needn't mention any particulars about 
 your place of employment, to people generally 
 You'll find it better not." 
 
 " I have not had the pleasure of seeing my em- 
 ployer yet, sir," observed Tom, putting his week's 
 salary in his pocket. 
 
 " Haven't you ?" said Fips. "No, I don't sup 
 pose you have though." 
 
 " I should like to thank him, and to know tha 1 
 what I have done so far, is done to his satisfao 
 tion," faltered Torn. 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 
 
 241 
 
 M Quite right," said Mr. Fips, with a yawn. 
 Highly creditable. Very proper." 
 
 'Join hastily resolved to try him on another tack. 
 " I shall soon have finished with the books," he 
 said. " I hope that will not terminate my engage- 
 ment, sir, or render me useless ?*• 
 
 " Oh dear no !" retorted Fips. " Plenty to do : 
 plen-ty to do ! Be careYuI how you go. It's 
 rather' dark." 
 
 This was the very utmost extent of information 
 Tom could ever get out of him. So it was dark 
 enough, in all conscience; and if Mr. Fips ex- 
 pressed himself with a double meaning, he had 
 good reason for doing so. 
 
 But now a circumstance occurred, which helped 
 to divert Tom's thoughts from even this mystery, 
 and to divide them between it and a new channel, 
 which was a very Nile in itself. 
 
 The way it came about was this. Having al- 
 ways been an early riser, and having now no organ 
 to engage him in sweet converse every morning, 
 it was his habit to take a long walk before going 
 to the Temple; and naturally inclining, as a 
 stranger, towards those parts of the town which 
 were conspicuous for the life and animation per- 
 vading them, he became a great frequenter of the 
 market-places, bridges, quays, and especially the 
 steam-boat wharves; for it was very lively and 
 fresh to see the people hurrying away upon their 
 many schemes of business or pleasure, and it 
 made Tom glad to think that there was that much 
 change and freedom in the monotonous routine 
 of city lives. 
 
 In most of these morning excursions, Ruth ac- 
 companied him. As their landlord was always 
 up and away at his business (whatever that might 
 be, no one seemed to know) at a very early hour, 
 the habits of the people of the house in which 
 they lodged corresponded with their own. Thus, 
 they had often finished their breakfast, and were 
 out in the summer-air, by seven o'clock. After a 
 two hours' stroll they parted at some convenient 
 point; Tom going to the Temple, and his sister 
 returning home, as methodically as you please. 
 
 Many and many a pleasant stroll they had in 
 Covent-Garden Market, snuffing up the perfume 
 of the fruits and flowers, wondering at the mag- 
 nificence of the pine-apples and melons; catching 
 glimpses, down side-avenues, of rows and rows of 
 old women, seated on inverted baskets shelling 
 peas; looking unutterable things at the fat bun- 
 dles of asparagus with which the dainty shops 
 were fortified as with a breastwork ; and, at the 
 herbalists' dsors, gratefully inhaling scents as of 
 veal-stutfing yet uncooked, dreamily mixed up 
 with capsicums, brown paper, seeds: even with 
 hints of lusty snails and fine young curly leeches. 
 Many and many a pleasant stroll they had among 
 the poultry markets, where ducks and fowls, with 
 necks unnaturally long, lay stretched out in pairs, 
 ready for* cooking; where there were speckled 
 eggs in ; white country sausages 
 
 Jtayond impeachment by surviving cat or dog, or 
 r donkey ; new cheeses to any wild extent; 
 live birds in coops and cages, looking much too 
 big to be natural, in eon* those recepta- 
 
 cles being much too little; rabbits, alive and dead, 
 innumer ahl. . Many a pleasant stroll they had 
 among the cool, refreshing, silvery fish-stalls, with 
 a kind of moonlight ( 'fleet about their stork in 
 trade, exempting always for the ruddy lobsters. 
 
 Many a pleasant stroll among the wagon-loads of 
 tragrant hay, l>cneath which dogs and tired wag- 
 oners lay fast asleep, oblivious of the pieman and 
 the public-house. But never half so good a stroll a* 
 down among the steam-boats, on a bright morning. 
 There tin y I iy, alongside of each other, hard 
 and fast for ever, to all appearance, but designing 
 to get out somehow, and quite confident of 
 it; and in that faith shoals of passengers, and 
 heaps of luggage, were proceeding hurriedly on 
 board. Little steamboats dashed up and down 
 the stream incessantly. Tiers upon tiers of ves- 
 sels, scores of masts, labyrinths of tackle, idle 
 sails, splashing oars, gliding row-boats, lumbering 
 barges; sunken piles, with ugly lodgings tor the 
 water-rat within their mud-discoloured nooks ; 
 church steeples, warehouses, house-roofs, arches, 
 bridges, men and women, children, casks, cranes, 
 boxes, horses, coaches, idler* and hard-labourers : 
 there they were, all jumbled up togetlter, any 
 summer morning, far beyond Tom's power of 
 separation. 
 
 In the midst of all this turmoil, there was an 
 incessant roar from every packet's funnel, which 
 quite expressed and carried out the uppermost 
 emotion of the scene. They all appeared to be 
 perspiring and bothering themselves, exactly as 
 their passengers did ; they never loft off fretting 
 and chafing, in their own hoarse manner, once ; 
 but were always panting out* without any stop?, 
 M Come along do make haste I 'm very nervous 
 come along oh good gracious we shall never get 
 there how late you are do make baste I 'm off 
 directly come along !" Even when they had left 
 off, and had got safely out into the current, on the 
 smallest provocation they began again : for the 
 bravest packet of them all, being stopped by some 
 entanglement in the river, would immediately be- 
 gin to fume and pant afresh, "Oh here's a stop- 
 page what 's the matter do go on there I 'in in a 
 hurry it's done on purpose did you ever oh iny 
 goodness do go on there !" and so, in a state of 
 mind bordering on distraction, would be last seen 
 drifting slowly through the mist into the summer 
 light beyond, that made it red. 
 
 Tom's ship, however — or, at least, the packet* 
 boat in which Tom and his sister took the greatest 
 interest on one particular occasion — was not oft* 
 yet, by any means, but was at the height of its 
 disorder. The press of passengers was ve>y great; 
 another steam-boat lay on each side of her; the 
 gangways were choked up ; distracted women, 
 obviously bound for Gravescnd, but turning a 
 deafeartoall representations that this particular 
 vessel was about to sail for Antwerp, persisted in 
 secreting baskets of refreshments behind bulk- 
 heads and water-casks, and under seats; and very 
 great confusion prevailed. 
 
 It was so amusing, that Tom, with Ruth upon 
 his arm, stood looking down from the wiiaif, as 
 nearly regardless m it was in the nature of flesh 
 and blood to be, of an elderly Udy behind bins 
 who had brought a large umbrella with her, and 
 didn*t know what to do with it. This tremendous 
 inurnment had a hooked handle; and its vicinity 
 was first made known to him hy a painful pre*, 
 sure on the wrktdpipe, consequent upon it* hiving 
 eanghl him round tiie throat Soon after diseu. 
 gaging himself with perfect good humour, he hao 
 a sensation of the ferrule in his back ; immediate. 
 Iy afterwards, of the hook entangling his ankles* 
 
242 
 
 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 then of the umbrella generally, wandering about his 
 hat, and flapping at it like a great bird ; and, lastly, 
 of a poke or thrust below the ribs, which gave him 
 such exceeding anguish, that he could not refrain 
 from turning round, to offer a mild remonstrance. 
 
 Upon his turning round, he found the owner of 
 the umbrella struggling, on tiptoe, with a counte- 
 nance expressive of violent animosity, to look 
 down upon the steamboats ; from which he infer- 
 red that she had attacked him : standing in the 
 front row : by design, and as her natural enemy. 
 
 " What a very ill-natured person you must be 1" 
 said Tom. 
 
 The lady cried out fiercely, " Where 's the pe- 
 lisse !" — meaning the constabulary — and went on 
 to say, shaking the handle of the umbrella at Tom, 
 that but for them fellers- never being in the way 
 when they was wanted, she 'd have given him in 
 charge, she would. 
 
 " If they greased their whiskers less, and mind- 
 ed the duties which they 're paid so heavy for, a 
 little more," she observed, " no one need n't be 
 drove mad by scrouding so !" 
 
 She had been grievously knocked about, no 
 doubt, for her bonnet was bent into the shape of a 
 cocked hat. But a fat little woman, too, she was in 
 s. state ofgreat exhaustion and intense heat. Instead 
 of pursuing the altercation, therefore, Tom civilly 
 inquired what boat she wanted to go on board of. 
 
 " I suppose," returned the lady, "as nobody but 
 yourself can want to look at a steam package, with- 
 out wanting to go a boarding of it, can they! Booby !" 
 
 " Which one do you want to look at then ?" 
 said Tom, " We '11 make room for you if we can. 
 Don't be so ill-tempered." 
 
 " No blessed creeter as ever I was with in try- 
 ing times," returned the lady, somewhat softened, 
 "and they 're a many in their numbers, ever 
 brought it as a charge again myself that I was 
 any thin but mild and equal in my spirits. Never 
 mind a contradicting of me, if you seems to feel it 
 docs you good, ma'am, I often says, for well you 
 know that Sairey may be trusted not to give it 
 back again. But I will not denige that I am 
 worrited and wexed this day, and with good rea- 
 gion, Lord forbid !" 
 
 By this time, Mrs. Gamp (for it was no other 
 than that experienced practitioner) had, with 
 Tom's assistance, squeezed and worked herself 
 into a small corner between Ruth and the rail ; 
 where, after breathing very hard for some little 
 time, and performing a short series of dangerous 
 evolutions with the umbrella, she managed to es- 
 tablish herself pretty comfortably. 
 
 " And which of all them smoking monsters is 
 the Ankworks boat, I wonder, Goodness me !" 
 cried Mrs. Gamp. 
 
 " What boat did you want ?" asked Ruth. 
 
 " The Ankworks package," Mrs. Gamp replied. 
 " I will not deceive you, my sweet. Why should I ?" 
 
 " That is the Antwerp packet in the middle," 
 said Ruth, 
 
 " And I wish it was in Jonadge's belly, I do," 
 cried Mrs. Gamp; appearing to confound the pro- 
 phet with the whale in this miraculous aspiration. 
 
 Ruth said nothing in reply ; but as Mrs. Gamp, 
 laying her chin against the cool iron of the rail, 
 continued to look intently at the Antwerp boat, 
 and every now and then to give a little groan, she 
 inquired whether any child of hers was going 
 abroad that morning/ Or perhaps her husband, 
 »he said kindly. 
 
 " Which shows," said Mrs. Gamp, casting op 
 her eyes, " what a little way you 've travelled into 
 this wale of life, my dear young creetur. As a 
 good friend of mine has frequent made remark to 
 me, which her name, my love, is Harris, Mrs. 
 Harris through the square and up the steps a 
 turnin round by the tobacker shop, ' Oh Sairey, 
 Sairey, little do we know wot lays afore us 1' 
 1 Mrs. Harris ma'am,' I says, * not much, it 's 
 true, but more than you suppoge. Our calcila- 
 tions ma'am,' I says, 'respectin wot the number 
 of a family will be, comes most times within one, 
 and oftcner than you would suppoge, exact.' * Sai- 
 rey, says Mrs. Harris, in a awful way, 'Tell me 
 wot is my indiyidgle number. ' No, Mrs. Har- 
 ris,' I says to her, 'ex-cuge me, if you please. My 
 own,' I says, ' has fallen out of three-pair backs, 
 and had damp doorsteps settled on their lungs, and 
 one was turned up smiling in a bedstead, unbe- 
 known. Therefore, ma'am,' I says, ' seek not to 
 proticipate, but take 'em as they come and as 
 they go.' Mine," said Mrs. Gamp, *• mine is all 
 gone, my dear young chick. And as to husbands, 
 there 's a wooden leg gone likewise home to its 
 account, which in its constancy of walkin into 
 wine vaults, and never comin out again 'till fetched 
 by force, was quite as weak as flesh, if not weaker." 
 
 When she delivered this oration, Mrs. Gamp 
 leaned her chin upon the cool iron again ; and 
 looking intently at the Antwerp packet, shook her 
 head and groaned. 
 
 " I would n't," said Mrs. Gamp, " I would n't be 
 a man and have such a think upon my mind !— but 
 nobody as owned the name of man, could do it!" 
 
 Tom and his sister glanced at each other ; and 
 Ruth, after a moment's hesitation, asked Mrs. 
 Gamp what troubled her so much. 
 
 " My dear," returned that lady, dropping her 
 voice, " you are single, an't you ?" 
 
 Ruth laughed, blushed, and said " Yes." 
 
 " Worse luck," proceeded Mrs. Gamp, " for all 
 parties ! But others is married, and in the marriage 
 state; and there is a dear young creetur a comin' 
 down this mornin' to that very package, which is 
 no more fit to trust herself to sea, than nothin' is!" 
 
 She paused here, to look all over the deck of the 
 packet in question, and on the steps leading down 
 to it, and on the gangways. Seeming to have 
 thus assured herself that the object of her com- 
 miseration had not yet arrived, she raised her eyes 
 gradually up to the top of the escape-pipe, and in- 
 dignantly apostrophised the vessel : 
 
 "Oh drat you !" said Mrs. Gamp, shaking her 
 umbrella at it, "you're a nice spluttering noisy 
 monster for a delicate young creetur to go and be 
 a passinger by : a'n't you !" You never do no 
 harm in that way, do you ? With your hammer- 
 ing, and roaring, and hissing, and lampiling, you 
 brute ! Them Confusion steamers," said Mrs. 
 Gamp, shaking her umbrella again, " has done 
 more to throw us out of our reg'lar work and 
 bring ewents on at times when nobody counted 
 on 'em (especially them screeching railroad ones), 
 than all the other frights that ever was took. I 
 heerd of one young man, a guard upon a railway, 
 only three year opened — well does Mrs. Harris 
 know him, which indeed he is her own relation 
 by her sister's marriage with a master sawyer — 
 as is godfather at this present time to six-ana. 
 twenty blessed little strangers, equally unexpected, 
 and all on 'urn named after the Ingeins as was the 
 cause. Ugh !" said Mrs. Gamp, resuming her apoa 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 
 
 243 
 
 tropho, " one might easy know you was a man's 
 invention, from yourdisrcgardlessness of the weak- 
 ness of our nature, so one might, you brute !" 
 
 It would not have been unnatural N suppose, 
 fr in the first part of Mrs. Gamp's lamentations, 
 that she was connected with the stage-coaching 
 .torsing trade. She had no means of judg- 
 ing of the effect of her concluding remarks upon 
 her JOOOg companion ; for she interrupted herself 
 at this point, and exclaimed : . 
 
 . <• she identically goes ! Poor sweet young 
 
 ?rcetur, there she goes, like a lamb to the saori- 
 
 fige ! If there's any illness when that weasel 
 
 sea,'* said Mrs. Gamp, prophetically, " it 's 
 
 murder, and 1 'in the witness for the persecution." 
 
 She was so very earnest on the subject, that 
 Tom's sinter (being as kind as Tom himsein 
 could not help saying something to her in reply. 
 
 v, which is the lady," she inquired, u in 
 whom you are so much interested ?" 
 
 u There!" groaned Mrs. Gamp. "There she 
 goes ! A crossin' the little wooden bridge at this 
 minute. She 's a slippin' on a bit of orange-peel !" 
 tightly clutching her umbrella, P What a turn it 
 give me !" 
 
 44 Do you mean the lady who is with that man 
 wrapped up from head to foot in a large cloak, so 
 that his face rs almost hidden ?" 
 
 " Well he may hide it !" Mrs. Gamp replied. 
 44 He 's good call to be ashamed of himself. Did 
 you see him a jerking of her wrist, then ?" 
 
 44 He seems to be hasty with her, indeed." 
 
 44 Wow he 's a taking of her down into the close 
 cabin !" said Mrs. Gamp, impatiently. 44 What 's 
 the man about ! The deuce is in him, I think. 
 Why can't lie leave her in the open air ?" 
 
 He did not, whatever lus reason was, but led 
 her quickly down and disappeared himself, with- 
 out loosening his cloak, or pausing on the crowded 
 deck one moment longer than was necessary to 
 clear their way to that part of the vessel. 
 
 Tom had not heard this little dialogue, for his 
 attention had been engaged in an unexpected 
 A hand upon his sleeve had caused him 
 to look around just when Mrs. Gamp concluded 
 her apostrophe to the steam-engine ; and on his 
 ri^ht arm, Ruth being on his left, he found their 
 landlord, to his great surprise. 
 
 Ho was not so much surprised at the man's 
 being there, as at his having got close to him so 
 quietly and swiftly; for another person had been 
 at his elbow one instant before, and he had not in 
 the mean time been conscious of any change or 
 pressure in the knot of people among whom he 
 stood. He and Ruth had frequently remarked 
 how noiselessly this landlord of theirs came into 
 and went out of his own house ; but Tom was not 
 am azed to see him at his elbow now. 
 
 44 1 beg your pardon, Mr. Pinch," he said in 
 his ear. 44 I am rather infirm, and out of breath, 
 and my eyes are not very good. I am not as 
 youti^ as I was, sir. You don't see a gentleman 
 n I large cloak down yonder, with a lady on his 
 arm — a lady in a veil and a black shawl — do you ?" 
 
 If he did not, it was curious that in speaking 
 he should have singled out from all -the crowd the 
 vi rv people whom he described, and should have 
 glanced hastily from them to Tom, as if he were 
 turning to direct his wandering eyes. 
 
 44 A gentleman in a large cloak !" said Tom, 
 44 and a lady in a black shawl ! Let me see J" 
 
 44 Yes, yes !" replied the other, with keen impa- 
 tience. 44 A gentleman muffled up from head to 
 foot — strangely muffled up for such a morning as 
 this — like an invalid, with his hand to his face at 
 this minute, perhaps. No, no, no! not there," he 
 added, following Tom's gaze ; 44 the other way — 
 in that direction— down yonder." Again he in- 
 dicated, but this time, in his hurry, with his out- 
 stretched finger, the very spot on which the pro- 
 gress of these persons was checked at that mo- 
 ment. 
 
 44 There arc so many people, and so much mo- 
 tion, and so many objects," said Tom, M that I 
 find it difficult to — no, I really don't see a gentle- 
 man in a large cloak, and a lady in a black shawl. 
 There 's a lady in a red shawl over there !" 
 
 44 No, no, no !" cried his landlord, pointing 
 eagerly again, 44 not there. The other way— the 
 other way. Look at the cabin steps. To the 
 left. They must be near the cabin steps. Do 
 you sec the cabin steps ? There 's the bell ringing 
 already. Do you see the steps ?" I 
 
 44 Stay !" said Tom, "you 're right. Look ! 
 there they go now. Is that the gentleman you 
 mean ? Descending at this minute, with the 
 folds of a great cloak trailing down after hirta ?" 
 
 44 The very man !" returned the other, not look- 
 ing at what Tom pointed out, however, but at 
 Tom's own face. 44 Will you do me a kindness, 
 sir, a great kindness? Will you put that letter 
 in his hand? Only give him that ? He expects 
 it I am charged to do it by ray employers, but 
 am late in finding him ; and, not being as young 
 as I have been, should never be able to make my 
 way on board and off again in time. Will you 
 pardon my boldness, and do me that great kind- 
 ness ?" 
 
 His hands shook, and his face bespoke the ut- 
 most interest and agitation, as he pressed the letter 
 upon Tom, and pointed to its destination, like the 
 Tempter in some grim old carving. 
 
 To hesitate in the performance of a good-na- 
 tured or compassionate office, was not in Tom's 
 way. He took the letter, whispered Ruth to wait 
 till he returned, which would be immediately, and 
 ran down the steps with all the expedition he 
 could make. There were so many people going 
 down, so many others coming up, such heavy 
 goods in course of transit to and fro, such a ring- 
 ing of bells, blowing-off of steam, and shouting of 
 men's voices, that he had much ado to force his 
 way, or keep in mind to which boat he was going. 
 But he reached the right one with good speed, 
 and, going down the cabin-stairs immediately, 
 descried the object of his search standing at the 
 further end of the saloon, with his back towards 
 him, reading some notice which was hung against 
 the wall. As Tom advanced to give him tlie 
 letter, he started, hearing footsteps, and turned 
 round. 
 
 What was Tom's astonishment to find in him 
 the man with whom he had had the conflict in 
 the field, poor Mercy's husband — Jonas ! 
 
 Tom understood him to say, what the devil did 
 he want ; but it was not easy to make out what 
 he said, he spoke so indistinctly. 
 
 44 1 want nothing with you for myself," said 
 Tom ; 44 1 was asked a moment since to give yon 
 this letter. You wero pointed out to me, out I 
 didn't know you in your strange dress. Take it:** 
 
 He did so, opened it, and read the writing on 
 
244 
 
 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 the inside. The contents were evidently very 
 brief; not more, perhaps, than one line ; but they 
 struck upon him like a stone from a sling. He 
 '■eeled back as he read. 
 
 His emotion was so different from any Tom 
 had ever seen before, that he g stopped involun- 
 tarily. Momentary as his state of indecision was, 
 the bell ceased while he stood there ; and a hoarse 
 voice calling down the steps, inquired if there was 
 any one to go ashore. 
 
 44 Yes," cried Jonas, " I — I am coming. Give 
 me time. Where's that woman ! Come back ; 
 come back here." 
 
 He threw open another door as he spoke, and 
 dragged, rather than led, her forth. She was pale 
 and frightened, and amazed to see her old ac- 
 quaintance ; but had no time to speak, for they 
 were making a great stir above ; and Jonas drew 
 her rapidly towards the deck. 
 
 44 Where are we going? What is the matter ?" 
 
 44 We are going back," said Jonas, wildly. 
 44 I've changed my mind. I can't go. Don't 
 question me, or I shall be the death of you, or 
 some one else. Stop there ! Stop ! We're for the 
 shore. Do you hear ? We're for the shore !" 
 
 He turned, even in the madness of his hurry, 
 and scowling darkly back at Tom, shook his 
 clenched hand at him. There are not many 
 human faces capable of the expression with which 
 he accompanied that gesture. 
 
 He dragged her up, and Tom followed them. 
 Across the deck, over the side, along the crazy 
 plank, and up the steps, he dragged her fiercely ; 
 not bestowing any look on her, but gazing up- 
 wards all the while among the faces on the wharf. 
 Suddenly he turned again, and said to Tom with 
 a tremendous oath : 
 
 44 Where is he ?" 
 
 Before Tom, in his indignation and amazement, 
 could return an answer to a question he so little 
 understood, a gentleman approached Tom behind, 
 and saluted Jonas Chuzzlewit by name. He was 
 a gentleman of foreign appearance; with a black 
 moustache and whiskers ; and addressed him 
 with a polite composure strangely different from 
 his own distracted and desperate manner. 
 
 "Chuzzlewit, my good fellow !" said the gentle- 
 man, raising his hat in compliment to Mrs. Chuz- 
 zlewit, " I ask your parden twenty thousand 
 times. I am most unwilling to interfere between 
 you and a domestic trip of this nature (always so 
 very charming and refreshing, I know, although 
 I have not the happiness to be a domestic man 
 myself, which is the great infelicity of my ex- 
 istence) : but the bee-hive, my dear friend, the 
 bee-hive — will you introduce me ?" 
 
 44 This is Mr. Montague," said Jonas, whom the 
 words appeared to choke. 
 
 44 The most unhappy and the most penitent of 
 men, Mrs. Chuzzlewit," pursued that gentleman, 
 44 for having been the means of spoiling this ex- 
 cursion ; but as I tell my friend, the bee-hive ; the 
 bee-hive. You projected a short little continental 
 trip, my dear friend, of course." 
 
 Jonas maintained a dogged silence. 
 
 44 May I die !" cried Montague, 44 but I am 
 shocked. Upon my soul I am shocked. But that 
 confounded bee-hive of ours in the city must be 
 paramount to every other consideration, when there 
 i» honev to be made ; and that is my best excuse. 
 Here is a very singular old female dropping curt. 
 
 seys on my right," said Montague, breaking off in 
 his discourse, and looking at Mrs. Gamp, " who is 
 not a friend of mine. Does anybody know her?" 
 
 44 Ah ! Well they knows me, bless their precious 
 hearts!" said Mrs. Gamp; "not forgettin' your 
 own merry one, sir, and long may it be so ! 
 Wishin' as every one," (she delivered this in the 
 form of a toast or sentiment) "was as merry, and 
 as handsome-looking, as a little bird has whis- 
 pered me a certain gent is, which I will not name 
 for fear I give offence where none is due ! My 
 precious lady," here she stopped short in her 
 merriment, for she had until now affected to be 
 vastly entertained, " you're too pale by half!" 
 
 44 You are here too, are you ?" muttered Jonas 
 "Ecod there are enough of you." 
 
 44 1 hope, sir," returned Mrs. Gamp, dropping 
 an indignant curtsey, " as no bones is broke by me 
 and Mrs. Harris walkin' down upon a public 
 wharf. Which was the very words she says to me 
 (although they was the last I ever had to speak) 
 was these: 4 Sairey,' she says, 4 is it a public 
 wharf?' 4 Mrs. Harris,' I makes answer, 4 can 
 you doubt it ?• You have know'd me, now, ma'am, 
 eight and thirty year ; and did you ever know me 
 go, or wish to go where I was not made welcome, 
 say the words.' 4 No, Sairey,' Mrs. Harris says, 
 4 contrairey quite.' And well she knows it, too. 
 I am but a poor woman, but I've been sought 
 arter, sir, though you may not think it. I've been 
 knocked up at all hours of the night, and been 
 warned out by a many landlords, in consequence 
 of being mistook for Fire. I goes out working 
 for my bread, 'tis true, but I maintains my inde- 
 pency, with your kind leave, and which I will till 
 death. I has my feelins as a woman, sir, and I 
 have been a mother likeways ; but touch a pipkin 
 as belongs to me, or make the least remarks on 
 what I eats or drinks, and though you was the 
 favouritest young, for'ard hussy of a serval-gal as 
 ever come into a house, either you leaves the 
 place, or me. My earnins is not great, sir, but 1 
 will not be impoged upon. Bless the babe, and 
 save the mother, is my motter, sir ; but I makes 
 so free as to add to that, Don't try no impogician 
 with the Nuss, for she will not abear it." 
 
 Mrs. Gamp concluded by drawing her shawl 
 tightly over herself with both hands, and, as usual, 
 referring to Mrs. Harris for full corroboration of 
 these particulars. She had that peculiar trembling 
 of the head, which, in ladies of her excitable na- 
 ture, may be taken as a sure indication of their 
 breaking out again very shortly ; when Jonas 
 made a timely interposition. * 
 
 44 As you are here," he said, " you had better 
 see to her, and take her home. I am otherwise 
 engaged." He said nothing more ; but looked at 
 Montague, as if to give him notice that he was 
 ready to attend him. 
 
 44 1 am sorry to take you away," said Montague. 
 
 Jonas gave him a sinister look, which long 
 lived in Tom's memory, and which he often re- 
 called afterwards. 
 
 44 1 am upon my life," said Montague " Why 
 did you make it necessary ?" 
 
 With the same dark glance as before, Jonas 
 replied, after a moment's silence, 
 
 " The necessity is none of my making. You 
 have brought it about yourself." 
 
 He said nothing more. He said even this as if 
 he were bound, and in the other's power but had 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 
 
 245 
 
 a sullen and suppressed devil within him, which 
 he could not quite resist. His very gait, as they 
 walked away together, was like that of a fettered 
 mun ; but striving to work out at his clenched 
 hands, knitted hrows, and fast-set lips, was the 
 same imprisoned devil ntill. 
 
 The y got into a handsome cabriolet, which was 
 waiting for them, and drove away. 
 
 The whole of this extraordinary scene had pass- 
 ed so rapidly, and the tumult which prevailed 
 around was so unconscious of any impression from 
 it, that although Tom had been one of the chief 
 actors, it was like a dream. No one had noticed 
 him after they had left the packet. He had stood 
 behind Jonas, and so noar him, thut he could not 
 help hearing all that passed. He had stood there, 
 with his sister on his arm, expecting and hoping 
 to have an opportunity of explaining his strange 
 share in this yet stranger business. But Jonas 
 had not raised his eyes from the ground ; no one 
 else had even looked towards him ; and before he 
 could resolve on any course of action, they were 
 all gone. 
 
 He gazed round for his landlord. But he had 
 done that more than once already ; and no such 
 man was to be seen He was still pursuing this 
 search with his eyes when he saw a hand beckon- 
 ing to him from a hackney coach : and hurrying 
 
 J towards it, found it was Merry's, She addressed 
 him hurriedly, but bent out of the window, that 
 she might not be overheard by her companion, 
 J Mrs. Gamp. 
 
 " What is it 7" she said, " Good Heaven, what 
 is it? Why did he tell me last night to prepare 
 for a long journey, and why have you brought us 
 back like criminals? Dear Mr. Pinch !" she 
 clasped her hands distractedly, M be merciful to us. 
 Whatever this dreadful secret is, be merciful, and 
 God will bless you !" 
 
 44 If any power of mercy lay with me," cried 
 Tom, " trust me, you should n't ask in vain. But 
 I am far more ignorant and weak than you." 
 
 She withdrew into the coach again, and he saw 
 the hand waving towards him for a moment ; but 
 whether in reproach fulness or irroredulity, or 
 misery, or grief, or sad adieu, or what else, he 
 could not, being so hurried, understand. She was 
 gone now; and Ruth and he were left to walk 
 away, and wonder. 
 
 Had Mr. Nadgett appointed the man who never 
 came, to meet him on London Bridge, that morn- 
 ing ? He was certainly looking over the parapet, 
 and down upon the steamboat-wharf, at that mo* 
 ment. It could not have been for pleasure ; he 
 never took any pleasure. No. He must have 
 had some business there. 
 
 CHAPTER XLI. 
 
 MR. JONAS AND HIS FRIEND, ARRIVING AT A PLEASANT UNDERSTAND- 
 ING, SET FORTH UPON AN ENTERPRISE. 
 
 Tin: office of the Anglo-Bengalee Disinterested 
 Loan and Life Insurance Company being near at 
 hand ; and Mr. Montague driving Jonas straight 
 there ; they had a very little way to go. But the 
 journey might have been one of several hours' 
 duration, without provoking a remark from either : 
 for it was clear that Jonas did not mean to break 
 the silence which prevailed between them, and 
 that it was not, as yet his dear friend's cue to 
 tempt him into conversation. 
 
 He bad thrown aside his floak, as having now 
 no motive for concealment, and with that garment 
 huddled on his knees, sat as far removed from his 
 companion as the limited space in such a carriage 
 would allow. There was a striking difference in 
 his manner, compared with what it had been, 
 within a few minutes, when Tom encountered 
 him m unexpectedly on board the packqt, or when 
 the ugly change had fallen on him in Mr. Monta- 
 gue's dressing-room He had the aspect of a man 
 found out, and held at bay ; of being baffled, 
 hunted, and beset; but there was now a dawning 
 and increasing purpose in his fuce, which changed 
 it very muoh. It was gloomy, distrustful, lower- 
 ing; pale with anger and defeat; it still was 
 humbled, abject, cowardly, and mean ; but let the 
 conflict go on as it would, there was one strong 
 purpose wrestling with every emotion of his 
 mind, and casting the whole series down as they 
 arose. 
 
 Not prepossessing in appearance, at the best of 
 times, it may be readily supposed that he was not 
 so now. He had left deep marks of his front 
 teeth in his nether lip; and those tokens of the 
 agitation he had lately undergone, improved his 
 looks as little as the heavy corrugations in his 
 
 forehead. But he was self-possessed now ; un- 
 naturally self-possessed, indeed, as men quite 
 otherwise than brave are known to be in desperate 
 extremities; and when the carriage stopped, he 
 waited for no invitation, but leaped hardily out, and 
 went up stairs. 
 
 The chairman followed him ; and closing the 
 board-room door as soon as they had entered, 
 threw himself upon a sofa. Jonas stood before the 
 window, looking down into the street ; and leaned 
 against the sash ; resting his head upon his arms. 
 
 44 This is not handsome, Chuzzlewit !" said 
 Montague, at length. ** Not handsome, upon my 
 soul !" 
 
 " What would you have me do ?" he answered, 
 looking round abruptly; "what do you expect?" 
 
 "Confidence, my good fellow. Some confi- 
 dence!" said Montague in an injured tone. 
 
 " Ecod ! You show great confidence in me," 
 retorted Jonas. • " Don't you ?" 
 
 " Do I not ?" said his companion, raising his 
 head, and looking at him, but he had turned again. 
 44 Do I not ? Have I not confided to you the 
 easy schemes I have formed for our advantage • 
 our advantage, mind ; not mine alone ; and what 
 is my return ? Attempted flight !" 
 
 " How do you know that? Who said I meant 
 to fly ?" 
 
 " Who said ! Come, come. A foreign boat, my 
 friend, an early hour, a figure wrapped up for dis- 
 guise ! Who said ! If you did n't mean to jilt me, 
 why were you there ? If you did n't mean to jilt 
 me, why did you come back ?" 
 
 **• I came back," said Jonas, u to avoid disturb 
 ance." 
 
 14 You were wise," rejoined his friend. 
 
246 
 
 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 Jonas stood quite silent ; still looking down into 
 the street and resting his head upon his arms. 
 
 " Now, Chuzzlewit," said Montague, " notwith- 
 standing what has passed, I will be plain with 
 you. Are you attending to me, there ? I only 
 see your back." 
 
 " / hear you. Go on !" 
 
 " I say that notwithstanding what has passed, I 
 will be plain with you." 
 
 " You said that before. And I have told you 
 onee, I heard you say it. Go on." 
 
 " You are a little chafed, but I can make allow- 
 ances for that; and am, fortunately, myself, in the 
 very best of tempers. Now, let us see how cir- 
 cumstances stand. A day or two ago, I mentioned 
 to you, my dear fellow, that I thought I had dis- 
 covered " 
 
 " Will you hold your tongue ?" said Jonas, look- 
 ing fiercely round, and glancing at the door. 
 
 "Well, well!" said Montague. "Judicious! 
 Quite correct! My discoveries- being published, 
 would be like many other men's discoveries in this 
 honest world ; of no further use to me. You see, 
 Chuzzlewit, how ingenuous and frank I am in 
 showing you the weakness of my own position ! 
 To return. I make, or think I make, a certain 
 discovery, which I take an early opportunity of 
 mentioning in your ear, in that spirit of confidence 
 which I really hoped did prevail between us, and 
 was reciprocated by you. Perhaps there is some- 
 thing in it; perhaps there is nothing. I have my 
 knowledge and opinion on the subject. You have 
 yours. We will not discuss the question. But, my 
 good fellow, you have been weak ; what I wish to 
 point out to you is, that you have been weak. I 
 may desire to turn this little incident to my account 
 (indeed I do. I'll not deny it) but my account 
 does not lie in probing it, or using it against you." 
 
 " What do you call using it against me ?" asked 
 Jonas, who had not yet changed his attitude. 
 
 " Oh !" said Montague, with a laugh. " We'll 
 not enter into that." 
 
 " Using it to make a beggar of me. Is that the 
 use you mean ?" 
 
 " No." 
 
 " Ecod," muttered Jonas bitterly. " That's the 
 use in which your account does lie. You speak 
 the truth there." 
 
 "I wish you to venture (it's a very safe venture) 
 a little more with us, certainly, and to keep quiet," 
 saijd Montague, You promised me you would and 
 you must. I say it plainly, Chuzzlewit, you must. 
 Reason the matter. If you don't, my secret is worth- 
 less to me ; and being so, it may as well become the 
 public property as mine : better, for I shall gain some 
 credit, bringing it to light. I want you, besides, to 
 act as a decoy in a case I have already told you of. 
 You don't mind that, I know. You care nothing 
 for the man (you care nothing for any man ; you 
 are too sharp; so am I, I hope); and could bear 
 any loss of his with pious fortitude. Ha, ha, ha ! 
 You have tried to escape from the first consequence. 
 You cannot escape it, I assure you. I have shown 
 you that to-day. Now, I am not a moral man, 
 you know. I am not the least in the world affected 
 by anything you may have done ; by any little in- 
 discretion you may have committed ; but I wish 
 to profit by it, if I can ; and to a man of your in- 
 telligence I make that-free confession. I am not 
 at all singular in that infirmity. Every body 
 profits by the indiscretion of his neighbour ; and 
 
 the people in the best repute, the most. Why do 
 you give me this- trouble? It must come to a 
 friendly agreement, or an unfriendly crash. It 
 must. If the former, you are very little hurt, If 
 the latter — well ! you know best what is likely to 
 happen then." 
 
 Jonas left the window, and walked up close to 
 him. He did not look him in the face; it was 
 not his habit to do that; but he kept his eyes 
 towards him — on his breast or thereabouts — and 
 was at great pains to speak slowly and distinctly, 
 in reply. Just as a man in a state of conscious 
 drunkenness might be. 
 
 " Lying is of no use, now," he said. " I did 
 think of getting away this morning, and making 
 better terms with you from a distance." 
 
 "To be sure ! To be sure !" said Montague. "No- 
 thing more natural. I foresaw that, and provided 
 against it. But I am afraid I am interrupting you." 
 
 "How the devil," pursued Jonas, with a still 
 greater effort, "you made choice of your messenger, 
 and -where you found him, I'll not ask you. I owed 
 him one good turn before to-day. If you are so 
 careless of men in general, as you said you were 
 just now, you are quite indifferent as to what be- 
 comes of such a crop-tailed cur as that, and will 
 leave me to settle my account with him in my. 
 own manner." 
 
 If he had raised his eyes to his companion's 
 face, he would have seen that Montague was evi- 
 dently unable to comprehend his meaning. But 
 continuing to stand before him, with his furtive 
 gaze directed as before, and pausing here, only to 
 moisten his dry lips with his tongue, tha fact was 
 lost upon him. It might have struck a close ob- 
 server that this fixed and steady glance of Jonas's 
 was part of the alteration which had taken place 
 in his demeanour. He kept it riveted on one spot, 
 with which his thoughts had manifestly nothing to 
 do; like as a juggler walking on a cord or wire to 
 any dangerous end, holds some object in his sight to 
 steady him, and never wanders from it, lest he trip. 
 
 Montague was quick in his rejoinder, though he 
 made it at a venture. There was no difference 
 of opinion between him and his friend on that 
 point. Not the least* 
 
 " Your great discovery," Jonas proceeded, with a 
 savage sneer that got the better of him for a mo- 
 ment, " may be true, and may be false. Whichever 
 it is, I dare say I'm no worse than other men." 
 
 " Not a bit," said Tigg. " Not a bit. We're all 
 alike — or nearly so." 
 
 " I want to know this," Jonas went on to say ; 
 " is it your own ? You'll not wonder at my asking 
 the question." 
 
 " My own !" repeated Montague. 
 
 " Aye," returned the other, gruffly. "Is it known 
 to anybody else ? Come ! Don't waver about that." 
 
 " No !" said Montague without the smallest 
 hesitation. " What would it be worth, do you 
 think, unless I had the keeping of it ! 
 
 Now, for the first time, Jonas looked at him. 
 After a pause, he put out his hand, and said, with 
 a laugh : 
 
 " Come ! make things easy to me, and I'm 
 yours. I don't know that I may not be better off 
 here, after all, than if I had gone away this morn- 
 ing. But here I am, and here I'll stay now. Take 
 your oath !" 
 
 He cleared his throat, for he was speaking 
 hoarsely, and said in a lighter tone : 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 
 
 247 
 
 M Shall I £0 to Pecksniff? When ? Soy when !" 
 
 ■ Immediately !" cried Montague. " 1 ! 
 be enticed too soon." 
 
 u Ecod !" cried id a wild laugh. 
 
 "There's some fun in catching that old hj 
 I hate him. Shall I go to-ni«rht '" 
 
 u Aye ! This," said Montagu*-, eot.tically, 1 is 
 like business ! W§ understand each other now! 
 To-night, my good fallow, hy all means." 
 
 "Curie with me!" cried Jonas. "We must 
 make a dash; go down in state, and carry docu- 
 ments, for he's a deep one to deal with, and must 
 bo drawn on with an artful hand, or he'll not fol- 
 low. I know him. As I can't take your lodging* 
 or your dinners down, I must take you. Will you 
 Come to-night ?" 
 
 His friend apjieared to hesitate; and neither to 
 have anticipated this proposal, nor to relish it very 
 much. 
 
 " We can concert our plans upon the road," said 
 Jonas. " We must not go direct to him, but cross 
 over from some other plaoe, and turn out of our 
 way to see him. I may not want to introduce you, 
 but I must have you on the spot. I know the 
 man, I tell you." 
 
 "But, what if the man knows me ?"«aid Mon- 
 tague, shrugging his shoulders. 
 
 " lb- know !" cried Jonas, **• Don't you run that 
 ri«k with fifty men a day ! Would your father 
 know you ? Did J know you ? Ecod, you were 
 another figure when I saw you first H.k, ha, ha ! 
 I see the Tents and patches now ! No false hair 
 then, no black dye ! You were another sort of joker 
 in those days, you were ! You even spoke different, 
 then. You've acted the gentleman so seriously 
 since, that you've taken in yourself. If he should 
 know you, what does it matter ? Such a change 
 is a proof of your success. You know that, or you 
 would not have made yourself known to me. Will 
 you come ?" 
 
 "My good fellow," said Montague, still hesita- 
 ting, " I can trust you alone." 
 
 " Trust me ! Ecod, you may trust me pow far 
 enough. I'll try to go away no more — no MMi !" 
 He stopped, and added in a more sober tone, " I 
 can't get on without you. Will you Come?" 
 
 " I will," said Montague, "if that's your opin- 
 ion." And they shook hands upon it. 
 
 The boisterous manner which Jonas had exhibit- 
 ed during the latter part of this conversation, and 
 which had gone on rapidly increasing with almost 
 every word he had spoken ; from the time when he 
 looked his honourable friend in the face until now ; 
 did not now subside, but, remaining at its height, 
 abided by him. Most unusual with him at any 
 period; most inconsistent with his temper and 
 constitution ; especially unnatural it would appear 
 in one so darkly circumstanced ; it abided by him. 
 It was not like the effect of wine, or any ardent 
 drink, for he was perfectly coherent. It even 
 made him proof against the usual influence of such 
 means of excitement; for, although he drank 
 deeply several times that day, w ith no reserve or 
 caution, he remained exactly the same man, and 
 his spirits neither rose nor fell in the least observ- 
 able degree. 
 
 Deciding, after some discussion, to travel at 
 nipiit, in order that the day's business might not 
 be broken in upon, they took counsel together in 
 reference to the means. Mr. Montague being of 
 
 opinion that four horses were advisable, at all 
 events for the first stage, as throwing a great deal 
 of dust into people's evi s, m more senses than one, 
 a travelling chariot and four lay under orders for 
 nine o'clock. Jonas did not go home : observing, 
 that his being obliged to leave town on buaiflteea 
 in so great a hurry, would be a good excuse for 
 h iWng turned back so unexpectedly in the morn. 
 9o he wrote a note tor his portmanteau, and 
 sent it by a messenger, who duly brought his lug- 
 <:k, with a short note from that other piece 
 of luggage, his wife, expressive of her wi*h to be 
 : to come and see him for a moment. To 
 this request he 6cnt for answer, "she had belter ;" 
 and one such threatening affirmative being suffi- 
 cient, in defiance of the English grammar, to ex- 
 press a negative, she kept away. 
 
 Mr. Montague being much engaged in the 
 course of the day, Jonas bestowed his spirits chiefly 
 on the doctor, with whom he lunched in the medi- 
 cal officer's own room. On his way thither, en- 
 countering Mr. Nadgett in the outer office, ho 
 bantered that stealthy gentleman on always 
 appearing anxious to avoid him, and inquired if 
 he were afraid of him. Mr. Nadgett shyly an- 
 swered, "No, but he believed it must be his way, 
 as he had been charged with much the same kind 
 of thing before." 
 
 Mr. Montague was listening to, or, to speak 
 with greater elegance, he overheard this dialogue. 
 As soon as Jonas was gone, he beckoned Nadgett 
 to him with the feather of his pen, and .whispered 
 in his ear, 
 
 " Who gave him my letter this morning ?" 
 
 " My lodger, sir," said Nadgett, behind the palm 
 of his hand. 
 
 " How came that about ?" 
 
 " I found him on the wharf, sir. Being so much 
 hurried, and you not arrived, it was nccesary to do 
 something. It fortunately occurred to me, that if 
 I gave it him myself, I could be of no further use 
 I should have been blown upon immediately." 
 
 " .Mr. Nadgett, you are a jewel," said Montague, 
 patting him on the back. " What's your lodger's 
 name?" 
 
 " Pinch, sir. Mr. Thomas Pinch." 
 
 Montague reflected for a little while, and then 
 asked : 
 
 "From the country, do you know ?" 
 
 "From Wiltshire, sir, he told me." 
 
 They parted without another word. To see Mr. 
 Nadgett's bow when Montague and he next met, 
 and to see Mr. Montague acknowledge it, anybody 
 might have undertaken to swear that they had 
 never spoken to each other confidentially, in all 
 their lives. 
 
 In the meanwhile, Mr. Jonas and the doctor 
 made themselves very comfortable up stairs 
 bottle of the old Madeira, and some sandwiches 
 for the doctor having been already invited to dine 
 below at six o'clock. a light repast for 
 
 lunch. It was advisable in two points of view . 
 First, as being healthy in itself. Secondly, as 
 being he better preparation for dinner. 
 
 " And you are bound for all our sokes to ta«ie 
 particular care of your digestion, Mr. Cfanxzlewit, 
 my dear sir," said the doctor, smacking his lips 
 after a glass of wine ; " tor depend upon it, it is 
 worth preserving. It must be in admirable con- 
 dition, sir ; perfect chronometer work. Otherwise 
 
248 
 
 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 your spirits could not be so remarkable. Your 
 bosom's lord sits lightly on its throne, Mr. Chuzzle- 
 wit, as what's-his-name says in the play. I wish 
 he said it in a play which did anything like com- 
 mon justice to our profession, by-the-bye. There 
 is an apothecary in that drama, sir, which is a low 
 thing ; vulgar, sir ; out of nature altogether." 
 
 Mr. Jobling pulled out his shirt-frill of fine linen, 
 as though he would have added, " This is what I 
 call nature in a medical man, sir ;" and looked at 
 Jonas for an observation. 
 
 Jonas not being in a condition to pursue the 
 subject, took up a case of lancets that was lying on 
 the table and opened it. 
 
 " Ah !" said the doctor, leaning back in his chair, 
 " I always take 'em out of my pocket before I eat. 
 My pockets are rather tight. Ha, ha, ha !" 
 
 Jonas had opened one of the shining little in- 
 struments; and was scrutinising it with a look 
 as sharp and eager as its own bright edge. 
 
 " Good steel, doctor. Good steel ! Eh ?" 
 
 " Ye-es," replied the doctor, with the faltering 
 modesty of ownership. "One might open a vein 
 pretty dexterously with that, Mr. Chuzzlewit." 
 
 "It has opened a good many in its time, I sup- 
 pose ?" said Jonas, looking at it with a growing 
 interest. 
 
 " Not a few my dear sir, not a few. It has been 
 engaged in a — in a pretty good practice, I believe 
 I may say," replied the doctor, coughing as if the 
 matter-of-fact were so very dry and literal that he 
 wouldn't help it. " In a pretty good practice," re- 
 peated the doctor, putting another glass of wine to 
 his lips. 
 
 " Now, could you cut a man's throat with such a 
 thing as this ?" demanded Jonas. 
 
 "O certainly, certainly, if you took him in the 
 right place," returned the doctor. " It all depends 
 upon that." 
 
 " Where you have your hand now, hey ?" cried 
 Jonas, bending forward to look at it. 
 
 " Yes," said the doctor ; " that's the jugular." 
 
 Jonas, in his vivacity, made a sudden sawing in 
 the air so close behind the doctor's jugular, that 
 he turned quite red. Then Jonas (in the same 
 strange spirit of vivacity) burst into a loud discord- 
 ant laugh. 
 
 " No, no," said the doctor shaking his head : 
 " edge-tools, edwe-tools ; never play with 'em. A 
 very remarkable instance of the skilful use of edge- 
 tools, by the way, occurs to me at this moment. It 
 was a case of murder. I am afraid it was a case of 
 murder, committed by a member of our profession ; 
 it was so artistically done." 
 
 " Aye !" said Jonas. " How was that ?" 
 
 " Why, sir," returned Jobling, " the thing lies 
 in a nut-shell. A certain gentleman was found, 
 one morning, in an obscure street, standing up- 
 right in an angle of a doorway — I should rather 
 say, leaning, in an upright position, in the angle 
 of a doorway, and supported consequently by the 
 doorway. Upon his waistcoat there was one solitary 
 drop of blood. He was dead, and cold ; and had 
 been murdered, sir." 
 
 *' Only one drop of blood !" said Jonas. 
 
 u Sir, that man," replied the doctor, " had been 
 nabbed to the heart. Had been stabbed to the 
 
 heart with such dexterity, sir, that he had died in- 
 stantly, and had bled internally. It was supposed 
 that a medical friend of his (to whom suspicion 
 attached) had engaged* him in conversation on 
 some pretence ; had taken him, very likely, by the 
 button in a conversational manner; had examined 
 his ground, at leisure, with his other hand; had 
 marked the exact spot; drawn out the instrument, 
 whatever it was, when he was quite prepared ; 
 and—" 
 
 " And done the trick," suggested Jonas. 
 
 " Exactly so," replied the doctor. " It was 
 quite an operation in its way, and very neat. The 
 medical friend never turned up ; and as I tell you, 
 he had the credit of it. Wliether he did it or not, 
 I can't say. But having had the honour to be 
 called in with two or three of my professional 
 brethren on the occasion, and having assisted to 
 make a careful examination of the wound, I have 
 -no hesitation in saying that it would have reflected 
 credit on any medical man ; and that in an unpro- 
 fessional person, it could not but be considered, 
 either as an extraordinary work of art, or the re- 
 suit of a still more extraordinary, happy, and 
 favourable conjunction of circumstances." 
 
 His hearer was so much interested in this case, 
 that the doctor went on to elucidate it with the 
 assistance of his own finger and thumb and waist- 
 coat ; and at Jonas's request he took the further 
 trouble of standing up in one corner of the room, 
 and alternatel/ representing the murdered man 
 and the murderer ; which he did with great effect. 
 The bottle being emptied and the story done, Jonas 
 was in precisely the same boisterous and unusual 
 stale as when they had sat down. If, as Jobling 
 theorised, his good digestion were the cause, he 
 must have been a very ostrich. 
 
 At dinner, it was just the same ; and after din- 
 ner too ; though wine was drunk in abundance, 
 and various rich meats eaten. At nine o'clock it 
 was still the same. There being a lamp in the 
 carriage he swore they would take a pack of cards, 
 and a bottle of wine : and with these things under 
 his cloak, went down to the door. 
 
 "Out of the way, Tom Thumb, and get to 
 bed !" 
 
 This was the salutation he bestowed on Mr. 
 Bailey, who, booted and wrapped up, stood at the 
 carriage-door to help him in. 
 
 "To bed, sir ! I'm a going, too," said Bailey. 
 
 He alighted quickly, and walked back into the 
 hall, where Montague was lighting a cigar ; con- 
 ducting Mr. Bailey with him by the collar. 
 
 " You are not a going to take this monkey of a 
 boy, are you ?" 
 
 " Yes," said Montague, " I am." 
 
 He gave the boy a shake, and threw him roughly 
 aside. There was more of his familiar self in the 
 action, than in anything he had done that day; 
 but he broke out laughing immediately afterwards , 
 and making a thrust at the doctor with his hand 
 in imitation of his representation of the medical 
 friend, went out to the carriage again, and took 
 his seat. His companion followed immediately. 
 Mr. Bailey climbed into the rumble. 
 
 " It will be a stormy night !" exclaimed the 
 doctor, as they started. 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEVVIT, 
 
 249 
 
 CHAPTER XL1I. 
 
 CONTINUATION OF THE ENTERPRISE OF MR. JONAS AM) His FRIEND. 
 
 The Doctor's prognostication in reference to 
 the weather, was speedily verified. Although the 
 weather was not a patient of his, and no third 
 party had required him to give an opinion on the 
 cose, the quick fulfilment of hi* prophecy may he 
 taken as an instance of his professional taci ; for 
 unless the threatening aspect of the night had 
 been perfectly plain and unmistakcable, Mr. Job- 
 ling would never have compromised his reputation 
 by delivering any sentiments on the subject. lie 
 used this principle hi medicine with too much 
 success, to be unmindful of it in his commonest 
 transactions. 
 
 It was one of those hot, silent nights, when peo- 
 ple sit at windows, listening for the thunder which 
 they know will slioitly break; when they recal 
 dismal tales of hurricanes and earthquakes ; and 
 of lonely travellers on open plains, and lonely 
 ships at sea struck by lightning. Lightning 
 flashed and quivered on the black horizon even 
 now ; and hollow murmurings were in the wind, 
 as though it had been blowing where the thunder 
 rolled, and still Was charged with its exhausted 
 echoes. But the storm, though gathering swiftly, 
 had not yet come up; and the prevailing stillness 
 was the more solemn, from the dull intelligence 
 that seemed to hover in the air, of noise aud con- 
 flict afar off. 
 
 It was very dark ; but in the murky sky there 
 were masses of cl >ud which shone with a lurid 
 light, like monstrous heaps of copper that had 
 been heated in a furnace, and were growing cold. 
 These had been advancing steadily and slowly, 
 but they were now motionless, or nearly so ; and 
 as the carriage clattered round the corners of the 
 streets, it passed, ut every one, a knot of persons, 
 who had corne there — many from their houses 
 close at hand, without hats — to look up at that 
 quarter of the sky. And now a very few large 
 drops of rain began to fall: and thunder rumbled 
 in the distance. 
 
 Jonas sat in a corner of the carriage, with his 
 bottle resting on his knee, and gripped as tightly 
 in his hand, as if he would have ground its neck 
 to powder if he could. Instinctively attracted by 
 the night, he had laid aside the pack of cards 
 upon the cushion ; and with the same involuntary 
 impulse, so intelligible to both of them as not to 
 occasion a remark on either side, his companion 
 had extinguished the lamp. The front glasses 
 were down, and they sat looking silently out upon 
 the scene before them. 
 
 They were clear of London : or as clear of it as 
 travellers can be, whose way lies on the Western 
 Road, within a stage of that enormous city. Oc- 
 casionally, they encountered a foot-passenger, hur- 
 rying to the nearest place of shelter; or some un- 
 wieldy cart proceeding onward at a heavy trot, 
 with the same end in view. Little clusters of 
 such vehicles were gathered round the stable-yard 
 or baiting-plaee of every way-side tavern ; whilo 
 their drivers watched the weather from the doors 
 and open windows, or made merry within. Every- 
 where the pei-plc were disposed to bear each other 
 32 
 
 company, rather than sit alone; so that groups of 
 watchful fuces seemed to be looking out upon the 
 night and thetn, from almost every house they 
 passed. 
 
 It may appear strange that this should have 
 disturbed Jonas, or rendered him uneasy : but it 
 did. After muttering to himself, and often changing* 
 his position, he drew up the blind on hts side of 
 the carriage, and turned his shoulder sulkily to- 
 wards it But he neither looked ut his companion, 
 nor broke the silence which prevailed between 
 them, and which had fallen so suddenly upon him- 
 self, by addressing a word to him. 
 
 The thunder rolled, the lightning flashed ; the 
 rain poured down like Heaven's wrath. Sur- 
 rounded at one moment -by intolerable light, and 
 at the next by pitchy darkness, they still pressed 
 forward on their journey. Even when they ar- 
 rived at the end of the stage, and might have tar- 
 iicd, they did not; but ordered horses out imme- 
 diately. Nor had this any reference to some five 
 ininutes' lull, which at that time seemed to pro- 
 mise a cessation of the storm. They held their 
 course as if they were impelled and driven by its 
 fury. Although they had not exchanged a dozen 
 words, and might have tarried very well, they 
 seemed to feel, by joint consent, that onward they 
 must go. 
 
 Louder and louder the deep thunder rolled, as 
 through the myriad halls of some vast temple in 
 the sky ; fiercer and brighter became the light- 
 ning; more and more heavily the rain poured 
 down. The horses (they were travelling now 
 with a single pair), plunged and started from the 
 rills of quivering fire that seemed to wind along 
 the ground before them : but there these two men 
 sat, and forward they went as if they were led 
 on by an invisible attraction. 
 
 The eye, partaking of the quickness of the 
 flashing light, saw in its every gleam a multitude 
 | of objects which it could not see at steady noon 
 in fifty times that period. Bells in steeples, with 
 j the rope and wheel that moved them ; ragged nests 
 ■ of birds in cornices and nooks; faces full of con- 
 i sternation in the tilted wagons that came tearing 
 past, their frightened teams ringing out a warn- 
 ing which the thunder drowned ; harrows and 
 I ploughs left out in fields ; miles upon miles of 
 ' hedge-divided country, with the distant fringe of 
 : trees as obvious as the pcare-crow in the bean- 
 , field close at hand : in a trembling, vivid, flicker- 
 j ing instant, every thing was clear and plain: then 
 I came a flush of red into the yellow light ; a change 
 ' to blue ; a brightness so intense that there was 
 J nothing else but light : and then the deepest and 
 profoundest darkness. 
 
 The lightning, being very crooked and very daz- 
 zling, may have presented or assisted a very curious 
 optical illusion, which suddenly rose before the 
 startled eyes of Montague in the carriage, and as 
 rapidly disappeared. He thought ne saw Jonas 
 with his hand lifted, and the bottle clenched in it 
 like a hammer, making as if he would aim a 
 blow at his head. At the same time he observed 
 
250 
 
 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 (or so believed), an egression in his face ; a com- 
 bination of the unnatural excitement he had 
 shown all day, with a wild hatred and fear which 
 might have rendered a wolf a less terrible com- 
 panion. 
 
 He uttered an involuntary exclamation, and 
 called to the driver, who brought his horse to a 
 stop with all speed. 
 
 It could hardly have been as he supposed, for 
 although he had not taken his eyes off his com- 
 panion, and had not seen him move, he sat reclin- 
 ing in his corner as before. 
 
 "What's the matter?" said Jonas. "Is that 
 your general way of waking out of your sleep?" 
 
 " t could swear," returned the other, " that I 
 have not closed my eyes !" 
 
 " When you have sworn it," said Jonas, com- 
 posedly, " we had better go on again, if you have 
 only stopped for that." 
 
 He uncorked the bottle with the help of his teeth ; 
 and putting it to his lips, took a long draught. 
 
 " I wish we had never started on this journey. 
 This is not," said Montague, recoiling instinctive- 
 ly, and speaking in a voice that betrayed his agi- 
 tation : " this is not a night to travel in." 
 
 " Ecod ! you 're right there," returned Jonas : 
 " and we shouldn't be out in it but for you. ^ If 
 you hadn't kept me waiting all day, we might 
 have been at Salisbury by this time ; snug abed 
 and fast asleep. What are we stopping now for ?" 
 
 His companion put his head out of the window 
 for a moment, and drawing it in again, observed 
 (as if that were his cause of anxiety), that the boy 
 was drenched to the skin. 
 
 "Serve him right," said Jonas. "I'm glad of 
 it. What the devil are we stopping now, for ? Are 
 you going to spread him out to dry?" 
 
 "1 have half a mind to take him inside," ob- 
 served the other with some hesitation. 
 
 " Oh ! thankee !" said Jonas. " We don't want 
 any damp boys here : especially a young imp like 
 him. Let him be where he is. He aint afraid of 
 a little thunder and lightning, I dare say ; who- 
 ever else is. Go on, Driver ! We had better have 
 him inside perhaps," he muttered with a laugh ; 
 " and the horses !" 
 
 " Don't go too fast," cried Montague to the pos- 
 tilion ; "and take care how you go. You were 
 nearly in the ditch when I called to you." 
 
 This was not true ; and Jonas bluntly said so, 
 as they moved forward again. Montague took 
 little or no heed of what he said, but repeated that 
 it was not a night for travelling, and showed him- 
 self, both then and afterwards, unusually anxious. 
 
 From this time, Jonas recovered his former 
 spirits; if such a term may be employed to ex- 
 press the state in which he had left the city. He 
 had his bottle often at his mouth ; roared out 
 snatches of songs, without the least regard to time 
 or tune or voice, or anything but loud discordance ; 
 and urged his silent friend to be merry with him. 
 
 " You 're the best company in the world, my 
 good fellow," said Montague with an effort, "and in 
 general irresistible; but to-night — do you hear it?" 
 
 " Ecod, I hear and see it too," cri-ed Jonas, 
 shading his eyes, for the moment from the light- 
 ning which was flashing, not in any one direc- 
 tion, but all round them. "What of that? It 
 don't change you, nor me, nor our affairs. Cho- 
 rus, chorus 1 
 
 It may lighten and storm, 
 
 Till it hunt the red worm 
 From the grass where the gibbet is driven ; 
 
 But it can't hurt the dead, 
 
 And it won't save the head 
 That is doom'd to be rifled and riven. 
 
 That must be a precious old song," he added with 
 an oath, as he stopped short in a kind of wonder 
 at himself. " I haven't heard it since I was a 
 boy, and how it comes into my head now, unless 
 the lightning put it there, I don't know. ' Can t 
 hurt the dead' ! No no. ' And won't save tl e 
 head' ! No no. No ! Ha ha ha !" 
 
 His mirth was of such a savage and extraordi. 
 nary character, and was, in an inexplicable way, at 
 once so suited to the night, and yet such a coarse 
 intrusion on its terrors, that his fellow-travellur, 
 always a coward, shrunk from him in positive 
 fear. Instead of Jonas being his tool and insti u- 
 ment, their places seemed to be reversed.' But 
 there was reason for this too, Montague thought 
 since the sense of his debasement might naturidly 
 inspire such a man with the wish to assert a nr isy 
 independence, and in that license to forget his 
 real condition. Being quick enough in reference 
 to such subjects of contemplation, he was not 1 jng 
 in taking this argument into account, and giving 
 it its full weight. But still he felt a vague sense 
 of alarm, and was depressed and uneasy. 
 
 He was certain he had not been asleep; but his 
 eyes might have deceived him, for looking at 
 Jonas now, in any interval of darkness, he could 
 represent his figure to himself in any attitude his 
 state of mind suggested. On the other hand, he 
 knew full well that Jonas had no reason to love 
 him ; and even taking the piece of pantomime 
 which had so impressed his mind to be a real ges- 
 ture, and not the working of his fancy, the most 
 that could be said of it was, that it was quite in 
 keeping with the rest of his diabolical fun, and had 
 the same impotent expression of truth in it. "If 
 he could kill me with a wish," thought the swind- 
 ler, " I should not live long." 
 
 He resolved, that when he should have had his 
 use of Jonas, he would restrain him with an iron 
 curb : in the mean time, that he could not do bet- 
 ter than leave him to take his own way, and pre- 
 serve his own peculiar description of good-humour, 
 after his own uncommon manner. It was no 
 great sacrifice to bear with him ; " for when all is 
 got that can be got," thought Montague, " I shall 
 decamp across the water, and have the laugh on 
 my side — and the gains." 
 
 Such were his reflections from hour to hour; 
 his state of mind being one in which the same 
 thoughts constantly present themselves over and 
 over again in wearisome repetition ; while Jonas, 
 who appeared to have dismissed reflection alto- 
 gether, entertained himself as before. They 
 agreed that they would go to Salisbury, and would 
 cross to Mr. Pecksniff's in the morning; and at 
 the prospect of deluding that worthy gentleman, 
 the spirits of his amiable son-in-law became mora 
 boisterous than ever. 
 
 As the night wore on, the thunder died away, 
 but still rolled gloomily and mournfully in the dis- 
 tance. The lightning, too, though now compa- 
 ratively harmless, was yet bright arid frequent. 
 The rain was quite as violent as it had ever been. 
 
 It was their ill-fortune, at about the time of 
 dawn, and in the last stage of their journey, to 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT, 
 
 251 
 
 hare a restive pair of horses These animals had 
 been greatly terrified in their stable by t 
 pest; and coming out into the dreary interval be- 
 tween night and morning, when the glare of the 
 lightning whs yet unsubdued by day, and the vari- 
 ous objects in their view were presented in Iodic* 
 tinct and exaggerated shape* which they Would 
 not have worn by night, they gradually became 
 less and less capable of control ; until, taking a 
 sudden fright at something by the roadside, they 
 dashed ojflf wildly down a steep hill, flung the 
 driver from his saddle, drew the enrriage to the 
 brink of a ditch, stumbled headlong down, and 
 threw it crashing over. 
 
 The travellers had opened the carriage door, 
 and had cither jumped or fallen out. Jonas was 
 the first to stagger to his feet. Ho felt sick and 
 weak, and very giddy, and, reeling to a five-barred 
 gate, stood holding by it: looking drowsily about, 
 as the whole landscape swam before his eyes. But 
 by degrees he grew more conscious, and "presently 
 observed that Montague was lying senseless in 
 the road, within a few feet of the horses. 
 
 In an instant, as if his own faint body were 
 suddenly animated by a demon, he ran to the 
 horses' heads; and pulling at their bridles with all 
 his force, set them struggling and plunging with 
 such mad violence as brought their hoofs at every 
 effort nearer to the skull of the prostrate man, and 
 must have led in half a minute to his brains being 
 dashed out on the highway. 
 
 As he did this, he fought and contended with 
 them like a mun possessed: making them wilder 
 by his cries. 
 
 * " Whoop !" cried Jonas. " Whoop ! again ! an- 
 other ! A little more, a little more 1 tjp, ye 
 Jevils! Hillo!" 
 
 As he heard the driver who had risen and was 
 hurrying up, crying to him to desist, his violence 
 increased. 
 
 "Ilillo! Hillo !" cried Jonas. 
 
 "For God's sake!" cried the driver. — "The 
 gentleman — in the road — he'll be killed !" 
 
 The same shouts and the same struggles were 
 his only answer. But the man darting in at the 
 peril of his own life, saved Montague's by drag- 
 ging him through the mire and water out of the 
 reach of present harm. That done he ran to 
 Jonas; and with the aid of his knife they very 
 shortly disengaged the horses from the broken 
 chariot, and got them, cut and bleeding, on their 
 legs again, The postilion and Jonas had now 
 Jeirure to look at each other, which they had not 
 had yet. 
 
 u Presence of mind, presence of mind !" cried 
 Jonas, throwing up his hands wildly. " What 
 would you have done without in • !" 
 
 "The other gentleman would have done badly 
 without wie," roturned the man, shaking his head. 
 44 You should have moved him first I gave him 
 i-ad." 
 
 " Presence of rnind, you croaker, presence of 
 mind !" cried Jonas, with a harsh loud laugh. 
 * Was he struck, do you think ?" 
 
 They both turned to look at him. Jonas mut- 
 tered something to himself, when he saw him 
 up beneath the hedge, looking vacantly 
 roona 
 
 "What's the matter ?" asked Montague. "Is 
 aav body hurt?" 
 
 " Ecod !" said Jonas, " it don't seem so. There 
 are no bones broke, after all." 
 
 They raised him, and he tried to walk. He waa 
 a good deal shaken, and trembled very much. 
 But with the exception of a few cuts and bruises, 
 this was all the damage he had sustained. 
 
 ** Cuts and bruises, eh ?" said Jonas. " We 've 
 ull got them. Only cuts and bruises, eh 7" 
 
 " I wouldn't have given sixpence for the gentle- 
 man's head in half a dozen- seconds more, for all 
 he 's only cut and bruised," observod tbe post-boy. 
 41 If ever you *re in an accident of this sort again, 
 sir; which I hope you won't be; never you pull 
 at the bridle of a horse that's down, when there 's 
 a man's head in the way. That can't be done 
 twice without there being a dead man in tho case; 
 it would have ended in that, this time, as sure as 
 ever you were born, if I hadn't come up just when 
 I did." 
 
 Jonas replied by advising him with a curse to 
 hold his tongue, and to go somewhere, whither he 
 was not very likely to go of his own accord. But 
 Montague, who had listened eagerly to every 
 word, himself diverted the subject, by exclaiming: 
 " Where's (he boy ?" 
 
 44 Ecod, I forgot that monkey," said Jonas. 
 44 What 's become of him ?" A very brief search 
 settled that question. The unfortunate Mr. Bailey 
 had been thrown sheer over the hedge or the five- 
 barred gate ; and was lying in the neighbouring 
 field, to all appearance dead. 
 
 44 When I said to-night, that I wished I had 
 never started on this journey," cried his master, 
 44 1 knew it was an ill-fated one. Look at this 
 boy!" 
 
 41 Is that all ?" growled Jonas. ' " If you call 
 that a sign of it — " 
 
 44 Why, what should I call a sign of it ?" asked 
 Montague, hurriedly. " What do you mean ?" 
 
 44 1 mean," said Jonas, stooping down over the 
 body, " that I never heard you were his father, or 
 had any particular reason to care much about him. 
 Hilloa. Hold up here !" 
 
 But the boy was past holding up, or being held 
 up, or giving any other sign of life, than a faint 
 and fitful beating of the heart After some dis- 
 cussion, the driver tnounted the horse which had 
 been least injured, and took the lad in his arms, as 
 well as he could ; while Montague and Jonas lead- 
 ing the other horse, and carrying a trunk between 
 them, walked by his side towards Salisbury. 
 
 44 You 'd get there in a few minutes, and be able 
 to send assistance to meet us, if you went for- 
 ward, post-boy," said Jonas. * Trot on !" 
 
 " No, no," cried Montague, hastily ; " we'll 
 keep together." 
 
 " Why, what a chicken you are ! You are not 
 afraid of being robbed ; are you ?" said Jonas. 
 
 44 1 am not afraid of anything," replied the 
 other, whose looks and manner were in flat 
 contradiction to his words. " But we '11 keep 
 together." 
 
 44 You were mighty .anxious ."about the boy, a 
 minute ago," said Jonas. " I suppose you know 
 that he may die in the mean lime ?" 
 
 44 Aye, aye. I know. But we '11 keep together." 
 
 As it was clear that he was not to be moved 
 from this determination, Jonas made no other 
 rejoinder than such as his face expressed ; and 
 they proceeded in company. They hao. thru; or 
 
252 
 
 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 four good miles to travel ; and the way was not 
 tnade easier by the state of the road, the burden 
 by which they were embarrassed, or their own 
 stiff and sore condition. After a sufficiently long 
 and painful walk, they arrived at the Inn ; and 
 having knocked the people up (it being yet very 
 early in the morning), sent out messengers to see 
 to the carriage and its contents, and roused a sur- 
 geon from his bed to tend the chief sufferer. All 
 the service he could render, he rendered promptly 
 and skilfully. But he gave it as his opinion that 
 the boy was labouring under a severe concussion 
 of the brain, and that Mr. Bailey's mortal course 
 was run. 
 
 If Montague's strong interest in the announce- 
 ment could have been considered as unselfish, in 
 any degree, it might have been a redeeming trait 
 in a character that had no such lineaments to 
 spare. But it was not difficult to see that for 
 some unexpressed reason best appreciated by him- 
 self, he attached a strange value to the company 
 and presence of this mere child. When, after 
 receiving some assistance from the surgeon him- 
 self, he retired to the bed-room prepared for him, 
 and it was broad day, his mind was still dwelling 
 on this theme. 
 
 " I would rather have lost," he said, " a thou- 
 sand pounds than lost the boy just now. But 
 1 '11 return home alone ; I am resolved upon that. 
 Chuzzlevvit shall go forward first, and I will fol- 
 low in my own time. I '11 have no more of this," 
 he added, wiping his damp forehead. "Twenty- 
 four hours of this would turn my hair grey !" 
 
 After examining his chamber, and looking un- 
 der the bed, and in the cupboards, and even behind 
 the curtains, with unusual caution ; although it 
 was, as has been said, broad day ; he double-lock- 
 ed the door by which he had entered, and retired 
 to rest. There was another door in the room, but 
 it was locked on the outer side ; and with what 
 place it communicated, he knew not. 
 
 His fears or evil conscience reproduced this 
 door in all his dreams. He dreamed that a dread- 
 ful secret was connected with it : a secret which 
 he knew, and yet did not know, for although he 
 was heavily responsible for it, and a party to it, 
 he was harassed even in his vision by a distract- 
 ing uncertainty in reference to its import. Inco- 
 herently entwined with this dream was another, 
 which represented it as the hiding-place of an 
 enemy, a shadow, a phantom ; and made it the 
 business of his life to keep the terrible creature 
 closed up, and prevent it from forcing its way in 
 upon him. With this view, Nadgett, and he, and 
 a strange man, with a bloody smear upon his 
 head (who told him that he had been his play- 
 fellow, and told him, too, the real name of an old 
 school-mate, forgotten until then), worked with 
 iron plates and nails to make the door secure ; but 
 though they worked never so hard, it was all in 
 vain, for the nails broke, or changed to soft twigs, 
 or, what was worse, to worms, between their 
 
 fingers ; the wood of the door splintered and 
 crumbled, so that even nails would not remain in 
 it ; and the iron plates curled up like hot paper 
 All this time the creature on the other side — 
 whether it was in the shape of man, or beast, he 
 neither knew nor sought to know — was gaining 
 on them. But his greatest terror was when the 
 man with the bloody smear upon his head de- 
 manded of him if he knew this creature's name, 
 and said that he would whisper it. At this the 
 dreamer fell upon his knees, his whole- blood 
 thrilling with inexplicable fear, and held his ears. 
 But looking at the speaker's lips, he saw that they 
 formed the utterance of the letter " J ;" and cry- 
 ing out aloud that the secret was discovered, and 
 they were all lost, he awoke. 
 
 Awoke to find Jonas standing at his bedside 
 watching him. And that very door wide open. 
 
 As their eyes met, Jonas retreated a few paces, 
 and Montague sprang out of bed. 
 
 "Heyday !" said Jonas. "You're all alive this 
 morning." 
 
 "Alive!" the other stammered, as he pulled the 
 bell-rope violently : " What are you doing here ?" 
 
 " It's your room, to be sure," said Jonas; "but 
 I 'm almost inclined to ask you what you are 
 doing here. My room is on the other side of that 
 door. No one told me last night not to open it. 
 I thought it led into a passage, and was coming 
 out to order breakfast. There 's — there 's no bell 
 in my room." 
 
 Montague had in the mean time admitted the 
 man with his hot water and boots, who hearing 
 this, said, yes, there was ; and passed into the 
 adjoining room to point it out, at the head of the- 
 bed. 
 
 " I couldn't find it, then," said Jonas : " it 's all 
 the same. Shall I order breakfast ?" 
 
 Montague answered in the affirmative. When 
 Jonas had retired, whistling, through his own 
 room, he opened the door of communication, to 
 take out the key and fasten it on the inner side. 
 But it was taken out already. 
 
 He dragged a table against the door and sat 
 down to collect himself, as if his dreams still had 
 some influence upon his mind. 
 
 "An evil journey," he repeated, several times. 
 " An evil journey. But I '11 travel home alone. 
 I'll have no more of this !" 
 
 His presentiment, or superstition, that it was 
 an evil journey, did not at all deter him from do- 
 ing the evil for which the journey was under- 
 taken. With this in view, he dressed himself 
 more carefully than usual, to make a favourable 
 impression on Mr. Pecksniff: and, reassured by 
 his own appearance, the beauty of the morning, 
 and the flashing of the wet boughs outside his 
 window in the merry sunshine, he was soon suf- 
 ficiently inspirited to swear a few round oaths, 
 and hum the fag-end of a song. 
 
 But he still muttered to himself at intervals, for 
 all that : " I '11 travel home alone !" 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEVVIT 
 
 253 
 
 CHAPTER XLIII. 
 
 HAS AN INFLUENCE ON THE FORTUNES OF SEVERAL PEOPLE. MR. PECK. 
 SNIFF IS EXHIBITED IN THE PLENITUDE OF POWER; AND WIELDS THE 
 SAME WITH FORTITUDE AND MAGNANIMITY. 
 
 On the night of the storm, Mrs. Lupin, hostess 
 of the Blue Dragon, sat by herself in her little 
 bar. Her solitary condition, or the bad weather, 
 or both united, made Mrs. Lupin thoughtful, not 
 to say sorrowful ; and as she sat with her chin 
 upon her hand, looking out through a low back 
 lattice, rendered dim in the brightest day-time by 
 clustering vine-leaves, she shook her head very 
 often, and said, " Dear me ! ah, dear, dear me !" 
 
 It was a melancholy time, even in the snugness 
 of the Dragon bar. The rich expanse of corn- 
 field, pasture-land, green slope, and gentle undu- 
 lation, with its sparkling brooks, its many hedge- 
 rows, and its clumps of beautiful trees, was black 
 and dreary, from the diamond panes of the lattice 
 away to the far horizon, where the thunder seem- 
 ed to roll along the hills. The heavy rain beat 
 down the Render branches of vine and jessamine, 
 and trampled on them in its fury ; and when the 
 lightning gleamed, it showed the tearful leaves 
 shivering and cowering together at the window, 
 and tapping at it urgently, as if beseeehing to be 
 sheltered from the dismal night. 
 
 As a mark of her respect for the lightning, Mrs. 
 Lupin had removed her candle to the chimney- 
 piece. Her basket of needlework stood unheeded 
 at her elbow ; her supper, spread on a round table 
 not far off, was untasted ; and the knives had been 
 removed for fear of attraction. She had sat for a 
 long time with her chin upon her hand, saying to 
 herself at intervals, "Dear me! Ah, dear, dear 
 me!" 
 
 She w r as on the eve of saying so, once more, 
 when the latch of the house-door (closed to keep 
 the rain out), rattled on its well-worn catch, and 
 a traveller came in, who, shutting it after him, 
 and walking straight up to the half-door of the 
 bar, said, rather gruftly : 
 
 " A pint of the best old beer here." 
 
 He had some reason to be gruff, for if he had 
 passed the day in a waterfall, he could scarcely 
 have been wetter than he was. He was wrapped 
 up to the eyes in a rough blue sailor's coat, and 
 had an oil-skin hat on, from the capacious brim 
 of which, the rain full trickling down upon his 
 breast, and back, and shoulders. Judging from a 
 certain liveliness of chin — he had so pulled down 
 his hat, and pulled up his collar, to defend him- 
 self from the weather, that she could only see his 
 chin, and even across that he drew the wet sleeve 
 of his shaggy coat, as she looked at him — Mrs. 
 Lupin set him down for a good-natured fellow, too. 
 
 44 A bod night!" observed the hostess cheerfully. 
 
 The traveller shook himself like a Newfound- 
 land dog, and said it was, rather. 
 
 M There 's a fire" in the kitchen," said Mr-. I, i- 
 pin, " and very good company there. Hadn't you 
 better go and dry yourself '" 
 
 " No, thankee," said the man, glancing towards ! 
 the kitchen as he spoke : he seemed to know the ■ 
 way. 
 
 " It 's enough to give you your death of cold," 
 observed the hestess. 
 
 •* I don't take my death easy," returned the 
 traveller; "or I should most likely have took it 
 afore to-night Your health, ma'arn !" 
 
 Mrs^ Lupin thanked him ; but in the act of 
 lifting the tankard to his mouth, he changed his 
 mind, and put it down again. Throwing his body 
 back, and looking about him stitHy, as a man does 
 who is wrapped up, and has his hat low down 
 over his eyes, he said, 
 
 41 What do you call this house? Not the Dra- 
 gon, do you ?" 
 
 Mrs. Lupin complacently made answer, " Yes, 
 the Dragon." 
 
 44 Why, then, you 've got a sort of relation of 
 mine here, ma'am," said the traveller : 44 a young 
 man of the name of Tapley. What! Mark, my 
 boy !" apostrophising the premises, " have I come 
 upon you at last, old buck !" 
 
 This was touching Mrs. Lupin on a tender 
 point. She turned to trim the candle on the 
 chimney-piece, and said, with her back towards 
 the traveller : 
 
 44 Nobody should be made more welcome at the 
 Dragon, master, than any one who brought me 
 news of Mark. But it 's many and many a long 
 day and month since he left here and England. 
 And whether he 's alive or dead, poor fellow, Hea- 
 ven above us only knows !" 
 
 She shook her head, and her voice trembled ; 
 her hand must have done so too, for the light re- 
 quired a deal of trimming. 
 
 44 Where did he go, ma'am ?" asked the travel- 
 ler, in a gentler voice. 
 
 44 He went," said Mrs. Lupin, with increased 
 distress, " to America. He was always tender- 
 hearted and kind, and perhaps at this moment 
 may be lying in prison under sentence of death, 
 for taking pity on some miserable black, and 
 helping the poor runaway creetur to escape. How 
 could he ever go to America ! Why didn't he go 
 to some of those countries which are not quite 
 barbarous ; where the savages eat each other 
 fairly, and give an equal chance to every one !" 
 
 Quite subdued by this time, Mrs. Lupin sobbed 
 and was retiring to a chair to give her grief free 
 vent, when the traveller caught her in his arms, 
 and she uttered a glad cry of recognition. 
 
 44 Yes, I will!" cried Mark, "another — one 
 more — twenty more ! You didn't know me in 
 that hat and coat ? I thought you would have 
 known me anywhere ! Ten more !" 
 
 44 So I should have known you, if I could have 
 seen you ; but I couldn't, and you spoke so gruff. 
 I didn't think you could speak gruff to me, Mark, 
 at first coming back." 
 
 "Fifteen more!" said Mr. Tapley. "How 
 handsome and how young you look ! Six more ! 
 The last half-dozen warn't a fair one, and must 
 be done over again. Lord bless you, what a treat 
 it is to see you ! One more ! Well, I never wai 
 so jolly. Just a few more, on account ut" tbero 
 not being any credit in it !" 
 
 When Mr. Tapley stopped in these calculations 
 
 
254 
 
 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 in simple addition, he did it, not because he was 
 at all tired of the exercise, but because he was 
 out of breath. The pause reminded him of other 
 duties. 
 
 *' Mr. Martin Chuzzlewit 's outside," he said. 
 44 I left him under the cart-shed, while I came on 
 to see if there was anybody here. We want to 
 keep quiet to-night, till we know the news from 
 you, and what it 's best for us to do." 
 
 44 There 's not a soul in the house except the 
 kitchen company," returned the hostess. " If 
 they were to know you had come back, Mark, 
 they 'd have a bonfire in the street, late as it is." 
 
 " But they mustn't know it to-night, my pre- 
 cious soul," said Mark : "so have the house shut, 
 and the kitchen fire made up ; and when it 's all 
 ready, put a light in the winder, and we '11 come 
 in. One more ! I long to hear about old friends. 
 You '11 tell me all about 'em, won't you ? Mr. 
 Pinch, and the butcher's dog down the street, and 
 the terrier over the way, and the wheelwright's, 
 and every one of 'em. When I first caught sight 
 of the church to-night, I thought the steeple would 
 have choked me, I did. One more ! Won't you ? 
 Not a very little one to finish off with ?" 
 
 44 You have had plenty, I am sure," said the 
 hostess. " Go along with your foreign manners !" 
 
 ■ That aint foreign, bless you !" cried Mark. 
 " Native as oysters, that is ! One more, because 
 it 's native ! As a mark of respect for the land 
 we live in! This don't count as between you and 
 me, you understand," said Mr. Tapley. u I a'n't 
 a kissin' you now, you '11 observe. I have been 
 among the patriots : I 'm a kissin' my country." 
 
 It would have been very unreasonable to com- 
 plain of the exhibition of his patriotism with which 
 he followed up this explanation, that it was all 
 lukewarm or indifferent. When he had given full 
 expression to his nationality, he hurried off to 
 Martin ; while Mrs. Lupin, in a state of great 
 agitation and excitement, prepared for their re- 
 ception. 
 
 The company soon came tumbling out : insist- 
 ing to each other that the Dragon clock was half 
 an hour too fast, and that the thunder must have 
 affected it. Impatient, wet, and weary, though 
 they were, Martin and Mark were overjoyed to 
 see these old faces, and watched them with de- 
 lighted interest, as they departed from the house, 
 and passed close by them. 
 
 ■ There 's the old tailor, Mark !" whispered 
 Martin. 
 
 " There he goes, Sir ! A little bandyer than he 
 was, I think, Sir, aint he ? His figure 's so far 
 altered, as it seems to me, that you might wheel 
 a rather larger barrow between his legs as he 
 walks, than you could have done conveniently, 
 when we know'd him. There 's Sam a coming 
 out, Sir." 
 
 " Ah, to be sure !" cried Martin : " Sam, the 
 hostler. I wonder whether that horse of Peck- 
 sniff's is alive still ?" 
 
 " Not a doubt on it, Sir," returned Mark. 
 44 That 's a description of animal, Sir, as will go 
 on in a bony way peculiar to himself for a long 
 time, and get into the newspapers at last under 
 the title of ' Sing'lar Tenacity of Life in a Quad- 
 ruped.' As if he had ever been alive in all his 
 life, worth mentioning ! There's the clerk, Sir, — 
 very drunk, as usual." 
 
 " I see him !" said Martin, laughing. " But, 
 my life, how r wet you are, Mark !" 
 
 44 /am ! What do you consider yourself, Sir ?" 
 
 "Oh, not half as bad," said his fellow-traveller, 
 with an air of great vexation. " I told you not to 
 keep on the windy side, Mark, but to let us change 
 and change about. The rain has been beating on 
 you, ever since it began." 
 
 " You don't know how it pleases me, Sir," said 
 Mark, after a short silence : " if I may make so 
 bold as say so, to hear you a going on in that 
 there uncommon considerate way of yours ; which 
 I don't mean to attend to, never, but which, ever 
 since that time when I was floored in Eden, you 
 have showed." 
 
 " Ah Mark !" sighed Martin, " the less we say 
 of that the better. Do I see the light yonder?" 
 
 " That 's the light !" cried Mark. " Lord bless 
 her, what briskness she possesses ! Now for it, 
 | sir. Neat wines, good beds, and first-rate enter- 
 tainment for man or beast." 
 
 The kitchen fire burnt clear and red, the table 
 was spread out, the kettle boiled, the slippers 
 were there, the boot-jack too, sheets of ham were 
 cooking on the gridiron, half-a-dozen eggs were 
 poaching in the frying-pan; a plethoric cherry- 
 I brandy bottle was winking at a foaming jug of 
 ! beer upon the table ; rare provisions were dangling 
 from the rafters as if you had only to open your 
 mouth, and something exquisitely ripe and good 
 J would be but too glad of the excuse for tumbling 
 . into it Mrs. Lupin, who for their sakes had dis. 
 lodged the very cook, high priestess of the temple, 
 with her own genial hands was dressing their re- 
 past. 
 
 It was impossible to help it — a ghost must have 
 hugged her. The Atlantic Ocean and the Red 
 Sea being, in that respect, all one, Martin hugged 
 her instantly. Mr. Tapley (as if the idea were 
 quite novel, and had never occurred to him before), 
 followed, with much gravity, on the same side. 
 
 " Little did I ever think," said Mrs. Lupin, 
 adjusting her cap and laughing heartily ; yes, and 
 blushing too; "often as I have said that Mr. 
 Pecksniff's young gentlemen were the life and 
 soul of the Dragon, and that without them it 
 would be too dull to live in — little did I ever 
 think, I am sure, that any one of them would 
 ever make so free as you, Mr. Martin ! And still 
 less that I shouldn't be angry with him, but 
 should be glad with all my heart, to be the first 
 to welcome him home from America, with Mark 
 Tapley, fbr his— " 
 
 " For his friend, Mrs. Lupin," interposed Mar- 
 tin hastily. 
 
 " For his friend," said the hostess, evidently 
 gratified by this distinction, but at the same time 
 admonishing Mr. Tapley with a fork, to remain 
 at a respectful distance. "Little did I ever think 
 that! But still less, that I should ever have the 
 changes to relate that I shall have to tell you of, 
 when you have done your supper !" 
 
 " Good Heaven !" cried Martin, changing co- 
 lour, " What changes ?" 
 
 " She" said the hostess, " is quite well, and 
 now at Mr. Pecksniff's. Don't bs at all alarmed 
 about her. She is everything you could wish. 
 It 's of no use mincing matters or making se- 
 crets, is it?" added Mrs. Lupin. "I know uf 
 
 about it, you see !' 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 
 
 lit! 
 
 My good creature," returned Martin, " you 
 
 clly the person who ought to know all 
 
 •boot it. I am delighted to think you do know 
 
 |H about it. Hut what changes do you hint at ? 
 
 J I tth occurred 7" 
 
 u No, no !" said the hostess. M Not so bad as 
 
 that. Bnt I declare now that i will not be drawn 
 
 "into saying another word till you have had your 
 
 supper. If you ask me fifty questions in the 
 
 mean time, I won't answer one." > 
 
 Su. was so positive that there was nothing for 
 it but to gel the 8U|>|kt over as quickly as possi- 
 ble ; an hud been walking a great many 
 
 miles, and bad fasted since the middle of the day, 
 they did no great violence to their own inclina- 
 alii nf on it tooth and nail. It took ra- 
 9get to get through than might have been 
 expected ; for, half.a-dozen times, when they 
 thought they had finished, Mrs. Lupin exposed the 
 frHacy of that impression triumphantly. But at 
 last, in the course of time and nature, they gave 
 in. Then, sitting with their slippered feet stretch- 
 ed out upon the kitchen hearth (which was won- 
 dcrfully comforting, for the night had grown by 
 this time raw and chilly), and looking with invol- 
 untary admiration at their dimpled, buxom, bloom- 
 ing hostess, as the firelight sparkled in her eyes 
 and glimmered in her raven hair, they composed 
 themselves to listen to her news. 
 
 Many were the exclamations of surprise which 
 interrupted her, when she told them of the sepa- 
 ration between Mr. Pecksniff and his daughters, 
 and between the same good gentleman and Mr. 
 Pinch. But these were nothing to the indignant 
 demonstrations of Martin, when she related, as 
 the common talk of the neighbourhood, what en- 
 tire possession he had obtained over the mind and 
 person of old Mr. Chuzzlewit and what high ho- 
 nour he designed for Mary. On receipt of this 
 intelligence, Martin's slippers flew off in a twink- 
 ling, and he began pulling on his wet boots with 
 that indefinite intention of going somewhere in- 
 stantly, and doing something to somebody, which 
 is the first safety-valve of a hot temper. 
 
 44 He !" said Martin, ■ smooth-tongued villain 
 that he is ! He ! Give me that other boot, Mark !" 
 
 44 Where was you a thinking of going to, Sir ?" 
 nquired Mr. Tapley, drying the sole at the fire, 
 ind looking coolly at it as he spoke, as if it were 
 a mice of toast. 
 
 44 Where !" repeated Martin. 44 You don't sup- 
 pose I am going to remain here, do you 7" 
 
 The imperturbable Mark confessed that he 
 did. 
 
 44 You do!" retorted Martin angrily. 4I I am 
 much obliged to you. What do you take me 
 for 7" 
 
 44 1 take you for what you are, Sir," said Mark ; 
 44 and, consequently, am quite sure that whatever 
 you do, will be right and sensible. The boot, 
 Sir." 
 
 Martin darted an impatient look at him, with- 
 out taking it, and walked rapidly up and down 
 the kitchen several times, with one boot and a 
 stocking on. But mindful of his Eden resolu- 
 tion, he had already gained many victories over 
 himself when Mark was in the case, and he re- 
 solved to conquer now. So he came back to the 
 boot-jack, laid his hand en Mirk's shoulder to 
 steady himself, pulled the boot off, picked up his 
 
 slippers, put them on, and sat down again. He 
 could not help thrusting his hands to the very 
 bottom of his pockets, and muttering at intervals, 
 44 Pecksniff too ! That fellow ! I'pon my soul ! 
 In-deed! What next?" and so forth : nor could 
 be help occasionally shaking his rial at the chim- 
 ney, with a very threatening countenance: bu* 
 this did not last long; and he heard Mrs. Lupin 
 out, if not with composure, at ail events in si- 
 lence. 
 
 44 As to Mr. Pecksniff himself," observed the 
 hostess in conclusion, spreading out the skirts of 
 her gown with both hands, and nodding her head 
 a great many times as she did so, M I don't know 
 what to say. Somebody must have poisoned hie 
 mind, or influenced him in some extraordinary 
 way. I cannot believe that such a noble-spoken 
 gentleman would go and do wrong of his own 
 accord !" 
 
 How many people are there in the world, who, 
 for no better reason, uphold their Pecksniffs to the 
 last, and abandon virtuous men, When Pecksniffs 
 breathe upon them ! 
 
 14 As to Mr. Pinch," pursued the landlady, 44 if 
 ever there was a dear, good, pleasant, worthy, 
 soul alive. Pinch, and no other, is his name. But 
 how do we know that old Mr. Chuzzlewit him- 
 self was not the cause of different arising be- 
 tween him and Mr. Pecksniff? No one but them- 
 selves can tell : for Mr. Pinch has a proud spirit, 
 though he has such a quiet way; and when he 
 left us, and was so sorry to go, he scorned to make 
 his story good, even to me." 
 
 44 Poor old Tom !" said Martin, in a tone that 
 sounded like remorse. 
 
 44 It 's a comfort to know," resumed the land- 
 lady, " that he has his sister living with him, and 
 is doing well. Only yesterday he sent me back, 
 by post, a little" — here the colour came into her 
 cheeks — tl a little trifle I was bold enough to lend 
 him when he went away : saying, with many 
 thanks, that he had good employment, and didn't 
 want it. It was the same note ; he hadn't broken 
 it I never thought I could have been so little 
 pleased to see a bank-note come back to me, as 1 
 was to see that" 
 
 44 Kindly said, and heartily !" said Martin. a Ii 
 it not, Mark 7" 
 
 "She can't say anything as does not possess 
 them qualities," returned Mr. Tapley ; u which as 
 much belong to the Dragon as its license. And 
 now that we have got quite cool and fresh, to the 
 subject again, Sir : what will you do 7 If you're 
 not proud, and can make up your mind to go 
 through with what you spoke of, coming along, 
 that 's the course for you to take. If you started 
 wrong with your grandfather : (which, you Tl 
 excuse my taking the liberty of saying, appears 
 to have been the case), up with you, Sir, and tell 
 him so, and make an appeal to his affections. 
 Don't stand out He 's a great deal older than 
 you, and if lie was hasty, you was hasty too Give 
 way, Sir, give way." 
 
 The eloquence of Mr. Tapley was not without 
 its effect on Martin, but he still hesitated, and ex- 
 pressed his reason thus : 
 
 44 That '8 all very true, and perfectly correct, 
 Mark ; and if it were a mere question of humbling 
 myself before him y I would not consider it twice. 
 But don't you see, that being wholly under this 
 
>• 
 
 256 
 
 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 hypocrite's government, and having (if what we 
 hear be true) no mind or will of his own, I throw 
 myself, in fact, not at his feet, but at the feet of 
 Mr. Pecksniff? And when I am rejected and 
 spurned away," said Martin, turning- crimson at 
 the thought, " it is not by him : my own blood 
 stirred against me : but by Pecksniff — Pecksniff, 
 Mark !" 
 
 " Well, but we know beforehand," returned the 
 politic Mr. Tapley, " that Pecksniff is a wagabond, 
 a scoundrel, and a willain." 
 
 " A most pernicious villain !" said Martin. 
 "A most pernicious willain. We know that 
 beforehand, Sir ; and, consequently, it 's no shame 
 to be defeated by Pecksniff. Blow Pecksniff!" 
 cried Mr. Tapley, in the fervour of his eloquence. 
 " Who 's he ! It 's not in the natur of Pecksniff 
 to shame us, unless he agreed with us, or done us 
 a service ; and, in case he offered any outdacity 
 of that description, we could express our senti- 
 ments in the English language, I hope ? Peck- 
 sniff!" repeated Mr. Tapley, with ineffable dis- 
 dain. "What's Pecksniff, who's Pecksniff, 
 where 's Pecksniff, that he 's to be so much con- 
 sidered ? We 're not calculating for ourselves ;" 
 he laid uncommon emphasis on the last syllable 
 of that word, and looked full in Martin's face ; 
 " we 're making a effort for a young lady likewise 
 as has undergone her share; and whatever little 
 hope we have, this here Pecksniff is not to stand 
 in its way, I expect. I never heerd of any act of 
 Parliament as was made by Pecksniff. Peck- 
 sniff! Why, I wouldn't see the man myself; I 
 wouldn't hear him ; I wouldn't choose to know he 
 was in company. I 'd scrape my shoes on the 
 scraper of the door, and call that Pecksniff, if you 
 liked ; but I wouldn't condescend no further." 
 
 The amazement of Mrs. Lupin, and indeed of 
 Mr. Tapley himself for that matter, at this impas- 
 sioned flow of language, was immense. But 
 Martin, after looking thoughtfully at the fire for 
 a short time, said : 
 
 " You are right, Mark. Right or wrong, it 
 shall be done. I '11 do it." 
 
 " One word more Sir," returned Mark. " Only 
 think of him so far, as not to give him a handle 
 against you. Don't you do anything secret, that 
 he can report before you get there. Don't you 
 even see Miss Mary in the morning, but let this 
 here dear friend of ours;" Mr. Tapley bestowed 
 a smile upon the hostess; "prepare her for what's 
 a going to happen, and carry any little message 
 as may be agreeable. She knows how. Don't 
 you ?" Mrs. Lupin laughed and tossed her head. 
 " Then you go in, bold and free as a gentleman 
 should. ' I haven't done nothing under-handed,' 
 says you. ' I haven't been a skulking about the 
 premises, here I am, for-give me, I ask your par- 
 don, God Bless You !' " 
 
 Martin smiled, but felt that it was good advice 
 notwithstanding, and resolved to act upon it. 
 When they had ascertained from Mrs. Lupin that 
 Pecksniff had already returned from the great 
 ceremonial at which they had beheld him in his 
 glory; and when they had fully arranged the 
 order of their proceedings ; they went to bed, in- 
 tent upon the morrow. 
 
 In pursuance of their project as agreed upon at 
 (hi* discussion, Mr. Tapley issued forth next 
 morning, after breakfast, charged with a letter 
 
 from Martin to his grandfather, requesting leave 
 to wait upon him for a few minutes. And post- 
 poning as he went along the congratulations of 
 his numerous friends until a more convenient 
 season, he soon arrived at Mr. Pecksniff's house. 
 At that gentleman's door : with a face so im- 
 moveable that it would have been next to an im- 
 possibility for the most acute physiognomist to* 
 determine what he was thinking about, or whether 
 he was thinking at all : he straightway knocked. 
 A person of Mr. Tapley's observation could not 
 long remain insensible to the fact, that Mr. Peck- 
 sniff was making the end of his nose very blunt 
 against the glass of the parlour window, in an 
 angular attempt to discover who had knocked at 
 the door. Nor was Mr. Tapley slow to baffle this 
 movement on the part of the enemy, by perching 
 himself on the top step, and presenting the crown 
 of his hat in that direction. But possibly Mr. 
 Pecksniff had already seen him, for Mark soon 
 heard his shoes creaking, as he advanced to open 
 the door with his own hands. 
 
 Mr. Pecksniff was as cheerful as ever, and sang 
 a little song in the passage. 
 
 "How d've do Sir?" said Mark. 
 "Oh!" cried Mr. Pecksniff. " Tapley, I be- 
 lieve? The Prodigal returned! We don't want 
 any Beer, my friend." 
 
 " Thankee Sir," said Mark. " I couldn't ac- 
 commodate you, if you did. A letter Sir. Wait 
 for an answer." 
 
 "For me?" cried Mr. Pecksniff. "And an 
 answer, eh ?" 
 
 "Not for you I think Sir," said Mark, pointing 
 out the direction "Chuzzlewit, I believe the 
 name is, Sir." 
 
 " Oh !" returm.d Mr. Pecksniff. " Thank you. 
 Yes. Who's it from, my good young man?" 
 
 " The gentleman it comes from, wrote his name 
 inside Sir," returned Mr. Tapley with extreme 
 politeness. " I see him a signing of it at the end, 
 while I was a waitin'." 
 
 "And he said he wanted an answer did he?" 
 asked Mr. Pecksniff in his most persuasive man- 
 ner. 
 
 Mark replied in the affirmative. 
 " He shall have an answer. Certainly," said 
 Mr. Pecksniff, tearing the letter into small pieces 
 as mildly as if that were the most flattering atten- 
 tion a correspondent could receive. " Have the 
 goodness to give him that, with my compliments, 
 if you please. Good morning !" Whereupon, he 
 handed Mark the scraps ; retired ; and shut the 
 door. 
 
 Mark thought it prudent to subdue his personal 
 emotions, and return to Martin, at the Dragon. 
 They were not unprepared for such a reception, 
 and suffered an hour or so to elapse before making 
 another attempt. When this interval had gone 
 by, they returned to Mr. Pecksniff's house in 
 company. Martin knocked this time, while Mr. 
 Tapley prepared himself to keep the door open 
 with his foot and shoulder, when anybody came, 
 and by thai means secure an enforced parley. 
 But this precaution was needless, for the servant- 
 girl appeared almost immediately. Brushing 
 quickly past her as he had resolved in such a 
 case to do, Martin (closely followed by his faithful 
 ally) opened the door of that parlour in which he 
 knew a visitor was most likely to be found ; pass. 
 
/,, 
 
 //-///<" 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 
 
 257 
 
 ed at v\ce into the room ; and Mood, without a 
 word r,f notice or announcement, in the ; 
 of his grandfather. 
 
 Mr. Pecksniff also was in the room ; an 
 fn the swift instant of their mutual recognition, 
 Martin saw the old man droop his grey head, and 
 hide his fuce in his hands. 
 
 It smote him to the heart. In his most selfish 
 nnd most caretee* day, this Iinre.r ; ng remnant of 
 the old man's ancient love, this, h'.ittress of a 
 ruined tower he had built Dp in the time gone by, 
 with so much pride and hope, would have caused 
 a Deng in .Martin's heart. But now, changed for 
 the better In his u t; looking through 
 
 an filtered medium on his former friend, the guar- 
 dian of his childhood, so broken and bowed down; 
 ilknncss, self-confidence, and pride, 
 [] swept away, before the starting tears 
 upon the withered cheeks. He could not bear to 
 see them. He could not bear to think they fell at 
 sight of him. He could not bear to view reflected 
 in them, the reproachful and irrevocable Past. 
 
 He hurriedly advanced, to seize the old man's 
 nand in his, when Mr. Pecksniff interposed him- 
 self between them. 
 
 " No, young man !" said Mr. Pecksniff, strik- 
 ing himself upon the breast, and stretching out his 
 other arm towards his guest as if it were a wing 
 to shelter him. " No Sir. None of that Strike 
 here Sir, here ! Lanch your arrows at Me sir, 
 if you '11 have the goodness ; not at Him !" 
 
 ndfather !** cried Martin. "Hear me! I 
 implore you, let me speak !" 
 
 " Would you Sir ! Would you !" said Mr. Peck- 
 sniff, dodging about, so as to keep himself always 
 ; them. " Is it not enough, Sir, that you 
 come into my house like a thief in the night, or I 
 should rather say, for we can never be too parti- 
 cular on the subject of Truth, like a thief in the 
 day-time; "bringing your dissolute companions 
 with yen, to plant themselves with their backs 
 against the insides of parlour doors, and prevent 
 the entrance or leaning forth of any of my house- 
 hold ;" .Mark had taken up this position, and held 
 it quite unmoved; "but would you also strike at 
 le Virtue? Would you? Know that it is 
 I will be its shield, young man. 
 on, Sir. Fire away !" 
 I the old man, in a feeble voice. 
 "Calm yourself. He quiet." 
 
 n't be calm," cried Mr. Pecksniff, " and I 
 won't Ik.- jjui t. My benefactor and my friend ! 
 Khali even mv house be no refuge for your hoary 
 
 pillov 
 
 I .is'k!.' !" *aid the old man, stretching 
 out hi* band ; "and let me see what it is, I used 
 irly." 
 ri»ht that you should see it, my friend," 
 " It is well that you should 
 see i», ins i It is d. sirablo that you 
 
 should contemplate it in its true proportions. Be- 
 hold it ji r" 
 
 Martin could hardly be ■ mortal man, and not 
 
 in Ins tare, something of the anger Bod 
 
 disdain, with whic MJlff inspired him. 
 
 But beyond this he evinced n<> knowledge what- 
 
 ■ that gentleman's presence or existence. 
 
 True, he had once, and that at first, glanced at 
 
 him involuntarily, and with supreme contempt ; 
 
 33 
 
 but for any other heed he took of him, there might 
 n ri'. thing in his placer save empty air. 
 
 As Mr. Pecksniff withdrew from between them, 
 agn-t ably to the winh just now expressed (which 
 he did, during the delivery of the observations last 
 recorded), old Martin, who had tak--n Mary (ira- 
 hain's hand in his, and Whispered kindly to her, 
 as telling her she had no cause to be alaoned, 
 gently pushed her from him, behind his chair ; 
 and looked steadily at his grandson. 
 
 " And that," he said, u is he. Ah ! that is he ! 
 Say what you wish to say. But come no nearer." 
 
 •' Hig sense of justice is so fine," said Mr. Peck- 
 sniff, "that he will hear even him; although he 
 knows beforehand that nothing can come Vjf it. 
 Ingenuous mind !" Mr. Pecksniff did not address 
 himself immediately to any person in saying this, 
 but assuming the position of the Chorus in a 
 Greek Tragedy, delivered his opinion as a com- 
 mentary on the proceedings. 
 
 " Grandfather !" said Martin, with great ear- 
 nestness. " From a painful journey, from a hard 
 life, from a sick bed, from privation and distress, 
 from gloom and disappointment, from almost 
 hopelessness and despair, I have come back to 
 you." 
 
 " Rovers of this sort," observed Mr. Pecksniff 
 as Chorus, " very commonly come back when 
 they find they don't meet with the success they 
 expected in their marauding ravages-" 
 
 " But for this faithful man," said Martin, turn- 
 ing towards Mark, "whom I first knew in tins 
 place, and who went away with me voluntarily, as 
 ■ servant, but has been, throughout, my zealous 
 and devoted friend ; but for him, I must hava died 
 abroad. Far from home, far from any help or 
 consolation ; fir from the probability even, of my 
 wretched fate being ever known to any one who 
 cared to hear it — oh that you would kt me say, 
 of being known to you!" 
 
 The old man looked at Mr. Pecksniff. Mr. 
 
 I Pecksniff looked at him. " Did you speak, my 
 
 worthy Sir? said Mr. Pecksniff, with a smile. 
 
 ! The old man answered in the negative. u I know 
 
 what you thought," said Mr. Pecksniff, with ano- 
 
 ; ther smile. "Lei him go on, my fiiend. The 
 
 development of selftnterett in the human mind ts 
 
 always a curious study. Let him go on. Sir." 
 
 "<;o on !" observed the old men ; in a mechani- 
 cal obedience, it appeared, to Mr. Pecksniff's sug. 
 gestion, 
 
 " I have been so wretched end so poor,** said 
 Martin, " that I am indebted to the charitable help 
 of a stranger in a land of strangers, for tl>e means 
 of returning here. All this tells against mc in 
 your mind, I know. I have given you cause to- 
 think I have been driven here whtSj by want,, 
 and have not been led on, in any <Jogrce, by affec 
 tion or regret. When f parte*! from »oa, i 
 father, I deserved that suspicion, but I do not now 
 I do not now." 
 
 The thorns put its hand in its waistt.oat, and 
 smiled. M Let him go on my worthy Sir," it said. 
 " I know what you are thinking of, but don*t c* 
 press it prematurely." 
 
 Old Martin raised his eyes to Mr Pecksniff* 
 face, and appearing to derive rcnc.cd instruction 
 from his looks and words, said, ..nee agahi . 
 
 - Go on !" 
 
258 
 
 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 "I have little more to say," returned Martin. 
 "And as I say it now, with little or no hope, 
 Grandfather ; whatever dawn of hope I had on 
 entering the room ; believe it to be true. At least 
 believe it to be true." 
 
 " Beautiful Truth !" exclaimed the Chorus, 
 looking upward. " How is your name profaned 
 by vicious persons ! You don't live in a well, my 
 holy principle, but on the lips of false mankind. 
 It is hard to bear with mankind, dear Sir," — ad- 
 dressing the elder Mr. Chuzzlewit ; "but let us 
 do so, meekly. It is our duty so to do. Let us 
 be among the Few who do their duty. If," pur- 
 sued the Chorus, soaring up into a lofty flight, 
 " as the poet informs us, England expects Every 
 man to do his duty, England is the most sanguine 
 country on the face of the earth, and will find 
 itself continually disappointed." 
 
 " Upon that subject," said Martin, looking 
 calmly at the old man as he spoke, but glancing 
 once at Mary, whose face was now buried in her 
 hands, upon the back of his easy chair : " upon 
 that subject, which first occasioned a division be- 
 tween us, my mind and heart are incapable of 
 change. Whatever influence they have under- 
 gone, since that unhappy time, has not been one 
 to weaken but to strengthen me. I cannot pro- 
 fess sorrow for that, nor irresolution in that, nor 
 shame in that. Nor would you wish me, I 
 know. But that I might have trusted to your 
 love, if I had thrown myself manfully upon it ; 
 that I might have won you over with ease, if I 
 had been more yielding, and more considerate; 
 that I should have best remembered myself in 
 forgetting myself, and recollecting you; reflection, 
 solitude, and misery, have taught me. I came 
 iesolved to say this, and to ask your forgiveness: 
 not so much in hope for the future, as in regret 
 for the past: for all that I would ask of you, is, 
 that you would aid me to live. Help me to get 
 honest work to do, and I would do it. My con- 
 dition places me at the disadvantage of seeming 
 to have only my selfish ends to serve, but try if 
 that be so, or not. Try if I be self-willed, obdu- 
 rate, and haughty, as I was ; or have been disci- 
 plined in a rough school. Let the voice of nature 
 and association plead between us, Grandfather; 
 and do not, for one fault, however thankless, quite 
 reject me !" 
 
 As he ceased, the grey head of the old man 
 drooped again ; and he concealed his face behind 
 his outspread fingers. 
 
 "My dear Sir," cried Mr. Pecksniff, bending 
 over him, " you must not give way to this. It is 
 very natural, and very amiable, but you must not 
 allow the shameless conduct of one whom you 
 long ago cast off, to move you so far. Rouse 
 yourself. Think," said Mr. Pecksniff, "think of 
 Me, my friend." 
 
 " I will," returned old Martin, looking up into 
 his face. " You recall me to myself. I will." 
 
 " Why, what," said Mr. Pecksniff, sitting down 
 beside him in a chair which he drew up for the 
 purpose, and tapping him playfully on the arm, 
 4 what is the matter with my strong-minded com- 
 patriot, if T may venture to take the liberty of 
 calling him Ly that endearing expression? Shall 
 I have to scold my coadjutor, or to reason with an 
 intellect like his ? I think not." 
 
 "No, no. There is no occasion," said the 
 
 ing 
 
 | old man. " A momentary feeling. Notli 
 ' more." 
 
 " Indignation," observed Mr. Pecksniff, " will 
 bring the scalding tear into the honest eye, I 
 know" — he wiped his own elaborately. "But 
 we have higher duties to perform than that. 
 Rouse yourself, Mr. Chuzzlewit. Shall I give ex- 
 pression to your thoughts, my friend ?" 
 
 " Yes," said old Martin, leaning back in his 
 chair, and looking at him, half in vacancy and 
 half in admiration, as if he were fascinated by 
 the man. "Speak for me, Pecksniff. Thank 
 you. You are true to me. Thank you !" 
 
 "Do not unman me, Sir," said Mr. Pecksniff, 
 shaking his hand vigorously, " or I shall be un- 
 equal to the task. It is not agreeable to my feel- 
 ings, my good Sir, to address the person who is 
 now belbre us, for when I ejected him from this 
 house, after hearing of his unnatural conduct 
 from your lips, I renounced communication with 
 him for ever. But you desire it; and that is suf- 
 ficient. Y 7 oung man ! The door is immediately 
 behind the companion of your infamy. Blush if 
 you can ; begone without a blush, if you can't." 
 
 Martin looked as steadily at his grandfather as 
 if there had been a dead silence all this time. 
 The old man looked no less steadily at Mr. Peck- 
 sniff. 
 
 " When I ordered you to leave this house upon 
 the last occasion of your being dismissed from it 
 with disgrace," said Mr. Pecksniff: " when, stung 
 and stimulated beyond endurance by your shame 
 less conduct to this extraordinarily noble-minded 
 individual, I exclaimed, ' Go forth !' I told you 
 that I wept for your depravity. Do not suppose 
 that the tear which stands in my eye at this mo- 
 ment, is shed for you. It is shed for him, Sir. 
 It is shed for him." 
 
 Here Mr. Pecksniff accidentally dropping the 
 tear in question on a bald part of Mr. Chuzzlewit's 
 head, wiped the place with his pocket-handker- 
 chief, and begged pardon. 
 
 "It is shed for him, Sir, whom you seek to 
 make the victim of your arts," said Mr. Peck- 
 sniff: " whom you seek to plunder, to deceive, 
 and to mislead. It is shed in sympathy with 
 him, and admiration of him ; not in pity for him, 
 for happily he knows what you are. You shall 
 not wrong him further, Sir, in any way," said 
 Mr. Pecksniff, quite transported with enthusiasm, 
 " while I have Life. You may bestride my sense- 
 less corse, Sir. That is very likely. I can 
 imagine a mind like yours deriving great satis- 
 faction from any measure of that kind. But 
 while I continue to be called upon to exist, Sir, 
 you must strike at him through me. Aye !" said 
 Mr. Pecksniff, shaking his head at Martin with 
 indignant jocularity ; "and in such a cause you 
 will find me, my young Sir, an Ugly Customer !" 
 
 Still Martin looked steadily and mildly at his 
 grandfather. " Will you give me no answer," he 
 said, at length, " not a word ?" 
 
 " You hear what has been said," replied the old 
 ! man, without averting his eyes from the face of 
 Mr. Pecksniff: who nodded encouragingly. 
 
 " I have not heard your voice. I have not heard 
 your spirit," returned Martin. 
 
 " Tell him again," said the old man, still gazing 
 up in Mr. Pecksniff's face. 
 
 "I only hear," replied Martin, strong in his 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 
 
 25U 
 
 purpose from the first, and stronger in it as be felt 
 how Pecksniff winced and shrunk beneath his 
 contempt; "I only hear what you say to me, 
 grand father." 
 
 Psfhep* it was well for Mr. Pecksniff that his 
 !e friend found in his (Mr. Pecksniff's) 
 an ex< lusive and engrossing object of con- 
 templation, for if hi* eyes had pone astray, and he 
 had compared young 1 Martin's bearing with that 
 of his zealous defender, the Ut ter disinterested 
 pen tie man would scarcely have shown to greater 
 advantage than on the memorable afternoon when 
 he took Tom Pinch's last receipt in full of all de- 
 mands. One really misjht have thought there was 
 some quality in Mr. Pecksniff — an emanation 
 from the brightness and purity within him per- 
 haps — which set off and adorned his foes: they 
 looked so gallant and so manly beside him. 
 
 M Not a word ?" said Martin for the second 
 time. 
 
 " I remember that I have a word to say, Peck- 
 sniff," observed the old man. " But a word. You 
 spoke of being indebted to the charitable help of 
 some stranger for the means of returning to Eng 
 land. Who is he ? And what help, in money, 
 did he render you ?" 
 
 Although he asked this question of Martin, he 
 did not look towards him, but kept his eyes on 
 Mr. Pecksniff as before. It appeared to have be- 
 come a habit with him, both in a literal and figura- 
 tive sense, to look to Mr. Pecksniff alone. 
 
 Martin took out his pencil, tore a leaf from his 
 pocket-book, and hastily wrote down the particu- 
 lars of his debt to Mr. Bevan. The old man 
 stretched out his hand for the paper, and took it ; 
 nut his eyes did not wander from Mr. Pecksniff 's 
 face. 
 
 44 It would be a poor pride and a false humility," 
 said Martin, in a low voice, "to say, I do not 
 wish that to be paid, or that I have any present 
 hope of being able to pay it. But I never felt my 
 poverty so deeply as I feel it now." 
 
 " Read it to me, Pecksniff," said the old man. 
 
 Mr. Pecksniff, after approaching the perusal of 
 the paper as if it were a manuscript confession of 
 a murder, complied. 
 
 44 I think, Pecksniff," said old Martin, u I could 
 wish that to be discharged. I should not like the 
 lender, who was abroad ; who had no opportunity 
 of making inquiry, and who did (as he thought) a 
 kind action; to suffer." 
 
 44 An honourable sentiment, my dear Sir. Your 
 o;vn entirely. But a dangerous precedent," said 
 Mr. Pecksniff, 44 permit me to suggest." 
 
 44 It shall not be a precedent," returned the old 
 man. 44 It is the only recognition of him. Bat 
 we will talk of it again. You shall advise me. 
 There is nothing else ?" 
 
 44 Nothing else," said Mr. Pecksniff, buoyantly, 
 44 but for you to recover this intrusion : this cow- 
 ardly and indefensible outrage on your feelings: 
 with all possible dispatch; and smile again." 
 
 44 You have nothing more to say ?" inquired the 
 old man, laying his hand with unusual earnest- 
 ness on Mr. Pecksniff's sleeve. 
 
 Mr. Peeksnitf would not say what rose to his 
 tips. For reproaches, he observed, were useless. 
 
 44 Yon have nothing at all to urge 7 You arc 
 sure of that? If you have; no matter what it is; 
 
 speak freely. I will oppose nothing that you ask 
 of me," said the old man. 
 
 The tears rose m such abundance to Mr. Peck- 
 
 snifTs eyes at this proof of unlimited confidence 
 
 on the part of his friend, that he was fain to clasp 
 
 I the bridge of his nose convulsively before he could 
 
 at all compose himself. When he had the power 
 
 I of utterance again, he ssid, with great emotion, 
 
 that he hoped he should live to deserve this; and 
 
 added, that he had no other observation whatever 
 
 J to make. 
 
 For a few moments the old man sat looking at 
 him, with that blank and motionless expression 
 which is not uncommon in the faces of those 
 whose faculties are on the wane, in age. But he 
 rose up firmly too, and walked towards the door, 
 from which Mark withdrew to make way for him. 
 
 The obsequious Mr. Pecksniff proffered his 
 arm. The old man took it Turning at the door, 
 he said to Martin, waving him off with his hand, 
 
 '• You have heard him. Go away. It is all 
 over. Go !" 
 
 Mr. Pecksniff murmured certain cheering ex- 
 pressions of sympathy and encouragemeat as they 
 retired ; and Martin, awakening from the stupor 
 into which the closing portion of this scene had 
 plunged him, to the opportunity afforded by their 
 departure, caught the innocent cause of all in his 
 embrace, and pressed her to his heart 
 
 44 Dear girl !" said Martin. * 4 He has not chang- 
 ed you. Why, what an impotent and harmless 
 knave the fellow is !" 
 
 44 You have restrained yourself so nobly ! You 
 have borne so much !" 
 
 44 Restrained myself!" cried Martin, cheerfully. 
 44 You were by, and were unchanged, I knew. 
 What more advantage did I want ? The sight of 
 me was such bitterness to the dog, that I had my 
 triumph in his being forced to endure it. But tell 
 me, love — for the few hasty words we can ex- 
 change now, are precious — what is this, which 
 has been rumoured to me ? Is it true, that yon 
 are persecuted by this knave's addresses ?" 
 
 44 1 was, dear Martin, and to some extent am 
 now ; but my chief source of unhappiness has been 
 anxiety for you. Why did you leave us in such 
 terrible suspense ?" 
 
 44 Sicknes8, distance; the dread of hinting at 
 our real condition, the impossibility of concealing 
 it except in perfect silence; the knowledge that 
 the truth would have pained you infinitely more 
 than uncertainty and doubt," said Martin, hur- 
 riedly ; as indeed everything else was done and 
 said, in those few hurried moments, " were the 
 causes of my writing only once. But Pecksniff? 
 You needn't fear to tell me the whole tale: for 
 you saw me with him face to face, hearing him 
 speak, and not taking him by the throat : what is 
 the history of his pursuit of you ? Is it known to 
 my grandfather?** 
 
 44 Yes." 
 
 44 And he assists him in it ?" 
 
 44 No," she answered eagerly. 
 
 44 Thank Heaven!" cried Martin, "that it 
 leaves his mind unclouded in that one respect !" 
 
 44 1 do not think," said Mary, " it was known 
 to him at first. When this man had sufficiently 
 prepared his mind, he revealed it to him by dew 
 frets. I think so, but I only know it, from my 
 
LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 own impression : not from anything they told I 
 me. Then he spoke to me alone." 
 
 44 My grandfather did ?" said Martin. 
 
 " Yes — spoke to me alone, and told me — " 
 
 " What the hound had said," cried Martin. 
 " Don't repeat it." 
 
 41 And said I knew well what qualities he pos- 
 sessed ; that he was moderately rich ; in good 
 repute ; and high in his favour and confidence. 
 But seeing me very much distressed, he said that 
 he would not control or force my inclinations, 
 but would content himself with telling me the fact. 
 He would not pain me by dwelling on it, or re- 
 verting to it : nor has he ever done so since, but 
 has truly kept his word." 
 
 44 The man himself? — " asked Martin. 
 
 44 He has had few opportunities of pursuing 
 his suit. I have never walked out alone, or re- 
 mained alone an instant in his presence. Dear 
 Martin, I must tell you," she continued, "that 
 the kindness of your grandfather to me, remains 
 unchanged. I am his companion stifl. An in- 
 describable tenderness and compassion seem to 
 have mingled themselves with his old regard ; 
 and if I were his only child, I could not have a 
 gentler father. What former fancy or old habit 
 survives in this, when his heart has turned so 
 cold to you, is a mystery I cannot penetrate ; but 
 it has been, and it is, a happiness to me, that I 
 remained true to him ; that if he should wake 
 from his delusion, even at the point of death, I 
 am here, love, to recall you to his thoughts." 
 
 Martin looked with admiration on her glowing 
 face, and pressed his lips to hers. 
 
 44 1 have sometimes heard, and read," she said, 
 44 that those whose powers had been enfeebled long 
 ago, and whose lives had faded, as it were, into a 
 dream, have been known to rouse themselves be- 
 fore death, and inquire for familiar faces once 
 very dear to them ; but forgotten, unrecognised, 
 hated even, in the meantime. Think, if with his 
 old impressions of this man, he should suddenly 
 resume his former self, and find in him his only 
 friend !" 
 
 44 1 would not urge you to abandon him, dear- 
 est," said Martin, 44 though I could count the 
 years we are to wear out asunder. But the in- 
 fluence this fellow exercises over him, has steadily 
 increased, I fear." 
 
 She could not help admitting that. Steadily, 
 imperceptibly, and surely, until now it was para- 
 mount and supreme. She herself had none; and 
 yet he treated her with more affection than at 
 any previous time. Martin thought the incon- 
 sistency a part of his weakness and decay. 
 
 44 Does the influence extend to fear ?" said 
 Martin. " Is he timid of asserting his own 
 opinion in the presence of this infatuation? I 
 fancied so just now." 
 
 44 1 have thought so, often. Often 'when we are 
 sitting alone, almost as we used to do, and I have 
 been reading a favourite book to him or he has 
 been talking quite cheerfully, I have observed that 
 the entrance of Mr. Pecksniff has changed his 
 whole demeanour. He has broken oft" immediate- 
 ly, and become what you have seen to-day. When 
 we first came here he had his impetuous out- 
 breaks, in which it was not easy for Mr. Peck- 
 sniff with his utmost plausibility to appease him. 
 Bu* these have long since dwindled away. He 
 
 defers to him in everything, and has no opinion 
 upon any question, but that which is forced upon 
 him by this treacherous man." 
 
 Such was the account ; rapidly furnished in 
 whispers, and interrupted, brief as it was, by many 
 false alarms of Mr. Pecksniff's return ; which 
 Martin received of his grandfather's decline, and 
 of that good gentleman's ascendancy. He heard 
 of Tom Pinch too, and Jonas too, with not a little 
 about himself into the bargain; for though lovers 
 are remarkable for leaving a great deal unsaid on 
 all occasions, and very properly desiring to come 
 back and say it, they are remarkable also for a 
 wonderful power of condensation ; and can, in 
 one way or other, give utterance to more language 
 — eloquent language — in any given short space 
 of time, than all the six hundred and fifty- eight 
 members in the Commons House of Parliament 
 of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ire- 
 land ; who are strong lovers, no doubt, but of 
 their country only, which makes all the differ- 
 ence ; for in a passion of that kind (which is not 
 always returned), it is the custom to use as many 
 words as possible, and express nothing whatever. 
 
 A caution from Mr. Tapley ; a hasty inter- 
 change of farewells, and of something else which 
 the proverb says must not be told of afterwards ; 
 a white hand held out to Mr. Tapley himself, 
 which he kissed with the devotion of a knight- 
 errant; more farewells, more something else's; a 
 parting word from Martin that he would write 
 from London and would do great things there yet 
 (Heaven knows what, but he quite believed it) ; 
 and Mark and he stood on the outside of the 
 Pecksniffian halls. 
 
 44 A short interview after such an absence !" 
 said Martin, sorrowfully. 44 But we are well out 
 of the house. We might have placed ourselves in 
 a false position by remaining there, even so long, 
 Mark." 
 
 44 1 don't know about ourselves, Sir," he re- 
 turned ; 4| but somebody else would have got into 
 a false position, if he had happened to come back 
 again, while we was there. I had the door all 
 ready, Sir. If Pecksniff had showed his head, or 
 had only so much as listened behind it, I should 
 have caught him like a walnut. He 's the sort 
 of man," added Mr. Tapley, musing, " as would 
 squeeze soft, I know." 
 
 A person who was evidently going to Mr. Peck. 
 sniff's house, passed them at this moment. He 
 raised his eyes at the mention of the architect's 
 name ; and when he had gone a few yards, stop- 
 ped, and gazed at them. Mr. Tapley, also, looked 
 over his shoulder, and so did Martin ; for the 
 stranger, as he passed, had looked very sharply 
 at them. 
 
 44 Who may that be, I wonder !" said Martin. 
 44 The face seems familiar to me, but I don't know 
 the man." 
 
 44 He seems to have a amiable desire that his 
 face should be tolerable familiar to us," said Mr. 
 Tapley, 4 ' for he's a staring pretty hard. He'd 
 better not waste his beauty, for he aint got much 
 to spare." 
 
 Coming in eight of the Dragon, they saw a tra- 
 velling carriage at the door. 
 
 44 And a Salisbury carriage, eh !" said Mr. Tap- 
 ley. 44 That 's what he came in, depend upon it 
 What 's in the wind now ? A new pupil, I 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 
 
 261 
 
 shouldn't wonder. P'raps it 'a a order for another 
 grammar-school, of the same pattern us the last" 
 
 Before they could mtM at the door, Mrs. Lupin 
 came running out; and beckoning them to the 
 carriage showed them a portmanteau with the 
 name of Chuzzlewit upon it. 
 
 44 Miss Pecksniff's husband that was," said the 
 good woman to Martin. " I didn't know what 
 terms you might be on, and was quite in a worry 
 till you came back." 
 
 44 Ho and I have never interchanged a word 
 yet," observed Martin; "and as I have no wish 
 to be better or worse acquainted with him, I will 
 not put myself in his way. We passed him on 
 the road, I have no doubt. I am glad he timed 
 his coming, as he did. Upon my word ! Miss 
 Pecksniff's husband travels gaily 1" 
 
 44 A very fine-looking gentleman with him — in 
 the best room now," whispered Mrs. Lupin, 
 glancing up at the window as they went into the 
 
 house. " He has ordered everything that can bo 
 got for dinner ; and bus the g l oss ie st mustaches 
 and whiskers that ever you saw." , 
 
 ' Eftl he?" cried Martin; "why then we'll 
 endeavour to avoid him too, in the hope that our 
 self-denial may be strong enough for the sacrifice. 
 It is only for a few hours," said Martin, dropping 
 wearily into a chair behind the little screen in the 
 bar. "Our visit has met with no success, my 
 I dear Mrs. Lupin, and I must go to London." 
 
 44 Dear, dear !" cried the hostess. 
 
 ** Yes. One foul wind no more makes a winter, 
 than one swallow makes a summer — I'll try it 
 again. Tom Pinch has succeeded. With his ad- 
 vice to guide me, I may do the same. I took 
 Tom under my protection once, God save the 
 mark!" said Martin, with a melancholy smile; 
 44 and promised I would make his fortune. Per- 
 haps Tom will take me under his protection now, 
 and teach me how to earn my bread." 
 
 CHAPTER XLIV. 
 
 FURTHER CONTINUATION OF THE ENTERPRISE OF MR. JONAS AND HIS 
 
 FRIEND. 
 
 It Was a special quality, among the many ad- 
 mirable qualities possessed by Mr. Pecksniff, that 
 tht more he was found out, the more hypocrisy 
 he practised. Let him be discomfited in one 
 quarter, and he refreshed and recompensed him- 
 self by carrying the war into another. If his 
 workings and windings were detected by A, so 
 much the greater reason was there for practising 
 without loss of time on B, if it were only to keep 
 his hand in. He had never been such a saintly 
 and improving spectacle to all about him, as after 
 his detection by Thomas Pinch. He had scarcely 
 ever been at once so tender in his humanity, and 
 so dignified and exalted in his virtue, as when 
 young Martin'B scorn was fresh and hot upon 
 him. 
 
 Having this large stock of superfluous senti- 
 ment and morality on hand which must positively 
 be cleared off at any sacrifice, Mr. Pecksniff no 
 miter heard his son-in-law announced, than he 
 regarded him as a kind of wholesale or general 
 order, to be immediately executed. Descending, 
 therefore, swiftly to the parlour, and clasping the 
 young nian in hi 3 arms, he exclaimed, with looks 
 and gestures that denoted the perturbation of his 
 spirit: 
 
 44 Jonas ! My child — she is well ? There is no- 
 thing the matter?" 
 
 44 What, you're at it again, are you ?" replied 
 his son-in-law. 44 Even with me ? Get away with 
 you, will you ?" 
 
 i me she is well, then," said Mr. Pecksniff. 
 44 T.ll rne she is well, my Boy !" 
 
 "She's well enough," retorted Jonas, disen. 
 gaging himself. "There's nothing the matter 
 with her." 
 
 4i There is nothing the matter with her !" cried 
 
 ksnitV, sitting down in the nearest chair, 
 
 and rubbing up his hair. N Fie upon my wcak- 
 
 tttot help it Jonas. Thank you. I 
 
 Met now. How is my other ehiid; my 
 
 . my Chcrrywerrychigo?" said Mr. Peck- 
 
 sniff, inventing a playful little name for her, in 
 the restored lightness of his heart 
 
 44 She 's much about the same as usual," return- 
 ed Mr. Jonas. 44 She sticks pretty close to the 
 vinegar-bottle. You know she's got a sweet- 
 heart, I suppose ?" 
 
 44 1 have heard of it," said Mr. Pecksniff, " from 
 head-quarters ; from my child herself. I will not 
 deny that it moved me to contemplate the loss of 
 my remaining daughter, Jonas — I am afraid we 
 parents are selfish ; I am afraid we are — but it 
 has ever been the study of my life to qualify them 
 for the domestic hearth ; and it is a sphere which 
 Cherry will adorn." 
 
 44 She need adorn some sphere or other," ob- 
 served his son-in-law, with charming frankness. 
 44 For she aint very ornamental in general." 
 
 14 My girls are now provided for," said Mr. 
 Pecksniff. 44 They are now happily provided for ; 
 and I have not laboured in vain !" 
 
 This is exactly what Mr. Pecksniff would have 
 said, if one of his daughters had drawn a prize 
 of thirty thousand pounds in the lottery, or the 
 other had picked up a valuable purse in the street, 
 which nobody appeared to claim. In either of 
 these cases, he would have invoked a patriarchal 
 blessing on the fortunate head, with great solem- 
 nity, and would have taken immense credit to 
 himself, as having meant it from the infant's 
 cradle. 
 
 "Suppose we talk about something else, now," 
 observed Jonas, drily ; 44 just for a change. Are 
 you quite agreeable V* 
 
 44 Quite," said Mr. Pecksniff. 44 Ah, you wag, 
 you naughty wag ! You laugh at poor old fond 
 papa. Well ! He deserves it And he don't 
 mind it either, for his feelings are their own re- 
 ward. You bave come to stay with me, Jonas ? w 
 
 44 No. I *ve got a friend with me," said Jonas. 
 
 44 Bring your friend !" cried Mr. Pecksniff, in a 
 gush of hospitality. 44 Bring any number of your 
 friends !" 
 
262 
 
 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 " This aint the sort of man to be brought," said 
 Jonas, contemptuously. " I think I see myself 
 * bringing' Jiini to your house, for a treat ! 
 Thank'ee all the same ; but he 's a little too near 
 the top of the tree for that, Pecksniff"." 
 
 The good man pricked up his ears ; his interest 
 was awakened. A position near the top of the 
 tree was greatness, virtue, goodness, sense, genius; 
 or, it should rather be said, a dispensation from 
 all, and in itself something immeasurably better 
 than ail ; with Mr. Pecksniff". A man who was 
 able to look down upon Mr. Pecksniff, could not 
 be looked up at, by that gentleman, with too great 
 an amount of deference, or from a position of too 
 much humility. So it always is with great 
 spirits 
 
 " I '11 tell you what you may do, if you like," 
 said Jonas: "you may come and dine with us at 
 the Dragon. We were forced to come down to 
 Salisbury, last night, on some business, and I got 
 him to bring me over here this morning, in his 
 carriage ; at least, not his own carriage, for we 
 had a break-down in the night, but one we hired 
 instead; it's all the same. Mind what you're 
 about, you know. He's not used to all sorts ; he 
 only mixes with the best!' 
 
 " Some young nobleman who has been borrow- 
 ing money of you at good interest, eh ?" said Mr. 
 Pecksniff", shaking his forefinger facetiously. " I 
 shall be delighted to know the gay sprig." 
 
 " Borrowing !" echoed Jonas. " Borrowing ! 
 When you 're a twentieth part as rich as he is, 
 you may shut up shop I We should be pretty 
 well off, if we could buy his furniture, and plate, 
 and pictures, by clubbing together. A likely man 
 to borrow : Mr. Montague ! Why, since I was 
 lucky enough (come ! and I '11 say, sharp enough, 
 too) to get a share in the Insurance Office that 
 he's President of, I 've made — never mind what 
 I 've made," said Jonas, seeming to recover all at 
 once his usual caution. " You know me pretty 
 well, and I don't blab about such things. But, 
 Ecod, I 've made a trifle." 
 
 " Really, my dear Jonas," cried Mr. Pecksniff, 
 ^with much warmth, " a gentleman like this should 
 receive some attention. Would he like to see the 
 church ? Or if he has a taste for the fine arts — 
 which I have no doubt he has, from the descrip- 
 tion you give of his circumstances — I can send 
 him down a few portfolios. Salisbury Cathedral, 
 my dear Jonas," said Mr. Pecksniff ; the mention 
 of the portfolios, and his anxiety to display him- 
 self to advantage, suggesting his usual phrase- 
 ology in that regard ; " is an edifice replete with 
 venerable associations, and strikingly suggestive 
 of the loftiest emotions. It is here we contem- 
 plate the work of bygone ages. It is here we 
 listen to the swelling organ, as we stroll through 
 the reverberating aisles. We have drawings of 
 this celebrated structure from the North, from the 
 South, from the East, from the West, from the 
 South-East, from the Nor- West " 
 
 During this digression, and indeed during the 
 whole dialogue, Jonas had been rocking on his 
 chair, with his hands in his pockets, and his head 
 thrown cunningly on one side. He looked at Mr. 
 Pecksniff now with such shrewd meaning twink- 
 ling in his eyes, that Mr. Pecksniff stopped, and 
 nsked him what he was going to say. 
 
 " Ecod ." he answered. " Pecksniff, if I knew 
 
 how you meant to leave your money, I could put 
 you in the way of doubling it, in no time. It 
 wouldn't be bad to keep a chance like this snug 
 in the family. But you 're such a deep one !" 
 
 " Jonas !" cried Mr. Pecksniff, much affected, 
 " I am not a diplomaticai character : my heart is 
 in my hand. By far the greater part of the in- 
 considerable savings I have accumulated in the 
 course of— I hope — a not dishonourable or useless 
 career, is already given, devised, and bequeathed 
 (correct me, my dear Jonas, if I am technically 
 wrong), with expressions of confidence, which I 
 will not repeat ; and in securities which it is un- 
 necessary to mention ; to a person, whom I can- 
 not, whom I will not, whom I need not, name." 
 Here he gave the hand of his son-in-law a fervent 
 squeeze, as if he would have added, u God bless 
 you ; be very careful of it when you get it !" 
 
 Mr. Jonas only shook his head and laughed, 
 and, seeming to think better of what he had had 
 in his mind, said, "No. He would keep his own 
 counsel." But as he observed that he would take 
 a walk, Mr. Pecksniff insisted on accompanying 
 him, remarking that he could leave a card for 
 Mr. Montague, as they went along, by way 
 of gentleman-usher to himself at dinner-time. 
 Which he did. 
 
 In the course of their walk, Mr. Jonas affected 
 to maintain that close reserve which had operated 
 as a timely check upon him during the foregoing 
 dialogue. And as he made no attempt to con- 
 ciliate Mr. Pecksniff, but, on the contrary, was 
 more boorish and rude to him than usual, that 
 gentleman, so far from suspecting his real design, 
 laid himself out to be attacked with advantage. 
 For it is in the nature of a knave to think the 
 tools with which he works indispensable to 
 knavery ; and knowing what he would do him- 
 self in such a case, Mr. Pecksniff' argued, " if this 
 young man wanted anything of me for his own 
 ends, he would be polite and deferential." 
 
 The more Jonas repelled him in his hints and 
 inquiries, the more solicitous, therefore, Mr. Peck- 
 sniff became to be initiated into the golden mys- 
 teries at which he had obscurely glanced. Why 
 should there be cold and worldly secrets, he ob- 
 served, between relations ? What was life with- 
 out confidence ? If the chosen husband of- his 
 daughter, the man to whom he had delivered her 
 with so much pride and hope, such bounding and 
 such beaming joy : if he were not a green spot in 
 the barren waste of life, where was that Oasis to 
 be found ? 
 
 Little did Mr. Pecksniff think on what a very 
 green spot he planted one foot at that moment 1 
 Little did he foresee when he said, " All is but 
 dust !" how very shortly he would come down 
 with his own ! 
 
 Inch by inph, in his grudging and ill-condition- 
 ed way : sustained to the life, for the hope of 
 making Mr. Pecksniff suffer in that tender place, 
 the pocket, where Jonas smarted so terribly him- 
 self, gave him an additional and malicious interest 
 in the wiles he was set on to practise : inch by 
 inch, and bit by bit, Jonas rather allowed the 
 dazzling prospects of the Anglo-Bengalee estab- 
 lishment to escape him, than paraded them before 
 his greedy listener. And in the same niggardly 
 spirit, he left Mr. Pecksniff to infer, if he chose 
 (which he did choose, of course), that a conscious* 
 
MARTIN C1IUZZU;\VIT. 
 
 2G3 
 
 aess of not having any great natural £ifta of 
 ppeech an-1 manner himst.lt - , rendered him desir- 
 •jiis to have the c*n dit of introducing to M 
 tague some one who was well endowed in those 
 respects, and so atone, lor his own « Jt ■;',. 
 Otherwise, In; muttered discontentedly, he Would 
 have seen his beloved father-in-law " tar enough 
 otl'," before ho would have taken iiim into his con- 
 fidencc. 
 
 Prirned in this artful manner, Mr. Pecksniff 
 presented himself at dinn r-tunc in such a state 
 of suavitv, benevolence, cheerfulness, politeness, 
 and cordiality, as even he had perhaps never 
 attained before. The frankness of the country 
 gentleman, the refinement of the artist, the good- 
 humoured allowance of the man of the world; 
 philanthropy, forbearance, piety, toleration, all 
 blended together in a flexible adaptability to any. 
 thing and everything; were expressed in Mr. 
 P i iff, as he shook hands with the great 
 
 ■peculator and capitalist. 
 
 '• W elcome, respected Sir," said Mr. Pecksniff, 
 "to our humble village! We are a simple peo- 
 ple; primitive clods, Mr. Montague; but we can 
 appreciate the honour of your visit, as my dear 
 son-in-law can testify. It is very strange," said 
 Mr. Pecksniff, pressing his hand almost reveren- 
 tially, "but I seem to know you. That towering 
 forehead, my dear Jonas," said Mr. Pecksniff, 
 aside, " a:ul those clustering masses of rich hair 
 — I must have seen you, my dear sir, in the 
 sparkling throng." 
 
 Nothing was more probable, they all agreed. 
 u I could have wished," said Mr. Pecksniff, " to 
 have had the honour of introducing you to an 
 elderly inmate of our house : to the uncle of our 
 friend. Mr. Chuzzlewit, Sir, would have been 
 proud indeed to have taken you by the hand." 
 
 " Is the gentleman here now ?" asked Mon- 
 tague, turning deeply red. 
 " He is," said Mr. Pecksniff. 
 " Ifou said nothing about that, Chuzzlewit." 
 "I didn't suppose you'd care to hear of it," 
 returned Jonas. " You wouldn't care to know 
 him, I can promise you." 
 
 "Jonas ! my dear Jonas!" remonstrated Mr. 
 Pecksniff. "Really!" 
 
 "Oli ! it's all very well for you to speak up 
 for him," said Jonas. " You have nailed him. 
 You '11 get a fortune by him." 
 
 "Oho! Is the wind in that quarter!" cried 
 Moqtaffue. " Hi, ha, ha!" and here they all 
 laughed— especially Mr. Pecksniff. 
 
 no!" said that gentleman, clapping his 
 son-in-law playfully upon the shoulder, " You 
 must not believe all that my young relative says, 
 Mr. Montague. You may believe him in official 
 bosiMps, and trust him in official busin. 
 you must not attach importance to his flights of 
 
 "Upon my life, Mr. Pecksniff," cried Mon- 
 I attach tl importance to that 
 
 ervation of his. I trust and hope it's 
 cannot he turned and turned again I 
 quickly enough in th<» ordinary course, Mr. Peck- 
 sniff. There is nothing like building our fortunes 
 on the weaknesses of mankind." 
 
 "Oh, Be ! < >h, || ! Oh, fie, for shame !" cried 
 Mr. Pecksniff. But they all laughed again — 
 especially Mr. Pecksniff. 
 
 " I give you my honour that we do it," said 
 Montague. 
 
 " Oh, fie, fie !" cried Mr. Pecksniff. # " Ytfn are 
 very pie it I am sure you don't! That 
 
 1 ire you don't! How can you, you I 
 
 . they nil laughed In concert; and again 
 Mr. Pecksniff laughed especially. 
 
 This was very agreeable, indeed* It was eon* 
 hdi -uti.il, easy, Straight-forward : and still left Mr. 
 d* in the position of being in a gentle way 
 I M utor of the party. The greatest achieve- 
 ments in the article of cookery that the Dragon 
 had ever performed, were set before them; the 
 oldest and best wines in the Dragon's cellar saw 
 the light on that occasion ; a thousand bubbles, 
 indicative of the wealth and station of Mr. Mon- 
 (ague in the depths of his pursuits, were con- 
 stantly rising to the' surface of the conversation? 
 and they were as frank and merry ae three honest 
 men could be. Mr. Pecksniff thonghl it a pity ; 
 he said so; that Mr. Montague should think light- 
 ly of mankind and their weaknesses. He was 
 anxious upon this subject; his mind ran upon it; 
 in one way or other he was constantly coming 
 back to it; he must make a convert of him, he 
 said. And as often as Mr. Montague repeated his 
 sentiment about building fortunes on the weak- 
 nesses of mankind, and added frankly, " We do 
 it!" just as often Mr. Pecksniff repeated, "Oh, 
 fie ! Oh, fie, for shame ! I am sure you don't. 
 How can you, you know !" laying a greater stress 
 each time on those last words. 
 
 The frequent repetition of this playful inquiry 
 on the part of Mr. Pecksniff, led at last to playful 
 answers on the part of Mr. Montague ; but after 
 some little sharp-shooting on both sides, Mr. Peck- 
 sniff became grave, almost to tears; observing 
 that if Mr. Montague would give him leave, he 
 would drink the health of his young kinsman, 
 Mr. Jonas : congratulating him upon the valuable 
 and distinguished friendship he bad formed, but 
 envying him, he would confess, his usefulness to 
 his fellow-creatures. For if he under-rtood the 
 objects of that Institution with which ho was 
 newly and advantageously connected — knowing 
 them but imperfectly — they were calculated to do 
 Good; and for his (Mr. Pecksniff's) part, if he 
 could in any way promote them, he thought he 
 would be able to lay his head upon his pillow 
 every night, with an absolute certainty of going 
 to sleep at once. 
 
 The transition from this accidental remark (for 
 it was quite accidental, and bad fallen from Mr. 
 Pecksniff in the openness of his soul), to the dis- 
 cussion of the subject as a matter of business, 
 was easy. Books, papers, statement--, tables, cal- 
 culations of various kinds, were soon spread ont 
 before thern ; and as they were all framed with 
 one object, it is not surprising that they should all 
 have tended to one end. Hut still, whenever 
 .Montague enlarged upon the profits of the office, 
 and said that as long as there were srulls upon the 
 wing it must succeed, Mr. Pecksniff mildly said, 
 " Oh, fie !" — and might indeed have remonstrated 
 with him, bat that he knew he was joking. Mr 
 Pecksniff did knbw he was joking; because ho 
 said s.i. 
 
 There never had been before, and there never 
 would be again, such an opportunity for the in 
 vestment of a considerable sum (the rate of ad 
 
2G4 
 
 LIFE AND ADVExNTURES OF 
 
 vantage increased in proportion to the amount 
 invested)^ ^s at that moment. The only time that 
 had at all approached it, was the time when Jonas 
 had come into the concern ; which made him ill- 
 natured now, and inclined him to pick out a douhl 
 in this place, and a flaw in that, and grumblinfrly 
 to advise Mr. Pecksniff to think better of it. The 
 sum which would complete the proprietorship in 
 this snug concern, was nearly equal to Mr. Peck- 
 sniff's whole hoard : not counting Mr. Chuzzlewit, 
 that is to say, whom he looked upon as money in 
 the Bank, the possession of which inclined him 
 the more to make a dash with his own private 
 sprats for the capture of such a whale as Mr. 
 Montague described. The returns began almost 
 immediately, and were immense. The end of it 
 was, that Mr. Pecksniff agreed to become the last 
 partner apd proprietor in the Anglo-Bengalee, and 
 made an appointment to dine with Mr. Montague, 
 at Salisbury, on the next day but one, then and 
 there to complete the negotiation. 
 
 It took so long to bring the subject to this head, 
 that it was nearly midnight when they parted. 
 When Mr. Pecksniff walked down stairs to the 
 door, he found Mrs. Lupin standing there : look- 
 ing out. 
 
 "Ah, my good friend!" he said: "not a-bcd 
 yet ! Contemplating the stars, Mrs. Lupin?" 
 
 " It 's a beautiful starlight night, Sir." 
 
 "A beautiful starlight night," said Mr. Peck- 
 sniff, looking up. " Behold the planets, how they 
 
 shine ! Behold the those two persons who were 
 
 here this morning, have left your house, I hope, 
 Mrs. Lupin ?" 
 
 ^ Yes, Sir. They are gone." 
 
 " I am glad to hear it," said Mr. Pecksniff. 
 "Behold the- wonders of the firmament, Mrs. 
 Lupin ! How glorious is this scene ! When I look 
 up at those shining orbs, I think that each of them 
 is winking to the other to take notice of the vanity 
 of men's pursuits. My fellow-men !" cried Mr. 
 Pecksniff, shaking his head in pity ; " you are 
 much mistaken ; my wormy relatives, you are 
 much deceived ! The stars are perfectly contented 
 (I suppose so) in their several spheres. W 7 hy are 
 not you ? Oh ! do not strive and struggle to 
 enrich yourselves, or to get the, better of each 
 other, my deluded friends, but look up there, with 
 me !" 
 
 Mrs. Lupin shook her head, and heaved a sigh. 
 It was very affecting. 
 
 " Look up there, with me !" repeated Mr. Peck- 
 sniff, stretching out his hand ; " with me, an hum- 
 ble individual who is also an Insect like your- 
 selves. Can silver, gold, or precious stones, sparkle 
 nke those constellations? I think not. Then do 
 not thirst for silver, gold, or precious stones ; but 
 look up there, with me !" 
 
 With these words, the good man patted Mrs. 
 Lupin's hand between his own, as if he would 
 have added, " think of this, my good woman !" 
 and walked away in a sort of ecstasy or rapture, 
 with his hat under his arm. 
 
 Jonas sat in the attitude in which Mr. Peck- 
 sniff had left him, gazing moodily at his friend : 
 
 who, surrounded by a heap of documents, *-as 
 writing something on an oblong slip of paper. 
 
 " You mean to wait at Salisbury over the day 
 after to-morrow, do you, then ?" said Jonas. 
 
 " You heard our appointment," returned Mon- 
 tague, without raising his eyes. " In any case I 
 should have waited to see after the boy." 
 
 They appeared to have changed places again; 
 Montague being in high spirits; and Jonas 
 gloomy and lowering. 
 
 "You don't want me, I suppose ?" said Jonas. 
 
 " I want you to put your name here," he re- 
 turned, glancing at him with a smile, " as soon as 
 I have tilled up the stamp. I may as well have 
 your note of hand for that extra capital. That 's 
 all I want. If you wish to go home, I can man- 
 age Mr. Pecksniff now, alone. There is a perfect 
 understanding between us." 
 
 Jonas sat scowling at him as he wrote, in 
 silence. When he had finished his writing, and 
 had dried it on the blotting-paper in his travel- 
 ling-desk ; he looked up, and tossed the pen 
 towards him. 
 
 " What, not a day's grace, not a day's trust, 
 eh ?" said Jonas, bitterly. " Not after the pains 
 I have taken with to-night's work ?" 
 
 " To-night's work was a part of our bargain," 
 replied Montague ; " and so was this." 
 
 " You drive a hard bargain," said Jonas, ac 
 vancing to the table. " You know best. Give it 
 here !" 
 
 Montague gave him the paper. After pausing 
 as if he could not make up his mind to put his 
 name to it, Jonas dipped his pen hastily in the 
 nearest inkstand, and began to write. But he had 
 scarcely marked the paper when he started back, 
 in a panic. 
 
 " Why, what the devil 's this ?" he said. " It 's 
 bloody !" 
 
 He had dipped the pen, as another moment 
 showed, into red ink. But he attached a strange 
 degree of importance to the mistake. He asked 
 how it had come there, who had brought it, why 
 it had been brought ; and looked at Montague, at 
 first, as if he thought he had put a trick upon 
 him. Even when he used a different pen, and the 
 right ink, he made some scratches on another 
 paper first, as half-believing they would turn red 
 also. 
 
 "Black enough, this time," he said, handing 
 the note to Montague. " Good-bye !" 
 
 " Going now ! How do you mean to get awaj 
 from here ?" 
 
 " I shall cross early in the morning, to the high 
 road, before you are out of bed ; and catch the 
 day-coach, going up. Good-bye !" 
 
 " You are in a hurry !" 
 
 " I have Something to do," said Jonas. " Good- 
 bye !" 
 
 His friend looked after him as he went out, in 
 surprise, which gradually gave place to an air of 
 satisfaction and relief. 
 
 " It happens all the better. It brings about 
 what I wanted, without any difficulty. } shall 
 travel home alone." 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 
 
 205 
 
 *•# *i fM » *l W " --' 
 
 '■ 
 
 CHAPTER XLV. 
 
 IN WHICH TOM PINCH AND HIS SISTER TAKE A LITTLE PLEASURE; BUT 
 QUITE IN A DOMESTIC WAY, AND WITH NO^CEREMONY ABOUT IT. 
 
 Tom Pinch and his sister having to part, for the I little too late — sho was so precise in general, that 
 
 she timed it to half a minute — but no Tom was 
 
 Well i But was anybody else tber. , that 
 
 she blushed so deeply, after looking round, and 
 
 despatch of the morning's business, immi 
 after the dispersion of the other actors in the scene 
 upon the wharf with which the reader has been 
 
 already made acquuintcd, had no opportunity of J tripped off down the steps with such unusual ex- 
 discussmg the subject at that time. But Tom, in pedition ? 
 
 his solitary office, and Ruth, in the triangular I Why, the fact is, that Mr. Westlock was pass- 
 parlour, thought about nothing else nil day ; and, j ing at that moment. The Temple is a public 
 when their hour of meeting in the afternoon ap- thoroughfare ; they may write up on the gates 
 proacht •(!, they were very full of it, to be sure. that it is not, but so long as the gates are left open 
 
 There was a little plot between them, that Tom it is, and will be ; and Mr. Westlock had as good a 
 should always come out of the Temple by one right to be there as anybody else. But why did 
 way ; and that was, past the Fountain. Coming I she run away, then ? Not being Ill-dressed, for 
 through Fountain Court, he was just to glance she was much too neat for that, why did she run 
 down the steps leading into Garden Court, and to ; away ? The brown hair that had fallen down be- 
 look once all round him ; and if Ruth had come j neath her bonnet, and had one impertinent imp 
 to meet him, there he would see her ; not saun- of a false flower clinging to it, boastful of its 
 taring', you understand (on account of the clerks), license before all men, that could not have been 
 but coming briskly up, with the best little laugh the cause, for it looked charming. Oh ! foolish, 
 upon her face that ever played in opposition to panting, frightened little heart; why did she run 
 the Fountain, and beat it all to nothing. For, away ! 
 
 fifty to one, Tom had been looking for her in the Merrily the tiny fountain played, and merrily 
 wrong direction, and had quite given her up, the dimples sparkled on its sunny face. John 
 while she had been tripping towards him from Westlock hurried after her. Softly the whisper, 
 the first: jingling that little reticule of hers (with ing water broke and fell, and roguishly the dim- 
 all the keys in it) to attract his wandering obser- ' pies twinkled, as he stole upon her footsteps, 
 
 vation. 
 
 Whether there was life enough left in the slow 
 vegetation of Fountain Court for the smoky shrubs 
 to have any consciousness of the brightest and 
 purest-hearted little woman in the world, is a 
 question for gardeners, and those who are learned 
 in the loves of plants. But, that it was a good 
 
 Oh, foolish, panting, timid little heart, why did 
 she feign to be unconscious of his coming! Why 
 wish herself so far away, yet be so fluttcringly 
 happy there ! 
 
 * I felt sure it was you," said John, when he 
 overtook her in the sanctuary of Garden Court 
 " I knew I couldn't be mistaken." 
 
 thing for that same paved yard to have such a She was so surprised ! 
 delicate little figure through it; that it passed like " You are waiting for your brother," said John, 
 a smile from the grimy old houses, and the worn " Let me bear you company." 
 flagstones, and left them duller, darker, sterner ! So light was the touch of the coy little hand, 
 than before ; there is no sort of doubt The Tern- that he glanced down to assure himself he had it 
 pie fountain might have leaped up twenty feet to on his arm. But his glance, stopping for an in- 
 greet the spring of hopeful maidenhood, that in stant at the bright eyes, forgot its first design, and 
 her person stole on, sparkling, through the dry | went no farther. 
 
 and dusty channels of the Law ; the chirping I They walked up and down three or four times, 
 sparrows, bred in Temple chinks and crannies, speaking about Tom and his mysterious employ- 
 might have held their peace to listen to imaginary ment. Now that was a very natural and innocent 
 skylarks, as so fresh a little creature passed : the j subject, surely. Then why, whenever Ruth lifted 
 
 dingy boughs, unused to droop, otherwise than in 
 their puny growth, might have bent down in a 
 kindred gracefulness, to shed their benedictions 
 on her graceful head ; old love-letters, shut up in 
 iron boxes in the neighbouring offices, and made 
 
 up her eyes, did she let them fall again imme- 
 diately, and seek the uncongenial pavement of the 
 court? They were not such eyes as shun the 
 light ; they were not such eyes as require to be 
 hoarded to enhance their value. They were much 
 
 of no account among the heaps of family papers too precious and too genuine to stand in 1 
 
 into which they had strayed, and of which, In arts like those. Somebody must have been look. 
 
 their degeneracy, they formed a part, might have j ing at them ! 
 
 stirred and fluttered writh a moment's recollection They found out Tom, though, quickly enough. 
 
 of their aneicnt tenderness, as she went lightly by. ' This pair of eyes descried him in the distance, the 
 
 Anything might have hapjwwd that did not hap- moment he appeared. He was staring about him 
 
 pen, and never will, tor the, love of Ruth. 
 
 Something hnppotied, too, upon the afternoon 
 of which the histon v. t for her love. Oh 
 
 no ! quite by accident, and without the least refer- 
 ence to her at all. 
 
 Either she was a little too soon, 01 Tom was a 
 
 as usual, in all directions but the right one; and 
 was as obstinate in not looking towards them, as 
 if he had intended it. As it was plain that, being 
 left to himself, he would walk away home, John 
 Westlock darted off to stop him. 
 This made ths approach of poor little Ruth, by 
 
2G£ 
 
 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 herself, one of the most embarrassing of circum- 
 stances. There was Tom, manifesting - extreme 
 surprise (he had no presence of mind, that Tom, 
 on small occasions) ; there was John, making as 
 light of it as he could, but explaining at the same 
 time, with most unnecessary elaboration ; and 
 here was she, coming towards them, with both 
 of them looking at her, conscious of blushing to a 
 terrible extent, but trying to throw up her eye- 
 brows carelessly, and pout her rosy lips, as if she 
 were the coolest and most unconcerned of little 
 women. 
 
 Merrily the fountain plashed and plashed, until 
 the dimples, merging into one another, swelled 
 into a general smile, that covered the whole sur- 
 face of the basin. 
 
 " What an extraordinary meeting !" said Tom. 
 " I should never have dreamed of seeing you two 
 together, here." 
 
 " Quite accidental," John was heard to murmur. 
 
 "Exactly," cried Tom; "that's what I mean, 
 you know. If it wasn't accidental, there would 
 be nothing remarkable in it." 
 
 " To be sure," said John. 
 
 "Such an out-ofthe-way place for you to have 
 met in," pursued Tom, quite delighted. " Such 
 an unlikely spot !" 
 
 John rather disputed that. On the contrary, he 
 considered it a very likely spot, indeed. He was 
 constantly passing to and fro there, he said. He 
 shouldn't wonder if it were to happen again. His 
 only wonder was, that it had never happened 
 before. 
 
 By this time Ruth had got on the further side 
 of her brother, and had taken his arm. She was 
 squeezing it now, as much as to say, "Are you 
 going to stop here all day, you dear, old, blunder- 
 ing Tom ?" 
 
 Tom answered the squeeze as if it had been a 
 speech. " John," he said, " if you'll give my sis- 
 ter your arm, we'll take her between us, and walk 
 on. I have a curious circumstance to relate to 
 you. Our meeting could not have happened bet- 
 ter." 
 
 Merrily the fountain leaped and danced, and 
 merrily the smiling dimples twinkled and ex- 
 panded more and more, until they broke into a 
 laugli against the basin's rim, and vanished. 
 
 " Tom," said his friend, as they turned into the 
 noisy street, " I have a proposition to make. It 
 is, that you and your sister — if she will so far 
 honour a poor bachelor's dwelling — give me a 
 great pleasure, and come and dine with me." 
 
 " What, to-day ?" cried Tom. 
 
 " Yes, to-day. It's close by, you know. Pray, 
 Miss Pinch, insist upon it. It will be very disin- 
 terested, for I have nothing to give you." 
 
 "Oh* you must not believe that, Ruth," said 
 Tom. "He is the most tremendous fellow, in his 
 housekeeping, that I ever heard of, for a single 
 man. He ought to be Lord Mayor. Well ! what 
 do you say ? Shall we go ? v 
 
 "If you please, Tom," rejoined his dutiful little 
 sister. 
 
 " But I mean," said Tom, regarding her with 
 smiling admiration, " is there anything you ought 
 to wear, and haven't got? I am sure I don't 
 know, John : she may not be able to take her bon- 
 net off, for anything 1 can tell." 
 
 There was a great deal qf laughing at this, and 
 
 there were divers compliments from John West, 
 lock — not compliments, he said, at least (and really 
 he was right), but good, plain, honest truths, which 
 no one could deny. Ruth laughed, and all that, 
 but she made no objection ; so it was an engage- 
 ment. 
 
 " If I had known it a little sooner," said John, 
 **I would have tried another pudding. Not in 
 rivalry; but merel" to exalt that famous one. I 
 wouldn't on any account have had it made with 
 suet." 
 
 "Why not?" asked Tom. 
 
 " Because that cookery book advises suet," said 
 John Westlock ; "and our's was made with flour 
 and eggs." 
 
 " Oh good gracious !" cried Tom. " Our's was 
 made with flour and eggs, was it? Ha, ha, hal 
 A beefsteak pudding made with flour and eggs! 
 Why anybody knows better than that. J know 
 better than that ! Ha, ha, ha !" 
 
 It is unnecessary to say that Tom had been 
 present at the making of the pudding, and had 
 been a devoted believer in it all through. But he 
 was so delighted to have this joke against his busy 
 little sister, and was tickled to that degree at 
 having found her out, that he stopped in Temple 
 Bar to laugh ; and it was no more to Tom, that 
 he was anathematized and knocked about by the 
 surly passengers, than it would have been to a 
 post ; for he continued to exclaim with unabated 
 good humour, " flour and eggs ! a beefsteak pud- 
 ding made with flour and eggs !" until John 
 Westlock and his sister fairly ran away from him, 
 and left him to have his laugh out by himself; 
 which he had ; and then came dodging across the 
 crowded street to them, with such sweet temper 
 and tenderness (it was quite a tender joke of 
 Tom's) beaming in his face, God bless it, that it 
 might have purified the air, though Temple Bar 
 had been, as in the golden days gone by, embel- 
 lished with a row of rotting human heads. 
 
 There are snug chambers in those Inns where 
 the bachelors live, and, for the desolate fellows 
 they pretend to be, it is quite surprising how well 
 they get on. John was very pathetic on the sub- 
 ject of his dreary life, and the deplorable make- 
 shifts and apologetic contrivances it involved; but 
 he really seemed to make himself pretty comfort- 
 able. His rooms were the perfection of neatness 
 and convenience at any rate ; and if he were any- 
 thing but comfortable, the fault was certainly not 
 theirs. 
 
 He had no sooner ushered Tom and his sister 
 into his best room (where there was a beautiful 
 little vase of fresh flowers on the table, all ready 
 for Ruth — just as if he had expected her, Tom 
 said), than seizing his hat, he bustled out again, in 
 his most energetically bustling way; and pre- 
 sently came hurrying back, as they saw through 
 the half-opened door, attended by a fiery-faced 
 matron attired in a crunched bonnet, with particu- 
 larly long strings to it hanging down her back; 
 in conjunction with whom, he instantly began to 
 lay the cloth for dinner, polishing up the wine- 
 glasses with his own hands, brightening the silver 
 top of the pepper-castor on his coat-sleeve, draw- 
 ing corks and filling decanters, with a skill ana 
 expedition that were quite dazzling. And as if, 
 in the course of this rubbing and polishing, ht 
 had rubbed an enchanted lamp or a magic ring, 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEVVIT. 
 
 obedient to which there were twenty thousand 
 supernatural slaves at least, suddenly there np- 
 p' and a being 1 in a white waisteoat, Mftryfog 
 under his arm a napkin, and attended by another 
 being with an oMong box upon his head, from 
 whieh a banquet, piping hot, was taken out and 
 set upon the tabic. 
 
 Salmon, lamb, peas, innoct m\ 'aloes, a 
 
 cool salad, sliced cucumber, guinea-fowl, and turt 
 — all there. They all came, at the tight time. 
 Where they came from didn't appear; but the 
 oblong box was constantly going and coming, and 
 making its arrival known to the man in the white 
 waistcoat by bumping modestly against the out- 
 side of the door; for, after its first appearance, it 
 entend the room no more. He was never sur- 
 prised, this man ; he never seemed to wonder at 
 the extraordinary things he found in the box ; but 
 look them out with a face expressive of a steady 
 purpose and impenetrable character, and put them 
 on the table. He was a kind man j gentle in his 
 manners, and much interested in what they ate 
 and drank. He was a learned man, and knew the 
 flavour of John Wcstiock's private sauces, which 
 he softly and feelingly described, as he handed the 
 little bottles round. He was a grave man, and a 
 noiseless ; for dinner being done, and wine and 
 fiuit arranged upon the board, he vanished, box 
 and all, like something that had never been. 
 
 44 Didn't I say he was a tremendous fellow in 
 his housekeeping ?" cried Tom. ** Bless my soul ! 
 It 's wonderful." 
 
 44 Ah, Miss Pinch," said John. " This is the 
 blight side of the life we lead in such a place. It 
 would bo a dismal life, indeed, if it didn't brighten 
 up to-day." 
 
 44 Don't believe a word he says," cried Tom. 
 M lle lives here like a monarch, and wouldn't 
 change his mode of life for any consideration. He 
 only pretends to grumble." 
 
 No, John really did not appear to pretend ; for 
 he was uncommonly earnest in his desire to have 
 it understood, that he was as dull, solitary, and 
 uncomfortable on ordinary occasions as an unfor- 
 tunate young man could, in reason, be. It was a 
 wretched life, he said : a miserable life. He thought 
 of getting rid of the chambers as soon as possible ; 
 and meant, in fact, to put a bill up very shortly. 
 
 " W. il 1" said Tom Pinch, " I don't know where 
 you can go, John, to be more comfortable. That 's 
 all I can say. What do you say, Ruth ?" 
 
 Ruth trifled with the cherries on her plate, and 
 said that she thought Mr. Westlock ought to be 
 quite happy, and that she had no doubt he was. 
 
 Ah, foolish, panting, frightened little heart, how 
 timidly she said it ! 
 
 44 But you are forgetting what you had to tell, 
 Ton) : what occurred this morning," she added 
 in the siiiic breath. 
 
 •Ho 1 am," said Torn. "We have been so 
 talkative on other topics, that I declare I have not 
 had time to think of it I '11 tell it you at once, 
 John, in case I should forget it altogether." 
 
 On Tom's relating what had pawed upon the 
 whaif, his friend was very much surprised, and 
 took iinch a great interest in the narrative as Tom 
 could not quite understand. He believed he knew 
 the old lady whose acquaintance they ha<. 
 he said; and that he in iff ht venture to say, from 
 their description of her, that her name was Gamp. 
 
 But of what nature the communication could 
 have been which Tom had borne so unexpectedly ; 
 why its delivery had been entrusted to Jnm ; how 
 it happened that the parlies were involved toge- 
 ther ; and what secret lay at the bottom of the 
 whole afi'air; perplexed him very much. Tom 
 had been sure of his taking some interest in tim 
 matter; but was not prejwrcd tor the strong in- 
 terest he showed. It held John Westlock to the 
 subject, even alter Ruth had left the room; and 
 evidently made him anxious to pursue it further 
 than as a mere subject of conversation. 
 
 ** I shall remonstrate with my landlord 1 , of 
 course," said Tom : H though he is a very singu- 
 lar secret sort of man, and not likely to aiFord me 
 much satisfaction ; even if he knew what was in 
 the letter." 
 
 " Which you may swear he did," John inter- 
 
 " You think so ?" 
 
 ** I am certain of it." 
 
 44 Well !" said Tom, " I shall remonstrate with 
 him when I see him (he goes in and out in a 
 strange way, but I will try to catch him to-morrow 
 morning), on his having asked me to execute such 
 an unpleasant commission. And I have been 
 thinking, John, that if 1 went down to Mrs. 
 What's-her-name's in the city, where I was be- 
 fore, you know — Mrs. Todgers's — to-morrow 
 morning, I might find poor Mercy Pecksniff 
 there, perhaps, and be able to explain to her how 
 I came to have any hand in the business." 
 
 44 You are perfectly right, Tom," returned hin 
 friend, after a short interval of reflection. 44 You 
 cannot do better. It is quito clear to me that 
 whatever the business is, there is little good in it; 
 and it is so desirable for you to disentangle your- 
 self from any appearance of wilful connection 
 with it, that I would counsel you to see her hus- 
 band, if you can, and wash your hands of it, by a 
 plain statement of the facts. I have a misgiving 
 that there is something dark at work here, Tom. 
 I will tell you why, at another time : when I have 
 made an inquiry or two myself." 
 
 All this sounded very mysterious to Tom Pinch. 
 But as he knew he could rely upon his friend, he 
 resolved to follow this advice. 
 
 Ah, but it would have been a good thing to 
 have had a coat of invisibility, wherein to have 
 watched little Ruth, when she was left to herself 
 in John Westlock's chambers, and John and her 
 brother were talking thus, over their wine! The 
 gentle way in which she tried to get up a little 
 conversation with the fiery-faced matron in the 
 crunched bonnet, who was waiting to attend her: 
 after making a desperate rally ip regard of her 
 dress, and attiring herself in a washed-out yellow 
 gown with sprigs of the same upon it, so that it 
 looked like a tessclated work of pats of butter. 
 That would have been pleasant. The grin and 
 griffin-like inflexibility with which the fiery-faced 
 matron repelled these engaging advances, as pro- 
 ceeding from a hostile and dangerous power, who 
 j could have no business there, unless it were to 
 deprive her of a customer, or suggest what be- 
 came of the self-consuming tea and sugar, and 
 other general trifles. That would have be< n agree- 
 able. The bashful, winning, glorious curiosity, 
 with which little Ruth, when ticry-tace was gone, 
 peeped into the books and nick nacks '.hat were 
 
268 
 
 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 lying about, and had a particular interest in some 
 delicate paper- matches on the chimney-piece: 
 wondering who could have made them. That 
 would have been worth seeing. The faltering 
 hand with which she tied those flowers together ; 
 with which, almost blushing at her own fair self 
 as imaged in the glass, she arranged them in her 
 breast, and looking at them with her head aside, I 
 now half resolved to take them out again, now j 
 half resolved to leave them where they were. 
 That would have been delightful ! 
 
 John seemed to think it all delightful : for com- j 
 ing in with Tom to tea, he took his seat beside her | 
 like a man enchanted. And when the tea-service 
 had been removed, and Tom, sitting down at the 
 piano, became absorbed in some of his old organ 
 tunes, he was still beside her at the open window, 
 looking out upon the twilight. 
 
 There is little enough to see, in Furnival's Inn. 
 It is a shady, quiet place, echoing to the footsteps 
 of the stragglers who have business there ; and 
 rather monotonous and gloomy on summer even- 
 ings. What gave it such a charm to them, that 
 they remained at the window as unconscious of 
 the flight of time as Tom himself, the dreamer, 
 while the melodies which had so often soothed his 
 spirit, were hovering again about him ! What 
 power infused into the fading light, the gathering 
 darkness ; the stars that here and there appeared ; 
 the evening air, the city's hum and stir, the very 
 chiming of the old church clocks; such exquisite 
 enthralment, that the divinest regions of the earth 
 spread out before their eyes could not have held 
 them captive in a stronger chain ! 
 
 The shadows deepened ; deepened ; and the 
 room became quite dark. Still Tom's fingers 
 wandered over the keys of the piano ; and still 
 the window had its pair of tenants. 
 
 At length, her hand upon his shoulder, and her 
 breath upon his forehead, roused Tom from his 
 zeverie. 
 
 u Dear me !" he cried, desisting with a start. 
 " I am afraid I have been very inconsiderate and 
 un polite." 
 
 Tom little thought how much consideration and 
 politeness he had shown ! 
 
 M Sing something to us, my dear," said Tom. 
 " Let us hear your voice. Come !" 
 
 John Westlock added his entreaties, with such 
 earnestness that a flinty heart alone could have 
 
 resisted them. Her's was not a flinty heart. Oh 
 dear no! Quite another thing. 
 
 So down she sat, and in a pleasant voice began 
 to sing the ballads Tom loved well. Old rhyming 
 stories, with here and there a pause for a few sim- 
 ple chords, such as a harper might have sounded 
 in the ancient time while looking upward for the 
 current of some half-remembered legend ; words 
 of old poets, wedded to such measures that the 
 strain of music might have been the poet's breath, 
 giving utterance and expression to his thoughts ; 
 and now a melody so joyous and light-hearted, 
 that the singer seemed incapable of sadness, until 
 in her inconstancy (oh wicked little singer !) she 
 relapsed, and broke the listeners' hearts again : 
 these were the simple means she used to please 
 them. And that these simple means prevailed, 
 and she did please them, let the still darkened 
 chamber, and its long-deferred illumination wit- 
 ness! 
 
 The candles came at last, and it was time for 
 moving homeward. Cutting paper carefully, an<^ 
 rolling it about the stalks of these same flowers, 
 occasioned some delay ; but even this was done ir 
 time, and Ruth was ready. 
 
 " Good night !" said Tom. " A memorable and 
 delightful visit, John ! Good night !" 
 
 John thought he would walk with them. 
 
 "No, no. Don't!" said Tom. "What non- 
 sense ! We can get home very well alone. I 
 couldn't think of taking you out." 
 
 But John said he would rather. 
 
 "Are you sure you would rather?" said Tom. 
 " I am afraid you only say so out of politeness." 
 
 John being quite sure, gave his arm to Ruth, 
 and led her out. Fiery-face, who was again iu 
 attendance, acknowledged her departure with so 
 cold a curtsey that it was hardly visible ; and cut 
 Tom, dead. 
 
 Their host was bent on walking the whole dis- 
 tance, and would not listen to Tom's dissuasions. 
 Happy time, happy walk, happy parting, happy 
 dreams! But there are some sweet day-dreams, 
 so there are, that put the visions of the night to 
 shame. 
 
 Busily the Temple fountain murmured in the 
 moonlight, while Ruth lay sleeping with her flow- 
 ers beside her; and John Westlock sketched a 
 portrait — whose ? — from memory. 
 
 CHAPTER XLVI. 
 
 IN WHICH MISS PECKSNIFF MAKES LOVE, MR. JONAS MAKES WRATH, 
 GAMP MAKES TEA, AND MR. CHUFFEY MAKES BUSINESS. 
 
 MRS. 
 
 On the next day's official duties coming to a 
 close, Tom hurried home without losing any time 
 by the way ; and, after dinner and a short rest, 
 sallied out again, accompanied by Ruth, to pay 
 his projected visit to Todgers's. Tom took Ruth 
 with him, not only because it was a great pleasure 
 to him to have her for his companion whenever 
 he could, but because he wished her to cherish and 
 comfort poor Merry; which she, for her own part 
 (having heard the wretched history of that young 
 wife from Tom), was all eagerness to do. 
 
 " She was so glad to see me," said Tom, " that 
 I am sure she will be glad to see you. Your sym- 
 pathy is certain to be much more delicate and ac- 
 ceptable than mine." 
 
 " I am very far from being certain of that, 
 Tom," she replied ; " and indeed you do yourself 
 an injustice. Indeed you do. But I hope she may 
 like me, Tom." 
 
 " Oh, she is sure to do that!" cried Tom, coa- 
 fidently. 
 
 " What a number of friends I should have, ii 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 
 
 269 
 
 everybody was of your way of thinking ! Rhonld'nt 
 I, Tom, dear?" said his little sister, pinching him 
 upon the cheek. 
 
 Torn laughed, and said that with reference to 
 this particular case he had no doubt at all of find. 
 ing a disciple in Merry. " For you worn* 
 Tom, " you women, my dear, are so kind, and in 
 your kindness have such nice perception; you 
 know so well how to be affectionate and full of 
 solicitude without appearing to bo; your gentleness 
 of feeling is like your touch : so light and easy, 
 that the one enables you to deal with wounds of 
 the mind as tenderly as the other enables you to 
 deal with wounds of the body. You arc such " 
 
 "My goodness, Tom!" his sister interposed. 
 "You ought to fill in love immediately." 
 
 Torn put this observation off good-humou redly, 
 but somewhat gravely too ; and they were soon 
 very chatty again on some other subject 
 
 As they were passing through a street in the 
 City, not far from Mrs. Todgers's place of resi- 
 dence, Ruth checked Tom before the window of a 
 large Upholstery and Furniture Warehouse, to call 
 his attention to something very magnificent and 
 ingenious, displayed there to the best advantage, 
 for the admiration and temptation of the public. 
 Tom had hazarded some most erroneous and ex- 
 trovagantly wrong guess in relation to the price 
 of this article, and had joined his sister in laugh- 
 ing heartily at h.is mistake, when he pressed her 
 arm in his, and pointed to two persons at a little 
 distance, who were looking in at the same win- 
 dow with a deep interest in the chests of drawers 
 and tables. 
 
 " Hush !" Tom whispered. " Miss Pecksniff, 
 and the young gentleman to whom she is going 
 to be married." 
 
 ** Why does he look as if he was going to be 
 buried, Tom ?" inquired his little sister. 
 
 "Why, he is naturally a dismal young gentle- 
 man, I believe," said Tom : " but he is very civil 
 and inoffensive." 
 
 "I suppose they are furnishing their house," 
 whispered Ruth. 
 
 ■ Yes, I suppose they are," replied Tom. " We 
 had better avoid speaking to them." 
 
 They could not very well avoid looking at them, 
 however, especially as some obstruction on the 
 pavement, at a little distance, happened to detain 
 them where they were for a few moments. Miss 
 Pecksniff had quite the air of having taken the un- 
 happy Moddle captive, and brought him up to the 
 contemplation of the furniture like a lamb to the 
 altar. He offered no resistance, but was perfectly 
 resigned and quiet. The melancholy depicted in 
 the turn of his languishing head, and in his de- 
 jected attitude, was extreme; and though there 
 was a full-sized four-po^t bedstead in the window, 
 such a tear stood trembling in his eye, as seemed 
 to blot it out. 
 
 "Augustus, my h>ve," said Miss Pecksniff, 
 ** ask the price of the eight rosewood chairs, and 
 the lr*> table." 
 
 "Perhaps they are ordered already," said Au- 
 gustus. " Perhaps they are Another's." 
 
 " They can make more like them, if they are," 
 rejoined Miss Pecksniff. 
 
 " No, no, they can't," said Moddle. ■ It » B im- 
 possible!" 
 
 He appeared, for the moment, to be quite over 
 
 whelmed and stupified by the prospect of his ap- 
 proaching happiness; but recovering, entered the 
 shop. He returned un:nc(ualely : saying in a tone 
 of despair, 
 
 " Twenty-four pound ten !" 
 
 Miss Pecksniff, turning to receive this announce- 
 ment, became conscious of the observation of Torn 
 Pinch and his sister. 
 
 "(>li, really !" cried Miss Pecksniff, glancing 
 about her, as if for some convenient means of 
 sinking into the earth. * 4 Upon my word, I — 
 there never was such a — to think that one should 
 be so very — Mr. Augustus Moddle : Miss Pinch I" 
 
 Miss Pecksniff was quite gracious to Miss 
 Pinch in this triumphant introduction ; exceed- 
 ingly gracious. She was more than gracious ; 
 she was kind and cordial. Whether the recol- 
 lection of the old service Tom had rendered her 
 in knocking Mr. Jonas on tlwj head, had wrought 
 this change in her opinions; or whether separa- 
 tion from her parent had reconciled her to all hu- 
 man kind, or to all that increasing portion of hu- 
 man kind which was not friendly to him ; or 
 whether the delight of having some new female 
 acquaintance to whom to communicate her inte- 
 resting prospects, was paramount to every other 
 consideration ; cordial and kind Miss Pecksniff 
 was. And twice Miss Pecksniff kissed Miss 
 Pinch upon the cheek. 
 
 44 Augustus — Mr. Pinch, you know. My dear 
 girl!" said Miss Pecksniff, aside. 44 1 never was 
 so ashamed in my life." 
 
 Ruth begged her not to think of it 
 
 44 1 mind your brother less than any body else," 
 simpered Miss Pecksniff. "But the indelicacy of 
 meeting any gentleman under such sircumstances! 
 Augustus, my child, did you — " 
 
 Here Miss Pecksniff whispered in his ear. The 
 suffering Moddle repeated : 
 
 "Twenty-four pound ten!" 
 
 "Oh, you silly man! I don't mean them," 
 said Miss Pecksniff. "I am speaking of the " 
 
 Here she whispered him again. 
 
 44 If it 's the same patterned chintz as that in the 
 window ; thirty-two, twelve, six;" said Moddle, 
 with a sigh. "And very dear." 
 
 Miss Pecksniff stopped him from giving any 
 further explanation by laying her hand upon his 
 lips, and betraying a soft embarrassment She 
 then asked Tom Pinch which way he was going. 
 
 " I was going to see if I could find your sister," 
 answered Tom, "to whom I wished to say a few 
 words. We were going to Mrs. Todgers's, where 
 I had the pleasure of seeing her before. 
 
 " It 's of no use your going on, then," said 
 Cherry, "for we have not long left there; and I 
 know she is not at home. Jiut I '11 take you to 
 my sister's house, if you please. Augustus— Mr 
 Moddle, I mean — and myself, a re on our way totem 
 there, now. You needn't think of him" she 
 added, nodding her head, as she observed some 
 hesitation on Tom's purt " He is not at home." 
 
 44 Are you sure '/" asked Tom. 
 
 "Oh, I am quite sure of that I den't want 
 any more revenge," said sniff, cxpres 
 
 sively, ** But really, I must beg you two gentle- 
 men to walk on, and allow me to follow with Miss 
 Pinch. My dear, I never was so taken by sur- 
 prise !" 
 
 In furtherance of this bashful arrangement. 
 
LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 Moddle gave his arm to Tom ; and Miss Peck- 
 sniff linked her own in Ruth's. 
 
 ■ Of course, my love," said Miss Pecksniff, " it 
 would be useless for me to disguise, after what 
 you have seen, that I am about to be united to the 
 gentleman who is walking with your brother. It 
 would be in vain to conceal it. What do you 
 think of him ? Pray, let me have your candid 
 opinion." 
 
 Ruth intimated that, as far as she could judge, 
 he was a very eligible swain. 
 
 ■ I am curious to know," said Miss Pecksniff, 
 with loquacious frankness, " whether you have 
 observed, or fancied, in this very short space of 
 time, that he is of a rather melancholy turn ?" 
 
 " So very short a time," Ruth pleaded. 
 
 " No, no : but don't let that interfere with your 
 answer," returned Miss Pecksniff. " I am curi- 
 ous to hear what you say." 
 
 Ruth acknowledged that he had impressed her 
 at first sight as looking "rather low." 
 
 "No, really?" said Miss Pecksniff. "Well! 
 that is quite remarkable! Everybody says the 
 same. Mrs. Todgers says the same ; and Augus- 
 tus informs me that it is quite a joke among the 
 gentlemen in the house. Indeed, but for the posi. 
 tive commands I have laid upon him, I believe it 
 would have been the occasion of loaded fire-arms 
 being resorted to more than once. What do you 
 think is the cause of his appearance of depres- 
 sion ?" 
 
 Ruth thought of several things ; such as his di- 
 gestion, his tailor, his mother, and the like. But, 
 hesitating to give utterance to any one of them, 
 &he refrained from expressing an opinion. 
 
 " My dear," said Miss Pecksniff, " I shouldn't 
 wish it to be known, but I don't mind mentioning 
 it to you, having known your brother for so many 
 years — I refused Augustus three times. He is 
 of a most amiable and sensitive nature ; always 
 ready to shed tears, if you look at him, which is 
 extremely charming ; and he has never recovered 
 the effect of that cruelty. For it was cruel," said 
 Miss Pecksniff, with a self-convicting candour that 
 might have adorned the diadem of her own papa. 
 " There is no doubt of it. I look back upon my 
 conduct now with blushes. I always liked him. 
 I felt that he was not to me what the crowd of 
 young men who had made proposals had been, 
 but something very different. Then what right 
 had I to refuse him three times ?" 
 
 " It was a severe trial of his fidelity, no doubt," 
 said Ruth. 
 
 " My dear," returned Miss Pecksniff, " it was 
 wrong. But such is the caprice and thoughtless- 
 ness of our sex! Let me be a warning to you. 
 Don't try the feelings of any one who makes you 
 an offer, as I have tried the feelings of Augustus; 
 but if you ever feel towards a person as I really 
 felt towards him, at the very time when I was 
 driving him to distraction, let that feeling find 
 expression, if that person throws himself at your 
 feet, as Augustus Moddle did at mine. Think," 
 uaid Miss Pecksniff, " what my feelings would 
 have been, if I had goaded him to suicide, and it 
 had got into the papers !" 
 
 Ruth observed that she would have been full of 
 remorse, no doubt. 
 
 *' Remorse !" cried Miss Pecksniff, in a sort of 
 Wiug and comfortable penitence. " What my re- 
 
 morse is at this moment, even after making repa- 
 ration by accepting him, it would be impossible to 
 tell you ! Looking back upon my giddy self, my 
 dear, now that I am sobered down and made 
 thoughtful, by treading on the very brink of ma- 
 trimony ; and contemplating myself as I was when 
 I was like what you are now; I shudder ; I shud- 
 der. What is the consequence of my past con- 
 duct ? Until Augustus leads me to the altar, he 
 is not sure of me. I have blighted and withered 
 the affections of his heart to that extent that he is 
 not sure of me. I see that preying on his mind 
 and feeding on his vitals. What are the re- 
 proaches of my conscience, when I see this in 
 the man I love !" 
 
 Ruth endeavoured to express some sense of her 
 unbounded and flattering confidence; and pre- 
 sumed that she was going to be married soon. 
 
 " Very soon, indeed," returned Miss Pecksniff. 
 " As soon as our house is ready. We are furnish- 
 ing now as fast as we can." 
 
 In the same vein of confidence, Miss Pecksniff 
 ran through a general inventory of the article? 
 that were already bought, and the articles that re- 
 mained to be purchased; what garments she in- 
 tended to be married in, and where the ceremony 
 was to be performed ; and gave Miss Pinch, in 
 short (as she told her), early and exclusive infor- 
 mation on all points of interest connected with 
 the event. 
 
 While this was going forward in the rear, Tom 
 and Mr. Moddle walked on, arm in arm, in the 
 front, in a state of profound silence, which Tom 
 at last broke : after thinking for a long time what 
 he could say that should refer to an indifferent 
 topic, in respect of which he might rely, with some 
 degree of certainty, on Mr. Moddle's bosom being 
 unruffled. 
 
 " I wonder," said Tom, " that in these crowded 
 streets, the foot-passengers are not oftener rui 
 over." 
 
 Mr. Moddle, with a dark look, replied : 
 
 " The drivers won't do it." 
 
 " Do you mean ?" Tom began — 
 
 " That there are some men," interrupted Mod- 
 dle, with a hollow laugh, " who can't get run over. 
 They live a charmed life. Coal wagons recoil 
 from them, and even cabs refuse to run them 
 down. " Ay !" said Augustus, marking Tom's 
 astonishment. M There are such men. One of 
 'em is a friend of mine." 
 
 "Upon my word and honour," thought Tom, 
 "this young gentleman is in a state of mind, 
 which is very serious, indeed !" Abandoning all 
 idea of conversation, he did not venture to say 
 another word ; but he was careful to keep a tight 
 hold upon Augustus's arm, lest he should fly into 
 the road ; and making another, and a more suc- 
 cessful attempt, should get up a private little Jug- 
 gernaut before the eyes of his betrothed. Tom 
 was so afraid of his committing this rash act, that 
 he had scarcely ever experienced such a mental 
 relief as when they arrived in safety at Mrs. Jonas 
 Chuzzlewit's house. 
 
 "Walk up, pray, Mr. Pinch," said Miss Peck- 
 sniff. For Tom halted, irresolutely, at the door. 
 
 " I am doubtful whether I should be welcome," 
 replied Tom, " or, I ought rather to say, I have 
 no doubt about it. I will send up a message, I 
 think." 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 
 
 271 
 
 ** But what nwiscnsc that is!" returned Miss 
 Pecksniff, speaking- apart to Tom. " lie is not 
 at homo, I am certain ; I know he is not ; and 
 
 I .isn't the least idea that you ever " 
 
 ' interrupted Tom. ■» Nor would I Inve 
 her know it, on any account. I am not so proud 
 of that scuttle, I assure you.** 
 
 "Ah, but then you are so modes!, you see," 
 returmd .Miss Pecksniff, with a smilo. "But 
 pray walk up. If you don't wish her to know it, 
 and do wish to speak to her, pray walk up. Pruy 
 walk up, Miss Pinch. Don't stand here." 
 
 Tom still hesitated ; lor he felt that he was in 
 an awkward position. But Cherry passing him 
 nt this juncture, and leading his sister upstairs; 
 and tin* house-door being- at the same time shut 
 behind them; he followed without quite knowing 
 whether it was well or ill-judged so to do. 
 
 u Merry, my darling !" said the fair Miss Peck- 
 sniff, opening the door of the usual sitting-room. 
 " Here are Mr. Pinch and his sister come to see 
 you ! I thought we should find you here, Mrs. 
 Todgers ! How do you do, Mrs. Gamp ? And 
 how do you do, Mr. Chuffey ? though it's of no 
 use asking you the question, I am well aware." 
 
 Honouring each of these parties, as she severally 
 addiessed them, with an acid smile; Miss Charity 
 presented Mr. Moddle. 
 
 " I believe you have 6cen him before," she 
 pleasantly observed. '* Augustus, my sweet child, 
 bring me a chair." 
 
 The sweet child did as he was told ; and was 
 then about to retire into a corner to mourn in 
 secret, when Miss Charity, calling him in an 
 audible whisper M a little pet," gave him leave to 
 come and sit beside her. It is to be hoped, for 
 the general cheerfulness of mankind, that such a 
 doleful little pet was never seen as Mr. Moddle 
 looked when he complied. So despondent was 
 his temper, that he showed no outward thrill of 
 ecstasy, when Miss Pecksniff placed her lily hand 
 in his, and concealed this mark of her favour 
 from the vulgar gaze, by covering it with a corner 
 of her shawl. Indeed, he was infinitely more 
 rueful then than he had been before ; and, sitting 
 uncomfortably upright in his chair, surveyed the 
 company with watery eyes, whieh seemed to say, 
 without the aid of language, " Oh, good gracious ! 
 look here ! Won't some kind Christian help 
 me!" 
 
 Hut the ecstasies of Mrs. Gamp were sufficient 
 to have furnished forth a score of young lovers; 
 and they were chiefly awakened by the sight of 
 Tom Pinch and his sister. Mrs. Gamp was u 
 lady of that happy temperament whieh can be 
 ecstatic without any other stimulating cause than 
 a general desire to establish a large'and profitable 
 connection. She added daily so many strings to 
 her bow, that she made a perfect harp of it ; and 
 upon that instrument she now began to perform 
 an extemporaneous concerto. 
 
 " Why, goodness me !" she said. " Mrs. Chuz- 
 zlewit! To think as I should see beneath this 
 blessed ousc, which well I know it, Miss Peck- 
 sniff, my sweet young lady, to be a ouse at there 
 is not a many like, worse luck and wishin' it 
 ■t so, which then this tearful walley would 
 be changed into a flowerin'guardian, Mr.Chuffey ; 
 to think as I should *e« beneath this indiu id^lc 
 roof, identically comin', Mr. Pinch (I take the 
 
 liberty, though almost unbeknown), and do assure 
 you of it, sip, the cmilincal and sweetest f.ice as 
 ever, Mrs. Chuzzlewit, I see, except in' yourn, my 
 dear good lady f and your good lady'* too, sir, .Mr 
 Moddle, if I may make so bold us speak eo plain 
 of what is plain enough to them a* needn't look 
 through millstones, Mrs. Todgers, to find out wot 
 is wrote upon the wall behind. Which no ofti noe 
 is meant, ladies and gentlemen ; none bein' took, 
 I hope. To think as I should .see that smilinest 
 and sweetest face which me and another friend 
 of mine, took notige of among the packages down 
 London Bridge, in this promiscuous place, is a 
 surprige in-decd !'* 
 
 Having contrived, in this happy manner, to 
 invest every member of her audience with an 
 individual share and immediate personal interest 
 in her address, Mrs. Gamp dropped several curt- 
 seys to Ruth, and smilingly shaking her head a 
 great many times, pursued the thread of her dis- 
 course : 
 
 " Now, ain*t we rich in beauty this here joyful 
 arternoon, I 'm sure ! I knows a lady, which her 
 name, I '11 not deceive you, Mrs. Chuzzlewit, is 
 Harris, her husband's brother bein' six foot three, 
 and marked with a mad bull in Wellinton boots 
 upon his left arm, on account of his precious 
 mother havin' been worrited by one into a shoe- 
 maker's shop, when in a sitiwation which blessed 
 is the man as has his quiver full of sech, as many 
 times I 've said to Gamp when words has roge 
 betwixt us on account of the expense — and often 
 have I said to Mrs Harris, 4 Oh, Mrs. Harris, 
 ma'am ! your countenance is quite a angel's 1' 
 Which, but for pimples, it would be. ' No, Sairey 
 Gamp,' says she, 'you best of hard-working and 
 industrious creeturs as ever was underpaid at 
 any price, which underpaid you are, quite diff'rent 
 Harris had it done afore marriage at ten and six,' 
 she says, 'and wore it faithful next his heart 'till 
 the colour run, when the money was declined to 
 be give back, and no arrangement could be come 
 to. But he never said it was a angel's, Sairey, 
 wotever he might have thought' If Mrs. Harris's 
 husband was here now," said Mrs. Gamp, looking 
 round, and chuckling as she dropped a general 
 curtsey, " he 'd speak out plain, he would, and 
 his dear wife would be the last to blame him ! 
 For if ever a woman lived as know'd not wot it 
 was to form a wish to pizon them as had good 
 looks, and had no reagion give her by the best of 
 husbands, Mrs. Harris is that ev'nly dispogician 1' 
 
 With these words the worthy woman, who 
 appeared to have dropped in to take tea as a deli- 
 cate little attention, rather than to have soy 
 engagement on the premises in an official capacity, 
 crossed to Mr. Chuffey, who was seated in tiie 
 same corner as of old, and shook him by the 
 shoulder. 
 
 " Rouge yourself, and look up! Come!" said 
 Mrs. Gamp. ** Here 's company, Mr. Chuffey." 
 
 "lam sorry for it," cried the old man, looking 
 humbly round the room. "I know I'm in tiie 
 way. I ask pardon, but I 've nowhere else to go 
 to. Where is she ?" 
 
 Merry went to him immediately. 
 
 " Ah !" said the old man, patting her on tne 
 i cheek. " Here she is. Here she is ! She 's newer 
 I hard on poor old Chuffey. Poor old Chuff!** 
 
 As sbe took her seat upon a low chair by ths 
 
272 
 
 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 old man's side, and put herself within the reach 
 of his hand, she looked up once at Torn. It was 
 a sad look that she cast upon him, though there 
 was a faint smile trembling on her face. It was 
 a speaking look, and Tom knew what it said. 
 14 You see how misery has changed me. I can 
 feel for a dependant now, and set some value on 
 his attachment." 
 
 " Ay, ay 1" cried Chuffey in a soothing tone. 
 " Ay, ay, ay ! Never mind him. It 's hard to bear, 
 but never mind him. He '11 die one day. There 
 are three hundred and sixty-five days in the year 
 — three hundred and sixty-six in leap-year — and 
 he may die on any one of 'em." 
 
 "You're a wearing old soul, and that's the 
 sacred truth," said Mrs. Gamp, contemplating him 
 from a little distance with anything but favour, as 
 he continued to mutter to himself. "It's a pity 
 you don't know wot you say, for you'd tire your 
 own patience out if you did, and fret yourself into 
 a happy releage for all as knows you." 
 
 " His son," murmured the old man lifting up 
 his hand. " His son !" 
 
 " Well I 'm sure !" said Mrs. Gamp. " You 're 
 a settlin' of it, Mr. Chuffey. To your satigefac- 
 tion, Sir, I hope. But I wouldn't lay a new pin- 
 cushion on it myself, Sir, though you are so well 
 informed. Drat the old creeter, he 's a layin' 
 down the law tolerable confident, too ! A deal he 
 knows of sons ! or darters either ! Suppose you 
 was to favour us with some remarks on twins, 
 Sir, wouhd you be so good !" 
 
 The bitter and indignant sarcasm which Mrs. 
 Gamp conveyed into these taunts was altogether lost 
 on the unconscious Chuffey, who appeared to be 
 as little cognizant of their delivery as of his hav- 
 ing given Mrs. Gamp offence. But that high- 
 minded woman, being sensitively alive to any in- 
 vasion of her professional province, and imagin- 
 ing that Mr. Chuffey had given utterance to some 
 prediction on the subject of sons, which ought to 
 have emanated in the first instance from herself 
 as the only lawful authority, or which should at 
 least have been on no account proclaimed without 
 her sanction and concurrence, was not so easily 
 appeased. She continued to sidle at Mr. Chuffey 
 with looks of sharp hostility, and to defy him 
 with many other ironical remarks, uttered in that 
 low key which commonly denotes suppressed in- 
 dignation ; until the entrance of the tea-board, 
 and a request from Mrs. Jonas that she would 
 make tea at a side-table for the party that had 
 unexpectedly assembled, restored her to herself. 
 She smiled again, and entered on her ministration 
 with her own particular urbanity. 
 
 " And quite a family it is to make tea for," 
 .said Mrs. Gamp; "and wot a happiness to do it! 
 My good young 'ooman" — to the servant-girl — 
 " p'raps somebody would like to try a new-laid 
 egg or two, not biled too hard. Likeways, a few 
 rounds o' buttered toast, first cuttin' off the crust, 
 in consequence of tender teeth, and not too many 
 of 'em ; which Gamp himself, Mrs. Chuzzlewit, 
 at one blow, being in liquor, struck out four, two 
 single, and two double, as was took by Mrs. Har- 
 ris for a keepsake, and is carried in her pocket at 
 this present hour, along with two cramp-bones, a 
 bit o' ginger, and a grater like a blessed infant's 
 shoe, in tin, with a little heel to put the nutmeg 
 
 in : as many times I 've seen and said, and used 
 for caudle when required within the month." 
 
 As the privileges of the side-table ; besides in- 
 cluding the small prerogatives of sitting next the 
 toast, and taking two cups of tea to other people's 
 one, and always taking them at a crisis, that is to 
 say, before putting fresh water into the teapot, 
 and after it had been standing for some time ; also 
 comprehended a full view of the company, and 
 an opportunity of addressing them as from a ros- 
 trum, Mrs. Gamp discharged the functions en- 
 trusted to her with extreme good-humour and affa- 
 bility. Sometimes, resting her saucer on the palm 
 of her outspread hand, and supporting her elbow 
 on the table, she stopped between her sips of tea 
 to favour the circle with a smile, a wink, a roll 
 of the head, or some other mark of notice ; and 
 at those periods, her. countenance was lighted up 
 with a degree of intelligence and vivacity, which 
 it was almost impossible to separate from the be- 
 nignant influence of distilled waters. 
 
 But for Mrs. Gamp, it would have been a curi- 
 ously silent party. Miss Pecksniff only spoke to 
 her Augustus, and to him in whispers. Augus- 
 tus spoke to nobody, but sighed for every one, and 
 occasionally gave himself such a sounding slap 
 upon the forehead as would make Mrs. Todgers, 
 who was rather nervous, start up in her chair with 
 an involuntary exclamation. Mrs. Todgers was 
 occupied in knitting, and seldom spoke. Poor 
 Merry held the hand of cheerful little Ruth be- 
 tween her own, and listening with evident plea- 
 sure to all she said, but rarely speaking herself, 
 sometimes smiled, and sometimes kissed her on 
 the cheek, and sometimes turned aside to hide the 
 tears that trembled in her eyes. Tom felt this 
 change in her so much, and was so glad to see 
 how tenderly Ruth dealt with her, and how she 
 knew and answered to it, that he had not the 
 heart to make any movement towards their de- 
 parture, although he had long since given utter- 
 ance to all he came to say. 
 
 The old clerk, subsiding into his usual state, 
 remained profoundly silent, while the rest of the 
 little assembly were thus occupied, intent upon 
 the dreams, whatever they might be, which hard- 
 ly seemed to stir the surface of his sluggish 
 thoughts. The bent of these dull fancies com- 
 bining probably with the silent feasting that was 
 going on about him, and some struggling reccl- 
 lection of the last approach to revelry he had wit- 
 nessed, suggested a strange question to his mind. 
 He looked round upon a sudden, and said, 
 
 " Who's lying dead upstairs?" 
 
 " No one," said Merry turning to him. " What 
 is the matter ? We are all here." 
 
 " All here !" cried the old man, " All here ! 
 Where is he then — my old master, Mr. Chuzzle- 
 wit, who had the only son ? Where is he ?" 
 
 " Hush ! Hush !" said Merry, speaking kindly 
 to him. " That happened long ago. Don't you 
 recollect ?" 
 
 " Recollect!" rejoined the old man, with a cry 
 of grief. " As if I could forget I As if I ever 
 could forget!" 
 
 He put his hand up to his face for a moment ; 
 and then repeated, turning round exactly as be 
 fore — 
 
 " Who 's lying dead up-stairs ?" 
 
4l> 
 
MARTIN CHJZZLEVV1T. 
 
 273 
 
 ■ No one ! M said Merry. 
 
 At first he gazed angrily npon her, as upon a 
 stranger who endeavoured \o d« c ive him; hut, 
 peering into her face, and $«eing that it was in- 
 deed she, he shook his head in sorrowful compas- 
 sion. 
 
 "You think not. But they don't tell you. No, 
 no, poor tiring ! They don't tell you. Who are 
 these, and why :irt- they merry-nuking lure, if 
 there is no one dead ? ioui play ! Go see who 
 it is!" 
 
 She made a sign to them not to speak to him, 
 which indeed tin v had little inclination to do; 
 and rem nut (1 silt nt herself. So did he for a 
 short time ; but then he repeated the same ques- 
 tion with ar. eagerness that had a peculiar terror 
 in it. 
 
 14 There 's some one dead," he Baid, u or dying ; 
 and I want to Know who it is. Go see, go see! 
 Where 's Jonas V 
 
 " In the country," she replied. 
 
 The old man gazed at her as if he doubted what 
 she said, or had not heard her; and, rising from 
 his chair, walked across the room and up stairs, 
 whispering as he went, "Foul play!" They 
 heard his footsteps overhead, going up into that 
 corner of the room in which the bed stood (it was 
 there old Anthony had died); and then they heard 
 him coming down again immediately. His fancy 
 was not so strong or wild that it pictured to him 
 anything in the deserted bed-chamber which was 
 not there; for he returned much calmer, and ap- 
 peared to have satisfied himself. 
 
 ** They don't tell you," he said to Merry in his 
 quavering. voice, as he sat down again, and patted 
 her upon the head. ¥ They don't tell me either ; 
 but I'll watch, I 'II watch. They shall not hurt 
 you ; don't be frightened. When you have sat 
 up watching, I have sat up watching too. Ay, 
 ay, I have !" he piped out, clenching his weak, 
 shrivelled hand. " Many a night 1 have been 
 ready !" 
 
 He said thi9 with such trembling gaps and 
 pauses in his want of breath, and said it, in his 
 jealous secrecy, so closely in her ear, that little 
 or nothing of it was understood by the visitors. 
 But they had heard and seen enough of the old 
 man to be disquieted, and to have left their seats 
 snd gathered about him ; thereby affording Mrs. 
 Gamp, whose professional coolness was not so 
 easily dit-turbed, an eligible opportunity for con- 
 centrating the whole resources of her powerful 
 mind and appetite upon the toast and butter, tea 
 and eggs. She had brought them to bear upon 
 those viands with such vigour, that her face was 
 in the highest state of inflammation, when she 
 new (there being nothing left to eat or drink) saw 
 fit to interpose. 
 
 41 Why, highty tighty, sir!" cried Mrs. Gamp, 
 44 is these your manners? You want a pitcher 
 of cold water throw'd over you to bring you round ; 
 that's my belief; and if .you was under 15. t-y 
 Prig you'd have it, too, I do assure yon, Mr. 
 Chuftey. Spanish Flics is the only thing to draw 
 this nonsense out of you; and if anybody wanted 
 to do you a kindness, they 'd clap a blister of 'crn 
 on your h< ad, and put a mustard poultice on your 
 back. Who's dead, indeed ! It would n 1 be no 
 grieviousloss if some one was, I think !" 
 35 
 
 44 He 's quiet now, Mrs. Gamp," said Merrv- 
 I " Don't disturb him." 
 
 44 <)!i, bother the old wietim, Mrs. Chuzzlcwit," 
 replied that zealous Udy, 44 1 ain't no patience 
 with him. You give him his own way too much 
 by half. A worritin' we.xagious creeter !" 
 
 No doubt with the view of carrying out the 
 precepts she enforced, and 44 bothering Uhj old vie- 
 tim" in practi. e as well as in theory, Mrs. Gamp 
 look him by the collar of his coat, and gave him 
 some dozen or two hearty shakes backward and 
 h.rward in his chair; that exercise being consid- 
 ered by the disciples of the Prig school pt nursing 
 (who are very numerous among professional la- 
 dies) as exceedingly conducive to repose, and 
 highly beneficial to the performance of the ner- 
 vous functions. Its effect in this instance was to 
 render the patient so giddy and addle-headed that 
 he could say nothing more, which Mrs. Gamp 
 regarded as the triumph of her art. 
 
 44 There !" she said, loosening the old man's 
 cravat, in consequence of his being rather black 
 in the face, after this scientific treatment 4 *Now, 
 j I hope, you 're easy in your mind. If you should 
 turn at all faint, we can soon rewive you, sir, I 
 prorata you. Bite a person's thumbs, or turn 
 ' their fingers the wrong way," said Mrs. Gamp, 
 smiling with the consciousness of at once impart- 
 ing pleasure and instruction to her auditors, 44 and 
 they comes to wonderful, Lord bless you ! ' 
 
 As this excellent woman had been formally 
 entrusted with the care of Mr. ChufTey on a pre- 
 vious occasion, neither Mrs. Jonas nor anybody 
 ! else had the resolution to interfere directly witU 
 ! her mode of treatment ; though all present (Tom 
 j Pinch and his sister especially) appeared to be 
 disposed to differ from her views. For such is 
 the rash boldness of the uninitiated, that they will 
 frequently set up some monstrous abstract prin- 
 ciple, such as humanity, or tenderness, or the like 
 idle folly, in obstinate defiance of all precedent 
 and usage; and will even venture to maintain the 
 same against the persons who have made the pre- 
 cedents and established the usage, and who must 
 therefore be the best and most impartial judges 
 of* the subject. 
 
 44 Ah, Mr. Pinch !" said Miss Pecksniff. " U 
 all comes of this unfortunate marriage. -If ray 
 sister had not been so precipitate, and had not 
 united herself to a Wretch, there would have been 
 no Mr. Chuffey in the house." 
 
 44 Hush !" cried Tom. 44 She '11 hear you." 
 
 44 1 should be very sorry if she did hear m»\ 
 Mr. Pinch," said Cherry, raising her voice a little, 
 44 for it is not in my nature to add to the uneasi- 
 ness of any person — far less of my own pietejh / 
 know what a sister's duties are, Mr. Pinch, and I 
 hope I always showed it in my practice. \ 
 tus, my dear child, find my poukct-huudkerchie£. 
 and give it to me." 
 
 Augustus obeyed, an<l took Mrs. Todgcre aside 
 to pour his griefs into her friendlv bosom. 
 
 44 1 am sure, Mr. I s| Charity, looking- 
 
 lit r her betrothed and glancing at Jmt sister, 
 44 that I ought to be very grateful lor the blessings 
 I enjoy, and those which are yet in store for me. 
 Winn 1 contrast Augustus" — here she was mo 
 dest and embarrassed — " who, I don't mind sujr 
 ing to you, is all softness, mildness, and devo 
 
274 
 
 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 tion, with the detestable man who is my sister's 
 husband ; and when I think, Mr. Pinch, that in 
 the dispensations of this world, our cases might 
 have been reversed ; I have much to be thankful 
 for, indeed, and much to make me humble and 
 contented." 
 
 Contented she might have been, but humble 
 she assuredly was not. Her face and manner 
 evinced something so widely different from hu- 
 mility, that Tom could not help understanding 
 and despising the base motives that were work- 
 ing in her breast. He turned away, and said to 
 Ruth, that it was time for them to go. 
 
 " I will write to your husband," said Tom to 
 Merry, " and explain to him, as I would have 
 done if I had met him here, that if he has sus- 
 tained any inconvenience through my means, it 
 is not my fault : a postman not being more in- 
 nocent of the news he brings than I was when I 
 handed him that letter." 
 
 " I thank you !" said Merry. " It may do 
 some good. Heaven bless you !" 
 
 She parted tenderly from Ruth, who with her 
 brother was in the act of leaving the room, when 
 a key was heard in the lock of the door below, 
 and immediately afterwards a quick footstep in 
 the passage. Tom stopped, and looked at Merry. 
 
 It was Jonas, she said timidly. 
 
 " I had better not meet him on the stairs, per- 
 haps," said Tom, drawing his sister's arm through 
 his, and coming back a step or two. "I'll wait 
 for him here a moment." 
 
 He had scarcely said it, when the door opened, 
 and Jonas entered. His wife came forward to 
 receive him ; but he put hor aside with his hand, 
 and said in a surly tone : 
 
 " I didn't know you'd got a party." 
 
 As he looked, at the same time, either by acci- 
 dent or design, towards Miss Pecksniff; and as 
 Miss Pecksniff was only too delighted to quarrel 
 with him, she instantly resented it. 
 
 " Oh dear !" she said, rising. "Pray don't let 
 us intrude upon your domestic happiness ! That 
 would be a pity. We have taken tea here, sir, in 
 your absence; but if you will have the goodness 
 to send us a note of the expense, receipted, we 
 shall be happy to pay it. Augustus, my love, we 
 will go, if you please. Mrs. Todgers, unless you 
 wish to remain here, we shall be happy to take 
 you with us. It would be a pity, indeed, to spoil 
 the bliss which this gentleman always brings 
 with him : especially into his own home." 
 
 "Charity! Charity!" remonstrated her sister, 
 in such a heartfelt tone that she might have been 
 imploring her to show the cardinal virtue whose 
 name she bore. 
 
 "Merry, my dear, I am much obliged to you 
 for your advice," returned Miss Pecksniff, with a 
 stalely scorn : by the way, she had not been 
 offered any : " but 7" am not his slave " 
 
 " No, nor wouldn't have been if you could," 
 interrupted Jonas. " We know all about it." 
 
 " What did you say, sir ?" cried Miss Peck- 
 sniff, sharply, 
 
 " Didn't you hear ?" retorted Jonas, lounging 
 down upon a chair. " I am not a-going to say it 
 again. If you like to stay, you may stay. If 
 you like to go, you may go. But if you stay, 
 please to be civil," 
 
 M Beast !" cried Miss Pecksniff, sweeping past 
 
 ! him. " Augustus ! He is beneath your notice !'* 
 Augustus had been making some faint and sickly 
 demonstration of shaking his fist. "Come away, 
 child," screamed Miss Pecksniff, " I command 
 you !" 
 
 The scream was elicited from her by Augustus 
 manifesting an intention to return and grapple 
 with him. But Miss Pecksniff giving the fiery 
 youth a pull, and Mrs. Todgers giving him a 
 push, they all three tumbled out of the room to- 
 gether, to the music of Miss Pecksniff's shrill 
 remonstrances. 
 
 All this time, Jonas had seen nothing of Tom 
 and his sister ; for they were almost behind the 
 door when he opened it, and he had sat down 
 with his back towards them, and had purposely 
 kept his eyes upon the opposite side of the street 
 during his altercation with Miss Pecksniff, in 
 order that his seeming carelessness might in- 
 crease the exasperation of that wronged young 
 damsel. His wife now faltered out that Tom 
 had been waiting to see him ; and Tom ad- 
 vanced. 
 
 The instant he presented himself, Jonas leap- 
 ed up from his chair, and swearing a great oath, 
 caught it in his grasp, as if he would have felled 
 Tom to the ground with it. As he most unques- 
 tionably would have done, but that his very 
 passion and surprise made him irresolute, and 
 gave Tom, in his calmness, an opportunity of 
 being heard. 
 
 " You have no cause to be violent, sir," said 
 Tom. " Though what I wish to say relates to 
 your own affairs, I know nothing of them, and 
 desire to know nothing of them." 
 
 Jonas was too enraged to speak. He held the 
 door open; and stamping his foot upon the 
 ground, motioned Tom away. 
 
 "As you cannot suppose," said Tom, "that I 
 am here, with any view of conciliating you or 
 pleasing myself, I am quite indifferent to your 
 reception of me, or your dismissal of me. Hear 
 what I have to say, if you are not a madman. I 
 gave you a letter the other day, when you were 
 about to go abroad." 
 
 " You thief, you did !" retorted Jonas. " I 'U 
 pay you for the carriage of it one day, and settle 
 an old score besides. I will." 
 
 "Tut, tut," said Tom, "you needn't waste 
 foul words or idle threats. I wish you to under 
 stand; plainly because I would rather keep clear 
 of you and everything that concerns you : not 
 because I have the least apprehension of your 
 doing me any injury : which would be weak in- 
 deed ; that I am no party to the contents of that 
 letter. That I know nothing of it. That I was 
 not even aware that it was to be delivered to 
 you ; and that I had it from " 
 
 " By the Lord !" cried Jonas, fiercely catching 
 up the chair, " I '11 knock your brains out, if 
 you speak another word." 
 
 Tom, nevertheless, persisting in his intention, 
 and opening his lips to speak again, Jonas set 
 upon him like a savage ; and in the quickness 
 and ferocity of his attack would have surely done 
 him some grievous injury, defenceless as he was, 
 and embarrassed by having his frightened sister 
 clinging to his arm, if Merry had not run between 
 them, crying to Tom for the love of Heaven to 
 leave the house. The agony of this poor creature, 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEVVIT. 
 
 the terror of his sister, the impossibility of making 
 himself audible, and the equal impossibility of 
 bearing up against Mrs. (Jump, who threw Jier- 
 Kt If upon him like a feather-bed, and forced him 
 backwards down the stairs by the mere oppression 
 of lu r dead-weight, prevailed. Tom shook the 
 dust of that house off his fvet, without having 
 mentioned Padgett's name. 
 
 If the name could have passed his lips; if Jonas, 
 in the insolence of his vile nature, hud never 
 roused him to do that old act of manliness, for 
 which (and not for his last offence) Ire hated him 
 with such malignity ; if Jonas could have learned, 
 as tin n he could and would have learned, through 
 Tom's means, what unsuspected spy there was 
 upon him ; he would have been saved from the 
 commission of a Guilty Deed, then drawing on 
 towards its black accomplishment. But the fatality 
 was of his own working ; the pit was of his own 
 digging ; the gloom that gathered round him, was 
 the shadow of his own life. 
 
 His wife had closed the door, and thrown her- 
 •elf before it, on the ground, upon her knees. She 
 held up her hands to him now, and besought him 
 not to be harsh with her, for she had interposed 
 in fear of bloodshed. 
 
 " So, so !" said Jonas, looking down upon her, 
 as he fetched his breath. ** These are your friends, 
 are they, when I am away? You plot and tam- 
 per with this sort of people, do you ?" 
 
 44 No, indeed ! I have no knowledge of these 
 secrets, and no clue to their meaning. I have 
 never seen him since I left home but once — but 
 twice — before to-day." 
 
 " Oh !" sneered Jonas, catching at this correc- 
 tion. " But once, but twice, eh ? Which do you 
 mean 7 Twice and once, perhaps. Three times ! 
 How many more, you lying jade 7" 
 
 As he made an angry motion with his hand, 
 she shrunk down hastily. A suggestive action ! 
 Full of a cruel truth ! 
 
 " Flow many more times?" he repeated. 
 
 "No more. The other morning, and to-day, 
 and once besides." 
 
 He was about to retort upon her, when the 
 clock struck. He started, stopped, and listened : 
 appearing to revert to some engagement, or to 
 some other subject, a secret within his own 
 breast, recalled to him by this record of the pro- 
 gress of the hours. 
 
 " Don't lie there. Get up !" 
 
 Having helped her to rise, or rather hauled her 
 up by the arm, he went on to say : 
 
 " Listen to me, young lady ; and don't whine 
 when you have no occasion, or I may make some 
 for ycu. If I find him in my house again, or find 
 that you have seen him in anybody else's house, 
 you'll repent it. If you are not deaf and dumb 
 to everything that concerns me, unless you have 
 my leave to hear and speak, you Ml repent it. If 
 vou don't obey exactly what I order, you Ml repent 
 it. Now, attend. What's the time?" 
 
 14 It struck Eight a minute ago." 
 
 He I'M.kcti towards her intently ; and said, with 
 a laboured distinctness, as if he had got the words 
 off by heart: 
 
 u I have been travelling day and night, and am 
 tired. I have lost some money, and that don't 
 improve me. Tut my supper in the little off-room 
 below, and have the truckle-bed made. I shall 
 
 sleep there to-night, and maybe to-morrow night ; 
 and if I can sleep all day to-morrow, so much the 
 better, for I 've got trouble to sleep off, if I can. 
 Keep the house quiet, and don't call me. Mind ! 
 Don't call me. Don't let anybody call me. Let 
 me lie there." 
 
 She said it should be done. Was thai all I 
 
 " What ! you must be prying and questioning?" 
 he angrily retorted. '* What more do you want 
 to know ?" 
 
 " I want to know nothing, Jonas, but what you 
 tell me. All hope of confidence between us, has 
 long deserted me." 
 
 ** Ecod, I should hope so !" he muttered. 
 
 " But if you will tell me what you wish, I will 
 be obedient, and will try to please you. I make 
 no merit of that, for I have no friend in my father 
 or my sister, but am quite alone. I am rerj 
 humble and submissive. You told me you would 
 break my spirit, and you have done so. Do not 
 break my heart too !" 
 
 She ventured, as she said these woifls, to lay 
 her hand upon his shoulder. He suffered it to 
 rest there, in his exultation ; and the whole mean, 
 abject, sordid, pitiful soul of the man, looked at 
 her, for the moment, through his wicked eyes. 
 
 For the moment only : for, with the same hur- 
 ried return to something within himself, he bade 
 her, in a surly tone, show her obedience by exe- 
 cuting his commands without delay. When she 
 had withdrawn, he paced up and down the room 
 several times; but always with his right hand 
 clenched, as if it held something ; which it did 
 not, being empty. When he was tired of this, he 
 threw himself into a chair, and thoughtfully 
 turned up the sleeve of his right arm, as if he 
 were rather musing about its strength than ex. 
 amining it; but even then, he kept the hand 
 clenched. 
 
 He was brooding in this chair, with his eyes 
 cast down upon the ground, when Mrs. Gamp 
 came in to tell him that the little room was ready 
 Not being quite sure of her reception after inter 
 fering in the quarrel, Mrs. Gamp, as a means of 
 interesting and propitiating her patron, affected a 
 deep solicitude in Mr. Chuffey. 
 
 " How is he now, sir ?" she said. 
 
 "Who?" cried Jonas, raising his head, and 
 6taring at her. 
 
 " To be sure ?" returned the matron, with » 
 smile and a curtsey. "What am I a thinking of! 
 You wasn't here, sir, when he was took so 
 strange. I never see a poor deer creetur took so 
 strange in all my life, except a patient much 
 about the same age, as I once missed, which his 
 calling was the custom-'us, and his name was 
 Mrs. Harris's own father, as pleasant a singer, 
 Mr. Chuzilcwit, as ever you heerd, with a voice 
 like a Jew's-harp in the bass notes, that it toofc 
 six men to hold at sech times, foaming fright- 
 ful." 
 
 "Chuffey, eh?" said Jonas, carelessly, seeing 
 that she went up to the old clerk, and looked at 
 him. "Hal" 
 
 11 The creetur's head 's «o hot," said Mrs- Gamp, 
 " that you might eat a flat-iron at it And do 
 wonder, I ana sure, considerin' the things he 
 •aid!" 
 
 " Said !" cried Jonas. u What did he say V 
 
 Mrs. Gamp laid her hand upon her heart, to pu! 
 
276 
 
 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 some check upon its palpitations, and turning up 
 her eyes, replied in a faint voice : 
 
 " The awfullest things, Mr. Chuzzlewit, as ever 
 I heerd ! Which Mrs. Harris's father never spoke 
 a word when took so, some does and some don't, 
 except savin' when he come round, 'Where is 
 Sairey Gamp?' But raly, sir, when Mr. Chuffey 
 comes to ask who's lyin' dead upstairs, and " 
 
 " Who 's lying dead up-stairs !" repeated Jonas, 
 standing aghast. 
 
 Mrs. Gamp nodded, made as if she were swal- 
 lowing, and went on : 
 
 " Who 's lyin' dead up-stairs ; sech was his 
 Bible language ; and where was Mr. Chuzzlewit 
 as had the only son ; and when he goes up stairs 
 a lookin' in the beds and wandering about the 
 rooms, and comes down again a whisperin' softly 
 to his-self about foul play and that; it give me 
 pich a turn, I don't deny it, Mr. Chuzzlewit, that 
 I never could have kep myself up but for a little 
 drain o' spirits, which I seldom touches, but could 
 always wish to know where to find, if so dispoged, 
 never knowin' wot may happen next, the world 
 bein' so uncertain." 
 
 " Why, the old fool 's mad !" cried Jonas, much 
 disturbed. 
 
 * That's my opinion, sir," said Mrs. Gamp, 
 *• and I will not deceive you. I believe as Mr. 
 Chuffey, sir, rekwires attention (if I may make 
 so bold), and should not have his liberty to wex 
 and worrit your sweet lady as he does." 
 
 u Why, who minds what he says ?" retorted 
 Jonas. » 
 
 "Still he is worritin', sir," said Mrs. Gamp. "No 
 one don't mind him, but he is a ill conwenience." 
 
 " Ecod you 're right," said Jonas, looking doubt- 
 fully at the subject of this conversation. " J have 
 half a mind to shut him up." 
 
 Mrs. Gamp rubbed her hands, and smiled, and 
 shook her head, and sniffed expressively, as scent- 
 ing a job. 
 
 " Could you — could you take care of such an 
 idiot, now, in some spare room up-stairs ?" asked 
 Jonas. 
 
 " Me and a friend of mine, one off, one on, could 
 do it, Mr. Chuzzlewit," replied the nurse ; " bur 
 charges not bein' high, but wishin' they was 
 lower, and allowance made considerin' not stran- 
 gers. Me and Betsey Prig, sir, would undertake 
 Mr. Chuffey, reasonable," said Mrs. Gamp, look- ' 
 ing at him with her head on one side, as if he had 
 been a piece of goods, for which she was driving 
 a bargain ; " and give every satigefaction. Betsey 
 Prig has nussed a many lunacies, and well she 
 knows their ways, which puttin' 'em right close 
 afore the fire, when fractious, is the certainest and 
 most compoging." « 
 
 While Mrs. Gamp discoursed to this effect, Jonas 
 was walking up and down the room again : glanc- 
 ing covertly at the old clerk, as he did so. He 
 now made a stop, and said : 
 
 " I must look after him, I suppose, or I may 
 have him doing some mischief. What say } 7 ou '?" 
 
 "Nothin' more likely!" Mrs. Gamp replied. 
 • As well I have experienged, I do assure you, 
 sir." 
 
 " Well ! Look after him for the present, and — 
 let me see — three days from this time let the other 
 woman come here, and we '11 see if we can make 
 a bargain of it. About nine or ten o'clock at 
 
 night, say. Keep your eye upon him in the mean- 
 while, and don't talk about it. He 's as mad as a 
 March hare !" 
 
 " Madder !" cried Mrs. Gamp. " A deal mad- 
 der!" 
 
 " See to him, then ; take care that he does no 
 harm ; and recollect' what I have told you." 
 
 Leaving Mrs. Gamp in the act of repeating all 
 she had been told, and of producing in support of 
 her memory and trustworthiness, many commen- 
 dations selected from among the most remarkable 
 opinions of the celebrated Mrs. Harris, he de- 
 scended to the little room prepared for him, and 
 pulling off his coat and his boots, put them out- 
 side the door before he locked it. In locking it, 
 he was careful so to adjust the key, as to baffle 
 any curious person who might try to peep in 
 through the keyhole ; and when he had taken 
 these precautions, he sat down to his supper. 
 
 " Mr. Chuff," he muttered, "it'll be pretty easy 
 to be even with you. It 's of no use doing things 
 by halves, and as long as I stop here, I '11 take good 
 care of you. When I am off, you may say what 
 you please. But it 's a d — d strange thing," he 
 added, pushing away his untouched plate, and 
 striding moodily to and fro, " that his drivellings 
 should have taken this turn just now." 
 
 After pacing the little room from end to end 
 several times, he sat down in another chair. 
 
 " I say just now, but for anything I know, he 
 may have been carrying on the same game all 
 along. Old dog ! He shall be gagged !" 
 
 He paced the room again in the same restless 
 and unsteady way ; and then sat down upon the 
 bedstead, leaning his chin upon his hand, and look- 
 ing at the table. When he had looked at it for a 
 long time, he remembered his supper ; and re- 
 suming the chair he had first occupied, began to 
 eat with great rapacity : not like a hungry man, 
 but as if he were determined to do it. He drank 
 too, roundly ; sometimes stopping in the middle 
 of a draught to walk, and change his seat and 
 walk again, and dart back to the table and fall to, 
 in a ravenous hurry, as before. 
 
 It was now growing dark. As the gloom of 
 evening, deepening into night, Came on, another 
 dark shade emerging from within him seemed to 
 overspread his face, and slowly change it. Slow- 
 ly, slowly; darker and darker; more and more 
 haggard ; creeping over him by little and little ; 
 until it was black night within him and without. 
 
 The room in which he had shut himself up, 
 was on the ground-floor, at the back of the house. 
 It was lighted by a dirty skylight, and had a door 
 in the wall, opening into a narrow covered passage 
 or blind-alley, very little frequented after five or 
 six o'clock in the evening, and not in much use 
 as a thoroughfare at any hour. But it had an 
 outlet in a neighbouring street. 
 
 The ground on which this chamber stood, had, 
 at one time, not within his recollection, been a 
 yard : and had been converted to its present pur- 
 pose, for use as an office. But the occasion for it 
 died with the man who built it; and saving that 
 it had sometimes served as an apology for a spare 
 bed-room, and that the old clerk had once held it 
 (but that was years ago) as his recognised apart- 
 ment ; it had been little troubled by Anthony Chuz- 
 zlewit and Son. It was a blotched, stained, moul- 
 dering room, like a vault; and there were water 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEW1T. 
 
 277 
 
 ^ipes running through it, which at unexpected 
 times in the night, when other tilings were quiet, 
 clicked and gurgled suddenly, as if they were 
 choking. 
 
 TIr door into the court had not been opened 
 for a long, long time ; but the key had always 
 hung in one place, and there it hung now. He 
 Was prepared for its being rusty ; for be had a lit- 
 tle bottle of oil in his pocket and the feather of a 
 pen, with which he lubricated the key, and the 
 lock too, carefully. All this while he had been 
 without his coat, and had nothing on his feet but 
 his stockings. He now got softly into bed, in the 
 same state, and tossed from side to side to tumble 
 it. In his restless condition, that was easily done. 
 
 When he arose, he took from his portmanteau, 
 which he had caused to be carried into that place 
 when he catne home, a pair of clumsy shoes, and 
 put them on his feet; also a pair of leather leg- 
 gings, such as countrymen are used to wear, with 
 Btraps to fasten them to the waistband ; in which 
 he dressed himself at leisure. Lastly, he took 
 out a common frocksof coarse dark jean, which 
 he drew over his own under-clothing ; and a felt 
 hat — he had purposely left ins own upstairs. 
 He then sat down by the door, with the key in 
 his hand : waiting. 
 
 II« had no light; the timo was dreary, long, 
 and awful. The ringers were practising in a 
 neighbouring church, and the clashing of the bells 
 was almost maddening. Curse the clumouriug 
 bells, they seemed to know that he was listening 
 at the door, and to proclaim it in a crowd of voices 
 to all the town. Would they never be still ? 
 
 They ceased at last ; and then the silence wu 
 so new and terrible that it seemed the prelude to 
 some dreadful noise. Footsteps in the court! 
 Two men. ile fell back from the door on tiptoe, 
 as if they could have seen him through ks wood- 
 en panels. 
 
 They passed on, talking (he could make out) 
 about a skeleton which had been dug up yester- 
 day, in some work of excavation near at hand, 
 and was supposed to be that of a murdered man. 
 " So murder is not always found out* you see,* 1 
 they said to one another as they turned the corner 
 
 Hush ! 
 
 He put the key into the lock, and turned it 
 The door resisted for a while, but soon came stif- 
 fly open : mingling with the sense of fever in his 
 mouth, a taste of rust, and dust, and earth, and 
 rotting wood. He looked out ; passed out ; locked 
 it after him. 
 
 All was clear and quiet, as he fled away. 
 
 CHAPTER XLVII. 
 
 CONCLUSION OF THE ENTERPRISE OF MR. JONAS AND HIS FRIEND. 
 
 Did no men passing through the dim streets 
 shrink without knowing why, when he came steal- 
 ing up behind them ? As he glided on, had no 
 child in its sleep an indistinct perception of a 
 guilty shadow falling on its bed, that troubled its 
 innocent rest ? Did no dog howl, and strive to 
 break its rattling chain, that it might tear him ; 
 no burrowing rat, scenting the work he had in 
 his hand, essay to gnaw a passage after him, that 
 it might hold a greedy revel at the feast of his 
 providing? When he looked back, across his 
 shoulder, was it to see if his quick footsteps still 
 fell dry upon the dusty pavement, or were already 
 moist and clogged with the red mire that stained 
 the naked feet of Cain ! 
 
 He shaped his course for the main western road, 
 and soon reached it: riding a part of the way, 
 then alighting and walking on again. He travel- 
 led for a considerable distance upon the roof of a 
 stage-coach, which came up while he was a-foot; 
 and when it turned out of his road, bribed the 
 driver of a return post-chaise to take him on with 
 him ; and. then made across the country, at a run, 
 and saved a mile or two before he struck again into 
 the road. At last, as his plan was, he came up 
 with a certain luinberintr, slow, night- coach, which 
 stopped wherever it could, and was stopping then 
 at a public-house, while the guard and coachman 
 ate nnd drank within. 
 
 He bargained for a seat outside this coach, and 
 took it. And ho quitted it no more until it was 
 within a few UfJUs of its destination, but occu- 
 pied the same place all niifht. 
 
 All night ! It is a common fancy that nature 
 seems to lltef by night. It is a false fancy, as 
 who should know better than he? 
 
 The fishes slumbered in the cold, bright, glis- 
 
 tening streams and rivers, perhaps ; and the birds 
 roosted on the branches of the trees; and in their 
 stalls and pastures beasts were quiet ; and human 
 creatures slept But what of that, when the so- 
 lemn night was watching, when it never winked, 
 when its darkness watched no less than its light ! 
 The stately trees, the moon, and shining stars, 
 the softly stirring wind, the over-shadowed lane, 
 the broad, bright country-side, they all kept watch. 
 There was not a blade of growing grass or corn, 
 but watched ; and the quieter it was, the more 
 intent and fixed its watch upon him seemed to be. 
 
 And yet he slept. Riding on among these sen- 
 tinels of God, he slept, and did not change the 
 purpose of his journey. If he forgot it in his 
 troubled dreams, it came up steadily, and woke 
 him. But it never woke him to remorse, or tc 
 abandonment of his design. 
 
 He dreamed at one time that he was lying 
 calmly in his bed, thinking of a moonlight night 
 and the noise of wheels, when the old clerk put 
 his head in at the door, and beckoned him. At 
 this signal he rose immediately : being already 
 dressed, in the clothes he actually wore at that 
 time : and accompanied him into a strange city, 
 where the names of the streets were written on 
 the walls in characters quite new to him ; which 
 gave him no surprise or uneasiness, for he remem- 
 bered in bis dream to have been there before. 
 Although these streets were very precipitous, in- 
 somuch that to get from one to another, it was 
 necessary to descend great heights by ladders that 
 were too short, and ropes that moved deep bells, 
 and swung and swayed as they were clung to, the 
 danger gave him little emotion beyond the first 
 thrill of terror; his anxieties being concentrated 
 on his dress, which was quite unfitted for some 
 
278 
 
 LIFE AI\D ADVENTURES OF 
 
 festival that was about to be holden there, and in 
 which he had come to take a part. Already, 
 great crowds began to fill the streets, and in one 
 direction myriads of people came rushing down 
 an interminable perspective strewing flowers and 
 making way for others on white horses, when a 
 terrible figure started from the throng, and cried 
 out that it was the Last Day for all the world. 
 The cry being spread, there was a wild hurrying 
 on to Judgment ; and the press became so great 
 that he and his companion (who was constantly 
 changing, and was never the same man two min- 
 utes together, though he never saw one man come 
 or another go), stood aside in a porch, fearfully 
 surveying the multitude ; in which there were 
 many faces that he knew, and many that he did 
 not know, but dreamed he did ; when all at once 
 a struggling head rose up among the rest — livid 
 and deadly, but the same as he had known it — 
 and denounced him as having appointed that dire- 
 ful day to happen. They closed together. As he 
 strove to free the hand in which he held a club, 
 and strike the blow he had so often thought of, 
 he started to the knowledge of his waking pur- 
 pose and the rising of the sun. 
 
 The sun was welcome to him. There were life 
 and motion, and a world astir, to divide the atten- 
 tion of Day. It was the eye of Night : of wake- 
 ful, watchful, silent, and attentive Night, with so 
 much leisure for the observation of his wicked 
 thoughts : that he dreaded most. There is no 
 glare in the night. Even Glory shows to small 
 advantage in the night, upon a crowded battle- 
 field. How then shows Glory's blood-relation, 
 bastard Murder ! 
 
 Ay ! He made no compromise, and held no 
 
 no compromise, 
 Murder! 
 
 He had come 
 
 secret with himself now, 
 to do it. 
 
 " Let me get down here," he said. 
 
 " Short of the town, eh ?" observed the coach- 
 man. 
 
 " I may get down where I please, I suppose ?" 
 
 " You got up to please yourself, and may get 
 down to please yourself. It won't break our 
 nearts to lose you, and it wouldn't have broken 
 'em if we'd never found you. Be a little quicker. 
 That's all." 
 
 The guard had alighted, and was waiting in the 
 road to take his money. In the jealousy and dis- 
 trust of what he contemplated, he thought this man 
 looked at him with more than common curiosity. 
 
 " What are you staring at ?" said Jonas. 
 
 "Not at a handsome man," returned the guard. 
 u If you want your fortune told, I'll tell you a bit 
 of it. You won't be drowned. That's a consola- 
 tion for you." 
 
 Before he could retort, or turn away, the coach- 
 man put an end to the dialogue by giving him a 
 cut with his whip, and bidding him get out for a 
 surly dog. The guard jumped up to his seat at 
 the same moment, and they drove off, laughing ; 
 leaving him to stand in the road, and shake his 
 fist at them. He was not displeased though, on 
 second thoughts, to have been taken for an ill-con- 
 ditioned common country fellow ; but rather con- 
 gratulated himself upon it as a proof that he was 
 well disguised. 
 
 Wandering into a copse by the road-side — but 
 not in that place : two or three miles off — he tore 
 out from a fence a thick, hard, knotted stake; and, 
 sitting down beneath a hay-rick, spent some time 
 
 in shaping it, in peeling off the bark, and fashion 
 ing its jagged head with his knife. 
 
 The day passed on. Noon, afternoon, evening. 
 Sunset. 
 
 At that serene and peaceful time two men, 
 riding in a gig, came out of the city by a road 
 not much frequented. It was the day on which 
 Mr. Pecksniff had agreed to dine with Montague. 
 He had kept his appointment, and was n w going 
 home. His host was riding with him for a short 
 distance ; meaning to return by a pleasant track, 
 which Mr. Pecksniff had engaged to show him, 
 through some fields. Jonas knew their plans. He 
 had hung about the inn-yard while they were at 
 dinner, and had heard their orders given. 
 
 They were loud and merry in their conversa- 
 tion, and might have been heard at some distance: 
 far above the sound of their carriage-wheels or 
 horse's hoofs. They came on noisily, to where a 
 stile and footpath indicated their point of separa- 
 tion. Here they stopped. 
 
 " It's too soo. Much too soon," said Mr. Peck- 
 sniff. " But this is the place, my dear sir. Keep 
 the path, and go straight through the little wood 
 you '11 come to. The path is narrower there, but 
 you can't miss ill When shall I see you again? 
 Soon, I hope ?" 
 
 " I hope so," replied Montague. 
 
 " Good night !" 
 
 "Good night. And a pleasant ride !" 
 
 So long as Mr. Pecksniff was in sight, and 
 turned his head, at intervals, to salute him, Mon- 
 tague stood in the road smiling, and waving his 
 hand. But when his new partner had disappeared, 
 and this show was no longer necessary, he sat 
 down on the stile with looks so altered, that he 
 might have grown ten years older in the mean- 
 time. 
 
 He was flushed with wine, but not gay. His 
 scheme had succeeded, but he showed no triumph. 
 The effort of sustaining his difficult part before 
 his late companion, had fatigued him, perhaps, or 
 it may be, that the evening whispered to his con- 
 science, or it may be (as it has been) that a sha- 
 dowy veil was dropping round him, closing out 
 all thoughts but the presentiment and vague fore- 
 knowledge of impending doom. 
 
 If there be fluids, as we know there are, which, 
 conscious of a coming wind, or rain, or frost, will 
 shrink and strive to hide themselves in their glass 
 arteries; may not that subtle liquor of the blood 
 perceive by properties within itself, that hands are 
 raised to waste and spill it ; and in the veins of 
 men run cold and dull as his did, in that hour ! 
 
 So cold, although the air was warm : so dull, 
 although the sky was bright : that he rose up 
 shivering, from his seat, and hastily resumed his 
 walk. He checked himself as hastily: undecided 
 whether to pursue the footpath which was lonely 
 and retired, or to go back by the road. 
 
 He took the footpath. 
 
 The glory of the departing sun was on his face. 
 The music of the birds was in his ears. Sweet 
 wild flowers bloomed about him. Thatched roofs 
 of poor men's homes were in the distance ; and 
 an old grey spire surmounted by a cross, rose up 
 between him and the coming night. 
 
 He had never read the lesson which these 
 things conveyed ; he had ever mocked and turned 
 away from it ; but before going down into a hollow 
 place, he looked round once upon the evening 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT 
 
 prospect sorrowfully. Then he went down, down, 
 down, into the dell. 
 
 It brought him to the wood ; a close, thick, 
 shadowy wood, through which the path went 
 winding on, dwindling away into a slender ihaea 
 track. He paused before entering; tor the still. 
 new of this spot almost daunted him. 
 
 The last rays of the sun were shining in, aslant, 
 making a path of golden light along the*stems and 
 branches in its range, which even as he looked 
 began to die away : yielding gently to the twilight 
 that came creeping on. It was so very quit t that 
 the sort and stealthy moss about the trunks of 
 some old trees, seemed to have grown out of the 
 silence, and to be its proper offspring. Those 
 other trees which were subdued by blasts of wind 
 in winter time, had not quite tumbled down, but 
 being caught by others, lay all bare and scathed 
 across their lea'y arms, as if unwilling to disturb 
 the general rep /se by tile crash of their fall. Vis- 
 tas of silence opened everywhere, into the heart 
 and innermost recesses of the wood : beginning 
 with the likeness of an aisle, a cloister, or a ruin 
 open to the, sky; then tangling off into a deep 
 green rustling mystery, through which gnarled 
 trunks, and twisted boughs, and ivy-covered stems, 
 and trembling leaves, and bark-stripped bodies of 
 old trees stretched out at length, were faintly seen 
 in beautiful confusion. 
 
 As the sunlight died away, and evening fell 
 upon the wood, he entered it. Moving here and 
 there a bramble or a drooping bough which- 
 stretched across his path, he slowly disappeared. 
 At intervals a narrow openirig showed him pass- 
 ing on, or the sharp cracking of some tender 
 branch denoted where he went : then he was seen 
 or heard no more. 
 
 Never more beheld by mortal eye or heard by 
 mortal ear: one man excepted. That man, part- 
 ing the leaves and branches on the other side, near 
 where the path emerged again, came leaping out 
 soon afterwards. 
 
 What had he left within the wood, that he 
 sprang out of it, as if it were a hell ! 
 
 The body of a murdered man. In one thick 
 solitary spot, it lay among the last year's leaves 
 of oak and beech, just as it had fallen headlong 
 down. Sopping and soaking in among the leaves 
 that formed its pillow ; c^z.'ng down into the 
 boggy ground, as if to ccver itself from human 
 sight; forcing its way KftwwMI and through the 
 curling leaves, as if those senseless things rejected 
 and forswore it, and were coiled up in abhorrence; 
 Went a dark, dark stain that dyed and scented the 
 whole summer night from earth to heaven. 
 
 The doer of this deed came leaping from the 
 wood so fiercely, that he east into the air a shower 
 of fragments of young boughs, torn away in his 
 
 Eassage, and fell with violence ttpoa the grass, 
 tut he quickly gained his feet again, and keeping 
 underneath a hedge with his body bent, went run- 
 ning t n towards the road. The road once reached, 
 he tell into a rapid walk, and set on towards 
 London. 
 
 And he was not sorry for what he had done. 
 He was frightened when In: thought of it — when 
 did he not think of it! — but he was not sorry. 
 He hud had a terror and dread of the wood when 
 be was in it; but being out of it, and having com. 
 mittcd the crime, his fears were now diverted, 
 strangely, to the dark room he had left shut up at 
 
 home. He had a greater horror, infinitely greater, 
 of that room than of the wood. Now that he was 
 on his return to it, it seemed beyond comparison 
 more dismal and more dreadful than tl»e wood. 
 His hideous secret was shut up in the room, and 
 all its terrors were there; to his thiukiug it was 
 not in the wood at all. 
 
 lie walked on for ten miles; and then stopped 
 at an alehouse for a coach, which he knew would 
 pass through, on its way to London, before long ; 
 and which he also knew was not the coach he had 
 travelled down by, for it came from another place. 
 He sat down outside the door here, oo a bench, 
 beside a man who was smoking his pipe. Having 
 called for some beer, and drunk, himself, he offered 
 it to this companion, who thanked him and took 
 a draught He could not help thinking that, if 
 tl»e man had known all, he might scarcely have 
 relished drinking out of the same cup with hiin. 
 
 " A fine night, master !" said this person. "And 
 a rare sunset." 
 
 " I didn't see it," was his hasty answer. 
 
 M Didn't see it ?" returned the man. 
 
 44 How the devil could I see it, if I was asleep ?" 
 
 "Asleep! Ay, ay." The man appeared sur- 
 prised by his unexpected irritability, and saying 
 no more, smoked his pipe in silence. They had not 
 sat very -long, when there was a knocking within. 
 
 " What 's that ?" cried Jonas. 
 
 * Can't say, I 'm sure," replied the man. 
 
 He made no further inquiry, for the last ques- 
 tion had escaped him, in spite of himself. But he 
 was thinking, at the moment, of the closed-up 
 room ; of the possibility of their knocking at the 
 door on some special occasion; of their being 
 alarmed at receiving no answer; of their bursting 
 it open ; of their finding the room empty ; of their 
 fastening the door into the court, and rendering it 
 impossible for him to get into the house without 
 showing himself in the garb he wore; which would 
 lead to rumour, rumour to detection, detection to 
 death. At that instant, as if by some desigu and 
 order of circumstances, the knocking had come. 
 
 It still continued ; like a warning echo of the 
 dread reality he had conjured up. As he could 
 not sit and hear it, he paid for his beer and walked 
 on again. And having slunk about, in places un- 
 known to him, all day ; and being out at night, in 
 a lonely road, in an unusual dress, and in that 
 wandering and unsettled frame of mind; he stop- 
 ped more than once to look about him, hoping he 
 might be in a dream. 
 
 Still he was not sorry. No. He bad hated *he 
 man too much, and had been bent, too desperately 
 and too long, on setting himself free. If the thing 
 could have come over again, he would have done 
 it again. His malignant and revengeful passions 
 were not so easily laid. There was no more peni- 
 tence or remorse within him now, than there had 
 been while the deed was brewing. 
 
 Dread and fear were upou him. To an extent 
 he had never counted on, and could net manage 
 in the least degree. He was so horribly afraid of 
 that infernal room at home. This made him, in 
 a gloomy, murderous, mad way, not only tearful 
 for himself but of himself; for being, as it were, 
 a part of the room : a something supposed to be 
 tin re, yet missing from it: he hi vested himself 
 with its mysterious terrors; and when he pictured 
 in his mind the ugly chamber, false and quiet 
 false and quiet, through the dark hour* of twp 
 
280 
 
 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 nights ; ar*d the tumbled bed, and he not in it, 
 though believed to be ; he became in a manner his 
 own ghost and phantom, and was at once the 
 haunting spirit and the haunted man. 
 
 When the coach came up, which it soon did, 
 he got a place outside, and was carried briskly 
 onward towards home. Now, in taking his seat 
 among the people behind, who were chiefly coun- 
 try people, he conceived a fear that they knew of 
 the murder, and would tell him that the body had 
 been found; which, considering the time and 
 place of the commission of the crime, were events 
 almost impossible to have happened yet, as he 
 very well knew. But, although he did know it, 
 and had therefore no reason to regard their igno- 
 rance as any thing but the natural sequence to the 
 facts, still this very ignorance of theirs encouraged 
 him. So far encouraged him, that he began to 
 believe the body never would be found, and began 
 to speculate on that probability. Setting off from 
 this point ; and measuring time by the rapid hurry j 
 of his guilty thoughts, and what had gone before 
 the bloodshed, and the troops of incoherent and 
 disordered images, of which he was the constant 
 prey ; he came by daylight to regard the murder 
 as an old murder, and to think himself compara- 
 tively safe, because it had not been discovered yet. 
 Yet! When the sun which looked into the wood, 
 and gilded with its rising light a dead man's face, 
 had seen that man alive, and sought to win him 
 to one thought of Heaven, on its going down last 
 night I 
 
 But here were London streets again. Hush ! 
 
 It was but five o'clock. He had time enough 
 to reach his own house unobserved, and before 
 there were many people in the streets ; if nothing 
 had happened so far, tending to his discovery. 
 He slipped down from the coach without trou- 
 bling the driver to stop his horses : and hurrying 
 across the road, and in and out of every by-way 
 that lay near his course, at length approached his 
 own dwelling. He used additional caution in his 
 immediate neighbourhood, halting first to look 
 all down the street before him ; then gliding swiftly 
 through that one, and stopping to survey the next; 
 and so on. 
 
 The dassage-way was empty when his murder- 
 er's face looked into it. He stole on to the door 
 on tiptoe, as if he dreaded to disturb his own 
 imaginary rest. 
 
 He listened. Not a sound. As he turned the 
 key with a trembling hand, and pushed the door 
 softly open with his knee, a monstrous fear beset 
 his mind. 
 
 What if the murdered man were there before 
 him ! 
 
 He cast a fearful glance all round. But there 
 was nothing theie. 
 
 lie went in, locked the door, drew the key 
 through and thiough the dust and damp in the 
 fire-place to sully it again, and hung it up as of 
 old. He took off his disguise, tied it up in a bun- 
 dle ready for carrying away and sinking in the 
 river before night, and locked it up in a cupboard. 
 These preeautions taken, he undressed and went 
 to bed 
 
 The raging thirst, the fire that burnt within 
 him, as he lay beneath the clothes ; the augmented 
 horror of the room, when they shut it out from 
 his view; the agony of listening, in which he paid 
 %r.forced regard to every sound, and thought the 
 
 most unlikely one the prelude to that knocking 
 which should bring the news; the starts with 
 which he left his couch, and looking in the glass, 
 imagined that his deed was broadly written in his 
 face; and lying down and burying himself once 
 more beneath the blankets, heard his own heart 
 beating Murder, Murder, Murder in' the bed. 
 What words can paint tremendous truths like these! 
 
 The morYiing advanced. There were footsteps 
 in the house. He heard the blinds drawn up, and 
 shutters opened ; and now and then a stealthy 
 tread outside his own door. He tried to call out 
 more than once, but his mouth was dry as if it had 
 been filled with burning sand. At last he sat up 
 in his bed, and cried, 
 
 "Who's there?" 
 
 It was his wife. 
 
 He asked her what it was o'clock. Nine. 
 
 "Did — did no one knock at my door, yester- 
 day ?" he faltered. " Something disturbed me ; 
 but unless you had knocked the door down, you 
 would have got no notice from me." 
 
 "No one," she replied. That was well. He had 
 waited, almost breathless, for her answer. It was 
 a relief to him, if any thing could be. 
 
 " Mr. Nadgett wanted to see you," she said, 
 " but I told him you were tired, and had requested 
 not to be disturbed. He said it was of little con- 
 sequence, and went away. As I Was opening my 
 window, to let in the cool air, I saw him passing 
 through the street this morning, very early ; but 
 he has n't been again." 
 
 Passing through the street that morning. Very 
 early ! Jonas trembled at the thought of having 
 had a narrow chance of seeing him himself: even 
 him, who had no object but to avoid people, and 
 sneak on unobserved, and keep his own secrets : 
 and who saw nothing. 
 
 He called to her to get his breakfast ready, and 
 prepared to go up stairs : attiring himself in the 
 clothes he had taken off when he came into that 
 room, which had been ever since outside the door. 
 In his secret dread of meeting the household for 
 the first time, after what he had done, he lingered 
 at the door on slight pretexts that they might see 
 him without looking in his face ; and left it ajar 
 while he dressed ; and called out to have the win- 
 dows opened, and the pavement watered, that they 
 might become accustomed to his voice. Even 
 when he had put off the time, by one means or 
 other, so that he had seen or spoken to them all, 
 he could not muster courage for a long while to 
 go in among them, but stood at his own door list- 
 ening to the murmur of their distant conversation. 
 He could not stop there for ever, and so joined 
 them. His last glance at the glass had seen a 
 tell-tale face, but that might have been because 
 of his anxious looking in it. He dared not look 
 at them to see if they observed him, but he thought 
 them very silent. 
 
 And whatsoever guard he kept upon himself, 
 he could not help listening, and showing that he 
 listened. Whether he attended to their talk, or 
 tried to think of other things, or talked himself, 
 or held his peace, or resolutely counted the dull 
 tickings of a hoarse clock at his back, he always 
 lapsed, as if a spell were on him, into eager listen- 
 ing : for he knew it must come, and his present 
 punishment, and torture, and distraction, was, to 
 listen for its coming. 
 Hush .» 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 
 
 281 
 
 CHAPTER XLVIII. 
 
 BEARS T T DINGS OF MARTIN, AND OF MARK, AS WfiLL AS. OF A THIRD TER- 
 SON NOT QUfTO INKNOWN TO THE* READER. EXHIBITS FILIAL PIETY 
 IN AN UGLY ASPECT ; 
 
 THE READER. EXHIBITS FILIAL 
 STS A DOUBTFUL RAY OF LIGHT UPO: 
 
 A VERY DARK PLACE. 
 
 Tom Pinch and Ruth were sitting at their early 
 Dreakfast with the window o|xii, and u row of die 
 • little plants arrange*, before it on the in- 
 side, l>v Ruth's own hands; and Ruth had fastened 
 a sprig of geranium in Tom's button-hole, to make 
 him wry smart and surnmer-like for the day (it 
 was obliged to be fastened in, or that dear old Tom 
 was certain to lose it); and people were crying 
 flowers up and down the street; and a blunder* 
 ing bee, who had got himself in between the two 
 •ashes of the window, was bruising his head 
 against the glass, endeavouring to force himself 
 out into the fine morning, and considering him- 
 self enchanted because he couldn't do it ; and the 
 morning was as fine a morning as ever was seen; 
 and the fragrant air was kissing Ruth and rus- 
 tling about Tom, as if it said, "How are you, 
 my dears ? I came all this way on purpose to 
 salute you ;" and it was one of those glad times 
 when we form, or ought to form, the wish that 
 every one on earth were able to be happy, and 
 catching glimpses of the summer of the heart, to 
 feel the beauty of the summer of the year. 
 
 It was even a pleasantcr breakfast than usual; 
 and it was always a pleasant one. For little Ruth 
 had now two pupils to attend, each three times a 
 week, and each two hours at a time ; and besides 
 this, she had painted some screens and card-racks, 
 and unknown to Tom (was there ever anything 
 so delightful ?) had walked into a certain shop 
 which dealt in such articles, after often peeping 
 through the window ; and had taken courage to 
 ask the mistress of that shop whether she would 
 buy them. And the mistress had not only bought 
 them, but had ordered more ; and that very morn- 
 ing Ruth had made confession of these facts to 
 Tom, and had handed him the money in a little 
 purse she had worked expressly for the purpose. 
 They had been in a flutter about this, and perhaps 
 had shed a happy tear or two, for anything the 
 history knows to the contrary ; but it was all over 
 now ; and a brighter face than Tom's, or a 
 brighter face than Ruth's, the bright sun had not 
 looked on since he went to bed last night. 
 
 44 My dear girl," said Tom, coming so abruptly 
 on the subject, that he interru|>ted himself in the 
 act of cutting a slice of bread, and left the knife 
 sticking in the loaf, 4i what a queer fellow our 
 landlord is ! I don't believe he has been home 
 once since he got me into that unsatisfactory 
 scrape. I begin to think he will never come 
 home again. What a mysterious life that man 
 does lead, to be sure !" 
 
 44 Very strange. Is it not, Tom ?" 
 
 44 Really," said Tom, 44 1 hope it is only strange. 
 I hope there may be nothing wrong in it. Some- 
 times I begin to be doubtful ofth.it. I must have 
 an explanation with him," said Tom, shaking his 
 rf | most tremendous threat, 
 44 when I catch him I" 
 
 A short double knock at the door put Tom's 
 menacing looks to (light, and awakened an ex- 
 pression of surprise instead. 
 36 
 
 day !" said Tom. M An early hour for 
 I be John, I suppo 
 
 •» I_I_don't think it was his knock, Tom," 
 observed his little sister. 
 
 44 No ?" said Tom. 44 It surely can't be my 
 
 employer, suddenly arrived in town ; directed 
 
 here by Mr. Fips ; and come for the key of the 
 
 I I's somebody inquiring for me, I declare ! 
 
 Come in, if you please '." 
 
 But when the person came in, Tom Pinch, in- 
 stead of saying, 44 Did you want to spcaU with me, 
 sir ?" or 44 My name is Pinch, sir ; what is your 
 business, may I ask?" or addressing him in any 
 such distant terms; cried out "Good gracious 
 heaven !" and seized him by both hands, with the 
 liveliest manifestations of astonishment and plea, 
 sure. 
 
 The visitor was not less moved than Tom him- 
 self, and they shook hands a great many times, 
 without another word being spoken on either side. 
 Tom was the first to find his voice. 
 
 44 Mark Tapley too !" said Tom, running to- 
 wards, the door, and shaking hands with some- 
 body else. " My dear Mark, come in. How are 
 you, Mark ? He don't look a day older than he 
 used to at the Dragon. How are you, Mark !" 
 
 44 Uncommon jolly, sir, thank'ce," returned Mr. 
 Tapley, all smiles and bows. M I hope I see you 
 well, sir." 
 
 44 Good gracious me !" cried Tom, patting him 
 tenderly on the back. "How delightful it is to 
 hear his old voice again! My dear Martin, sit 
 down. My sister, Martin. Mr. Chuzziewit, my 
 love. Mark Tapley from the Dragon, my dear. 
 Good gracious me, what a surprise this is ! Sit 
 down. Lord bless me !" 
 
 Tom was in such a state of excitement that he 
 couldn't keep himself still for a moment, but was 
 constantly running between Mark and Martin, 
 shaking hands with them alternately, and pre- 
 senting them over and over again to his sister. 
 
 41 I remember the day we parted, Martin, as 
 well as if it were yesterday," said Tom. " What 
 a day it was! and what a passion you were in! 
 And don't you remember my overtaking you in 
 the road that morning, Mark, when I was going 
 to Salisbury in the gig to fetch him,- and you 
 were looking out for a situation ? And don't you 
 recollect the dinner we had at Salisbury, Martin, 
 with John Westlock, eh ? Good gracious me ! 
 Ruth, my dear, Mr. Chuzzlewit. Mark Tapley, 
 my love, from the Dragon. More cups and sau- 
 cers, if you please. Bless my soul, how glad I 
 am to see you both I" 
 
 And then Too (as John Westlock had done on 
 his arrival) ran oft* to the loaf to cut some bread 
 and butter for them ; and before he had spread a 
 single slice, remembered something else, and 
 came running back again to tell it ; and then he 
 shook hands with them again ; and then he 
 introduced his sister d then he did every 
 
 thing he had done already all over again ; and then 
 be introduced his sister again ; and nothing Too* 
 
282 
 
 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 could do, and nothing Tom could say, was half 
 sufficient to express his joy at their safe return. 
 
 Mr. Tapley was the first to resume his compo- 
 sure. In a very short space of time, he was dis- 
 covered to have somehow installed himself in 
 office as waiter, or attendant upon the party ; a 
 fact which was first suggested to them by his 
 temporary absence in the kitchen, and speedy 
 return with a kettle of boiling water, from which 
 he replenished the tea-pot with a self-possession 
 that was quite his own. 
 
 " Sit down, and take your breakfast, Mark," 
 said Tom. " Make him sit down and take his 
 breakfast, Martin." 
 
 " Oh ! I gave him up, long agx>, as incorrigible," 
 Martin replied. " He takes his own way, Tom. 
 You would excuse him, Miss Pinch, if you knew 
 his value." 
 
 " She knows it, bless you !" said Tom. " I 
 have told her all about Mark Tapley. Have I not, 
 Ruth ?" 
 
 " Yes, Tom." 
 
 ■ Not all," returned Martin, in a low voice. — 
 " The best of Mark Tapley is only known to one 
 man, Tom ; and but for Mark he would hardly be 
 alive to tell it." 
 
 " Mark !" said Tom Pinch, energetically : " If 
 you don't sit down this minute, I'll swear at you !" 
 
 " Well, sir," returned Mr. Tapley, " sooner than 
 you should do that, I'll com-ply. It's a considera- 
 ble invasion of a man's jollity to be made so par- 
 tickler welcome, but a Werb is a word as signi- 
 fies to be, to do, or to suffer (which is all the 
 grammar, and enough too, a3 ever I wos taught); 
 and if there's a Werb alive, I'm it. For I'm 
 always a bein', sometimes a doin', and continu- 
 ally a sufferin'. " 
 
 " Not jolly yet ?" asked Tom, with a smile. 
 
 u Why, I was rather so, over the water sir," 
 returned Mr. Tapley; "and not entirely without 
 credit. But Human Natur' is in a conspiracy 
 again' me ; I can't get on. I shall have to leave it 
 in my will, sir, to be wrote upon my tomb : ' He 
 was a man as might have come out strong if he 
 could have got a chance. But it was denied him.' " 
 
 Mr. Tapley took this occasion of looking about 
 him with a grin, and subsequently attacking the 
 breakfast, with an appetite not at all expressive of 
 blighted hopes, or insurmountable despondency. 
 
 In the meanwhile, Martin drew his chair a little 
 nearer to Tom and his sister, and related to them 
 what had passed at Mr. Pecksniff's house ; adding 
 in few words a general summary of the distress 
 and disappointments he had undergone since he 
 left England. 
 
 ■ For your faithful stewardship in the trust I 
 left with you, Tom," he said, "and for all your good- 
 ness and disinterestedness, I can never thank you 
 enough. When I add Mary's thanks to mine " 
 
 Ah, Tom ! The blood retreated from his 
 cheeks, and came rushing back so violently, that 
 it was pain to feel it; ease though, ease to the 
 aching of his Wounded heart. 
 
 " When I add Mary's thanks to mine," said 
 Martin, " I have made the only poor acknowledg- 
 ment it is in our power to offer ; but if you knew 
 iiow much we feel, Tom, you would set some 
 <iore by it, I am sure." 
 
 And if they had known how much Tom felt — 
 but that no human creature ever knew — they 
 
 would have set some store by him. Indeed they 
 would. 
 
 Tom changed the topic of discourse. He was 
 sorry he could not pursue it, as it gave Martin 
 pleasure ; but he was unable, at that moment. — 
 No drop of envy or bitterness was in his soul ; but 
 he could not master the firm utterance of her 
 name. 
 
 He inquired what Martin's projects were. 
 
 " No longer to make your fortune, Tom," said 
 Martin, " but to try to live. I tried that once in 
 London, Torn ; and failed. If you will give me 
 the benefit of your advice and friendly counsel, I 
 may succeed better under your guidance ; I will 
 do anything, Tom ; anything ; to gain a liveli- 
 hood by my own exertions. My hopes do not 
 soar above that, now." 
 
 High-hearted, noble Tom ! Sorry to find the 
 pride of his old companion humbled, and to hear 
 him speaking in this altered strain; at once, at 
 once, he drove from his breast the inability to con- 
 tend with its deep emotions, and spoke out 
 bravely. 
 
 " Your hopes do not soar above that !" cried 
 Tom. "Yes they do. How can you talk so? 
 They soar up to the time when you will be happy 
 with her, Martin. They soar up to the time 
 when you will be able to claim her, Martin. 
 They soar Up to the time when you will not be able 
 to believe that you were ever cast down in spirit, 
 or poor in pocket, Martin. Advice and friendly 
 counsel ! Why, of course. But you shall have 
 better advice and counsel (though you cannot have 
 more friendly) than mine. You shall consult 
 John Westlock. We'll go there immediately. It 
 is yet so early, that I shall have time to take you 
 to his chambers before I go to business ; they are 
 in my way; and I can leave you there, to talk 
 over your affairs with him. So come along. — 
 Come along. I am a man of occupation now, 
 you know," said Tom with a pleasant smile ; 
 " and have no time to lose. Your hopes don't 
 soar higher than that? I dare say they don't. 
 J know you, pretty well. They'll be soaring out 
 of sight soon, Martin, and leaving all the rest of 
 us leagues behind." 
 
 " Ay ! But I may be a little changed," said 
 Martin, " since you knew me pretty well, Tom." 
 
 " What nonsense !" exclaimed Tom. " Why 
 should you be changed ? You talk as if you 
 were an old man. I never heard such a fellow ! 
 Come to John Westlock's, come. Come along, 
 Mark Tapley. It's Mark's doing, I have no 
 doubt ; and it serves you right for having such a 
 grumbler for your companion." 
 
 "There's no credit to be got through being 
 jolly with you, Mr. Pinch, anyways," said Mark, 
 with his face all wrinkled up with grins. " A 
 parish doctor might be jolly with you. There's 
 nothing short of goin' to the U-nited States for a 
 second trip, as would make it at all creditable to 
 be jolly, arter seein' you again !" 
 
 Tom laughed, and taking leave of his sister, 
 hurried Mark and Martin out into the street, and 
 away to John Westlock's by the nearest road ; for 
 his hour of business was very near at hand, and 
 he prided himself on always being exact to his 
 time. 
 
 John Westlock was at home, but strange to say, 
 was rather embarrassed to see them ; and when 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 
 
 283 
 
 Tom was about to go into the room where he was 
 breakfasting, said he had a stranger there. It ap- 
 peared to be l mysterious stranger, for John shut that 
 door as he said it, and led them into the next room. 
 
 He was very much delighted, though, to see 
 Mark Tapley ; and received Martin with his own 
 frank courtesy. But Martin felt that he did not 
 inspire John Westlock with any unusual interest; 
 and twice or thrice observed that he looked at 
 Tom Pinch doubtfully ; not to say compassionately. 
 He thought, and blushed to think, that he kuew 
 the cause of this. 
 
 u I apprehend you are engaged," said Martin, 
 when Tom had announced the purport of their 
 visit. "If you will allow me to come again at 
 your own time, I shall be glad to do so." 
 
 u I am engaged," replied John, with some re- 
 luctance ; " but the matter on which I am en- 
 gaged is one, to say the truth, more immediately 
 demanding your knowledge than mine." 
 
 ■ Indeed !" cried Martin. 
 
 " It relates to a member of your family, and is 
 of a serious nature. If you will have the kind- 
 ness to remain here, it will be a satisfaction to me 
 to have it privately communicated to you, in order 
 that you may judge of its importance for your- 
 self." 
 
 " And in the meantime," said Tom, " I must 
 really take myself off, without any further cere- 
 mony." 
 
 "Is your business so very particular," asked 
 Martin, " that you cannot remain with us for half 
 an hour ? I wish you could. What is your bu- 
 siness, Tom ?" 
 
 It was Tom's turn to be embarrassed now : 
 but he plainly said, after a little hesitation : 
 
 44 Why, I am not at liberty to say what it is, 
 Martin : though I hope soon to be in a condition 
 to do so, and am aware of no other reason to pre- 
 vent my doing so now, than the request of my 
 employer. It's an awkward position to be placed 
 in," said Tom with an uneasy sense of seeming 
 to doubt his friend, "as I feel every day ; but I 
 really cannot help it, can I, John'/" 
 
 John Westlock replied in the negative; and 
 Martin, expressing himself perfectly satisfied, 
 begged them not to say another word : though he 
 could not help wondering very much what curious 
 office Tom held, and why he was so secret, and 
 embarrassed, and unlike himself, in reference to 
 it. Nor could he help reverting to it in his own 
 mind sereral times after Tom went away, which 
 he did as soon as this conversation was ended ; 
 taking Mr Tapley with him, who, as he laughing- 
 ly said, might accompany him as far as Fleet- 
 street, without injury. 
 
 41 And what do you mean to do, Mark ?" asked 
 Tom, as they walked on together. 
 
 ** Mean to do sir ?" returned Mr. Tapley. 
 
 ** Ay. What course of life do you mean to 
 pursue ?" 
 
 "Well, sir," said Mr. Tapley. " The fact is, 
 that I have been a-thinking, rather, of the matri 
 monial liii<', sir." 
 
 i don't gay so, Mark !" cried Tom. 
 
 44 Yes, sir, I've been a-turnin' of it over.** 
 
 "And who is the lady, Mark?" 
 
 "The which, sir '" said Mr. Tapley. 
 
 " The lady. Come ! you know what I said," 
 replied Tom, laughing, " as well as I do!" 
 
 Mr. Tap!, y suppressed his own inclination to 
 { laugh ; and with one of his most whimsically 
 twisted looks, replied, 
 
 " You couldn't guess, I suppose, Mr. Pinch ?" 
 
 " How is it possible ?" said Tom, u I don't know 
 any of your flames, Mark. Except Mrs. Lupin, 
 indeed." 
 
 " Well, sir !" retorted Mr. Tapley. " And sup. 
 posin' it was her ?" 
 
 Tom stopping in the street to look at him, Mr 
 Tapley for a moment presented to Ms view an 
 utterly stolid and expressionless face ; a perfect 
 dead wall of countenance. But opening window 
 after window in it with astonishing rapidity, and 
 lighting them all up as for a general illumination, 
 he repeated : 
 
 * Supposin', for the sake of argument, as it 
 was her, sir !" 
 
 " Why I thought such a connection wouldn't 
 suit you, Mark, on any terms !" cried Tom. 
 
 " Well, sir, I used to think so myself, once, H 
 said Mark. " But I an't so clear about it now. A 
 dear, sweet creetur, sir !" 
 
 " A dear sweet creature, was she not ?" 
 
 ■ If as she not !" assented Mr. Tapley. 
 
 "Then why on earth didn't you marry her at 
 first, Mark, instead of wandering abroad : and 
 losing all this time, and leaving her alone by her- 
 self: liable to be courted by other people ?" 
 
 44 Why, sir," retorted Mr. Tapley, in a spirit of 
 unbounded confidence, " I'll tell you how it come 
 about. You know me, Mr. Pinch, sir ; there an't 
 a gentleman alive as Knows me better. You're 
 acquainted with my constitution, and you're ac- 
 quainted with my weakness. My constitution is, 
 to be jolly ; and my weakness is, to wish to find a 
 credit in it Wery good, sir. In this state of 
 mind I gets a notion in my head that she looks on 
 me with a eye of — with what you may call a 
 favourable sort of eye in fact," said Mr. Tapley, 
 with modest hesitation. 
 
 "No doubt," replied Tom. "We knew that 
 perfectly well when we spoke on this subject long 
 ago ; before you left the Dragon." 
 
 Mr. Tapley nodded assent. " Well sir ! But 
 bein' at that time full of hopeful wisions I arrives 
 at the con-elusion that no credit is to be got out 
 of such a way of life as that, where everything 
 agreeable would be ready to one's hand. Lookin* 
 on the bright side of human life in short, one of 
 my hopeful wisions is, that there's a deal of miser? 
 a-waitin' for me: in the midst of which I may 
 come out tolerable strong, and be jolly nnder cir- 
 cumstances as reflects some credit I goes into 
 tire world, sir, wery boy ant, and I tries this. I 
 goes aboard ship first and wery soon discovers (by 
 the ease with which I'm jolly, mind you) as there's 
 no credit to be got there. I might have took 
 warning by this, and gave it up; but I didn't I 
 gets to the U-nited States ; and then I do begin, I 
 wont deny it to feel some little credit in sustain- 
 ing my spirits. What follows ? Jest as I'm be- 
 ginning to come out and am ttvadin' on the werge, 
 my master deceives me." 
 
 44 Deceives you .'" cried Tom. 
 
 "Swindles me," retorted Mr. Tapley, with a 
 beaming face. " Turns his back on ev'ry thing 
 as made his service a creditable one, nod leave* 
 me, hijjh and dry, without a leg to stand upon.— 
 In which state, I rtlurns home. Wery £oad 
 
284 
 
 LIFE AJND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 Then all my hopeful wisions bein' crushed ; and 
 findin' that there an't no credit for me nowhere ; 
 I abandons myself to despair, and says, ' Let me 
 do that as has the least credit in it, of all ; marry 
 a dear, sweet creetur, as is wery fond of me : me 
 bein', at the same time, wery fond of her : lead a 
 happy life ; and struggle no more again' the 
 blight which settles on my prospects." 
 
 " If your philosophy, Mark," said Tom, who 
 laughed heartily at this speech, " be the oddest I 
 ever heard of, it is not the least wise. Mrs. Lupin 
 has said 'yes,' of course?" 
 
 " Why, no, sir," replied Mr. Tapley ; " she 
 hasn't gone so far as that yet. Which I attribute 
 principally to my not havin' asked her. But we 
 was wery agreeable together — comfortable, I may 
 say — the night I come home. It's all right, sir." 
 
 " Well !" said Tom, stopping at the Temple 
 Gate. " I wish you joy, MSrk, with all my heart. 
 I shall see you again to-day, I dare say. Good- 
 bye for the present." 
 
 " Good-bye, sir 1 Good-bye, Mr. Pinch," he 
 added, by way of soliloquy, as he stood looking 
 after him. " Although you are a damper to a 
 honourable ambition. You little think it, but you 
 was the first to dash my hopes. Pecksniff would 
 have built me up for life, but your sweet temper 
 pulled me down. Good-bye, Mr. Pinch !" 
 
 While these confidences were interchanged 
 between Tom Pinch and Mark, Martin and John 
 Westlock were very differently engaged. They 
 were no sooner left alone together than Martin 
 said, with an effort he could not disguise : 
 
 " Mr. Westlock, we have met only once before, 
 but you have known Tom a long while, and that 
 seems to render you familiar to me. I cannot 
 talk freely with you on any subject unless I re- 
 lieve my mind of what oppresses it just now. I 
 see with pain that you so far mistrust me that you 
 think me likely to impose on Tom's regardless- 
 ness of himself, or on his kind nature, or some of 
 his good qualities." 
 
 "I had no intention," replied John, "of convey- 
 ing any such impression to you, and am exceed- 
 ingly sorry to have done so." 
 
 «• But you entertain it ?" said Martin. 
 
 'You ask me so pointedly and directly," re- 
 turned the other, " that I cannot deny the having 
 accustomed myself to regard you as one who, not 
 in wantonness but in mere thoughtlessness of 
 character, did not sufficiently consider his nature 
 and did not quite treat it as it deserves to be 
 treated. It is much easier to slight than to ap- 
 preciate Tom Pinch." 
 ' This was not said warmly, but was energetical- 
 ly spoken too; for there was no subject in the 
 world (but one) on which the speaker felt so 
 strongly. 
 
 " I grew into the knowledge of Tom," he pur- 
 sued, " as I grew towards manhood ; and I have 
 learned to love him as something infinitely better 
 than myself. I did not think that you understood 
 him when we met before. I did not think that 
 you greatly cared to understand him. The in- 
 stances of this which I observed in you, were, 
 like my opportunities for observation, very trivial : 
 and were very harmless I dare say. But they 
 were not agreeable to me, and they forced them- 
 se.ves upon me ; for I was not upon the watch for 
 ihvm believe me. You will say," added John, 
 
 with a smile, as he subsided into more of his ac- 
 customed manner, " that I am not by any means 
 agreeable to you. I can only assure you, in 
 reply, that I would not have originated this topic 
 on any account." 
 
 " I originated it," said Martin ; " and so far 
 from having any complaint to make against you, 
 highly esteem the friendship you entertain for 
 Tom, and the very many proofs you have given 
 him of it. Why should I endeavour to conceal 
 from you :" he coloured deeply though : " that I 
 neither understood him nor cared to understand 
 him when I was his companion ; and that I am 
 very truly sorry for it now !" 
 
 It was so sincerely said, at once so "modestly 
 and manfully, that John offered him his hand as 
 if he had not done so before ; and Martin giving 
 his in the same open spirit, all constraint between 
 the young men vanished. 
 
 " Now pray," said John, "when I tire your 
 patience very much in what I am going to say, 
 recollect that it has an end to it, and that the end 
 is the point of the story." 
 
 With this preface, he related all the circum- 
 stances connected with his having presided 
 over the illness and slow recovery of the patient 
 at the Bull ; and tacked on to the skirts of that 
 narrative Tom's own account of the business on 
 the wharf. Martin was not a little puzzled when 
 he came to an end, for the two stories seemed to 
 have no connexion with each other, and to leave 
 him, as the phrase is, all abroad. 
 
 " If you will excuse me for one moment," 
 said John, rising, "I will beg you almost immedi- 
 ately to come into the next room." 
 
 Upon that, he left Martin to himself, in a state 
 of considerable astonishment ; and soon came back 
 again to fulfil his promise. Accompanying him 
 in the next room, Martin found there a third 
 person ; no doubt the stranger of whom his host 
 had spoken when Tom Pinch introduced him. 
 
 He was a young man; with deep black hair 
 and eyes. He was gaunt and pale ; and evident 
 ly had not long recovered from a severe illness. 
 He stood as Martin entered, but sat again at John's 
 desire. His eyes were cast downward ; and but 
 for one glance at them both, half in humiliation 
 and half in entreaty, he kept them so, and sat 
 quite still and silent. 
 
 " This person's name is Lewsome," said John 
 Westlock, " whom I have mentioned to you as 
 having been seized with illness at the Inn near 
 here, and undergone so much. He has had a 
 very hard time of it, ever since he began to re- 
 cover; but as you see, he is now doing well." 
 
 As he did not move or speak, and John West- 
 lock made a pause, Martin, not knowing what to 
 say, said that he "was glad to hear it." 
 
 " The short statement that I wish you to hear 
 from his own lips, Mr. Chuzzlewit," John pursued: 
 looking attentively at him, and not at Martin : 
 " he made to me for the first time yesterday, and 
 repeated to me this morning, without the least 
 variation of any essential particular. I have al- 
 ready told you that he informed me before he was 
 removed from the Inn, that he had a secret to dis- 
 close to me which lay heavy on his mind. But 
 fluctuating between sickness and health ; and 
 between his desire to relieve himself it, and his 
 dread of involving himself by revealing it ; he has, 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT, 
 
 285 
 
 antil yesterday, avoided the disclosure. I never 
 pressed him for it (having no Idea of ill weight or 
 import, or of my right to do go), until within a 
 lew days past; when understanding from him, on 
 his own voluntary avowal, in a letter from the 
 country, that it related to a person whose name 
 was Jonas Chuzzlewit; and thinking that it might 
 throw some light on that little mystery which 
 made Tom anxious now and then ; I urged the 
 point upon him, and heard his statement as you 
 will now, from his own lips. It is due to him to 
 say, that in the apprehension of death, he committed 
 it to writing sometime since, and folded it in a 
 sealed paper, addressed to me ; which he could 
 not resolve, however, to place of his own act in 
 my hands. He has the paper in his breast, I be- 
 lieve, at this moment." 
 
 The young man touched it hastily ; in corrobo- 
 ration of the fact. 
 
 44 It will he well to leave that in our charge, 
 perhaps," said John. u But do not mind it now." 
 
 As he said this, he held up his hand to bespeak 
 Martin's attention. It was already fixed upon the 
 man before him, who, after a short silence, said, in 
 a low, weak, hollow voice : 
 
 44 What relation was Mr. Anthony Chuzzlewit, 
 who—" 
 
 "—Who died— to me?" said Martin. "He 
 was my grandfather's brother." 
 
 44 I fear he was made away with. Murderod ?" 
 
 •* .My God !" said Martin. " By whom ?" 
 
 The young man, Lewsome, looked up in his 
 face, and casting down his eyes again, replied : 
 
 44 1 fear, by me." 
 
 44 By you ?" cried Martin. 
 
 " Not by my act, but I fear by my means." 
 
 " Speak out !" said Martin, 44 and speak the 
 truth." 
 
 41 1 fear this is the truth." 
 
 Martin was about to interrupt him again, but 
 John We8tlock saying softly, ,4 Let hirn tell his 
 story in his own way," Lewsome went on thus : 
 
 44 1 have been bred a surgeon, and for the last 
 few years have served a general practitioner in 
 the city, as his assistant. While I was in his 
 employment I became acquainted with* Jonas 
 Chuzzlewit. He is the principal in this deed." 
 
 " What do you mean ?" demanded Martin, 
 sternly. " Do you know he is the son of the old 
 man of whom you have spoken?" 
 
 " I do," he answered. 
 
 He remained silent for some moments ; when 
 he resumed at the point where he had left off. 
 
 44 1 have reason to know it; for I have often heard 
 him wish his old father dead, and complain of his 
 being wearisome to him, and a drag upon him. He 
 was in the habit of doing so, at a place of meet- 
 ing we had : three or four of us: at night. There 
 was no good in the place, you may suppose, when 
 you hear thai he was the chief of the party. I 
 wish I had died myself, and never seen it !" 
 
 1 1 topped again ; and again resumed as before. 
 
 44 We met to drink and game ; not for largo 
 sums, but for sums that were large to us. He 
 generally won. Whether oi no, he lent money 
 at interest to those who lost ; and in this way, 
 though I think we all secretly hated him, he came 
 to t>< the master of us. To propitiate him, wo 
 made a jest of his father: it tagan with his debtors; 
 I was one : and we used to toast a quicker journey 
 
 to the old man, and a swift inheritance to the 
 young one." 
 
 He paused again. 
 
 "One night he came there in a very bad humour. 
 He had been greatly tried, he said, by the old man 
 that day. He and I were alone together ; and ho 
 angrily told me, that the old man was in his 
 second childhood ; that he was weak, imbecile, and 
 drivelling; as unbearable to himself as he was to 
 other people; and that it would be a charity to put 
 him out of the way. He swore that he had often 
 thought of mixing something with the stuff ho 
 took for his cough, which should help him to die 
 easily. People were sometimes smothered who 
 were bitten by mad dogs, he said ; and why not 
 help these lingering old men out of their troubles 
 too ? He looked full at me as he said so, and I 
 looked full at him; but it went no farther that 
 night." 
 
 He stopped once more, and was silent for so 
 long an interval, tha John Westlock said "Go 
 on." Martin had ne.er removed his eyes from 
 his face, but was so absorbed in horror and 
 astonishment, that he could not speak. 
 
 44 It may have been a week after that, or it may 
 have been less, or more : the matter was in my 
 mind all the time, but I cannot recollect the time, 
 as I should any other period : when he spoke to 
 me again. We were alone then, too ; being there 
 before the usual hour of assembling. There was 
 no appointment between us ; but I think I went 
 there to meet him, and I know he came there to 
 meet me. He was there first. He was reading 
 a newspaper when I went in, and nodded to me 
 without looking up, or leaving off reading. I sat 
 down opposite and close to him. He said, im- 
 mediately, that he wanted me to get him some of 
 two sorts of drugs. One that was instantaneous 
 in its effect; of which he wanted very little. One 
 that was slow, and not suspicious to appearance ; 
 of which he wanted more. While he was speak- 
 ing to me, he still read the newspaper. He said 
 4 Drugs,' and never used any other word. Neither 
 did I." 
 
 "This all agrees with what I have heard before," 
 observed John Westlock. 
 
 44 1 asked him what he wanted them for ? He 
 said for no harm ; to physic cats ; what did it 
 matter to me ? I was going out to a distant 
 colony (I had recently got the appointment, which 
 as Mr. Westlock knows, I have since lost by my 
 sickness, and which was my only hope of salva- 
 tion from ruin), and what did it matter to me?— 
 He could get them withuut my aid at half a hun- 
 dred places, but not so easily as he could get them 
 of me. This was true. He might not want them 
 at all, he said, and he had no present id«m of using 
 them ; but he wished to have them by him. All 
 this time he still read the newspaper. We talked 
 about the price. He was to forgive me a small 
 debt — I was quite in his power— and to pay me 
 five pounds ; and there the matter dropped, through 
 others coming in. But next night, under exactly 
 similar circumstances, I gave him the drugs, on 
 his saying I was a fool to think that he should 
 ever use them for any harm ; and he gave me the 
 money. We have never met since. I only know 
 that the poor old father died soon afterwards: just 
 as he would have died from this cause . and that 
 I have undergone, and suffer now, intolerable 
 
LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 misery Nothing," he added, stretching out his 
 hands, "can paint my misery ! It is well deserv- 
 ed, but nothing can paint it." 
 
 With that he hung his head, and said no more. 
 Wasted and wretched, he was not the creature upon 
 whom to heap reproaches that were unavailing. 
 
 "Let him remain at hand," said Martin, turn- 
 ing from him ; " but out of sight, in Heaven's 
 name !" 
 
 " He will remain here," John whispered. "Come 
 with me !" Softly turning the key upon him as 
 they went out, he conducted Martin into the ad- 
 joining room, in which they had been before. 
 
 Martin was so amazed, so shocked, and con- 
 founded by what he had heard, that it was some 
 time before he could reduce it to any order in his 
 mind, or could sufficiently comprehend the bear- 
 ing of one part upon other, to take in all the 
 details at one view. When he at length had the 
 whole narrative clearly before him, John West- 
 lock went on to point out the great probability of 
 the guilt of Jonas being known to other people, 
 who traded in it for their own benefit, and who 
 were by such means able to exert that control 
 over him which Tom Pinch had accidentally wit- 
 nessed, and unconsciously assisted. This ap- 
 peared so plain, that they agreed upon it without 
 difficulty ; but instead of deriving the least assis- 
 tance from this source, they found that it embar- 
 rassed them the more. 
 
 They knew nothing of the real parties, who 
 possessed this power. The only person before 
 them was Tom's landlord. They had no right to 
 question Tom's landlord, even if they could find 
 him, which, according to Tom's account, it would 
 not be easy to do. And granting that they did 
 question him, and he answered (which was taking 
 a good deal for granted), he had only to say, with 
 reference to the adventure on the wharf, that he 
 had been sent from such and such a place to sum- 
 mon Jonas back on urgent business, and there 
 was an end of it. 
 
 Besides, there was the great difficulty and re- 
 sponsibility of moving at all in the matter. Lew- 
 some's story might be false ; in his wretched state 
 it might be greatly heightened by a diseased 
 brain ; or admitting it to be entirely true, the old 
 man might have died a natural death. Mr. 
 Pecksniff had been there at the time ; as Tom im- 
 mediately remembered, when he came back in 
 the afternoon, and shared their counsels ; and 
 there had been no secrecy about it. Martin's 
 grandfather was of right the person to decide 
 upon the course that should be taken ; but to get 
 at his views would be impossible, for Mr. Peck- 
 sniffs views were certain to be his. And the 
 nature of Mr. Pecksniffs views in reference to his 
 own son-in-law, might be easily reckoned upon. 
 
 Apart from these considerations, Martin could 
 not endure the thoughi. of seeming to grasp at 
 this unnatural charge against his relative, and 
 using it as a stepping-stone to his grandfather's 
 favour. But that he would seem *o do so, if he 
 presented himself before his grandfather in Mr. 
 Pecksniffs' house again, for the purpose of de- 
 claring it ; and that Mr. Pecksniff, of all men, 
 would represent his conduct in that despicable 
 light ; he perfectly well knew. On the other 
 hand, to be in possession of such a statement. 
 
 reference to it, was tantamount to being a partner 
 in the guilt it professed to disclose. 
 
 In a word, they were wholly unable to discover 
 any outlet from this maze of difficulty, which did 
 not lie through some perplexed and entangled 
 thicket. And although Mr. Tapley was promptly 
 taken into their confidence ; and the fertile imagi- 
 nation of that gentleman suggested many bold 
 expedients, which, to do him justice, he was quite 
 ready to carry into instant operation on his own 
 personal responsibility ; still, 'bating the general 
 zeal of Mr. Tapley's nature, nothing was made 
 particularly clearer by these offers of service. 
 
 It was in this position of affairs that Tom's ac- 
 count of the strange behaviour of the decayed 
 clerk, upon the night of the tea-party, became of 
 great moment, and finally convinced them that to 
 arrive at a more accurate knowledge of the work- 
 ings of that old man's mind and memory, would 
 be to take a most important stride in their pursuit 
 of the truth. So, having first satisfied themselves 
 that no communication had ever taken place be- 
 tween Lewsome and Mr. Chuffey (which would 
 have accounted at once for any suspicions the 
 latter might entertain), they unanimously resolved 
 that tho old clerk was the man they wanted. 
 
 But like the unanimous resolution of a public 
 meeting ; which will oftentimes declare that this 
 or that grievance is not to be borne a moment 
 longer, which is nevertheless borne for a century 
 or two afterwards, without any modification ; they 
 only reached in this the conclusion that they 
 were all of one mind. For it was one thing to 
 want Mr. Chuffey, and another thing to get at* 
 him ; and to do that without alarming him, or 
 without alarming Jonas, or without being discomfi- 
 ted by the difficulty of striking, in an instrument so 
 out of tune and so unused, the note they sought, 
 was an end as far from their reach as ever. 
 
 The question then became, who of those abont 
 the old clerk had had most influence with him, 
 that night ? Tom said his young mistress clearly. 
 But Tom and all of them shrunk from the 
 thought of entrapping her, and making her the 
 innocent means of bringing retribution on her cruel 
 husband. Was there nobody else ? Why yes. — 
 In a very different way, Tom said, he was influ- 
 enced by Mrs. Gamp, the nurse ; who had once 
 had the control of him, as he understood, for some 
 time. 
 
 They caught at this immediately. Here was a 
 new way out, developed in a quarter until then 
 overlooked. John Westlock knew Mrs. Gamp ; 
 he had given her employment; he was acquainted 
 with her place of residence : for that good lady had 
 obligingly furnished him, at parting, with a pack 
 of her professional cards for general distribution. 
 It was decided that Mrs. Gamp should be ap- 
 proached with caution, but approached without 
 delay ; and that the depths of that discreet matron's 
 knowledge of Mr. Chuffey, and means of bringing 
 them, or one of them, into communication with 
 him, should be carefully sounded. 
 
 On this service Martin and John Westlock de- 
 termined to proceed that night ; waiting on Mrs. 
 Gamp first, at her lodgings; and taking their 
 chance, of finding her in the repose of private life, 
 or of having to seek her, out, elsewhere, in the ex- 
 ercise of her professional duties. Tom returned 
 
 • nd to lake no measures of further inquiry in [ home, that he might lose no opportunity of having 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEVVIT. 
 
 2S? 
 
 an interview with Nadgett, by being absent in 
 the event of his re-appearance. And Mr. Tapley 
 remained (by his own particular desire) fur the 
 time being in Furnival's Inn, to look after Lew- 
 some ; who might Bafely have been left to him- 
 self, however, t'.»r |M thought he seemed to enter- 
 tain of giving them the slip. 
 
 Bat before they parted on their several errands, 
 used him to read aloud, in the presence of 
 them all, the paper which he had about him, and 
 the declaration he had attached to it, which was 
 to the effect, that he had written it voluntarily, in 
 fear of death and in the torture of his mind. And 
 when he had done so, they all signed it, and tak- 
 ing it from him, of his free will, locked it in a place 
 of safety. 
 
 Martin also wrote, by John's advice, a letter to 
 the trustees of the famous Grammar School, boldly 
 claiming the successful design as his, and charg- 
 ing .Mr. Pecksniff with the fraud he had com- 
 mitted. In this proceeding also John was hotly 
 
 interested ; observing, with his usual irreverence 
 that Mr. Pecksniff had been a successful rascal 
 ull Ins life through, and that it would be a lasting 
 source of happiness to him (John) if he could help 
 to do him justice in the smallest particular. 
 
 A busy day ! but Martin had no lodgings yet ; 
 so, when these matters were disposed of, he excused 
 himself from dining with John Wcstlock, and was 
 i fain to wander out alone, and look for some. He 
 ! succeeded, after great trouble, in engaging two 
 I garrets for himself and Mark, situated in a court 
 in the Strand not far from Temple Bar. Their 
 i luggage, which was waiting for them at a coach- 
 office, he conveyed to this new place of refuge; 
 and it was with a glow of satisfaction which, as a 
 selfish man, he never could have known and never 
 had, that, thinking how much pains and trouble 
 he had saved Mark, and how pleased and aston- 
 ished Mark would be, he afterwards walked up 
 and down in the Temple, eating a meat-pie for 
 his dinner. 
 
 CHAPTER XLIX. 
 
 IN WHICH MRS. HARRIS, ASSISTED BY A TEA-POT, IS THE CAUSE OF A 
 DIVISION BETWEEN FRIENDS. 
 
 Mrs. Gamp's apartment in Kingsgate-street, ' 
 High Holborn, wore, metaphorically speaking, a [ 
 robe of state. It was swept and garnished for the ' 
 reception of a visitor. That visitor was Betsey 
 Prig: Mrs. Prig of Bartlemy's ; or, as some said, 
 Barklemy's ; or, as some said, Bardlemy's; for 
 by all these endearing and familiar appellations 
 had the hospital of Saint Bartholomew become a 
 household word among the sisterhood which Bet- 
 sey Prig adorned. 
 
 Mrs. Gamp's apartment was not a spacious one, | 
 but, to a contented mind, a closet is a palace ; and 
 the first-floor front at Mr. Sweedlepipe's may 
 have been, in the imagination of Mrs. Gamp, a 
 stately pile. If it were not exactly that, to restless 
 intellects, it at least comprised as much accommo- 
 dation as any person, not sanguine to insanity, 
 could have looked for in a room of its dimensions. 
 For only keep the bedstead always in your mind, 
 and you were safe. That was the grand secret. 
 Remembering the bedstead, you might even stoop 
 Lo look under the little round table for anything 
 you had dropped, without hurting yourself much 
 against the chest of drawers, or qualifying as a 
 patient of St. Bartholomew, by falling into the fire. 
 
 Visitors were much assisted in their cautious 
 efforts to preserve an unflagging recollection of 
 this piece of furniture, by its sire: which was 
 
 freat It was not a turn-up bedstead, nor yet a 
 'rench bedstead, nor yet a four-post bedstead ; but 
 what is poetically called a tent: the sacking 
 whereof was low and bulgy, insomuch that Mrs. 
 Gamp's box would not go under it, but stopped 
 half-way, in a manner which while it did violence 
 to the reason, likewise endangered the legs, of a| 
 
 stranger. The framt, too, which would have 
 supported the canopy ana hangings, if there had 
 been any, was ornamented with divers pippins 
 carved in timber, which, on the slightest provoca- 
 tion, and frequently on none at all, came tumbling 
 down; harassing the peaceful guest witu inexpli- 
 cable terrors. 
 
 The bed itself was decorated with a patchwork 
 quilt of great antiquity ; and at the upper end, 
 upon the side nearest to the door, hung a scanty 
 curtain of blue check, which prevented the zephyrs 
 that were abroad in Kingsgate-street from visiting 
 Mrs. Gamp's head too roughly. Some rusty 
 gowns and other articles of that lady's wardrobe 
 depended from the posts ; and these had so adapted 
 themselves by long usage to her figure, that more 
 than one impatient husband coming in precipi- 
 tately, at about the time of twilight, had been 
 for an instant stricken dumb by the supposed 
 discovery that Mrs. Gamp had hanged herself. 
 One gentleman, coming on the usual hasty errand, 
 had said, indeed, that they looked like guardian 
 angels " watching of her in her sleep.** But toat, 
 as Mrs. Gamp said, "was his first ;" and he never 
 repeated the sentiment, though he often repeated 
 his visit 
 
 The chairs in Mrs. Gamp's apartment were ex- 
 tremely large and broad-backed, which was more 
 than a sufficient reason for their being but two in 
 number. They were both elbow chairs, of an- 
 cient mahogany, and were chiefly valuable fo~ 
 the slippery nature of their seats ; which had beer, 
 originally horse-hair, but were now covered with 
 a shiny substance of a blueish tint, from which 
 the visitor began to slide away with a dismayed 
 
LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 Countenance, immediately after sitting down. [ " You're always a-comin' in, I think," muttered 
 
 What Mrs. Gamp wanted in chairs she made'up Mrs. Gamp, " except wen you're a-going out. I 
 
 in bandboxes ; of which she had a great collection, ha'n't no patience with that man !" 
 
 devoted to the reception of various miscellaneous " Mrs. Gamp !" said the barber. " I say 1 Mrs. 
 
 valuables, which were not, however, as well pro- i Gamp !" 
 
 tected as the good woman, by a pleasant fiction, j " Well," cried Mrs. Gamp, impatiently, as she 
 
 seemed to think ; for though every bandbox had a j descended the stairs. " What is it ? Is the 
 
 carefully closed lid, not one among them had a j Thames a-fire, and cooking its own fish, Mr. 
 
 bottom ; owing towhich cause the property within 
 was merely, as it were, extinguished. The chest 
 of drawers having been originally made to stand 
 upon the top of another chest, had a dwarfish, elfin 
 look, alone; but in regard of its security it had a 
 great advantage over the bandboxes, for as all the 
 handles had been long ago pulled off", it was very 
 difficult to get at its contents. This indeed was 
 only to be done by one of two devices ; either by 
 tilting the whole structure forward until the draw- 
 ers fell out together, or by opening them singly 
 with knives, like oysters. 
 
 Mrs. Gamp stored all her household matters in 
 a little cupboard by the fire-place ; beginning be- 
 
 Sweedlepipes ? Why, wot's the man gone and been 
 a-doin' of to himself? He's as white as chalk!" 
 
 She added the latter clause of inquiry, when 
 she got down stairs, and found him seated in the 
 shaving chair, pale and disconsolate. 
 
 " You recollect," said Poll — " you recollect 
 young " 
 
 " Not young Wilkins !" cried Mrs. Gamp. 
 " Don't say y-oung Wilkins, wotever you do. If 
 young Wilkins's wife is took " 
 
 " It isn't any body's wife," exclaimed the little 
 barber. " Bailey, Young Bailey !" 
 
 " W'hy, wot do you mean to say that chit's beer* 
 a-doin of'?" retorted Mrs. Gamp, sharply. " Stuff 
 
 low the surface (as in nature) with the coals, and and nonsense, Mr. Sweedlepipe 
 mounting gradually upwards to the spirits, which, J " He hasn't been a-doing anything !" exclaimed 
 from motives of delicacy, she kept in a tea-pot. Poor Poll, quite desperate. " What do you catch 
 The chimney-piece was ornamented with a small j me up so short for, when you see me put out to 
 almanac, marked here and there, in Mrs. Gamp's that extent that I can hardly speak? He'll never 
 own hand, with a memorandum of the date at do anything again. He's done for. He's killed, 
 which some lady was expected to fall due. It j The first time I ever see that boy," said Poll, " I 
 was also embellished with three profiles ; one in j charged him too much for a redpoll. I asked 
 colours, of Mrs. Gamp herself in early life; one j him three half-pence for a penny one, because I 
 in bronze, of a lady in feathers, supposed to be ! was afraid he'd beat me down. But he didn't. 
 Mrs. Harris, as she appeared when dressed for a And now he's dead ; and if you was to crowd all 
 ball ; and one in black, of Mr. Gamp, deceased. ; the steam engines and electric fluids that ever 
 The last was a full length, in order that the like- j was, into this shop, and set 'em every one to work 
 
 ness might be rendered more obvious and^forcible 
 by the introduction of the wooden-leg. 
 
 A pair of bellows, a pair of pattens, a toasting- 
 fork, a kettle, a pap-boat, a spoon for the admin- 
 istration of medicine to the refractory, and, lastly, 
 Mrs. Gamp's umbrella, — which, as something of 
 great price and rarity, was displayed with par- 
 ticular ostentation 
 
 their hardest, they couldn't square the account, 
 though it's only a ha'penny !" 
 
 Mr. Sweedlepipes turned aside to the towel, and 
 wiped his eyes with it. 
 
 " And what a clever boy he was !" he said. 
 "What a surprising young chap he was! How 
 he talked ! and what a deal he know'd ! Shaved 
 completed the decorations of in this very chair, he was ; only for fun ; it was 
 the chimney-piece and adjacent wall. Towards all his fun; he was full of it. Ah ! to think that 
 these objects Mrs. Gamp raised her eyes in satis- he'll never be shaved in earnest! The birds might 
 faction when she had arranged the tea-board, and every one have died, and welcome," cried the 
 had concluded her arrangements for the reception little barber, looking round him at the cages, and 
 of Betsey Prig, even unto the setting forth of two again applying to the towel, " sooner than I'd 
 pounds of Newcastle salmon, intensely pickled. j have heard this news !" 4 
 
 "There! Now, drat you Betsey, don't be j "How did you hear this news!" said Mrs. 
 long !" said Mrs. Gamp apostrophising her absent Gamp. " Who told you !" 
 
 " I went out," returned the little barber, " into 
 the city, to meet a sporting gent upon the Stock 
 Exchange, that wanted a few slow pigeons to 
 practise at ; and when I'd done with him I went 
 to get a little drop of beer, and there I heard 
 everybody a talking about it. It's in the papers." 
 " You are in a nice state of confugion, Mr. 
 Sweedlepipes you are !" said Mrs. Gamp, shaking 
 her head ; " and my opinion is, as Imlf-a-dudgeon 
 fresh young lively leeches on your temples, wouldn't 
 
 friend. "For I can't abear to wait, I do assure 
 you. To wotever place I goes, I sticks to this 
 one mortar, ' I'm easy pleased ; it is but little as I 
 wants ; but I must have that little of the best, and 
 to the minit when the clock strikes, else we do 
 not part as I could wish, but bearin' malice in 
 our 'arts.' " 
 
 Her own preparations were of the best ; for 
 they comprehended a delicate new loaf, a plate 
 of fresh butter, a basin of fine white sugar, and 
 other arrangements on the same scale. Even the I be too much to clear your mind, which so I tell 
 
 «nuff with which she now refreshed herself was 
 so choice in quality, that she took a second pinch. 
 
 " There's the little bell a-ringin' now," said 
 Mrs. Gamp, hurrying to the stair-head and look- 
 ing over. " Betsey Prig, my — why, it's that there 
 disapintin' Sweedlepipes, 1 do believe." 
 
 u Yes, it's me," said the barber, in a faint voice, 
 * I've just come in.' 
 
 you. Wot were they a-talkin on, and wot was in 
 the papers ?" 
 
 " All about it!" cried the barber. "What else 
 do you suppose ? Him and his master were upset 
 on a journey, and he was carried to Salisbury, 
 and was breathing his last when the account came 
 away. He never spoke afterwards. Not a single 
 word. That's the worst of it to me ; but that an't 
 

MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 
 
 289 
 
 all. His master can't be found. The other I it out She also produced a handful of mustard 
 r of" their office in the city: Grimple, and cress, a tritle of the herb called dandelion, 
 
 David Climple : has gone off with the monej, urid 
 tisrd for, with a r«:w.ird, open the walls. 
 
 Mr. piontagtie, poer Yon '■ r (what 
 
 t boy lp advertised lor, too. £ i 
 
 he's slipped off, to join hi* friend abroad; some 
 say he mayn't have got away yet ; and they're 
 looking lor him high and low. Their office is a 
 
 a Life 
 a Life 
 
 But wh..t\ 
 And what 
 
 smash ; a swindle altogether 
 Insurance office to a Life ! 
 Young Bailey's was !" 
 
 ' II was born into a wale," said Mrs. Gamp, 
 with philosophical coolness; "and he lived in a 
 wale ; and he must take the consequences of sech 
 a sitiwation. But don't you hear nothink of Mr. 
 Chuzzlewit in all this?" 
 
 "No," said Poll, "nothing to speak of. His 
 name wasn't printed as one of the board, though 
 some people say it was just going to be. Some 
 believe he was took in, and some believe he was 
 one of the takers-in ; but however that may be, 
 they can't prove nothing against him. This 
 morning he went up of his own accord afore the 
 Lord Mayor or some, of them city big-wigs, and 
 complained that he'd been swindled, and that 
 these two persons had gone off and cheated him, 
 and that he had just found out that Montague's 
 name wasn't even Montague, but something 
 else. And they do say that he looked like Death, 
 owing to his losses. But, Lord forgive me," 
 cried the barber coming back again to the subject 
 of his individual grief, " what's his looks to me ! 
 He might have died and welcome, fifty times, 
 and not been such a loss as Bailey !" 
 
 At this juncture the little bell rang, and the 
 deep voice of Mrs. Prig struck into the conversa- 
 tion. 
 
 "Oh! You're a talkin about it, are you!" 
 observed that lady. " Well, I hope you've got it 
 over, for I an't interested in it myself." 
 
 ■ My precious Betsey," said Mrs. Gamp, "how 
 late you are !" 
 
 The worthy Mrs. Prig replied, with some 
 asperity, " that if perwerse people went off dead, 
 when they was least expected, it vvarn't no fault of 
 her'n." And further, " that it was quite aggra- 
 wation enough to be made late when one was 
 dropping for one's tea, without hearing on it 
 again." 
 
 Mrs. Gamp, deriving from this exhibition of 
 repartee some clue to the state of Mrs. Prig's 
 feelings, instantly conducted her up stairs: deem- 
 ing that the Ngfcl of pickled salmon might work 
 a softening change. 
 
 But Betsey Prig expected pickled salmon. It 
 was obvious that she did ; for her first words, 
 after glancing at the table, were : 
 
 " I know'd she wouldn't have a coucumber !" 
 
 Mrs. Gamp changed colour, and sat down upon 
 the bed- 
 
 I bless you, Betsey Prig, your words is 
 true. I quite fbffol it !" 
 
 Mrs. Prig, looking steadfastly at her friend, put 
 her hand in her pociet, and, with an air of surly 
 triumph, drew forth cither the oldest of lettuces 
 or youngest of cabbages, but at any rate, a green 
 
 vegetable ; of an expansive nature, and of such began to lurk in the nose of each lady; and per 
 magnificent propnrtkatf that she was obliged to haj*, notwithstanding all appearances to the con 
 •hut it up like an umbrella before she could pull , trarv, in the temper, also. 
 37 
 
 three hunches of radishes, an onion rather larger 
 than an ;.vi rage turnip, three substantial slices of 
 beet root and a short prong or antler of celery ; 
 the whole of this garden-stuff having been public- 
 ly exhibited but a short time h openny 
 salad, and purchased by Mrs. Prig, on condition 
 that the vendor could get it all into her pocket 
 Which had been happily accomplished, in High 
 Holborn : to the breathless interest of a hackney- 
 coach stand. And she laid so little stress on this 
 surprising forethought, that she did not even 
 smile, but returning her pocket into its accustom- 
 ed sphere, merely recommended that these pro- 
 ductions of nature should be sliced up, for im- 
 mediate consumption, in plenty of vinegar. 
 
 " And don't go a dropping none of your snuff 
 in it," said Mrs. Prig. " In gruel, barley-water, 
 apple-tea, mutton-broth, and that, it dont't signify. 
 It stimilatcs a patient. But I don't relish it 
 myself." 
 
 " Why, Betsey Prig !" cried Mrs. Gamp, " how 
 can you talk so !" 
 
 " What, an't your patients, wotever their dis- 
 eases is, always a sneczin their wery heads off, 
 along of your snuff!" said Mrs. Prig. 
 
 " And wot if they are !" said Mrs. Gamp. 
 
 " Nothing if they are," said Mrs. Prig. "But 
 don't deny it, Sairah." 
 
 " Who deniges of it ?" Mrs. Gamp inquired. 
 
 Mrs. Prig returned no answer. 
 
 " Who deniges of it, Betsey ?" Mrs. Gamp in- 
 quired again. Then Mrs. Gamp, by reversing 
 the question, imparted a deeper and more awful 
 character of solemnity to the same. " Betsey, 
 who deniges of it ?" 
 
 It was the nearest possible approach to a very 
 decided difference of opinion between these ladies; 
 but Mrs. Prig's impatience for the meal being 
 greater at the moment than her impatience of 
 contradiction, she replied for the present, 
 "Nobody, if you don't, Sairah," and prepared 
 herself for tea. For a quarrel can be taken up at 
 any time, but a limited quantity of salmon can not. 
 
 Her toilet was simple. She had merely to 
 " chuck" her bonnet and shawl upon the bed ; 
 give her hair two pulls, one upon the right side 
 and one upon the left, as if she were ringing a 
 couple of bells ; and all was done. The tea was 
 already made, Mrs. Gamp was not long over the 
 salad, and they were soon at the height of their 
 repast. 
 
 The temper of both parties was improved, for 
 the time being, by the enjoyments of the tabic— 
 When the meal came to a termination (which it 
 was pretty long in doing), and Mrs. Gamp having 
 cleared away, produced the tea-pot from the top 
 shelf, simultaneously with a couple of wine-glass- 
 es, they were quite amiable. 
 
 "Betsey," said Mrs. Gamp, filling her ov» 
 glass, and passing the tea-pot, " 1 will now pro- 
 poge a toast. My frequent pardner, Betsey Prig !'* 
 
 " Which, altering the name to Sairah Gamp, 1 
 drink," said Mrs. Prig, " with love and tender 
 ness." 
 
 From this moment symptoms of inflammation 
 
290 
 
 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 "Now, Sairah," said Mrs. Prig, "joining busi- 
 ness with pleasure, wot is this case in which you 
 wants me ?" 
 
 Mrs. Gamp betraying in her face some intention 
 of returning an evasive answer, Betsey added : 
 
 " Is it Mrs. Harris ?" 
 
 " No, Betsey Prig, it an't," was Mrs. Gamp's 
 reply. 
 
 " Well," said Mrs. Prig, w T ith a short laugh, 
 " I'm glad of that, at any rate." 
 
 " Why should you be glad of that, Betsey ?" 
 Mrs. Gamp retorted, warmly. " She is unbe- 
 known to you, except by hearsay ; why should 
 you be glad ? If you have anythink to say con- 
 trairy to the character of Mrs. Harris, which, 
 well I knows, behind her back, afore her face, or 
 anywheres is not to be impeaged, out with it, 
 Betsey. I have know'd that sweetest and best of 
 women," said Mrs. Gamp, shaking her head and 
 shedding tears, " ever since afore her first, which 
 Mr. Harris, who was dreadful timid, went and 
 stopped his ears in an empty dog-kennel, and 
 never took his hands away or come out once till 
 he wab showed the baby ; wen, bein' took with 
 fits, the doctor collared him and laid him on his 
 back upon the airy stones ; and she was told, to 
 ease her mind, his 'owls was organs. And I 
 have know'd her, Betsey Prig, wen he has hurt 
 her feelin' 'art by sayin' of her ninth that it was 
 one too many, if not two, while that dear inno- 
 cent was cooin' in his face, which thrive it did, 
 though bandy : but I have never know'd as you 
 had occagion to be glad, Betsey, on accounts of 
 Mrs. Harris not requiring you. Require she never 
 will, depend upon it, for her constant words in 
 sickness is, and will be, ' Send for Sairey !' " 
 
 During this touching address, Mrs. Prig, 
 adroitly feigning to be the victim of that absence 
 of mind which has its origin in excessive atten- 
 tion to one topic, helped herself from the tea-pot 
 without appearing to observe it. Mrs. Gamp 
 ©bserved it, however, and came to a premature 
 close in consequence. 
 
 " Well, it an't her it seems," said Mrs. Prig, 
 coldly : " who is it, then ?" 
 
 " You have heerd me mention, Betsey," Mrs. 
 Gamp replied, after glancing in an expressive and 
 marked manner at the tea-pot, " a person as I took 
 care on at the time as you and me was pardners 
 off and on, in that there fever at the Bull ?" 
 
 "Old Snuffey," Mrs. Prig observed. 
 
 Sarah Gamp looked at her with an eye of 
 fire, for she saw in this mistake of Mrs. Prig, 
 another wilful and malignant stab at that same 
 weakness or custom of hers, an ungenerous allu- 
 sion to which, on the part of Betsey, had first 
 disturbed their harmony that evening. And she 
 saw it still more clearly, when, politely but firmly 
 correcting that lady by the distinct enunciation 
 of the word " Chuffey," Mrs. Prig received the 
 correction with a diabolical laugh. 
 
 The best among us have their failings ; and it 
 must be conceded of Mrs. Prig, that if there were 
 a blemish in the goodness of her disposition, it 
 was a habit she had of not bestowing all its sharp 
 and acid properties upon her patients, (as a tho- 
 roughly amiable woman would have done), but 
 ot keeping a considerable remainder for the ser- 
 vice of her friends. Highly pickled salmon, and 
 leuuees chopped up in vinegar, may, as viands 
 
 I possessing some acidity of their own, have en. 
 couraged and increased this failing in Mrs. Prig, 
 and every application to the tea-pot certainly did ; 
 for it was often remarked of her by her friends, 
 that she was most contradictory when she was 
 most elevated. It is certain that her countenance 
 became about this time derisive and defiant, and 
 that she sat with her arms folded and one eye 
 shut up, in a somewhat offensive, because obtru- 
 sively intelligent, manner. 
 
 Mrs. Gamp, observing this, felt it the more ne- 
 cessary that Mrs. Prig should know her place, 
 and be made sensible of her exact station in 
 society, as well as of her obligations to herself. 
 She therefore assumed an air of greater patronage 
 and importance, as she went on to answer Mrs. 
 Prig a little more in detail. 
 
 " Mr. Chuffey, Betsey," said Mrs. Gamp, " is 
 weak in his mind. Excuge me if I makes re- 
 mark, that he may neither be so weak as people 
 thinks, nor people may not think he is so weak 
 as they pretends ; and what I knows, I knows ; 
 and what you don't, you don't ; so do not ask me, 
 Betsey. But Mr. Chuffey's friends has made 
 propojals for his bein' took care on, and has said 
 to me, ' Mrs. Gamp, will you undertake it ? We 
 couldn't think,' they says, 'of trustin' him to no- 
 body but you, for, Sairey, you are gold as has 
 passed through the furnage. Will you undertake 
 it, at your own price, day and night, and by your 
 own self?' * No,' I says, • I will not. Do not 
 reckon on it. There is,' I saj's, ' but one creetur' 
 in the world as I would undertake on sech terms, 
 and her name is Harris. But,' I says, ' I am ac- 
 quainted with a friend, whose name is Betsey 
 Prig, that I can recommend, and will assist me. 
 Betsey,' I says, ' is always to be trusted, under me, 
 and will be guided as I could desire.' " 
 
 Here Mrs. Prig, without any abatement of her 
 offensive manner, again counterfeited abstraction 
 of mind, and stretched out her hand to the tea-pot. 
 It was more than Mrs. Gamp could bear. She 
 stopped the hand of Mrs. Prig with her own, and 
 said, with great feeling : 
 
 " No, Betsey ! drink fair, wotever you do !" 
 
 Mrs. Prig, thus baffled, threw herself back in 
 her chair, and closing the same eye more em- 
 phatically, and folding her arms tighter, suffered 
 her head to roll slowly from side to side, while she 
 surveyed her friend with a contemptuous smile. 
 
 Mrs. Gamp resumed : 
 
 " Mrs. Harris, Betsey " 
 
 " Bother Mrs. Harris !" said Betsey Prig. 
 
 Mrs. Gamp looked at her with amazement, in- 
 credulity, and indignation ; when Mrs. Prig, 
 shutting her eye still closer, and folding her arms 
 still tighter, uttered these memorable and tremen- 
 dous words : 
 
 " I don't believe there's no sich a person." 
 
 After the utterance of which expressions, she 
 leaned forward, and snapped her fingers once, 
 twice, thrice; each time nearer to the face of 
 Mrs. Gamp ; and then rose to put on her bonnet, 
 as one who felt that there was now a gulf between 
 j them, which nothing could ever bridge across. 
 
 The shock of this blow was so violent and sud- 
 
 | den, that Mrs. Gamp sat staring at nothing with 
 
 uplifted eyes, and her mouth open as if she were 
 
 gasping for breath, until Betsey Prig had got on 
 
 her bonnet and her shawl, and was gathering the 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEVVIT. 
 
 291 
 
 fitter aboiit her throat Then Mrs. Gamp rose — 
 morally and physic-ally rose — and denounced her. 
 
 " What !" said .Mis. Gamp, * you bage ereetur, 
 have I know'd Mrs. Harris five and thirl 
 to be told at last tliat tht-rc an't DO ** <h a person 
 livin ! Have I stood her friend in all her troubles, 
 great and small, for it to eome at last to scch a 
 end as this, which her oi ; icier hanging 
 
 up afore you all the time, to shame your Bragian 
 words! Hut well you mayn't believe there's no 
 scch a creclur, for she wouldn't demean herself 
 to look at you, and often has she said, when I 
 have made mention of your name, which, to my 
 :in:iil sorrow, I have done, l What, Sairy Gamp! 
 your«elf to her T Go along with you !" 
 
 " I'm ■ goin, ma'am, ain't I ?" said Mrs. Prig, 
 stopping as she said it. 
 
 " You had better, ma'am," said Mrs. Gamp. 
 
 " Do you know who you're talking to, ma'am ?" 
 inquired her visitor. 
 
 " Apcriently," said Mrs. Gamp, surveying her 
 with scorn from head to foot, " to Betsey Prig. 
 Apcriently so. I know her. No one better. Go 
 along with you, do !" 
 
 " And you was a goin' to take me under you !" 
 cried Mrs. Prig, surveying Mrs. Gamp from head 
 to foot in her turn. " You was, was you ! Ob, 
 how kind ! Why, deuce take your imperence," 
 said Mrs. Prig, with a rapid change from banter 
 to ferocity, " what do you mean !" 
 
 "Go along with you!" said Mrs. Gamp. "I 
 blush for you." 
 
 " You had better blush a little for yourself, 
 while you are about it !" said Mrs. Prig. M You 
 and your Chuffeys ! What, the poor old creetur 
 isn't mad enough, isn't he? Aha !" 
 
 " He'd very soon be mad enough, if you had 
 anythink to do with him," said Mrs. Gamp. 
 
 "And that's what I was wanted for, is it?" 
 cried Mrs. Prig, triumphantly. " Yes. But 
 you'll find yourself deceived. I won't go near 
 him. We shall see how you get on without me. 
 I won't have nothink to do with him." 
 
 " You never spoke a truer word than that !" 
 said Mrs. Gamp. " Go along w ith you !" 
 
 She was prevented from witnessing the actual 
 retirement of Mrs. Prig from the room, notwith- 
 standing the great desire she had expressed to 
 behold it, by that lady, in her angry withdrawal, 
 coming into contact with the bedstead, and bring- 
 ing down the previously-mentioned pippins ; 
 three or four of which came rattling on the head 
 of Mrs. Gamp so smartly, that when she recovered 
 from this wooden shower-bath, Mrs. Prig was 
 gone. 
 
 ;iad the satisfaction, however, of hearing 
 the deep voice of Betsey, proclaiming jier injuries 
 and her determination to have nothing to do with 
 Mr. ChurTey, down the stairs, and along the pas- 
 cage, and even out in Kingsgate-street Like- 
 wise, of Reeing in her own apartment, in the place 
 of Mrs. Prig, Mr. Sweedlcpipe and two gentlemen. 
 
 u \Vhy bless my life!" exclaimed the little 
 barber, " What's amiss ? The noise you ladies 
 have been making, Mrs. Gamp! Why, these 
 two gentlemen have been standing on the stairs, 
 the door, nearly all the time, trying to 
 make you hear, while you were pelting away, 
 hammer and tongs 1 It'll be the death of the 
 little bulfinch in the shop, that draws his own 
 
 water. In his fright, he's been a straightening 
 himself all to bits, drawing more water than he 
 could drink in a twelvemonth. He must have 
 thought it was Fire !" 
 
 Mn». Gamp had in the meanwhile sunk into her 
 chair, from whence, turning up her overflowing 
 eyes, and clasping her hands, she delivered the 
 following lamentation : 
 
 " Oh, Mr. Sweedlepipcs, which Mr. Westlock 
 also, if my eyes do not deceive me, and a friend 
 not bavin the pleasure of bein beknown, wot I 
 have took from Betsey Prig this blessed night, no 
 mortial creetur knows! If she had abuged roe, 
 bein in liquor, which I thought I smelt her wen 
 she come, but could not so believe, not bein used 
 myself" — Mrs. Gamp, by the way, was pretty far 
 gone, and the fragrance of the tea-pot was strong 
 in the room — " I could have bore it with a thank- 
 ful 'art. But the words she spoke of Mrs. Harris, 
 lambs could not forgive. No, Betsey !" said Mrs. 
 Gamp, in a violent burst of feeling, "nor worms 
 forget !" 
 
 The little barber scratched his head, and shook 
 it, and looked at the teapot, and gradually got out 
 of the room. John Westlock, taking a chair, sat 
 down on one side of Mrs. Gamp. Martin, taking 
 the foot of the bed, supported her on the other. 
 
 " You wonder what we want, I dare say," 
 observed John. "I'll tell you presently, when 
 you have recovered. It's not pressing, for a few 
 minutes or so. How do you find yourself? 
 Better ?" 
 
 Mrs. Gamp shed more tears, shook her head, 
 and feebly pronounced Mrs. Harris's name. 
 
 " Have a little — " John was at a loss what to 
 call it 
 
 " Tea," suggested Martin. 
 
 " It ain't tea," said Mrs. Gamp. 
 
 " Physic of some sort, I suppose," cried John. 
 " Have a little." 
 
 Mrs. Gamp was prevailed upon to take a glass- 
 ful. "On condition," she passionately observed, 
 " as Betsey never has another stroke of work 
 from me." 
 
 "Certainly not," said John. "She shall nevei 
 help to nurse me." 
 
 " To think," said Mrs. Gamp, " as she should 
 ever have helped to nuss that friend of yourn, and 
 been so near of hearing things that— Ah !" 
 
 John looked at Martin. 
 
 " Yes," he said. " That was a narrow escape, 
 Mrs. Gamp." 
 
 " Narrer, in-deed ?" she returned. " It was 
 only my having the night, and hearin of him in 
 his wanderins ; and her the day, that saved it. — 
 WoV would she have said and done, if she had 
 know'd what J know; that perfeejus wretch! 
 Yet, oh good gracious me!" cried Mrs. Gamp, 
 trampling on the floor, in the absence of Mrs. 
 Prig, " that I should hear from that same 
 woman's lips what I have hecrd her speak of 
 M Harris!" 
 
 Never mind," said John. " You know it is 
 not true." 
 
 " Isn't true !" cried Mrs. Gamp. • True ! Don't 
 I know as that dear woman is expectin' of me at 
 this minnit Mr. Westlock, and is a lookin'out of 
 winder down the street, with little Tummy Harris 
 in her arms, as calls me his own Gammv, and 
 truly calls, (for bless the mottled little legs of that 
 
292 
 
 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 there precious child, like Canterbury Brawn, his 
 own dear father says, which so they are) his own. 
 I have been, ever since I found him, Mr. West- 
 ock, with his small red worsted shoe a gurglin' in 
 his throat, where he had put it in his play, a 
 chick, wile they was leavin' of him on the floor a 
 lookin' for it through the 'ouse, and him a choak- 
 in' sweetly in the parlour ! Oh, Betsey Prig, wot 
 wickedness you've showed this night! but never 
 shall you darken Sairey's doors agen, you twining 
 serpiant !" 
 
 " You were always so kind to her too!" said 
 John, consolingly. 
 
 " That's the cuttin' part. That's where it hurts 
 me, Mr. Westlock," Mrs. Gamp replied; holding 
 out her glass unconsciously, while Martin rilled it. 
 
 " Chosen to help you with Mr. Lewsome !" said 
 John. " Chosen to help you with Mr. Chuffey !" 
 
 " Chose once, but chose no more," cried Mrs. 
 Gamp. " No pardnership with Betsey Prig agen, 
 sir !" 
 
 " No, no," said John. " That would never do." 
 
 " I don't know as it ever would have done, sir," 
 Mrs. Gamp replied, with the solemnity peculiar 
 to a certain stage of intoxication. " Now that 
 the marks," by which Mrs. Gamp is supposed to 
 have meant mask, " is off that creetur's face, I do 
 not think it ever would have done. There are 
 reagions in families for keepin' things a secret, 
 Mr. Westlock, and havin' only them about you 
 as you knows you can repoge in. Who could 
 repoge in Betsey Prig, arter her words of Mrs. 
 Harris, settin' in that chair, afore my eyes !" 
 
 " Quite true," said John : ■ quite. I hope you 
 have time to find another assistant, Mrs. Gamp ?" 
 
 Between her indignation and the teapot, her 
 powers of comprehending what was said to her 
 began to fail. She looked at John with tearful 
 eyes, and murmuring the well remembered name 
 which Mrs. Prig had challenged — as if it were a 
 talisman against all earthly sorrows — seemed to 
 wander in her mind. 
 
 "I hope," repeated John, "that you have time 
 to find another assistant? 
 
 " Which short it is, indeed," cried Mrs. Gamp, 
 turning up her languid eyes, and clasping Mr. 
 Westlock's wrist with matronly affection. •* To- 
 morrow evenin', sir, I waits upon his friends. 
 Mr. Chuzzlewit apinted it from nine to ten." 
 
 " From nine to ten," said John, with a signifi- 
 cant glanee at Martin ; " and then Mr. Chuffey 
 retires into safe keeping, does he ?" 
 
 " He needs to be kep' safe, I do assure you," 
 Mrs. Gamp replied, with a mysterious air. " Other 
 people besides me has had a happy deliverance 
 from Betsey Prig. I little know'd that woman. 
 She'd have let it out !" 
 
 " Let him out you mean," said John. 
 
 " Do I !" retorted Mrs. Gamp. "Oh !" 
 
 The severely ironical character of this reply 
 was strengthened by a very slow nod, and a still 
 slower drawing down of the corners of Mrs. 
 Gamp's mouth. She added, with extreme state- 
 liness of manner, after indulging in a short doze : 
 
 " But I am a keepin' of you gentlemen, and 
 time is precious." 
 
 Mingling with that delusion of the tea-pot 
 which inspired her with the belief that they 
 wanted her to go somewhere immediately, a 
 shrewd avoidance of any further reference to the 
 topics into which she had lately strayed, Mrs. 
 Gamp rose; and putting away the tea-pot in its 
 accustomed place, and locking the cupboard with 
 much gravity, proceeded to attire herself for a 
 professional visit. 
 
 This preparation was easily made, as it re- 
 quired nothing more than the snuffy black bon- 
 net, the snuffy black shawl, the pattens, and the 
 indispensable umbrella, without which neither 
 a lying-in nor a laying-out could by any possi- 
 bility be attempted. When Mrs. Gamp had in- 
 vested herself with these appendages, she returned 
 to her chair, and sitting down again, declared 
 herself quite ready. 
 
 "It's a 'appiness to know as one can benefit 
 the poor sweet creetur," she observed, " I'm sure. 
 It isn't all as can. The torters Betsey Prig in- 
 flicts, is frightful." 
 
 Closing her eyes as she 'made this remark, in 
 the acuteness of her commiseration for Betsey's 
 patients, she forgot to open them again until she 
 dropped a patten. Her nap was also broken at 
 intervals, like the fabled slumbers of Friar Bacon^ 
 by the dropping of the other patten, and the um- 
 brella ; but when she had got rid of these encum- 
 brances, her sleep was peaceful. 
 
 The two young men looked at each other, lu- 
 dicrously enough ; and Martin, stifling his dispo- 
 sition to laugh, whispered in John Westlock's 
 ear: 
 
 " What shall we do now ?" 
 
 " Stay here," he replied. 
 
 Mrs. Gamp was heard to murmur " Mrs. Har 
 ris !" in her sleep. 
 
 " Rely upon it," whispered John, looking cau- 
 tiously towards her, that you shall question this 
 old clerk, though you go as Mrs. Harris herself. 
 We know quite enough to carry her our own 
 way now, at all events ; thanks to this quarrel, 
 which confirms the old saying that, when rogues 
 fall out honest people get what they want. Let 
 Jonas Chuzzlewit look to himself; and let her 
 sleep as long as she likes. We shall gain our 
 end in good time." 
 
 CHAPTER L. 
 
 SURPRISES TOM PINCH VERY MUCH, AND SHOWS HOW CERTAIN CONFI- 
 DENCES PASSED BETWEEN HIM AND HIS SISTER. 
 
 It was the next evening; and Tom artd his 
 sister were sitting together before tea, talking, in 
 their usual quiet way, about a great many things, 
 but not at all about Lewsome's story or anything 
 
 connected with it; for John Westlock— really 
 John, for so young a man, was one of the most 
 considerate fellows in the world — had particularly 
 advised Tom not to mention it to his sister iu»t 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 
 
 293 
 
 yet, in case it should disquiet her. " And I 
 wouldn't, Tom," he said, with a little hesitation, 
 M I wouldn't have a shade on her huppy face, or 
 an uneasy thought in her gentle heart, for all the 
 wealth and honours of the universe!" Really 
 John was uncommonly kind ; extraordinarily 
 kind. If he had linn her lather, Tom said, he 
 could not have taken a greater interest in her. 
 But although Tom and his sister were extreme- 
 ]y conversational, they were less lively, and less 
 cheerful, than usual. Tom had no idea that this 
 originated with Ruth, but took it for granted that 
 he was rather dull himself. In truth he was; 
 for the lightest cloud upon the Heaven of her 
 quiet mind, cast its. shadow upon Tom. 
 
 And there was a cloud on little Ruth that eve- 
 ning. Yes, indeed. When Tom was looking in 
 another direction, her bright eyes, stealing on 
 towards his face, would sparkle still more bright- 
 ly than their custom was, and then grow dim. — 
 When Tom was silent, looking out upon the 
 summer weather, she would sometimes make a 
 hasty movement, as if to throw herself upon his 
 neck ; then check the impulse, and when he 
 looked round, show a laughing face, and speak to 
 him very merrily. When she had anything to 
 give Tom, or had any excuse for coming near 
 him, she would flutter about him, and lay her 
 little bashful hand upon his shoulder, and not be 
 willing to withdraw it ; and would show by all 
 such means that there was something on her 
 heart which in her great love she longed to say 
 to him, but had not the courage to utter. 
 
 So they were sitting, she with her work before 
 her, but not working, and Tom with his book 
 beside him, but not reading, when Martin knock- 
 ed at the door. Anticipating who it was, Tom 
 went to open it; und he and Martin came back 
 into the room together. Tom looked surprised, 
 for in answer to his cordial greeting Martin had 
 hardly spoken a word. 
 
 Ruth also saw that there was something 
 strange in the manner of their visitor, and raised 
 her eyes inquiringly to Tom's face, as if she 
 were seeking an explanation there. Tom shook 
 his head and made the same mute appeal to 
 Martin. 
 
 Martin did not sit down, but walked up to the 
 window, and stood there, looking out. He turned 
 round after a few moments to speak, but hastily 
 averted his head again, without doing so. 
 
 44 What has happened, Martin?" Tom anxious- 
 ly inquired 44 My dear fellow, what bad news do 
 you bring ?" 
 
 44 Oh, Tom !" replied Martin, in a tone of deep 
 reproach. 44 To hear you feign that deep interest 
 in anything that happens to me, hurts me even 
 more than your ungenerous dealing." 
 
 44 My ungenerous dealing ! Martin ! My — " 
 Tom could get no further. 
 
 14 How could you, Tom, how could you suffer 
 me to thank you so fervently and sincerely for 
 your friendship; and not tell me, like a man, that 
 you hud deserted me ! Was it true, Tom ! Was 
 it honest ! Was it worthy of what you used to be; 
 of what I am sure you used to be : to tempt me, 
 when you had turned against me, into pouring 
 out my heart ! Oh Tom !" 
 
 His tone was one of such strong injury and yet 
 of so much grief for the loss of a friend he had 
 
 trusted in ; it expressed such high past love for 
 Tom, and so much sorrow and compassion for his 
 supposed unworthiness; that Tom, for a moment, 
 put his hand before his face, and had no mora 
 power of justifying himself, than if he had been a 
 monster of deceit and falsehood. 
 
 44 1 protest, as I must die," said Martin, "that I 
 grieve over the loss of what I thought you ; and 
 have no anger in the recollection of my own in- 
 juries. It is only at such a time, and after such 
 a discovery, that we know the full measure of 
 our old regard for the subject of it And I 
 swear, little as I showed it ; little as I know I 
 showed it ; that when I had the least considera- 
 tion for you, Tom, I loved you like a brother." 
 
 Tom was composed by this time, and might 
 have been the Spirit of Truth, in a homely dress 
 — it very often wears a homely dress, thank God ! 
 — when he replied to him : 
 
 44 Martin," he said, 44 1 don't know what is in 
 your mind, or who has abused it, or by what 
 extraordinary means. But the means are false. 
 There is no truth whatever in the impression 
 under which you labour. It is a delusion from 
 first to last ; and I warn you that you will deeply 
 regret the wrong you do me. I can honestly say 
 that I have been true to you, and to myself. You 
 will be very sorry for this. Indeed, you will be 
 very sorry for it, Martin." 
 
 44 1 am sorry," returned Martin, shaking his 
 head. 44 1 never knew what it was to be sorry in 
 my heart, until now." 
 
 44 At least," said Tom, 44 if I had always been 
 what you charge me with being now, and had 
 never had a plaee in your regard, but had always 
 been despised by you, and had always deserved it, 
 you would tell me in what you have found me to 
 be treacherous ; and on what grounds you proceed. 
 I do not intreat you, therefore, to give me that 
 satisfaction as a favour, Martin ; but I ask it of 
 you as a right." 
 
 44 My own eyes are my witnesses," returned 
 Martin t4 Am I to believe them ?" 
 
 44 No," said Tom, calmly. u Not if they accuse 
 me." 
 
 44 Your own words. Your own manner," pur- 
 sued Martin. 44 Am I to believe them ?" 
 
 44 No," replied Tom, «»lmly. 4t Not if they 
 accuse me. But they never have accused me. 
 Whoever has perverted them to such a purpose, 
 has wronged me, almost as cruelly;" his calm- 
 ness rather failed him here ; 44 as you have done." 
 
 44 1 came here," said Martin ; " and I appeal to 
 your good sister to hear me " 
 
 "Not to her," interrupted Tom. "Pray, do 
 not appeal to her. She will never believe you." 
 
 He drew her arm through 9 his own, as ho 
 said it. 
 
 44 / believe it, Tom !" 
 
 44 No, no," cried Tom, 44 of course not I sard so. 
 Why, tut, tut, tut. What a silly little thing you are !*' 
 
 44 1 never meant," said Martin, hastily, u to ap- 
 peal to you against your brother. Do not think 
 me so unmanly and unkind. I merely appealed 
 to you to hear my declaration, that I came here 
 for no purpose of reproach : I have not one to vent 
 but in deep regret. You could not know in what 
 bitterness of regret, unless you knew how often I 
 have thought of Tom ; how long in almost hope- 
 less circumstances, I have looked forward u> Uw 
 
294 
 
 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 better estimation of his friendship ; and how I 
 steadfastly I have believed and trusted in him." 
 
 " Tut, tut," said Tom, stopping her as she was 
 about to speak. " He is mistaken — he is deceived. 
 Why should you v mind ? He is sure to be set 
 right at last." 
 
 " Heaven bless the day that sets me right !" 
 cried Martin, " if it could ever come I" 
 
 " Amen !" said Tom. " And it will !" 
 
 Martin paused and then said in a still milder 
 voice : 
 
 " You have chosen for yourself, Tom, and will 
 be relieved by our parting. It is not an angry 
 one. There is no anger on my side — " 
 
 "'There is none on mine," said Tom. 
 
 " — It is merely what you have brought about, 
 and worked to bring about. I say again, you 
 have chosen for yourself. You have made the 
 choice that might have been expected in most 
 people situated as you are, but which I did not 
 expect in you. For that, perhaps, I should blame 
 my own judgment more than you. There is 
 wealth and favour worth having, on one side; 
 and there is the worthless friendship of an aban- 
 doned, struggling fellow, on the other. You 
 were free to make your election, and you made it; 
 and the choice was not difficult. But those who 
 have not the courage to resist such temptations, 
 should have the courage to avow that they 
 have yielded to them ; and I do blame you for 
 this, Tom : that you received me with a show of 
 warmth, encouraged me to be frank and plain- 
 spoken, tempted me to confide in you, and pro- 
 fessed that you were able to be mine ; when you 
 had sold yourself to others. I do not believe," 
 said Martin, with great emotion : " hear me say it 
 from my heart ; I cannot believe, Tom, now that I 
 am standing face to face with you, that it would 
 have been in your nature to do me any serious 
 harm, even though 1 had not discovered, by 
 chance, in whose employment you were. But I 
 should have incumbered you ; I should have led 
 you into more double-dealing; I should have 
 hazarded your retaining the favour for which you 
 have paid so high a price, bartering away your 
 former self; and it is best for both of us that I 
 have found out what you so much desired to keep 
 secret." 
 
 " Be just," said Tom ; who had not removed 
 his mild gaze from Martin's face since the com- 
 mencement of this last address ; " be just even in 
 your injustice, Martin. You forget. You have 
 not yet told me what your accusation is !" 
 
 " Why should I ?" returned Martin, waving his 
 hand, and moving towards the door. " You 
 could not know it the better for my dwelling on 
 it, and though it would be really none the worse, 
 it might seem to me to be. No, Tom. Bygones 
 shall be bygones between us. I can take leave 
 of you at this moment, and in this place : in 
 which you are so amiable and so good ; as hearti- 
 ly, if not as cheerfully, as ever I have done since 
 we first met. All good go with you, Tom ! — 
 
 " You leave me so ? You can leave me so, 
 can you ?' said Tom. 
 
 " I — you — you have chosen for yourself, Tom ! 
 I — I hope it was a rash choice." Martin falter- 
 ed. " I think it was. I am sure it was ! Good 
 bye?" 
 
 And he was gone. 
 
 Tom led his little sister to her chair, and sal 
 down in his own. He took his book, and read, 
 or seemed to read. Presently he said aloud : 
 turning a leaf as he spoke : " He will be very 
 sorry for this." And a tear stole down his face, 
 and dropped upon the page. 
 
 Ruth nestled down beside him on her knees, 
 and clasped her arms about his neck. 
 
 " No Tom ! No no ! Be comforted ! Dear 
 Tom !" 
 
 " I am quite — comforted," said Tom. " It will 
 be set right." 
 
 " Such a cruel, bad return !" cried Ruth. 
 
 " No no," said Tom. " He believes it. I can- 
 not imagine why. But it will be set right." 
 
 More closely yet, she nestled down about him 
 and wept as if her heart would break. 
 
 "Don't. Don't," said Tom. "Why do yoa 
 hide your face, my dear 1" 
 
 Then in a burst of tears, it all broke out at 
 last. 
 
 " Oh Tom, dear Tom, I know your secret heart. 
 I have found it out; you couldn't hide the truth 
 from me. Why didn't you tell me? I am sure 
 I could have made you happpier, if you had ! 
 You love her Tom, so dearly !" 
 
 Tom made a motion with his hand as if he 
 would have put his sister hurriedly away ; but it 
 clasped upon hers, and all his little history was 
 written in the action. All its pathetic eloquence 
 was in the silent touch. 
 
 " In spite of that," said Ruth, " you have been 
 so faithful and so good, dear; in spite of that, you 
 have been so true and self-denying, and have 
 struggled with yourself; in spite of that, you have 
 been so gentle, and so kind, and even-tempered, 
 that I have never seen you give a hasty look, or 
 heard you say one irritable word. In spite of all, 
 you have been so cruelly mistaken. Oh Tom, 
 dear Tom, loved as no other brother can be, will 
 this be set right too ! Will it Tom ! Will you 
 always have this sorrow in your breast : you who 
 deserve to be so happy : or is there any hope !" 
 
 And still she hid her face from Tom, and 
 clasped him round the neck, and wept for him, 
 and poured out all her woman's heart and soul in 
 the relief and pain of this disclosure. 
 
 It was not very long before she and Tom were 
 sitting side by side, and she was looking with an 
 earnest quietness in Tom's face. Then Tom 
 spoke to her thus : cheerily, though gravely. 
 
 " I am very glad, my dear, that this has passed 
 between us. Not because it assures me of your 
 tender affection (for I was well assured of that, 
 before), but because it relieves my mind of a 
 great weight." 
 
 Tom's eyes glistened when he spoke of her af- 
 fection ; and he kissed her on the cheek. 
 
 "My dear girl," said Tom: "with whatever 
 feeling I regard her ;" they seemed to avoid the 
 name by mutual consent; "I have long ago — I 
 am sure I may say from the very first — looked 
 upon it as a dream. As something that might 
 possibly have happened under very different cir- 
 cumstances, but which can never be. Now, tell 
 me. What would you have set right ?" 
 
 She gave Tom such a significant little look, 
 that he was obliged to take it for an answe. 
 whether he would or no ; and to go on. 
 
MARTIN CHU.^ZLEWIT. 
 
 295 
 
 44 By her own choice and free consent, my lote, 
 •he is betrothed to Martin ; and was, long before 
 either of them knew of my i xistence. You would 
 ii.:v. her betrothed lo me?" 
 
 44 Yes," she said directly. 
 
 , M rejoined Torn, " but that might be 
 setting it wrong, instead of right. t)o you* think," 
 s.iitl Tom, with a grave smile, "that t\eu it she 
 had never wen him, it is \« ry likely she wouki 
 have fallen in love with Me ?" 
 
 44 Why not, dear Tom ?" 
 
 Tom shook his head and smiled again. 
 
 14 You think of me, Ruth," said Tom, "and it 
 is very natural that you should, as if I were a 
 character in a book ; and you make it a sort of 
 poetical justice that I should, by some impossible 
 r other, come, at last, to marry the person 
 I love. Bat there is a much higher justice than 
 poetical justice, my dear, and it does not order 
 events upon the same principle. Accordingly 
 people who read about heroes in books, and choose 
 to make heroes of themselves out of books, con- 
 sider it a very fine thing to be discontented and 
 gloomy, and misanthropical, and perhaps a little 
 blasphemous, because they cannot have everything 
 ordered for their individual accommodation. 
 Would you like me to become one of that sort 
 of people V* 
 
 "No, Tom. But still I know," she added 
 timidly, " that this is a sorrow to you in your own 
 better way." 
 
 Tom thought of disputing the position. But it 
 would have been mere folly, and he gave it up. 
 
 " My dear," said Tom, " I will repay your af- 
 fection with the Truth, and all the Truth. It is 
 a sorrrow to me. I have proved it to be so some- 
 limes, though I have always striven against it. 
 But somebody who is precious to you may die, 
 and you may dream that you are in heaven with 
 the departed spirit, and you may find it a sorrow 
 to wake to the life on earth, which is no harder 
 to be borne than when you fell asleep. It is sor- 
 rowful to me to contemplate my dream, which I 
 always knew was a dream, even when it first 
 presented itself; but the realities about me are 
 not to blame. They arc the same as they were. 
 My sister, my sweet companion, who makes this 
 place so dear, is she less devoted to me, Ruth, 
 than she would have been, if this vision had 
 never troubled me ? My old friend John, who 
 might so easily have treated me with coldness 
 and neglect, is he less cordial to me ? The world 
 about me, is there less good in that ? Are my 
 words to be harsh and my looks to be sour, and is 
 my heart to grow cold, because there has fallen 
 in my way a good and beautiful creature, who, 
 but for the selfish regret that I cannot call her my 
 own, would, like all other good and beautiful crea- 
 tures, make me happier and better ! No, my 
 dear sister. No," said Tom, stoutly. "Remem- 
 bering all my means of happiness, I hardly dare 
 to call this lurking something, a sorrow; but 
 whatever name it may justly bear, I thank Hea- 
 ven that it renders me more sensible of n flection 
 and attachment, and softens me in fifty ways. 
 Not less happy. Not less happy, Ruth !" 
 
 She could not speak to him, but she loved him, 
 as he well deserved. Even as he deserved, she 
 loved him. 
 44 She will open Martin's eyes," said Tom, with 
 
 a glow of pride, " and that (which is indeed wrong) 
 v. ill be pet right. Nothing will persuade her, I 
 know, that I have betrayed him. It will be set 
 right through her and he wijl be very sorry for it. 
 Our m cret, Ruth, is our own, and lives and dies 
 with us. I don't believe I ever could have told 
 it you," said Torn, with a smile, " but how glad I 
 am to think you have found it out!" 
 
 They bad never taken such a pleasant walk as 
 they took that night. Tom told her all so freely, 
 and so simply, ami was so desirous to return her 
 tenderness with his fullest confidence, that they 
 prolonged it far beyond their usual hour, and sat 
 up late when they came home. And when they 
 parted for the night there was such a tranquil, 
 beautiful expression in Tom's face, that she could 
 not bear to shut it out, but going back on tip-toe 
 to his chamber door, looked in, and stood there 
 till he saw her, and then embracing him again, 
 withdrew. And in her prayers, and in her sleep- 
 good times to be remembered with such fervour, 
 Tom ! — his name was uppermost. 
 
 When he was left alone, Tom pondered very 
 much on this discovery of hers, and greatly 
 wondered what had led her to it. "Because," 
 thought Tom, M I have been so very careful. It 
 was foolish and unnecessary in me, as I clearly 
 see now, when I am so relieved by her knowing 
 it; but I have been so very careful to conceal it 
 from her. Of course I knew that she was intel- 
 ligent and quick, and for that reason was more 
 upon my guard ; but I was not in the least pre- 
 pared for this. I am sure her discovery has been 
 sudden too. Dear me!" said Tom. "It's a 
 most singular instance of penetration !" 
 
 Tom could not get it out of his head. There it 
 was when his head was on his pillow. 
 
 " How she trembled when she began to tell me 
 she knew it !" thought Tom, recalling all the 
 little incidents and circumstances; "and how her 
 face flushed ! But that was natural. Oh ! quite 
 natural ! That needs no accounting for." 
 
 Tom little thought how natural it was. Tom 
 little knew that there was that in Ruth's own 
 heart, but newly set there, which had helped he' 
 to the reading of his mystery. Ah Tom ! He 
 didn't understand the whispers of the Temple 
 Fountain, though he passed it every day. 
 
 She was ready with his neat breakfast when he 
 went down stairs, and had her bonnet ready for 
 the early walk, and was so full of news that Tom 
 was lost in wonder. She might have been up all 
 night, collecting it for his entertainment. There 
 was Mr. Nadgctt not come home yet, and there 
 was bread down a penny a loaf, and there waa 
 twice as much strength in this tea as in the 
 last, and the milkwoman's husband had xmc out 
 of the hospital, cured, a/id the curly-headed child 
 over the way had been lost ail yesterday, and sfie 
 was going to make all sorts of preserves in a des- 
 perate hurry, and there happened to be a sauce, 
 pan in the house which was the very saucepan 
 for the purpose ; and she knew all about the last 
 bpok Tom had brought home, all through, though 
 it was a teazcr to read ; and she had so much to 
 tell him that she had finished breakfast first. 
 Then she had her little bonnet on, and the tea and 
 sugar locked up, and the keys in her reticule, and 
 the flower, as usual, in Tom's coat, and waa in 
 all respects quite ready to accompany him, before 
 
296 
 
 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 Tom knew she had begun to prepare. And in 
 short, as Tom said, with a confidence in his own 
 assertion which amounted to a defiance of the 
 public in general, there never was such a little 
 woman. 
 
 She made Tom talkative. It was impossible 
 to resist her. She put such enticing questions to 
 him ; about books, and about dates of churches, 
 and about organs, and about the Temple, and 
 about all kinds of things. Indeed she lightened 
 the way (and Tom's heart witli it) to that degree, 
 that the Temple looked quite Jlank and solitary 
 when he parted from her at the gate. 
 
 "No Mr. Fip's friend to-day, I suppose," 
 thought Tom, as he ascended the stairs. 
 
 Not yet, at any rate, for the door was closed as 
 usual, and Tom opened it with his key. He had 
 got the books into perfect order now, and had 
 mended the torn leaves, and pasted up the broken 
 backs, and substituted neat labels for the worn- 
 out letterings. It looked a different place, it was 
 so orderly and neat : Tom felt some pride in con- 
 templating the change he had wrought, though 
 there was no one to approve or disapprove of it. 
 
 He was at present occupied in making a fair 
 copy of his draught of the catalogue ; on which, 
 as there was no hurry, he was painfully concen- 
 trating all the ingenious and laborious neatness 
 he had ever expended on map or plan in Mr. 
 Pecksniff's workroom. It was a very marvel of 
 a catalogue ; for Tom sometimes thought he was 
 really getting his money too easily, and he had 
 determined within himself that this document 
 should take a little of his superfluous leisure out 
 of him. 
 
 "So, with pens and ruler, and compasses and 
 india-rubber, and pencil, and black ink, and red ink, 
 Tom worked away all the morning. He thought 
 a good deal about Martin and their interview of 
 yesterday, and would have been far easier in his 
 mind if he could have resolved to confide it to his 
 friend John, and to have taken his opinion on the 
 subject. But besides that he knew what John's 
 boiling indignation would be, he bethought him- 
 self that he was helping Martin now in a matter 
 of great moment, and that to deprive the latter of 
 his assistance at such a crisis of affairs, would be 
 to inflict a serious injury upon him. 
 
 "So I'll keep it to myself," said Tom, with a 
 sigh, " I'll keep it to myself." 
 
 And to work he went again, more assiduously 
 than ever, with the pens, and the ruler, and the 
 india-rubber, and the pencil, and the black ink, 
 and the red ink, that he might forget it. 
 
 He had laboured away for another hour or more 
 when he heard a footstep in the entry, down 
 below. 
 
 «"Ah!" said Tom, looking towards the door, 
 " time was, not long ago either, when that would 
 have set me wondering and expecting. But I 
 have left off now." 
 
 The footstep came on, up the stairs. 
 
 "Thirty-six, thirty-seven, thirty-eight," said 
 Tom counting. " Now you'll stop. Nobody 
 ever comes past the thirty-eighth stair." 
 
 The person did stop, certainly, but only to take 
 breath ; for up the footstep came again. Forty, 
 forty-one, forty-two, and so on. 
 
 The door stood open. As the tread advanced, 
 Tom looked impatiently and eagerly towards it. 
 When a figure came upon the landing, and ar- 
 riving in the doorway, stopped and gazed at him, 
 he rose up from his chair, and half believed he 
 saw a spirit. 
 
 Old Martin Chuzzlewit. The same whom he 
 had left at Mr. Pecksniff's weak and sinking. 
 
 The same ! No, not the same, for this old man, 
 though old, was strong, and leaned upon his stick 
 with a vigorous hand, while with the other he 
 signed to Tom t» make no noise. One glance at 
 the resolute face, the watchful eye, the vigorous 
 hand upon the staff, the triumphed purpose in the 
 figure, and such a light broke in on Tom as 
 blinded him. 
 
 " You have expected me," said Martin, " a 
 long time." 
 
 " I was told that my employer would arrive 
 soon," said Tom ; " but — " 
 
 " I know. You were ignorant who he was. — 
 It was my desire. I am glad it has been so well 
 observed. I intended to have been with you 
 much sooner. I thought the time had come. I 
 thought I could know no more, and no worse, of 
 him, than I did on that day when I saw you last. 
 But I was wrong." 
 
 He had by this time come up to Tom, and now 
 he seized his hand. 
 
 " I have lived in his house, Pinch, and had him 
 fawning on me days and weeks, and months. — 
 You know it. I have suffered him to treat me 
 like his tool and instrument. You know it ; you 
 have seen me there. I have undergone ten thou- 
 sand times as much as I could have endured if I 
 had been the miserable weak old man he took me 
 for. You know it. I have seen him offer love 
 to Mary. You know it; who better — who better, 
 my true heart ! I have had his base soul bare 
 before me, day by day, and have not betrayed 
 myself once. I never could have undergone such 
 torture but for looking forward to this time." 
 
 He stopped, even in the passion of his speech ; 
 if that can be called passion which was so resolute 
 and steady ; to press Tom's hand again. Then 
 he said, in great excitement : 
 
 " Close the door, close the door. He will not 
 be long after me, but may come too soon. The 
 time now drawing on," said the old man, hur- 
 riedly : his eyes and whole face brightening as he 
 spoke: "will make amends for all. I wouldn't 
 have him die or hang himself for millions of 
 golden pieces ! Close the door 1" 
 
 Tom did so ; hardly knowing yet whether he 
 was awake or in a dream. 
 

MARTIN CHUZZLEVVIT. 
 
 CHAPTER LL 
 
 SHEDS NEW AND BRIGHTER LIGHT UPON THE VERY DARK PLACE, AND 
 CONTAINS THE SEQUEL OF THE ENTERPRISE 09 MR. Ju.NAS AND HIS 
 FRIEND. 
 
 The night had now come, when the old clerk 
 was to be delivered over to his keepers. In tJie 
 midst of his guilty distractions, Jonas had not 
 forgotten it. 
 
 It was a part of his guilty state of mind to re- 
 member it; ii>r on his pcrsistance in the scheme 
 depended one of his precautions for his own safe- 
 ty. A hint, a word from the old man, uttered at 
 such a moment in attentive ears, might fire the 
 train of suspicion, and destroy him. His watch- 
 fulness of every avenue by which the discovery 
 of his guilt might be approached, sharpened with 
 his sense of the danger by which he was encom- 
 passed. With murder on his soul, and its innu- 
 merable alarms and terrors dragging at him night 
 and day, he would have repeated the crime, if he 
 had seen a path of safety stretching out beyond. 
 It was in his punishment ; it was in his guilty 
 condition. The very deed which his fears ren- 
 dered insupportable, his fears would have impelled 
 him to commit again. 
 
 But keeping the old man close, according to his 
 design, would serve his turn. His purpose was, 
 to escape when the first alarm and wonder had 
 subsided, and when he could make the attempt 
 without awakening instant suspicion. In the 
 meanwhile, these women would keep him quiet ; 
 and if the talking humour came upon him, would 
 not be easily startled. He knew their trade. 
 
 Nor had he spoken idly when .he said the old 
 man should be gagged. He had resolved to en- 
 sure his silence ; and he looked to the end, not 
 the means. He had been rough and rude and 
 cruel to the old man all his life ; and violence was 
 natural to his mind in connection with him. *' He 
 ■hall be gauged if he speaks, and pinioned if he 
 writes," said Jonas, looking at him, for they sat 
 alone together. " He is mad enough for that ; 
 I '11 go through with it !" 
 Hu:d> ! 
 
 Still listening ! To every sound. He had lis- 
 tened ever since, and it had not come yet The 
 exposure of the Insurance Office ; the flight of 
 Crimple and Bullamy with the plunder, and, 
 among the rest, as he feared, with his own bill, 
 which he had not found in the pocket-book of the 
 murdered man, and which, with Mr. Pecksniff's 
 money, had probably been remitted to one or 
 other of those trusty friends for safe deposit at the 
 banker's; his immense losses, and peril of being 
 still called to account as a partner in the broken 
 firm ; all these things rose in his mind at one 
 time and always, but he could not contemplate 
 them. He was aware of their presence, and of 
 the rage, discomfiture and despair they brought 
 along with them; but he thought — of his own 
 controlling power and direction he thought — of 
 the one dread question only : when they would 
 find the body in the wood. 
 
 He tried — he had never left off trying — not to 
 forget it was there, for that waa impossible, but to 
 forget to weary himself by drawing vivid picture* 
 d1* it in his fancy; by going softly about it and 
 
 about it, among the leaves, approaching it nearer 
 and nearer through a gap in the boughs, and 
 startling the very flies that were thickly sprinkled 
 all over it, like heaps of dried currants. His mind 
 was fixed and fastened on the discovery, for intel- 
 ligence of which he listened intently to every cry 
 and shout ; listened when any one came in, or 
 went out ; watched from the window the people 
 who passed up and down the street, and mistrust- 
 ed his own looks and words. And the more his 
 thoughts were set upon the discovery, the stronger 
 was the fascination which attracted him to the 
 thing itself; lying alone in the wood. He was 
 for ever showing and presenting it, as it were, to 
 every creature whom he saw, ■ Look here I Do 
 you know of this ? Is it found ? Do you sus- 
 pect me ?" If he had been condemned to bear 
 the body in his arms, and lay it down for recog- 
 nition at the feet of every one he met, it could not 
 have been more constantly with him, or a cause 
 of more monotonous and dismal occupation than 
 it was in this state of his mind. 
 
 Still, he was not sorry. It was no contrition or 
 remorse for what he had done that moved him ; 
 it was nothing but alarm for his own security. 
 The vague consciousness he possessed of having 
 wrecked his fortune in the murderous venture, 
 intensified his hatred and revenge, and made him 
 set the greater store by what he had gained. The 
 man was dead ; nothing could undo that He 
 felt a triumph yet, in the reflection. 
 
 He had kept a jealous watch on Chuffey, ever 
 since the deed; seldom leaving him but on com- 
 pulsion, and then for as short intervals as possi- 
 ble. They were alone together now. It waa 
 twilight, and the appointed time drew near at 
 hand. Jonas walked up and down the room 
 The old man sat in his accustomed corner. 
 
 The slightest circumstance was matter of dis- 
 quiet to the murderer, and he was made uneasy 
 at this time by the absence of his wife, who had 
 left home early in the afternoon, and had not re- 
 turned yet No tenderness for her was at the 
 bottom of this ; but he had a misgiving that she 
 might have been waylaid, and tempted into say- 
 ing something that would criminate him when 
 the news came. For anything he knew, she 
 might have knocked at the door of his room, 
 while he was away, and discovered his plot — 
 Confound her, it was like her pale face, to be 
 wandering up and down the house ! Where waa 
 she now ? 
 
 " She went to her good friend, Mrs. Todgera," 
 said the old man, when he asked the question 
 with an angry oath. 
 
 Aye ! To be sure ! always stealing away into 
 the company of that woman. She was no friend 
 of his. Who could tell what devil's mischief they 
 might hatch together ! Let her be fetched home 
 
 The old man, muttering some words softly, 
 rose as if he would have gone himself; but Jonaa 
 thrust uin back into his chair with an impatient 
 
208 
 
 LIJE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 imprecation, and sent a servant-g irl to fetch her. 
 When he had charged her with her errand, he 
 walked to and fro again, and never stopped till 
 she came back, which she did pretty soon ; the 
 way being short, and the woman having made 
 gDod haste. 
 
 Well ! Where was she ? Had she come ? 
 No. She had left there, full three hours. 
 " Left there ! Alone ?" 
 
 The messenger had not asked ; taking that for 
 granted. 
 
 " Curse you for a fool. Bring candles !" 
 She had scarcely left the room, when the old 
 clerk, who had been unusually observant of him 
 ever since he had asked about his wife, came sud- 
 denly upon him. 
 
 " Give her up !" cried the old man. " Come ! 
 Give her up to me ! Tell me what you have done 
 with her. Quick ! I have made no promises on 
 that score. Tell me what you have done with her." 
 He laid his hands upon his collar as he spoke, 
 and grasped it : tightly too. 
 
 " You shall not leave me !" cried the old man. 
 ' I am strong enough to cry out to the neigh- 
 bours, and I will, unless you give her up. Give 
 her up to me !" 
 
 Jonas was so dismayed and conscience-stricken, 
 that he had not even hardihood enough to un- 
 clench the old man's hands with his own ; but 
 stood looking at him as well as he could in the 
 darkness, without moving a finger. It was as 
 much as he could do to ask him what he meant. 
 
 " I will know what you have done with her !" 
 retorted Chuffey. " If you hurt a hair of her head, 
 you shall answer it. Poor thing! Poor thing! 
 Where is she ?" 
 
 " Why, you old madman !" said Jonas, in a low 
 voice, and with trembling lips. "What Bedlam 
 fit has come upon you now ?" 
 
 " It is enough to make me mad, seeing what I 
 have seen in this house !'* cried Chuftey. " Where 
 is my dear old master ! Where is his only son that 
 I have nursed upon my knee, a child ! Where is 
 she, she who was the last; she that I've seen 
 pining day by day, and heard weeping in the 
 dead of night! She was the last, the last of all 
 my friends ! Heaven help me, she was the very 
 last !" 
 
 Seeing that the tears were stealing down his 
 face, Jonas mustered courage to unclench his 
 hands, and push him off before he answered : 
 
 " Did you hear me ask for her? Did you hear 
 me send for her? How can I give you up what I 
 hav'nt got, idiot ! Ecod, I 'd give her up to you 
 and welcome, if I could ; and a precious pair 
 you 'd be !" 
 
 " If she has come to any harm," cried Chuffey, 
 "mind! I'm old and silly; but I have my me- 
 mory sometimes; and if she has come to any 
 harm — " 
 
 " Devil take you," interrupted Jonas, but in a 
 suppressed voice still ; " what harm do you sup- 
 pose she has come to ? I know no more where 
 she is than you do ; I wish I did. Wait till she 
 comes home, and see ; she can't be long. Will 
 that content you?" 
 
 "Mind!" exclaimed the old man. "Not a hair 
 of her head ! not a hair of her head ill used ! I 
 won't bear it. I — I — have borne it too long, 
 'onas. I am silent, but I — I — I can speak. I — | 
 
 I — I can speak — " he stammered, as he crept 
 back to his chair, and turned a threatening, 
 though a feeble, look upon him. 
 
 " You can speak, can you !" thought Jonas. 
 "So, so, we'll stop your speaking. It's well I 
 knew of this in good time. Prevention is better 
 than cure." 
 
 He had made a poor show of playing the Bully 
 and evincing a desire to conciliate at the same 
 time, but was so afraid of the old man that great 
 drop/? had started out upon his brow ; and they 
 stood there yet. His unusual tone of voice and 
 agitated manner had sufficiently expressed his 
 fear ; but his face would have done so now, with- 
 out that aid, as he again walked Jo and fro, glanc- 
 ing at him by the candle-light. 
 
 He stopped at the window to think. An op- 
 posite shop was lighted up; and the tradesman 
 and a customer were reading some printed bill 
 together across the counter. The sight brought 
 him back, instantly, to the occupation he had for- 
 gotten. "Look here! Do you know of this? Is 
 it found ? Do you suspect me ?" 
 
 A hand upon the door. " What's that?" 
 "A pleasant evenin," said the voice of Mrs. 
 Gamp, " though warm, which, bless you Mr. 
 Chuzzlewit, we must expect when cowcumbers is 
 three for twopence. How does Mr. Chuffey find 
 his self to-night, Sir?" 
 
 Mrs. Gamp kept particularly close to the door 
 in saying this, and curtseyed more than usual. 
 She did not appear to be quite so much at her 
 ease as she generally was. 
 
 "Get him to his room," said Jonas, walking up 
 to her, and speaking in her ear. " He has been 
 raving to-night — stark mad. Don't talk while 
 he's here, but come down again." 
 
 "Poor sweet dear!" cried Mrs. Gamp, with 
 uncommon tenderness. " He 's all of a tremble." 
 " Well he may be," said Jonas, " after the mad 
 fit he has had. Get him up stairs." 
 
 She was by this time assisting him to rise. 
 "There's my blessed old chick!" cried Mrs. 
 Gamp, in a tone that was at once soothing and 
 encouraging. "There's my darlin' Mr. Chuffey! 
 Now come up to your own room, Sir, and lay 
 down on your bed a bit; for you're a shakin' all 
 over, as if your precious jints was hung upon 
 wires. That 's a good creetur ! come with Sairey !" 
 " Is she come home?" inquired the old man. 
 " She '11 be here directly minnit," returned Mrs 
 Gamp. " Come with Sairey, Mr. Chuffey. Come 
 with your own Sairey !" 
 
 The good woman, had no reference to any fe- 
 male in the world in promising this speedy advent 
 of the person for whom Mr. Chuffey inquired, but 
 merely threw it out as a means of pacifying the 
 old man. It had its effect, for he permitted her 
 to lead him away ; and they quitted the room 
 together. 
 
 Jonas looked out of the window again. They 
 were still reading the printed paper in the shop 
 opposite, and a third man had joined in the pe- 
 rusal. What could it be, to interest them so ? 
 
 A dispute or discussion seemed to arise among 
 them, for they all looked up from their reading 
 together ; and one of the three, who had been 
 glancing over the shoulder of another, stepped 
 back to explain or illustrate some action by his 
 gestures 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 
 
 299 
 
 Horror! How like the blow he had struck in 
 trie wood ! 
 
 It beat him from tin- window as if it had lighted 
 on himself. As he daggered into a chair, be 
 thought of the change in Mrs. Gamp, exhibited 
 in her new- born tenderness to her charge. \V;is 
 that bccaiiHc it was found? — because she knew 
 of it? — because she suspected him ? 
 
 ■ Mr. Chuft'ey is a lyin* down," said Mrs. Gamp, 
 returning, "and much good may it do him, Mr. 
 Chuzzleu it, which harm it can't and good it may : 
 be joyful!" 
 
 "Sit down," said Jonas, hoarsely, "and let us 
 get this business done. "Where is the other wo- 
 man ?" 
 
 "The other person 's with him now," she an- 
 swercd. 
 
 M That 's right," said Jonas. " He is not fit to 
 be left to himself. Why, ho fastened on me to- 
 night; here, upon my coat; like a savage dog. 
 Old as he is, and feeble as he is usually, I had 
 some trouble to shake him off. You — Hush! — 
 It 's nothing. You told me the other woman's 
 name. I forget it." 
 
 44 1 mentioned Betsey Prig," said Mrs. Gamp. 
 
 "She is to be trusted, is she?" 
 
 44 That she ain't !" said Mrs. Gamp; " nor have 
 I brought her, Mr. Chuzzlewit. I 've brought an- 
 other, which engages to give every satigefaction." 
 
 44 What is her name ?" asked Jonas. 
 
 Mrs. Gamp looked at him in an odd way with- 
 out returning any answer, but appeared to under- 
 stand the question too. 
 
 44 What is her name?" repeated Jonas. 
 
 " Her name," said Mrs. Gamp, " is Harris." 
 
 It was extraordinary how much effort it cost 
 Mrs. Gamp to pronounce the name she was com- 
 monly so ready with. She made some three or 
 four gasps before she could get it out; and, when 
 she had uttered it, pressed her hand upon her side, 
 and turned up her eyes, as if she were going to faint 
 away. But, knowing her to labour under a com- 
 plication of internal disorders, which rendered a 
 few drops of spirits indispensable at certain times 
 to her existence, and which came on very strong 
 when that remedy was not at hand, Jonas merely 
 supposed her to be the victim of one of these at- 
 tacks. 
 
 44 Well !" he said, hastily, for he felt how inca- 
 pable he was of confining his wandering attention 
 to the subject. " You and she have arranged to 
 take care of him, have you?" 
 
 Mrs. Gamp replied in the affirmative, and softly 
 discharged herself of her familiar phrase, "Turn 
 and turn about ; one off, one on." But she spoke 
 so tremulously that she felt called upon to add, 
 " which fiddle-strings is weakness to expredge my 
 nerves this night !" 
 
 Jonas stopped to listen. Then said, hurriedly : 
 
 " We shall not quarrel about terms. Let them 
 be the same as they were before. Keep him close, 
 and keep him quiet. He must be restrained. He 
 has got it in his head to-night that my wi: 
 and has been attacking me as if I had killed her. 
 It's — it'rt common With mad people to take the 
 ivorst fancies of those they like best. Is n't it ?" 
 .Mrs. Gamp assented with a short groan. 
 
 " Keep him close, then, or in one of his fits 
 he '11 be doing me a mischief. And don't trust 
 him at any time ; for when he seems most rational, 
 
 he 's wildest in his talk. But that you know al- 
 ready. Let me see the other." 
 
 " The t'other person, sir?" said Mrs. Gamp. 
 
 "Ay! Go you to him and send the other. Quick! 
 I 'm busy." 
 
 Mrs. Gamp took two or three backward step* 
 towards the door, and stopped there. 
 
 " It is your wishes, Mr. Chuzzlewit," she said, 
 in a sort of quavering croak, " to see the t'other 
 person. Is it ?" 
 
 But the ghastly change in Jonaa told her that 
 the other person was already seen. Before she 
 could look round towards the door, she was pat 
 aside by old Martin's hand ; and Chuffey and John 
 Westlock entered with him. 
 
 "Let no one leave the house," said Martin. 
 44 This man is my brother's son. Ill-met, ill- 
 trained, ill-begotten. If he moves from the spot 
 on which he stands, or speaks a word above his 
 breath to any person here, fling up the window, 
 and call for help!" 
 
 "What right have you to give such directions 
 in this house?" asked Jonas, faintly. 
 
 "The right ofyour wrong-doing. Come in there !" 
 
 An irrepresssible exclamation burst from the 
 lips of Jonas, as Lewsome entered at the door. It 
 was not a groan, or a shriek, or a word, but was 
 wholly unlike any sound that had ever fallen on 
 the ears of those who heard it, while at the same 
 time it was the most sharp and terrible expression 
 of what was working in his guilty breast, that na- 
 ture could have invented. 
 
 He had done murder for this! He had girdled 
 himself about with perils, agonies of mind, innu- 
 merable fears, for this ! He had hidden his secret 
 in the wood; pressed and stamped it down into 
 the bloody ground ; and here it started up when 
 least expected, miles upon miles away ; known to 
 many ; proclaiming itself from the lips of an old 
 man who had renewed his strength and vigour as 
 by a miracle, to give it voice against him ! 
 
 He leaned his hand on the back of a chair, and 
 looked at them. It was in vain to try to do so, 
 scornfully ; or with his usual insolenoe. He re- 
 quired the chair for his support. But he made a 
 struggle for it. 
 
 "I know that fellow," he said, fetching hid 
 breath at every word, and pointing his trembling 
 finger towards Lewsome. " He 's the greatest liar 
 alive. What's his last tale? Ha, ha! You're 
 rare fellows, too! Why, that uncle of mine is 
 childish ; he 's even a greater child than his bro- 
 ther, my father, was, in his old age ; or than Chuf- 
 fey is. What the devil do you mean," he added, 
 looking fiercely at John Westlock and Mark 
 Tapley (the latter had entered with Lewsome), 
 "by coming' here, and bringing two idiots and a 
 knave with you to take my house by storm. 
 Hallo, there! Open the door! Turn these strar. 
 gers out!" 
 
 ''I U II you what," cried Mr. Tapley, coming 
 forward, " if it wasn't for your mum, I'd drag 
 you through the streets of my own accord, and 
 single-handed, I would! Ah, I would ! Don't try 
 and look bold at me. You can't do it! Now go on, 
 Sir," this was to old Martin. " Bring the murderin' 
 wag ahum! uj>on his knees! If he wants noise, lie 
 shall have enough of it ; for as sure as he *s a 
 shivcrin' from head to foot, 1*11 raise a uproar at 
 this winder that shall bring half London in. G'f 
 
300 
 
 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 on Sir ! Let him try me once, and see whether 
 I 'm a man of my word or not." 
 
 With that, Mark folded his arms, and took his 
 seat upon the window-ledge, with an air of general 
 preparation for anything, which seemed to imply 
 that he was equally ready to jump out himself, or 
 to throw Jonas out, upon receiving the slightest 
 hint that it would be agreeable to the company. 
 
 Old Martin turned to Lewsome : 
 
 "This is the man," he said, extending his hand 
 towards Jonas. " Is it ?" 
 
 " You need do no more than look at him to be 
 sure of that, or of the truth of what I have said," 
 was the reply. "He is my witness." 
 
 " Oh, brother !" cried old Martin, clasping his 
 hands and lifting up his eyes. " Oh, brother, bro- 
 ther ! Were we strangers half our lives that you 
 might breed a wretch like this, and I make life a 
 desert by withering every flower that grew about 
 me ! Is it the natural end of your precepts and 
 mine, that this should be the creature of your 
 rearing, training, teaching, hoarding, striving for : 
 and I the means of bringing him to punishment, 
 when nothing can repair the wasted past !" 
 
 He sat down upon a chair as he spoke, and 
 turning away his face, was silent for a few mo- 
 ments. Then with recovered energy he pro- 
 ceeded :' 
 
 " But the accursed harvest of our mistaken 
 lives shall be trodden down. It is not too late for 
 that. You are confronted with this man, yon 
 monster there ; not to be spared, but to be dealt 
 with justly. Hear what he. says! Reply, be 
 silent, contradict, repeat, defy, do what you please. 
 My course shall be the same. Go on ! And you," 
 he said to Chuffey, " for the love of your old 
 friend, speak out, good fellow !" 
 
 " I have been silent for his love !" cried the old 
 man. " He urged me to it. He made me promise 
 it, upon his dying bed. I never would have 
 spoken, but for your finding out so much. I have 
 thought about it ever since : I couln't help that : 
 and sometimes I have had it all before me in a 
 dream : but in the day-time, not in sleep. Is 
 there such a kind of dream ?" said Chuffey, look- 
 ing anxiously in old Martin's face. 
 
 As Martin made him an encouraging reply, he 
 listened attentively to his voice ; and smiled. 
 
 " Ah, ay !" he cried. " He often spoke to me 
 like that. We were at school together, he and I. 
 I couldn't turn against his son, you know — bis 
 only son, Mr. Chuzzlewit !" 
 
 " I would to heaven you had been his son !" 
 said Martin. 
 
 " You speak so like my dear old master," cried 
 the old man with a childish delight, " that I almost 
 think I hear him. I can hear you quite as well 
 as I used to hear him. It makes me young again. 
 He never spoke unkindly to me, and I always un- 
 derstood him. I could always see him too, though 
 my sight was dim. Well, well ! He 's dead, he 's 
 dead. He was very good to me, my dear old 
 master?" » 
 
 He shook his head mournfully over the brother's 
 hand. At this moment Mark, who had been 
 glancing out of the window, left the room. 
 
 " I couldn't turn against his only son, you 
 know," said Chuffey. " He has nearly driven me 
 to do it sometimes ; he very nearly did to-night. 
 AU i" cried the old man, with a sudden recollec- 
 
 tion of the cause. " Where is she ! She 's not 
 come home !" 
 
 " Do you mean his wife ?" said Mr. Chuzzlewit. 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " I have removed her. She is in my care, and 
 will be spared the present knowledge of what is 
 passing here. She has known misery enough, 
 without that addition." 
 
 Jonas heard this with a sinking heart. He 
 knew that they were on his heels, and felt that 
 they were resolute to run him to destruction. 
 Inch by inch the ground beneath him was sliding 
 from his feet; faster and faster the encircling 
 ruin contracted and contracted towards himself, 
 its wicked centre, until it should close in and 
 crush him. 
 
 And now he heard the voice of his accomplice 
 stating to his face, with every circumstance of 
 time and place and incident; and openly pro- 
 claiming, with no reserve, suppression, passion, 
 or concealment; all the truth. The truth, which 
 nothing would keep down ; which blood would 
 not smother, and earth would not hide ; the truth, 
 whose terrible inspiration seemed to change do- 
 tards into strong men ; and on whose avenging 
 wings, one whom he had supposed to be at the 
 extremest corner of the earth came swooping 
 down upon him. 
 
 He tried to deny it, but his tongue would not 
 move. He conceived some desperate thought of 
 rushing away, and tearing through the streets ; 
 but his limbs would as little answer to his will as 
 his stark, stiff, staring face. All this time the 
 voice went slowly on, denouncing him. It was 
 as if every drop of blood in the wood had found a 
 voice to jeer him with. 
 
 When it ceased, another voice took up the tale, 
 but strangely : for the old clerk, who had watch- 
 ed, and listened to the whole, and had wrung his 
 hands from time to time, as if he knew its truth 
 and could confirm it, broke in with these words : 
 
 " No, no, no ! you 're wrong ; you 're wrong — 
 all wrong together ! Have patience, for the truth 
 is only known to me !" 
 
 "How can that be," said his old master's bro- 
 ther, " after what you have heard ? Besides, you 
 said just now, above-stairs, when I told you of 
 the accusation against him, that you knew he was 
 his father's murderer." 
 
 " Ay, yes ! and so he was !" cried Chuffey, 
 wildly. "But not as you suppose — not as you 
 suppose. Stay ! Give me a moment's time. I 
 have it all here — all here ! It was foul, foul, cruel, 
 bad ; but not as you suppose. Stay, stay !" 
 
 He put his hands up to his head, as if it throbbed 
 or pained him. After looking about him in a wan- 
 dering and vacant manner for some moments, his 
 eyes rested upon Jonas, when they kindled up 
 with sudden recollection and intelligence. 
 
 " Yes !" cried old Chuffey, " yes ! That 's how 
 it was. It 's all upon me now. He — he got up 
 from his bed before he died, to be sure, to say that 
 he forgave him ; and he came down with me into 
 this room; and when he saw him — his only son, 
 the son he loved — his speech forsook him : he 
 had no speech for what he knew — and no one 
 understood him except me. But I did — I did!" 
 
 Old Martin regarded him in amazement ; so did 
 his companions. Mrs. Gamp, who had said no- 
 thing yet ; but had kept two-thirds of herself be- 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT, 
 
 hind the door, ready for escape, and one-third in 
 the room, ready for siding with the strongest 
 party ; came a little further in and remarked, 
 with a sob, that Mr. Chuffey was " the sweetest 
 old erector goinV 
 
 " H« bought the stuff," said Chuffey, stretching 
 out his arm towards Jonas, while an unwonted 
 fire shone in his eye, end lightened up his face; 
 M he bought the stuff, no doubt, as you have heard, 
 and brought it home. He mixed the stuff — look 
 at him ! — with some sweetmeat in a jar, exactly 
 as the medicine for his father's cough was mixed, 
 and put it in a drawer ; in that drawer yonder ; 
 in the desk; he knows which drawer I mean! 
 He kept it there locked up. But his courage 
 failed him, or his heart was touched — my God ! 
 I hope it was his heart ! He was his only son ! — 
 and he did not put it in the usual place, where my 
 old master would have taken it twenty times 
 a-day." 
 
 The trembling figure of the old man shook with 
 the strong emotions that possessed him. But, 
 with the same light in his eye, and with his arm 
 outstretched, and with his gray hair stirring on 
 his head, he seemed to grow in size, and was like 
 a man inspired. Jonas shrunk from looking at 
 him, and cowered down into the chair by which 
 he had held. It seemed as if this tremendous 
 Truth could make the dumb speak. 
 
 "I know it every word now!" cried Chuffey. 
 44 Every word ! He put it in that drawer, as I 
 have said. He went so often there, and was so 
 secret, that his father took notice of it; and when 
 he was out, had it opened. We were there toge- 
 ther, and we found the mixture — Mr. Chuzzle- 
 wit and I. He took it into his possession, and 
 made light of it at the time ; but in the night he 
 came to my bedside, weeping, and told me that 
 his own son had it in his mind to poison him. 
 1 Oh, Chuff!' he said, • oh, dear old Chuff! a voice 
 came into my room to-night, and told me that this 
 crime began with me. It began when I taught 
 him to be too covetous of what I have to leave, 
 and made the expectation of it his great busi- 
 ness !' Those were his words ; ay, they are his 
 very words ! If he was a hard man now and then, 
 it was for his only son. He loved his only son, 
 and was always good to me !" 
 
 Jonas listened with increased attention. Hope 
 was breaking in upon him. 
 
 " ' lie shall not weary for my death, Chuff:' 
 that was what he said next," pursued the old 
 clerk, as he wiped his eyes; "that was what he 
 said next, crying like a little child : ' He shall not 
 weary for my death, Chuff. He shall have it 
 now ; he shall marry where he has a fancy, Chuff, 
 although it don't please me ; and you and I will 
 go away and live upon a little. I always loved 
 him ; perhaps he'll love me then. It's a dreadful 
 thing to have my own child thirsting for my death. 
 But I might have known it. I have sown, and I 
 must reap. He shall believe that I am taking 
 this; and when I see that he is sorry, and has all 
 he wants. I '11 tell him that I found it out, and 
 I '11 forgive him. He Ml make a better man of 
 his own son, and bo a better man himself, per- 
 haps, Chuff!"' 
 
 Poor Chuffey paused to dry his eyes again. 
 Old Martin's face was hidden in his hands. Jo- 
 nas listened still more keenly, and his breast 
 
 3 A 
 
 I heaved like a swollen water, but with hope. With 
 growing hope. 
 
 dear old master made believe next day,*' 
 said Chuffey, "that he had rfpened the drawer by 
 mistake with a key from the bunch, which hap- 
 pened to fit it (we had one made and hung upon 
 it) ; and that he had been surprised to find his 
 fresh supply of cough medicine in such a place, 
 but supposed it had been put there in a hurry 
 when the drawer stood open. We burnt it; but 
 his son believed that he was taking it — he knows 
 he did. Once Mr. Chuzziewit, to try him, took 
 heart to say it had a strange taste ; and got up 
 directly, and went out." 
 
 Jonas gave a short, dry cough; and, changing 
 his position for an easier one, folded his arms 
 without looking at them, though they could now 
 see his face. 
 
 " Mr. Chuzziewit wrote to her father; I mean 
 the father of the poor thing who's his wife;" said 
 Chuffey; "and got turn to come up: intending 
 to hasten on the marriage. But his mind, like 
 mine, went a little wrong through grief, and then 
 his heart broke. He sank and altered from the 
 time when he came to me in the night; and 
 never held up his head again. It was only a few 
 days, but he had never changed so much in twice 
 the years. 'Spare him, Chuff!' he said, before he 
 died. They were the only words he could speak. 
 'Spare him, Chuff ." I promised him I would. 
 I've tried to do it. He 's his only son." 
 
 In his recollection of the last scene in his old 
 friend's life, poor Chuffey's voice, which had 
 grown weaker and weaker, quite deserted him. 
 Making a motion with his hand, as if he would 
 have said that Anthony had taken it, and had 
 died with it in his, he retreated to the corner 
 where he usually concealed his sorrows ; and was 
 silent. 
 
 Jonas could look at his company now, and 
 vauntingly too. " Well !" he said, after a pause. 
 " Are you satisfied ? Or have you any more of 
 your plots to broach ? Why that fellow. Lew- 
 some, can invent 'em for you by the score. Is 
 this all ? Have you nothing else ?" 
 
 Old Martin looked at him steadily. 
 
 " Whether you are what you seemed to be at 
 Pecksniff's, or are something else and a mounte- 
 bank, I don't know and I don't care," said Jonas, 
 looking downward with a smile, u but I don't 
 want you here. You were here so often when 
 your brother was alive, and were always so fond 
 of him (your dear dear brother and you would 
 have been cuffing one another before this, ecod !) 
 that I'm not surprised at your being attached to 
 the place ; but the place is not attached to you, 
 and you can't leave it too soon, though you may 
 leave it too late. And for my wife, old man, 
 send her home straight, or it will be the worse for 
 her. Ha ha ! You carry it with a high hand 
 too ! But it i9 'nt hanging yot for a man to keep 
 a penn'orth of poison for his own purposes, sad 
 have it taken from him by two old cruzy jolter- 
 heads who go and act a play about it Ha, ha ! 
 Do you see the door ?" 
 
 His base triumph, struggling with his coward 
 ice, and shame, and guilt, was so detestable, thai 
 they turned away from him, as if he were some 
 obscene and filthy animal, repugnant to the sight 
 And here that last black crime »-as busy with 
 
LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 him too ; working- within him to his perdition. 
 But for that, the old clerk's story might have 
 touched him, though never so lightly ; but for 
 that, the sudden removal of so great a load might 
 have brought about some wholesome change even 
 in him. With that deed done, however ; with 
 that unnecessary wasteful danger haunting him ; 
 despair was in his very triumph and relief: wild, 
 ungovernable, raging despair, for the uselessness 
 of the peril into which he had plunged ; despair 
 that hardened him and maddened him, and set 
 his teeth a grinding in the moment of his exulta- 
 tion. 
 
 " My good friend !" said Martin, laying his 
 hand on Chuffey's sleeve. " This is no place for 
 you to remain in. Come with me." 
 
 " Just his old way !" cried Chnffey, looking up 
 into his face. " I almost believe it 's Mr. Chuz- 
 zlewif alive again. Yes ! Take me with you ! 
 Stay though, stay." 
 
 " For what ?" asked Martin. 
 
 " I can't leave her, poor thing- !" said Chuffey. 
 " She has been very good to me. I can't leave 
 her, Mr. Chuzzlewit. Thank you kindly. I'll 
 remain here. I hav'n't long to remain ; it's no 
 great matter." 
 
 As he meekly shook his poor, gray head, and 
 thanked old Martin in these words, Mrs. Gamp, 
 now entirely in the room, was affected to tears. 
 
 "The mercy as it is!" she said, "as sech a 
 dear, good, reverend cretur, never got into the 
 cludges of Betsey Prig, which but for me he 
 would have done, undoubted : facts bein stubborn 
 and not easy drove !" 
 
 " You heard me speak to you just now, old 
 man," said Jonas to his uncle. " I'll have no 
 more tampering with my people, man or woman. 
 Do you see the door ?" 
 
 " Do you see the door ?" returned the voice of 
 Mark, coming from that direction. " Look at it !" 
 
 He looked, and his gaze was nailed there. 
 Fatal, ill-omened, blighted thresh-hold, cursed by 
 his father's footsteps in his dying hour, cursed by 
 his young wife's sorrowing tread, cursed by the 
 daily shadow of the old clerk's figure, cursed by 
 the crossing of his murderer's feet — what men 
 were standing in the doorway ! 
 
 Nadgett, foremost. 
 
 Hark ! It came on, roaring like a sea ! 
 Hawkers burst into the street, crying it up and 
 down ; wiudows were thrown open that the inha- 
 bitants might hear it; people stopped to listen 
 in the road and on the pavement ; the bells, the 
 same bells began to ring : tumbling over one 
 another in a dance of boisterous joy at the disco- 
 very (that was the sound they had in his distem- 
 pered thoughts), and making their airy playground 
 rock. 
 
 " That is the man," said Nadgett. u By the 
 window !" 
 
 Three others came in, laid hands upon him, and 
 secured him. It was so quickly done, that he had 
 not lost sight of the informer's face for an instant 
 when his wrists were manacled together. 
 
 ** Murder," said Nadgett, looking round on the 
 astonished group. " Let no one interfere." 
 
 The sounding street repeated Murder. Barbar- 
 ©us and dreadful Murder ; Murder, Murder, Mur- 
 der. Rolling on from house to house, and echo- 
 ; ng from stone 10 stone, until the voiees died away 
 
 into the distant hum, which seemed to mutter tbe 
 same word. 
 
 They all stood silent : listening, and gazing in 
 each other's faces, as the noise passed on. 
 
 Martin was the first to speak. " What terrible 
 history is this ?" he demanded. 
 
 " Ask him" said Nadgett. " You're his friend^ 
 Sir. He can tell you, if he will. He knows 
 more of it than 1 do, though I know much." 
 
 " How do you know much ?" 
 
 "I have not been watching him so long for 
 nothing," returned Nadgett. " I never watched 
 a man so close as I have watched him." 
 
 Another of the phantom forms of this terrific 
 Truth ! Another of the many shapes in which 
 it started up about him, out of vacancy. This 
 man, of all men in the world, a spy upon him ; 
 this man, changing his identity : casting off his 
 shrinking, purblind, unobservant character, and 
 springing up into a watchful enemy ! The dead 
 man might have come out of his grave, and not 
 'confounded and appalled him so. 
 
 The game was up. The race was at an end ; 
 the rope was woven for his neck. If by a miracle 
 he could escape from this strait, he had but to 
 turn his face another way, no matter where, and 
 there would rise some new avenger front to front 
 with him ; some infant in an hour grown old, or 
 old man in an hour grown young, or blind man 
 with his sight restored, or deaf man with his 
 hearing given him. There was no chance. He 
 sank down in a heap against the wall, and never 
 hoped again, from that moment. 
 
 " I am not his friend, although I have the dis- 
 honour to be his relative," said Mr. Chuzzlewit. 
 " You may speak to me. Where have you 
 watched, and what have you seen ?" 
 
 " I have watched in many places," returned 
 Nadgett, " night and day. I have watched him 
 lately, almost without rest or relief:" his anxious 
 face and bloodshot eyes confirmed it. " I little 
 thought to what my watching was to lead.* As 
 little as he did when he slipped out in the night, 
 dressed in those clothes which he afterwards sunk 
 in a bundle at London Bridge !" 
 
 Jonas moved upon the ground like a man in 
 bodily torture. He uttered a suppressed groan, 
 as if he had been wounded by some cruel wea- 
 pon; and plucked at the iron band upon his 
 wrists, as though (his hands being free) he would 
 have torn himself. 
 
 " Steady, kinsman !" said the chief officer of 
 the party. " Don't be violent." 
 
 " Whom do you call kinsman ?" asked old 
 Martin sternly. 
 
 " You," said the man, " among others." 
 
 Martin turned his scrutinising gaze upon him. 
 He was sitting lazily across a chair with his arms 
 resting on the back : eating nuts, and throwing 
 tbe shells out of window as he cracked them, 
 which he still continued to do, while speaking. 
 
 " Ay," he said, with a sulky nod. "You may 
 deny your nephews till you die ; but Chevy Slyme 
 is Chevy Slyme still, all the world over. Perhaps 
 even you may feel it some disgrace to your own 
 blood to be employed in this way. I 'm to ba 
 bought off." 
 
 " At every turn ?" cried Martin. " Self, self, 
 self. Every one among them for himself!" 
 
 " You had better save one or two among them 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 
 
 the trouble then, and be for them as well as your- 
 self," replied his nephew. ** Look tare 11 me ! 
 Can you see the man of your family, who has 
 ■lore talent in his little finger than all th- 
 their united brains, dressed as a police officer, 
 without being ashamed ? I took up with this 
 trade on purpose to shame you. I did n't think I 
 should have to make a capture in the family, 
 though.* 1 
 
 " If your debauchery, and that of your chosen 
 friends, has really brought you to this level," re- 
 turned the old man, " keep it. You are living 
 honestly, I hoj>e; and that's something." 
 
 44 Don 't be hard upon my chosen friends," re- 
 turned Slyme, 44 for they were sometimes your 
 chosen friends too. Don 't say you never employed 
 my friend Tigg, for I know better. We quarrelled 
 upon it." 
 
 44 iTiired the fellow," retorted Mr. Chuzzlewit, 
 "and I paid him." 
 
 44 It 's well you paid him," said his nephew, 
 ** for it would be too late to do so now. He has 
 given his receipt in full : or had it forced from 
 him rather." 
 
 The old man looked at him as if he were 
 curious to know what he meant, but scorned to 
 prolong their conversation. 
 
 44 1 have always expected that he and I would 
 be brought together again in the course of busi- 
 ness," said Slyme, taking a fresh handful of nuts 
 from his pocket, 44 but I thought he would be 
 wanted for some swindling job : it never entered 
 my head that I should hold a warrant for the ap- 
 prehension of his murderer." 
 
 44 His murderer !" cried Mr. Chuzzlewit, look- 
 ing from one to another. 
 
 44 His or Mr. Montague's," said Nadgett " They 
 are the same, I am told. I accuse him yonder of 
 the murder of Mr. Montague, who was found last 
 night, killed, in a wood. You will ask me why I 
 accuse him, as you have already asked me how I 
 know so much. I'll tell you. It can't remain a 
 secret long." 
 
 The ruling passion of the man expressed itself 
 even then, the tone of regret in which he deplored 
 the approaching publicity of what he knew. 
 
 44 1 told you I had watched him," he proceeded. 
 * I was instructed to do so by Mr. Montague, in 
 whose employment I have been for some time. 
 We had our suspicions of him; and you know 
 what they pointed at, for you have been discussing 
 it since we have been waiting here, outside the 
 room. If you care to hear, now it's all over, in 
 what our suspicions began, I '11 tell you plainly : 
 in a quarrel (it first came to our ears through a 
 hint of his own) between him and another office 
 in Which his father's life was insured, and which 
 had so much doubt and distrust upon the subject, 
 that he compounded with them, and took half the 
 money ; and was glad to do it. Bit by bit, I fer- 
 reted out more circumstances against him, and 
 not a few. It required a little patience ; but it 'a 
 my calling. I found the nurse — here she is to 
 confirm me ; I found the doctor, I found the un- 
 dertaker's man. I found out how the old gentle- 
 tleman there, Mr. ChuflTey, bad behaved at the 
 funeral ; and I found out what this man," touching 
 Lewsomc on the arm, 44 had talked about in his 
 fever. I found out how he conducted himself 
 before his father's death, and how since, and how 
 at the time; and writing it all down, and putting 
 
 it carefully together, made case enough, for Mr. 
 Montague to tax him with the crime, which (as 
 he himself belirved until to-night) he had com- 
 nutted. I was by when this was done. You see 
 him now. He is only worse than he was then.' 
 
 Oh, miserable, miserable fo»»i ! eh, in supports. 
 Ne, excruciating torture! To find alive and 
 active — a party to it all — the brain and right-hand 
 of the secret he had thought to crush ! In whom, 
 though he had walled the murdered man up by 
 enchantment in a rock, the story would have lived 
 pnd walked abroad ! He tried to stop his ears 
 with his fettered arms, that he might shut out the 
 rest 
 
 As he crouched upon the floor, they drew away 
 from him as if a pestilence were in his breath. 
 They fell off, one by one, from that part of the 
 room, leaving him alone upon the ground. Even 
 those who had him in their keeping shunned hint, 
 and (with the exception of Slyme, who was still 
 occupied with his nuts) kept apart. 
 
 44 From that garret-window opposite," said Nad. 
 gett, pointing across the narrow street, " I have 
 watched this house and him for days and nights. 
 From that garret- window opposite I saw him re- 
 turn home, alone, from a journey on which he 
 had set out with Mr. Montague. That was my 
 token that Mr. Montague's end was gained; and 
 I might rest easy on my watch, though I was not 
 to leave it until he dismissed me. But, standing 
 at the door opposite, after dark that same night, I 
 saw a countryman steal out of tiiis house, by a 
 side-door in the court, who had never entered it. 
 I knew his walk, and that it was himself, dis- 
 guised. I followed him immediately. I lost him 
 on the western road, still travelling westward." 
 
 Jonas looked up at him for an instant and mut- 
 tered an oath. 
 
 44 1 could not comprehend what this meant," 
 said Nadgett ; 44 but, having seen so much, I re- 
 solved to see it out, and through. And I did. 
 Learning, on inquiry at his house from his wife, 
 that he was supposed to be sleeping in the room 
 from which I had seen >am go out, and that he 
 had given strict orders not to be disturbed, I 
 knew that he was coming back; and for his 
 coming back I watched. I kept my watch in the 
 street — in doorways, and such places — all that 
 night ; at the same window, all next day ; and 
 when night came on again, in the street once 
 more. For I knew he would come back, as he 
 had gone out, when this part of the town was 
 empty. He did. Early in the morning, the 
 same countryman came creeping, creeping, creep- 
 ing home." 
 
 "Look sharp!" interposed Slyme, who bad 
 now finished his nuts. "This is quite irregular, 
 Mr. Nadgett." 
 
 44 1 kept at the window all day," said Nadgett 
 without heeding him. " I think I never closed 
 my eyes. At night, I saw him come out with a 
 bundle. I followed him again. He went down 
 the steps at London Bridge, and sunk it in the 
 river. I now began to entertain some serious 
 fears, and made a communication to the Police, 
 which caused that bundle to be — " 
 
 •*To be fished up," interrupted Slyme. ** Be 
 alive, Mr. Nadgett." 
 
 44 It contained the dress I had seen him wear, 
 said Nadgett; u stained with clay, and spotted 
 with blood. Information of the murder was re- 
 
304 
 
 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 ceived in town last night. The wearer of that 
 dress is already known to haVe been seen near the 
 place; to have been lurking in that neighbour- 
 hood ; and to have alighted from a coach coming 
 from that part of the country, at a time exactly 
 tallying with the very minute when I saw him 
 returning home. The warrant has been out, and 
 these officers have been with me some hours. We 
 chose our time ; and seeing you come in, and 
 seeing this person at the window — " 
 
 " Beckoned to him," said Mark, taking up the 
 thread of the narrative, on hearing this allusion 
 to himself, " to open the door; which he did with 
 a deal of pleasure." 
 
 "That's all at present," said Nadgett, putting 
 up his great pocket-book, which from mere habit 
 he had produced when he began his revelation, 
 and had kept in his hand all the time ; " but there 
 is plenty more to come. You asked me for the 
 facts so far ; I have related them, and need not 
 detain these gentlemen any longer. Are you 
 ready, Mr. Sly me?" 
 
 "And something more," replied that worthy, 
 rising. " If you walk round to the office, we shall 
 be there as soon as you. Tom ! Get a coach !" 
 
 The officer to whom he spoke departed for that 
 purpose. Old Martin lingered for a few moments, 
 as if he would have addressed some words to 
 Jonas; but looking round, and seeing him still 
 seated on the floor, rocking himself in a savage 
 manner to and fro, took Chuffy's arm, and slowly 
 followed Nadgett out. John Westlock and Mark 
 Tapley accompanied them, Mrs. Gamp had tot- 
 tered out first, for the better display of her feel- 
 ings, in a kind. of walking swoon ; for Mrs. Gamp 
 performed swoons of different sorts, upon a mode- 
 rate notice, as Mr. Mould did funerals. 
 
 "Ha:" muttered Slyme, looking after them. 
 " Upon my soul ! As insensible of being disgraced 
 by having such a nephew as myself, in such a 
 aituation, as he was of my being an honour and a 
 credit tc the family ! That 's the return I get for 
 having humbled my spirit — such a spirit as mine 
 '—to earn a livelihood, is it?" 
 
 He got up from his chair, and kicked it away 
 indignantly. 
 
 "And sueh % a livelihood, too ! When there are 
 hundreds of men, not fit to hold a candle to me, 
 rolling in carriages and living on their fortunes. 
 Upon my soul it 's a nice world i" 
 
 His eyes encountered Jonas, who looked ear- 
 nestly towards him, and moved his lips as if he 
 were whispering. 
 
 "Eh?" said Slyme. 
 
 Jonas glanced at the attendant whose back was 
 towards him, and made a clumsy motion with his 
 bound hands towards the door. 
 
 " Humph !" said Slyme, thoughtfully. " I 
 could 'nt hope to disgrace him into anything when 
 you have shot so far ahead of me though. I for- 
 got that." 
 
 Jonas repeated the same look and gesture. 
 
 "Jack !" said Slyme. 
 
 " Hallo !" returned his man. 
 
 " Go down to the door, ready for the coach. 
 Call out when it comes. I 'd rather have you there. 
 Now then," he added, turning hastily to Jonas, 
 when the man was gone. " What 's the matter ?" 
 
 Jonas essayed to rise. 
 
 " Stop a bit," said Slyme. " It 's not so easy 
 when your wrists are tight together. Now then I 
 Up' Whntisit?" 
 
 " Put your hand in my pocket. Here ! Th« 
 breast-pocket, on the left !" said Jonas. 
 
 He did so; and drew out a purse. 
 
 "There's a hundred pound in it," said Jonas, 
 whose words were almost unintelligible; as his 
 face, in its pallor and agony, was scarcely human. 
 
 Slyme looked at him; gave it into his hands; 
 and shook his head. 
 
 " I can't. I daren't. I couldn't if I dared-. 
 Those fellows below " 
 
 " Escape's impossible," said Jonas. " I know 
 it. One hundred pound for only five minutes in 
 the next room !" 
 
 " What to do !" he asked. 
 
 The face of his prisoner as he advanced to 
 whisper in his ear, made him recoil involuntarily. 
 But he stopped and listened to him. The words 
 were few, but his own face changed as he heard 
 them. 
 
 " I have it about me," said Jonas, putting his 
 hands to his throat, as though whatever he referred 
 to, were hidden in his neck-kerchief. " How 
 should you know of it? How could you know? 
 A hundred pound for only five minutes in the 
 next room ! The time 's passing. Speak !" 
 
 "It would be more — more creditable to the 
 family," observed Slyme, with trembling lips. 
 " I wish you hadn't told me half so much. Less 
 would have served your purpose. You might have 
 kept it to yourself." 
 
 " A hundred pound for only five minutes in the 
 next room ! Speak !" cried Jonas, desperately. 
 
 He took the purse. Jonas, with a wild un- 
 steady step, retreated to the door in the glass par- 
 tition. 
 
 " Stop !" cried Slyme, catching nt his skirts. 
 " I don't know about this. Yet it must end so at 
 last. Are you guilty ?" 
 
 " Yes !" said Jonas. 
 
 " Are the proofs as they were told just now ?" 
 
 " Yes !" said Jonas. 
 
 " Will you — will you engage to say a — a pray- 
 er, or something of that sort ?" faltered Slyme. 
 
 Jonas broke from him without replying, and 
 closed the door between them. 
 
 Slyme listened at the keyhole. After that, he 
 crept away on tiptoe, as far off as he could : and 
 looked awfully towards the place. He was roused 
 by the arrival of the coach, and their letting down 
 the steps. 
 
 " He 's getting a few things together," he said, 
 leaning out of window, and speaking to the two 
 men below, who stood in the full light of a street- 
 lamp. " Keep your eye upon the back, one of 
 you, for form's sake." 
 
 One of the men withdrew into the court. The 
 other, seating himself on the steps of the coach, 
 remained in conversation with Slyme at the win- 
 dow : who perhaps had risen to be his superior, 
 in virtue of his old propensity (once so much 
 lauded by the murdered man) of being always 
 round the corner. A useful habit in his present 
 calling. 
 
 " Where is he ?" asked the man. 
 
 Slyme looked into the room for an instant, and 
 gave his head a jerk, as much as to say, " Close 
 at hand. I see him." 
 
 " He 's booked," observed the man. 
 
 " Through," said Slyme. 
 
 They looked at each other, and up and down 
 the street. The man on the coach-steps took his 
 hat off, and put it on again, and whistled a little 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEVVIT. 
 
 30o 
 
 M I say ! he's taking his time !" he rcmonsrated. 
 
 M I allowed Lira live minutes," said 
 "Time's more than up, though. I'll br, 
 down." 
 
 He withdrew from the window accordingly, 
 and walked on tiptoe to the door in the petition. 
 lie listened. Then was not a sound within. He 
 set tlic candles near it, that they might shine 
 through the glass. 
 
 It was not easy, he found, to make up his mind 
 :>ening of the door. But he flung it wide 
 open suddenly, and with a noise; then retreated. 
 After peeping in and listening again, he entered. 
 rtcd back as his eves met those of Jonas, 
 standing in an angle of the wall, and staring at 
 him. His neck-kerchicf was off; his face was 
 ashy 1 1 
 
 44 You're too soon," said Jonas, with an abject 
 whimper. " I've not had time. I have not been 
 able to do it. I — five minutes more — two minutes 
 more ! — Only one !" 
 
 Slyme gave him no reply, but thrusting the 
 purse upon him and forcing it back into his pocket, 
 called up his men. 
 
 He whined, and cried, and cursed, and entreated 
 tin 'in, and struggled, and submitted, in the same 
 breath, and had no power to stand. But they got 
 liiin away and into the coach, where they put him 
 on a scat, but he scon fell moaning down among 
 th.- straw at the bottom, and lay there. 
 
 The two men were with him ; Slyme being OH 
 
 the box with the driver; and they let him lie. 
 
 I Happening to pass a fruiterer's on their way ; 
 
 | the door of which was open, though the shop 
 
 by this time shut ; one of them remarked how 
 
 faint the peaches smelt 
 
 The other assented at the moment, but pre- 
 scntly stooped down in quick alarm, and looked 
 at the prisoner. 
 
 " Stop the coach ! He has poisoned himself! 
 The smell comes from this bottle in his hand '." 
 
 The hand had shut upon it tight. With that 
 rigidity of grasp with which no living in in, in 
 the full strength and energy of life, can clutch a 
 prize he has won. 
 
 They dragged him out into the dark street ; but 
 jury, judge, and hangman could have done no 
 more, and could do nothing now. Dead, dead, dead. 
 
 CHAPTER L1I. 
 
 IN WHICH THE TABLES ARE TURNED, COMPLETELY UPSIDE DOWN. 
 
 Old Martin's cherished projects, so long hid- 
 den in his own breast, so frequently in danger 
 of abrupt disclosure through the bursting forth 
 of the indignation he had hoarded up, during his 
 residence with Mr. Pecksniff, were retarded, but 
 not beyond a few hours, by the occurrences just 
 now related. Stunned, as he had been at first by 
 the intelligence conveyed to him through Tom 
 Pinch and John Westlock, of the supposed man- 
 ner of his brother's death ; overwhelmed as he 
 was by the subsequent narratives of Chuffey and 
 Nadgett, and the forging of that chain of circum- 
 stances ending in the death of Jonas, of which 
 catastrophe he was immediately informed ; scat- 
 tered as his purposes and hopes were for the mo- 
 ment, by the crowding in of all these incidents 
 between him and his end; still their very inten- 
 sity and the tumult of their aaeeaabatgc M rv< d 
 him to the rapid and unyielding execution of his 
 scheme. In every single circumstance, whether 
 it were cruel, cowardly, or false, he saw the 
 flowering of the same pregnant seed. Self; 
 graspin;:, eager, narrow-ranging, over-reaching 
 self; with ils long train of suspicions, lusts, de- 
 ceits, and all their growing consoquene. 
 the root of the vile tree. Mr. Pecksniff had so 
 presented his character before the old man's eras, 
 that he — the good, the tolerant, enduring Peck- 
 sniff — had become t lie incarnation of all selfish- 
 ncaa and treachery; and the more odious the 
 shapes in which those vices ranged tin mm aV I 
 before him now, the sterner consolation he had in 
 his design of setting Mr. I\ck>niff right, and 
 Mr. Pecksniff's victims too. 
 
 To this work he brought, not only tin 
 ind determination natural tohis character (which, 
 as the tend* I Hi.! v ha\. «,!>•.. rv.d in the beginning 
 of his or her acquaintance- with this gcnlleaean, 
 was remarkable for the strong development of 
 those qualities), but all I mil unnatu- 
 
 rally nurtured energy consequent upon their long 
 m 9a» 
 
 suppression. And these two tides of resolution 
 setting into one and sweeping on, became so 
 strong and vigorous, that, to prevent themselves 
 from being carried away before it, Heaven knows 
 where, was as much as John Westlock and Mark 
 Tapley together (though they were tolerably 
 energetic too), could manage to effect. 
 
 He had sent for John Westlock immediately 
 on his arrival ; and John, under the conduct of 
 Tom Pinch, had waited on him. Having a lively 
 recollection of Mr. Tapley, he had caused that 
 gentleman's attendance to be secured, through 
 John's means, without delay; and thus, as we 
 have seen, they had all repaired, together, to the 
 city. But his grandson he had refused to see 
 until to-morrow, when Mr. Tapley was instructed 
 to summon him to tlic Temple at ten o'clock in 
 the forenoon. Tom he would not allow to be em- 
 ployed in anything, lest he should be wrongfully 
 suspected ; but he was a party to all their pro- 
 ceedings, and was with them until late at night — 
 until after they knew of the death of Jonas; 
 when be went home to tell all these wonders to 
 little Ruth, and to prepare her for accompanying 
 him to the Temple in the morning, agreeably to 
 Mr. Chu/.zlew it's particular injunction. 
 
 It was characteristic of old Martin, and his 
 looking on to something which he had distinctly 
 before him, that he communicated to them n«- 
 thing of his intentions, beyond such hints of r*. 
 prisal on Mr. PccksnitV ai they gathered from the 
 game he had played in that ^ntlrinai's house, 
 and the brightening of his eyes when- 
 name wis mentioned. Even to John Westlock, 
 in whom he was evidently disposed to place great 
 confidence (which may indeed be said of every 
 one of them), he gave no explanation whatever 
 He men ly reqm sted him to return in the morn. 
 • I with this for their utmost satisfaction, 
 t'n y led him, when the night was lar advanced, 
 alone. 
 
306 
 
 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 The events of such a day might have worn j 
 out the body and spirit of a much younger man 
 than he, but he sat in deep and painful medita- 
 tion until the morning was bright. Nor did he 
 even then seek any prolonged repose, but merely 
 slumbered in his chair, until seven o'clock, when 
 Mr. Tapley had appointed to come to him by his 
 desire : and came — as fresh and clean and cheer- 
 ful as the morning itself. 
 
 "You are punctual," said Mr. Chuzzlewit, 
 opening the door to him in reply to his light 
 knock, which had roused him instantly. 
 
 " My wishes, Sir," replied Mr. Tapley, whose 
 mind would appear from the context to have 
 been running on the matrimonial service, " is to 
 love, honour, and obey. The clock's a striking 
 now, Sir." 
 
 M Come in." 
 
 " Thank'ee, Sir," rejoined Mr. Tapley, " what 
 could I do for you first, Sir ?" 
 
 " You gave my message to Martin ?" said the 
 old man, bending his eyes upon him. 
 
 " I did, Sir," returned Mark ; " and you never 
 see a gentleman more surprised in all your born 
 days, than he was." 
 
 " What more did you tell him ?" Mr. Chuzzle- 
 wit inquired. 
 
 "Why, Sir," said Mr. Tapley, smiling, "I 
 should have liked to tell him a deal more, but 
 not being able, Sir, I didn't tell it him." 
 
 " You told him all you knew ?" 
 
 " But it was precious little, Sir," retorted Mr. 
 Tapley. " There was very little respectin' you 
 that I was able to tell him, Sir. I only men- 
 tioned my opinion that Mr. Pecksniff would find 
 himself deceived, Sir, and that you would find 
 yourself deceived, and that he would find himself 
 deceived, Sir." 
 
 " In what ?" asked Mr Chuzzlewit. 
 
 " Meaning him, Sir ?" 
 
 " Meaning both him and me." 
 
 " Well, Sir," said Mr. Tapley. " In your oM 
 opinions of each other. As to him, Sir, and his 
 opinions, I know he's a altered man. I know it. 
 I know'd it long afore he spoke to you t'other 
 day, and I must say it. Nobody don't know 
 half as much of him as I do. Nobody can't. 
 There was always a deal of good in him, but a 
 little of it got crusted over somehow. I can't 
 say who rolled the paste of that 'ere crust my- 
 self, but " 
 
 " Go on," said Martin." " Why do you stop ?" 
 
 " But it — well ! I beg pardon, but I think it 
 may have been you, Sir. Unintentional I think 
 it may have been you. I don't believe that neither 
 of you gave the other quite a fair chance. There ! 
 Now I've got rid on it," said Mr. Tapley in a fit 
 of desperation : " I can't go carryin' it about in 
 my own mind, bustin' myself with it ; yesterday 
 was quite long enough. It's out now. I can't 
 help it. I'm sorry for it. Don't vvisit it on him, 
 Sir, that's all." 
 
 It was quite clear that Mark expected to be 
 ordered out immediately, and was quite prepared 
 to go. 
 
 "So you think," said Martin, "that his old 
 faults are, in some degree, of my creation, do 
 you ?" 
 
 " Well, Sir," retorted Mr. Tapley, " I'm wery 
 worry, but I can't unsay it. It's hardly fair of 
 you, Sir. lo make a ignorant man conwict him- 
 
 self in this way ; but I do think so. I am a& 
 respectful disposed to you, Sir, as a man can be ; 
 but I do think so." 
 
 The light of a faint smile seemed to break 
 through the dull steadiness of Martin's face, as 
 he looked attentively at him, without replying. 
 
 " Yet you are an ignorant man, you say," he 
 observed, after a long pause. 
 
 " Wery much so," Mr. Tapley replied. 
 
 " And I a learned, well-instructed man, you 
 think." 
 
 "Likewise wery much so," Mr. Tapley an- 
 swered. 
 
 The old man, with his chin resting on his 
 hand, paced the room twice or thrice before he 
 added : 
 
 " You have left him this morning ?" 
 
 " Come straight from him now, Sir." 
 
 " For what : does he suppose ?" 
 
 "He don't know wot to suppose, -Sir, no 
 more than myself. I told him jest wot passed 
 yesterday, Sir, and that you had said to me, 
 ' Can you be here by seven in the morning V and 
 that you had said to him, through me, ' Can you 
 be here by ten in the morning V and that I had 
 said ' Yes,' to both. That's all, Sir." 
 
 His frankness was so genuine that it plainly 
 was all. 
 
 "Perhaps," said Martin, "he may think you 
 are going to desert him and to serve me !'' 
 
 " I have served him in that sort of way, Sir," 
 replied Mark, without the loss of any alom of 
 his self-possession ; ' and we have been that sort of 
 companions in misfortune, that my opinion is, 
 he don't believe a word on it. No more than 
 you do, sir." 
 
 " Will you help me to dress, and get me some 
 breakfast from the hotel?" asked Martin. 
 
 " With pleasure, Sir," said Mark. 
 
 " And by-and-by," pursued Martin, " remain- 
 ing in the room, as I wish ycu to do, will you 
 attend to the door yonder — give admission to 
 visitors, I mean, when they knock." 
 
 " Certainly, Sir," said Mr. Tapley. 
 
 " You will not find it necessary to express 
 surprise at their appearance," Martin suggested. 
 
 " Oh dear, no, Sir !" said Mr.Tapley, " not at all.' 
 
 Although he pledged himself to this with per- 
 fect confidence, he was in a state of unbounded 
 astonishment even now. Martin appeared to 
 observe it and to have some sense of the ludi- 
 crous bearing of Mr. Tapley under these perplex- 
 ing circumstances ; for, in spite of the compo- 
 sure of his voice and the gravity of his face, the 
 same indistinct light flickered on the latter seve- 
 ral times. Mark bestirred himself, however, to 
 execute the offices with which he was entrusted ■ 
 and soon lost all tendency to any outward e/ 
 pression of his surprise, in the occupation «/f 
 being brisk and busy. 
 
 But when he had put Mr. Chuzzlewit's clothes 
 in good order for dressing, and when that gentle- 
 man was dressed and sitting at his breakfast. 
 Mr. Tapley's feelings of wonder began to return 
 upon him with great violence ; and, standing 
 beside the old man with a napkin under his arm 
 (it was as natural and easy a joke to Mark to be 
 a butler in the Temple, as it had been to volun- 
 teer as cook on board the Screw), he found it 
 difficult to resist the temptation of casting side- 
 long glances at him very often. Nay, he found 
 
MARTIN CHfJZZLEWIT, 
 
 307 
 
 it impossible ; and accordingly yielded to this I 
 imp&lsA so often, that .M irtin c night him HI the ' 
 fact some fifty times. The extraordinary thi 
 Mr. Tapley did with his own AtOi when any of 
 
 >ns occurred ; the swi< 
 he had to nih Ins ( yesor liis nose or ehin; the l<><>k 
 kmi with which he immediate ly plunged 
 into the deepest thought, or became intensity inte- 
 rested in the manners and customs of the flies 
 ujwn the ceiling, or the sparrows out of doors; 
 ^r the overwhelming politeness with which he 
 endeavoured to hide his confusion by handing 
 the muffin ; may not unreasonably be assumed 
 exeiciscd, the utmost power of feature 
 n Martin Chuzzlewit the elder possessed. 
 
 But he sat perfectly quiet, and took his break- 
 fast at his leisure, or made a show of doing so, for 
 he scarcely ale or drank, and frequently lapsed 
 into long intervals of musing. When he had 
 finished, Mark sat down to his breakfast at the 
 Bame table; and Mr. Chuzzlewit, quite silent still, 
 walked up and down the room. 
 
 Mark cleared away in due course, and set a 
 chair out for him, in which, as the time drew on 
 towards ten o'clock, he took his seat, leaning his 
 hands upon his stick, and clenching them upon 
 the handle, and resting his chin on them again. 
 All his impatience and abstraction of manner 
 had vanished now ; and as he sat there, looking, 
 with his keen eyes, steadily towards the door, 
 Mark could not help thinking what a firm, square, 
 powerful face it 'was ; or exulting in the thought 
 that Mr. Pecksniff, after playing a pretty long 
 game of bowls with its owner, seemed to be at 
 last in a very fair way of coming in for a rubber 
 or two. , 
 
 Mark's uncertainty in respect of what was 
 going to be done or said, and by whom to whom, 
 would have excited him in itself. But knowing 
 for a certainty, besides, that young Martin was 
 coming', and in a very few minutes must arrive, 
 he found it by no means easy to remain quiet and 
 silent. But, excepting that he occasionally 
 coughed in a hollow and unnatural manper to 
 relieve himself, he behaved with great decorum 
 through the longest ten minutes he had ever 
 known. 
 
 A knock at the door. Mr. Westlock. Mr. Tap- 
 ley, in admitting him, raised his eyebrows to the 
 highest possible pitch, implying thereby that he 
 considered himself in an unsatisfactory position. 
 Mi. Chuzzlewit received him very courteously. 
 
 Mark waited at the door for Tom Pinch and 
 his sister, who were coming up the stairs. The 
 old man went to meet them ; took her hands in 
 his; and kissed heron the cheek. As this looked 
 promisingly, Mr. Tapley smiled benignantly. 
 
 Mr. Chuzzlewit had resumed his chair, before 
 young Martin, who was close behind them, en- 
 entered. The old man, scarcely looking at him, 
 pointed to a distant seat. This was less encour- 
 aging ; and Mr. Tapley's spirits fell again. 
 
 !!.• was nnickly summoned to the door by an- 
 other knock. He did not start, or cry, or tumble 
 down, at sight of Miss Graham and Mrs. Lupin ; 
 but he drew a very long breath, and came back 
 perfectly resigned, looking on them and on the 
 rest with an expression which seemed to say that 
 nothing could surprise him any more, and that he 
 
 ther glad to have done with that m 
 for ever. 
 
 The old man received Mary no less tenderly 
 than he had received Tom Pinch's sister. A look 
 of friendly recognition passed between himself 
 and Mrs. Lupin, which implied the existence of a 
 perfect understanding between them. It engen- 
 dered no astonishment in Mr. Tapley ; for, as he 
 afterwards observed, he had retired from the busi- 
 ness, and sold off the stock. 
 
 Not the least curious feature in this assem- 
 blage was, that everybody present was so much 
 surprised and embarrassed by the sight of every- 
 body else, that nobody ventured to speak. Mr. 
 Chuzzlewit alone broke silence. 
 
 " Set the door open, Mark !" he said ; ■ and 
 come here." 
 
 Mark obeyed. 
 
 The last appointed footstep sounded now upon 
 the stairs. They all knew it It was Mr. Peck- 
 sniffs ; and Mr. Pecksniff was in a hurry, too, 
 for he came bounding up with such nncommon 
 expedition that he stumbled twice or thrice. 
 
 ■ Where is my venerable friend !" he cried, up- 
 on the upper landing ; and then with open arms 
 came darting in. 
 
 Old Martin merely looked at him ; but Mr. 
 Pecksniff started back as if he had received the 
 charge of an electric battery. 
 
 " My venerable friend is well ?" cried Mr. 
 Pecksniff. 
 
 "Quite well." 
 
 It seemed to reassure the anxions inquirer. He 
 clasped his hand, and, looking upward with a 
 pious joy, silently expressed his gratitude. He 
 then looked round on the assembled group, and 
 shook his head reproachfully. For such a man 
 severely, quite severely. 
 
 "Oh, vermin!" said Mr. Pecksniff. "Oh, 
 blood-suckers ! Is it not enough that you have 
 embittered the existence of an individual, wholly 
 unparalleled in the biographical records of amia- 
 ble persons ; but must you now, even now, when 
 he has made his election, and reposed his trust in 
 a Numble, but at least sincere and disinterested 
 relative; must you now, vermin and swarmers (I 
 regret to make use of these strong expressions, 
 my dear Sir, but there are times when honest in- 
 dignation will not be controlled), must you now, 
 vermin and swarmers (for I will repeat it), 
 taking advantage of his unprotected state, assem- 
 ble around him from all quarters, as wolves and 
 vultures, and other animals of the feathered 
 tribe assemble round — I will not say round car- 
 rion or a carcass, for Mr. Chuzzlewit is quite the 
 contrary — but round their prey ; their prey ; to 
 rifle and despoil ; gorging their voracious maws, 
 and staining their offensive beaks, with every de 
 scriplion of carnivorous enjoyment !" 
 
 As he stopped to fetch his breath, he waved 
 them off, in a solemn manner, with his ham! 
 
 " Horde of unnatural plunderers and robbers :" 
 he continued ; * Leave him ! leave him, I say ! 
 Begone! Abscond! You had better be off! 
 Wander over the face of the earth, young Sirs 
 like vagabonds as you are, and do not presume to 
 remain in a spot which is hallowed by the gray 
 hairs of the patriarchal gentleman to whose tot 
 tering limbs I have the honour to act as an un 
 worthy, but I hope an unassuming, prop and staff. 
 And you, my tender Sir," said Mr. Pecksniff, ad 
 dressing himself in a tone of gentle remor * 
 to the old man, " how could you ever lc 
 
308 
 
 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 though even for this short period ! You have ab- 
 sented yourself, I do not doubt, upon some act of 
 kindness to me; bless you for it: but you must 
 not do it ; you must not be so venturesome. I 
 should really be angry with you if 1 could, my 
 friend !" 
 
 He advanced with outstretched arms to take 
 the old man's hand. But he had not seen how 
 the hand clasped and clutched the stick within its 
 grasp. As he came smiling on, and got within 
 his reach, old Martin, with his burning indigna- 
 tion crowded into one vehement burst, and flash- 
 ing out of every line and wrinkle of his face, rose 
 up, and struck him down upon the ground. 
 
 With such a well-directed nervous blow, that 
 down he went, as heavily and true as if the 
 charge of a Life-Guardsman had tumbled him out 
 of a saddle. And whether he was stunned by the 
 shock, or only confused by the wonder and novelty j 
 of this warm reception, he did not offer to get up 
 again; but lay there, looking about him, with a 
 disconcerted meekness in his face so enormously 
 ridiculous, that neither Marl*' Tapley nor John 
 Westlock could repress a smile, though both were 
 actively interposing to prevent a repetition of the 
 blow ; which the old man's gleaming eyes and 
 vigorous attitude seemed to render one of the 
 most probable events in the world. 
 
 " Drag him away ! Take him out of my reach !" 
 *5aid Martin. " Or I can't help it. The strong 
 restraint I have put upon my hands has been 
 enough to palsy them. I am not master of my- 
 self, while he is within their range. Drag him 
 away !" 
 
 Seeing that he still did not rise, Mr. Tapley, 
 without any compromise about it, actually did 
 drag him away, and stick him up on the floor, 
 with his back against the opposite wall. 
 
 " Hear me, rascal !" said Mr. Chuzzlewit. " I 
 have summoned you here to witness your own 
 work. I have summoned you here to witness it, 
 because I know it will be gall and wormwood to 
 you ! I have summoned you here to witness it, 
 because I know the sight of every body here must 
 be a dagger in your mean false heart! What! 
 do you know me as I am, at last!" 
 
 Mr. Pecksniff had cause to stare at him, for the 
 triumph in his face and speech and figure was a 
 sight to stare at. 
 
 "Look there!" said the old man, pointing at 
 him, and appealing to the rest. "Look there! 
 And then — Come hither, my dear Murtin — look 
 here! here! here!" At every earnest repetition 
 of the word he pressed his grandson closer to his 
 breast." 
 
 "The passion I felt, Martin, when I dared not 
 do this," he said, "was in the blow I struck just 
 now. Why did we ever part ! How could we 
 ever part ! How could you ever fly from me to 
 him?" 
 
 Martin was about to answer, but he stopped 
 him, and went on. 
 
 "The fault was mine no less than yours. Mark 
 has told me so to-day, and I have known it long ; 
 though not so long as I might have done. Mary, 
 my love, come here." 
 
 As she trembled and was very pale, he sat her 
 in his own chair, and stood beside it with her 
 hand in his; and Martin standing by him. 
 
 "The curse of our house," said the old man, 
 looking kindly down upon her, "has been the 
 
 love of self; has ever been the love of self. Ho\r 
 often have I said so, when I never knew that I 
 had wrought it upon others !" 
 
 He drew one hand through Martin's arm, and 
 standing so, between them, proceeded thus : 
 
 " You all know how I bred this orphan up, to 
 tend me. None of you can know by what degrees 
 I have come to regard her as a daughter; for 
 she has won upon me, by her self-forgetfulness, 
 her tenderness, her patience, all the goodness of 
 her nature, when Heaven is her witness that I 
 took but little pains to draw it forth. It blossomed 
 without cultivation, and it ripened without heat. 
 I cannot find it in my heart to say that I am sorry 
 for it now, or yonder fellow might be holding up 
 his head." 
 
 Mr. Pecksniff put his hand into his waistcoat, 
 and slightly shook that part of him to which allu- 
 sion had been made : as if to signify that it was 
 still uppermost. 
 
 " There is a kind of selfishness," said Martin : 
 " I have learned it in my own experience of my 
 own breast : which is constantly upon the watch 
 for selfishness in others; and holding others at a 
 distance by suspicions and distrusts, wonders why 
 they don't approach, and don't confide, and calls 
 that selfishness in them. Thus I once doubted 
 those about me — not without reason in the be- 
 ginning — and thus I once doubted you, Martin." 
 
 "Not without reason," Martin answered; 
 " either." 
 
 " Listen, hypocrite ! Listen, smooth-tongued, 
 servile, crawling knave !" said Martin. "Listen, 
 you shallow dog. What! When I was seeking 
 him, you had already spread your nets ; you were 
 already fishing for him, were ye? When I lay 
 ill in this good woman's house, and your meek 
 spirit pleaded for my grandson, you had already 
 caught him, had ye ? Counting on the restora- 
 tion of the love you knew I bore him, you designed 
 him for one of your two daughters, did ye? Or 
 failing that, you traded in him as a speculation 
 which at any rate should blind me with the lustre 
 of your charity, and found a claim upon me ! 
 Why, even then I knew you, and I told you so. 
 Did I tell you that I knew you, even then ?" 
 
 " I am not angry, Sir," said Mr. Pecksniff, 
 softly. " I can bear a great deal from you. I 
 will never contradict you, Mr. Chuzzlewit." 
 
 " Observe !" said Martin, looking round. " I 
 put myself in that man's hands on terms as 
 mean and base, and as degrading to himself as I 
 could render them in words. I stated them at 
 length to him, before his own children, syllable 
 by syllable, as coarsely as I could, and with as 
 much offence, and with as plain an exposition of 
 my contempt, as words — not looks and manners 
 merely — could convey. If I had only called the 
 angry blood into his face, I would have wavered in 
 my purpose. If I had only stung him into being 
 a man for a minute I would have abandoned it. 
 If he had offered me one word of remonstrance, 
 in favour of the grandson whom he supposed I 
 had disinherited ; if he had pleaded with me, 
 though never so faintly, against my appeal to him 
 to abandon him to misery and cast him from his 
 house ; I think I could have borne with him for 
 ever afterwards. But not a word, not a word. 
 Pandering to the worst of human passions was 
 the office of his nature; and faithfully he did his 
 work!" 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 
 
 309 
 
 ■ I am not angry," observed Mr. Pecksniff. 
 "I am hurt, Mr. Chuzzlewit : wounded in my 
 feelings : but I am not angry, my good air." 
 
 Mr. Chuzzlewit resumed. 
 
 "Omv nsolved to try him, I was resolute to 
 the trial to the end ; hut while I was bent 
 jn fathoming the depth of his duplicity, I made 
 i sacred compact with myself that 1 would give 
 ■ lit on the other side for any latent sp ai k of 
 goodness, honour, forbearance — any virtue — that 
 might glimmer in him. From first to last, there 
 has been no such thing. Not once. He cannot 
 say I have not given him opportunity. Ho can- 
 not say I have ever led him on. He cannot say 
 I have not left him freely to himself in all things; 
 or that I have not been a passive instrument in 
 Ins hands, which he might have used for good as 
 easily as evil. Or if he can, he lies 1 And that's 
 his nature too. 
 
 ' " Mr. Chuzzlcwit," interrupted Pecksniff, shed- 
 ding tears ; *' I am not angry, sir. I cannot be 
 angry with you. But did you never, my dear 
 »ir, express a desire that the unnatural young 
 man who hy his wicked arts has estranged your 
 good opinion from me, for the time being: only 
 for the time being: that your grandson, Mr. 
 Chuzzlcwit, should be dismissed my house ? 
 Recollect yourself, my Christian friend." 
 
 " I have said so, have I not ?" retorted the old 
 man sternly. " I could not tell how far your 
 specious hypocrisy had deceived him, knave ; and 
 knew no better way of opening his eyes than by 
 presenting you before him in your own servile 
 character. Yes. I did express that desire. And 
 you leaped to meet it ; and you met it ; and turn- 
 ing in an instant on the hand you had licked and 
 beslavered, as only such hounds can, you strength- 
 ened, and confirmed, and justified me in my 
 scheme." 
 
 Mr. Pecksniff made a bow ; a submissive, not 
 to say, a grovelling and an abject bow. If he 
 had been complimented on his practice of the 
 loftiest virtues, he never could have bowed as he 
 bowed then. 
 
 " The wretehed man who has been murdered," 
 Mr. Chuzzlcwit went on to say; "then passing 
 by the name of — " 
 
 ''Tigjr," suggested Mark. 
 
 •K)fTigg, brought begging messages to me, 
 on behalf of a friend of his, and an unworthy 
 relative of mine; and finding him a man well 
 f noiiL'h suited to my purpose, I employed him to 
 gleal) some news of you, Martin, for me. It 
 was from him 1 learned that you had taken up 
 your abode with yonder fellow. It was he, who 
 meeting you here, in town, one ovening — you 
 remember where ?" 
 
 44 At the pawnbroker's shop," said Martin. 
 
 44 Yes ; watched you to your lodging, and ena- 
 bled me to send you a bank note." 
 
 44 1 lately thought," said Martin, greatly moved, 
 
 44 that it had come from you. I little thought 
 
 i were interested in my fate. If I had — " 
 
 44 If you had," returned the old man, sorrow. 
 fully, ,4 you would have shown less knowledge of 
 me as I seemed to be, and as I really was. I 
 hoped to bring you back, Martin, penitent and 
 ham bled. I hoped to distress you into coming 
 hack to me. Much as I loved you, I had that 
 to acknowledge which I could not reconcile it to 
 myself to avow then, unless you aide enbfuitrioa 
 to me, first Thus it was I lost you. If I have 
 
 had, indirectly, any act or part in the fate of that 
 unhappy man, by putting means, however small, 
 within his reach, Heaven forgive me ! I might 
 have known, perhaps, that he would misuse 
 money; that it was ill bestowed upon him; and 
 that, sown by his hands, it could engender mis- 
 ehirf only. Hut I never thought of him at that 
 time, as having the disposition or abdity to be a 
 serious impostor, or otherwise than as a thought- 
 less, idle-humoured, dissipated spendthrift, sin- 
 ning more against himself than others, and fre- 
 quenting low haunts and indulging vicious tastes, 
 to his own ruin only." 
 
 44 Beggin' your pardon, sir," said Mr. Tapley, 
 who had Mrs. Lupin on his arm by this time, 
 quite agreeably ; "if I may make so bold as say 
 so, my opinion is, as you was quite correct, and 
 that he turned out perfectly nat'ral for all that. 
 There's a surprising number of men, sir, who, as 
 long as they've only got their own shoes and 
 stockings to depend upon, will walk downhill 
 along the gutters quiet enough, and by them- 
 selves, and not do much harm. But set any on 
 'em up with a coach and horses, sir ; and it's 
 wonderful what a knowledge of drivin' he'll 
 show, and how he'll fill his wehicle with passen- 
 gers, and start off in the middle of the road, neck 
 or nothing, to the devil ! Bless your heart, sir, 
 there's ever so many Tiggs a passing this here 
 Temple-gate any hour in the day, that only want 
 a chance to turn out full-blown Montagues every 
 one !" 
 
 44 Your ignorance, as you call it, Mark," said 
 Mr. Chuzzlcwit, " is wiser than some men's en- 
 lightenment, and mine among them. You are 
 right; not for the first time to-day. Now hear 
 me out, my dears. And hear me, you, who, if 
 what I have been told be accurately stated, are 
 bankrupt in pocket no less than in good name ! 
 And when you have heard me, leave this place, 
 and poison my sight no more !" 
 
 Mr. Pecksniff laid his hand upon his breast, 
 and bowed again. 
 
 44 The penance I have done in this house," 
 said Mr. Chuzzlewit, " has carried this reflection 
 with it constantly, above all others. That if it 
 had pleased Heaven to visit such infirmity on 
 my old age as really had redueed me to the state 
 in which I feigned to be, I should have brought 
 its misery upon mysolf. Oh you whose wealth, 
 like mine, has been a source of continual unhap- 
 pincss, leading you to distrust the nearest and 
 dearest, and to dig yourself a living grave of sus- 
 picion and reserve ; take heed that, having cast 
 off all whom you might have bound to you, and 
 tenderly, you do not become in your decay the 
 instrument of such a man as this, and waken in 
 another world to the knowledge of such wrong, 
 as would embitter 1 1 If, if wrong or you 
 
 could ever reach it !" 
 
 And then he told them, how he had sometimes 
 thought, in the beginning', that love mi^ht grow 
 up between Mary and Martin ; and how he had 
 pleased his fancy with the picture of observing 
 it when it was new, and taking them to task, 
 apart, in counterfeited doubt, and then confessing 
 to them that it had been an object dear to his 
 heart ; and by his sympathy with them, and 
 generoni provision for their young fortune* 
 establishing a claim on their affection and re- 
 gard whieh nothing should wither, and which 
 should surround his old age with means of hip- 
 
310 
 
 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 piness. How, in the first dawn of this design, 
 and when the pleasure of such a scheme for the . 
 happiness of others was new and indistinct 
 within him, Martin had come to tell him that he 
 had already chosen for himself; knowing that 
 he, the old man, had some faint project on that 
 head, but ignorant whom it concerned. How it 
 was little comfort to him to know that Martin 
 had chosen her, because the grace of his design 
 was lost, and because, finding that she had re- 
 turned his love, he tortured himself with the 
 reflection that they, so young, to whom he had 
 been so kind a benefactor, were already like the 
 world, and bent on their own selfish, stealthy 
 ends. How, in the bitterness of this impression, 
 and of his past experience, he had reproached 
 Martin so harshly, (forgetting that he had never 
 invited his confidence on such a point, and con- 
 founding what he had meant to do with what he 
 had done,) that high words sprung up between 
 them, and they separated in wrath. How he 
 loved him still, and hoped he would return. 
 How on the night of his illness at the Dragon, 
 .he had secretly written tenderly of him, and 
 made him his heir, and sanctioned his marriage 
 with Mary; and how, after his interview with 
 Mr. Pecksniff, he had distrusted him again, and 
 burnt the paper to ashes, and had lain down in 
 his bed distracted by suspicions, doubts, and 
 regrets. 
 
 And then he told them how, resolved to probe 
 this Pecksniff, and to prove the constancy and 
 truth of Mary (to himself no less than Martin), 
 he had conceived and entered on his plan ; and 
 how, beneath her gentleness and patience, he had 
 softened more and more ; still more and more 
 beneath the goodness and simplicity, the honour 
 and the manly faith of Tom. And when he spoke 
 of Tom, he said God bless him ! and the tears 
 were in his eyes ; for he said that Tom, mis- 
 trusted and disliked by him at first, had come 
 like summer rain upon his heart; and had dis- 
 posed it to believe in better things. And Martin 
 took him by the hand, and Mary too, and John, 
 his old friend, stoutly too ; and Mark, and Mrs. 
 Lupin, and his sister, little Ruth. And peace of 
 mind, deep, tranquil peace of mind, was in Tom's 
 heart. 
 
 The old man then related how nobly Mr. Peek- 
 sniff had performed the duty in which he stood 
 indebted to society, in the matter of Tom's dis- 
 missal ; and how, having often heard disparage- 
 ment of Mr. Westlock from Pecksnifnan lips, 
 and knowing him to be a friend to Tom, he had 
 used, through his confidential agent and solicitor, 
 that little artifice which had kept him in readi- 
 ness to receive his unknown friend in London. 
 And he called on Mr. Pecksniff (by the name of 
 Scoundrel) to remember that there again he had 
 not trapped him to do evil, but that, he had done 
 it of his own free will and agency ; nay, that he 
 had cautioned him against it. And once again 
 he called on Mr. Pecksniff (by the name of Hang- 
 dog) to remember that when Martin coming 
 home at last, an altered man, had sued for the 
 forgiveness which awaited him, he, Pecksniff, 
 had rejected him in language of his own, and 
 had remorselessly stepped in between him and 
 the least touch of natural tenderness. " For 
 which," said the old man, " if the bending of my 
 finger would remove a halter from your neck, I 
 wouldn't bend it !" 
 
 " Martin," he added, " your rival has not been 
 
 a dangerous one, but Mrs. Lupin here, has played 
 duenna for some weeks ; not so much to watch 
 your love as to watch her lover. For thatGhoule" 
 — his fertility in finding names for Mr. Pecksniff 
 was astonishing — " would have crawled into her 
 daily walks otherwise, and polluted the fresh air. 
 What's this? Her hand is trembling strangely. 
 See if you can hold it." 
 
 Hold it ! If he clasped it half as tightly as 
 
 he did her waist. Well, well ! That's dan 
 
 gerous. 
 
 But it was good in him that even then, in his 
 high fortune and happiness, with her lips nearly 
 printed on his own, and her proud young beauty 
 in his close embrace, he had a hand still left tc 
 stretch out to Tom Pinch. 
 
 " Oh, Tom ! Dear Tom ! I saw you, acciden 
 tally, coming here. Forgive me !" 
 
 " Forgive !" cried Tom. " I'll never forgive you 
 as long as I live, Martin, if you say another syl- 
 lable about it. Joy to you both ! Joy, my dear 
 fellow, fifty thousiind times." 
 
 Joy ! There is not a blessing on earth that 
 Tom did not wish them. There is not a blessing 
 on earth that Tom would not have bestowed upon 
 them, if he could. 
 
 " I beg your pardon, Sir," said Mr. Tapley, 
 stepping forward ; " but you was mentioning just 
 now, a lady of the name of Lupin, Sir." 
 
 " I was," returned old Martin. 
 
 " Yes, Sir. It's a pretty name, Sir ?" 
 
 " A very good name," said Martin. 
 
 " It seems a'most a pity to change such a 
 name into Tapley. Don't it, Sir ?" said Mark. 
 
 " That depends upon the lady. What is her 
 opinion ?" 
 
 " Why, Sir," said Mr. Tapley, retiring, with a 
 bow, towards the buxom hostess, " her opinion is 
 as the name ain't a change for the better, but the 
 indiwidual may be ; and therefore, if nobody 
 ain't acquainted with no jest cause or impedi- 
 ment, et cetrer, the- Blue Dragon will be con- 
 werted into the Jolly Tapley. A sign of my 
 own inwention, Sir. Wery new, conwivial, and 
 expressive !" 
 
 The whole of these proceedings were so agree- 
 able to Mr. Pecksniff, that he stood with his eyes 
 fixed upon the floor and his hands clasping one 
 another alternately, as if a host of penal sen- 
 tences were being passed upon him. Not only 
 did his figure appear to have shrunk, but his dis- 
 comfiture seemed to have extended itself, even to 
 his dress. His clothes seemed to have grown 
 shabbier, his linen to have turned yellow, his hair 
 to have become lank and frowsy; his very boots 
 looked villanous and dim, as if their gloss had de- 
 parted with his own. 
 
 Feeling, rather than seeing, that the old man 
 now pointed to the door, he raised his eyes, picked 
 up his hat, and thus addressed him: 
 
 * Mr. Chuzzlcwit, Sir ! you have partaken oi 
 my hospitality." 
 
 " And paid for it," he observed. 
 
 " Thank you. That savours," said Mr. Peck- 
 sniff, taking out his pocket-handkerchief, " of 
 your old familiar frankness. You have paid for 
 it. I was about to make the remark. You have 
 deceived me, Sir. Thank you again. I am glad 
 of it. To see you in the possession of your health 
 and faculties on any terms, is, in itself, a .suffi- 
 cient recompense. To have been deceived, im- 
 plies a trusting nature. Mine is a trusting na- 
 ture. I am thankful for it. I would rather havt 
 
MARTIN CIIUZZLEWIT. 
 
 311 
 
 a trusting niture, do you know, Sir, than a 
 doubting one !" 
 
 Jim- .Mr. Pecksniff, with ;i sad mile, I 
 and wiped his < . 
 
 ••There is hardly any |>< tm.ii present, Mr. 
 Chuzzle u it," said reckanifi, k by whom I have 
 riot been deci iv( d. J have forgiven those persons 
 
 00 the spot. 'I'll. it was my duly ; and, of course, 
 
 1 have done it. Whether it v. ai worthy of you 
 
 . ;,»■ of my hospitality, and to art t ; . 
 you did act in my Iioubc ; that, Sir, is a question 
 which 1 leave to your own i onscience. And 
 your conscience docs not acquit you. Wo, Sir, 
 no!" 
 
 Pronouncing these last words in a loud nnd 
 solemn voice, Bar. Pecksniff was not so absolutely 
 lost in his own ii rvour as to be unmindl'nl of the 
 expcdi( ing a little neari r to the door. 
 
 " I have been struck this day," said Mr. Tee!;- 
 
 sniff, "with a walking-stick, which I have evi ry 
 
 reason to believe has knobs upon it: on that 
 
 delicate and exquisite portion of the human 
 
 anatomy, the brain. Several blows havi 
 
 in tl n tn!, Sir, without a walking-stick, upon that 
 
 r portion of m f frame : my heart. You 
 
 have Mentioned, Sir, my being bankrupt in my 
 
 1 am. By an unfortunate 
 
 lined with treachery, I find 
 
 myself reduced to poverty; at a time, Sir, when 
 
 the child of my bosom is widowed, and affliction 
 
 and disgrace are in my family." 
 
 Here Mr. Pecksniff wiped his eyes again, and 
 gave himself two or three little knocks upon the 
 breast, as it' he were answering two or three other 
 little knocks from within, given by the tinkling 
 hammer of his conscience, to express u Cheer up, 
 my boy !" 
 
 44 1 know the human mind, although I trust 
 it. That is my weakness. Do I not know, Sir ;" 
 here he became exceedingly plaintive, and was 
 observed to glance towards Tom Pinch ; " that 
 my misfortunes bring this treatment on mc ? Do 
 1 not know, Sir, that but for them 1 never should 
 have heard what I have heard to-day ? Do I not 
 know, that in the silence and the solitude of 
 night, a little voice will whisper in your car, Mr. 
 Chuzzlcwit, 'This was not well. This was not 
 well, Sir ! Think of this, Sir (if you will have 
 the goodness), remote from the impulses of pas- 
 sion, and apart from the specialities, it 1 may use 
 that strong remark, of prejudice. And if you 
 ever contemplate the silent tomb, Sir, which you 
 will excuse me for entertaining some doubt of 
 your doing, after the conduct into which you 
 have allowed yourself to be betrayed this day ; if 
 you ever contemplate the silent tomb, Sir, think 
 of me. If you find yourself approaching to the 
 silent tomb, Sir, think of me. If you should wish 
 to have any thing inscribed upon your silent 
 tomb, Sir, let it be, that I — ah, my re morse ful 
 Sir! that I — the humble individual who h.i^ now 
 the honour of reproaching you : 
 That I forgave you when my injur 'l< 
 
 and when my bosom was newly wrung. It may 
 
 be bitterness to you to I but you 
 
 will live to seek i p in it. M 
 
 find a consolation in it when you want it, Sir! 
 Good morni 
 
 With this sublime address Mr. Pecksniff dc 
 
 f»artcd. I Jut the < lV< ( t of hi> departure was much 
 mpaired by his being immediately afterwards 
 run against, and nearly knocked down, by a 
 monstrously-cxcited little man in velveteen shorts 
 
 and a very tall hut ; who came bursting up the 
 stairs, and straight into the chambers of Mr. 
 
 Chuzzle wit, ; deranged. 
 
 texe any body here that knows him?" 
 cried the little man. " Is there any body here 
 that knows him ? Oh, my stars, is there any 
 body here that knows him .'" 
 
 They looked at each other for an explanation; 
 but nobody knew any thing more than that here 
 was :.n excited little man with a very tall baton, 
 running in and out of the room as hard as he 
 could go ; making his single pair of bright blue 
 stockings appear at least a dozen ; and const .ntly 
 repeating, in a shrill voice, " h there any body 
 here that knows him ?" 
 
 " If your brains is not turned topjy turjey, Mr. 
 Swcedlcpipes!" exclaimed another voice, "hold 
 that there nige of yourn, I beg you, Sir." 
 
 At the same time, Mrs. Gamp was ieen in the 
 doorway ; out of breath from coming up so many 
 stiiirs, and panting fearfully; but dropping curt- 
 seys to the last. 
 
 44 Excuge the weakness of the man," said Mrs. 
 Gamp, eyeing Mr. Swecdlepipe, with great in- 
 dignatiou ; "and well 1 might expect it, as I 
 should have know'd and wishin he was drownded 
 in the Thames afore I had brought him here, 
 which not a blessed hour ago he nearly shaved 
 the noge off from the father of as lovely a family 
 as ever, Mr. Chuzzle wit, was born three sets of 
 twins, and would have done it, tnly he see it 
 a goin in the glass, and dodged the ragcr. And 
 never, Mr. Swcedlcpipes, 1 do assure you, Sir, 
 did I so well know what a inisfortun it was to 
 be acquainted with you, as now I d<>, which so I 
 say, Sir, arid I don't deceive you ?" 
 
 44 I ask your pardon, ladies and gentlemen all," 
 cried the little barber, taking off his hat, u and 
 yours too, Mrs. Gamp. But — but," he added this, 
 half laughing and half crying, 4i Is there any 
 body here that knows him?" 
 
 As the barber said these words, a something 
 in top-boots, with its head bandaged up, dag- 
 gered into the room, and began going round and 
 round and round, apparently under the impres- 
 sion that it was walking straight forward. 
 
 44 Look at him !" cried the excited little barber. 
 44 Mere be is ! That'll soon wear off, and then 
 he'll be all right again. He's no more dead than 
 T am. He's all alive and hearty. Ain't you, 
 Bailey ?" 
 
 44 R — r — reether so, Poll !" replied that gentle- 
 man. 
 
 44 Look here !" cried the little barber, laughing 
 and crying in the Fame breath. ,4 When I steady 
 him he com. ■ all i ight. There ! He's all right 
 now. Nothing's the matter with him now, ex- 
 cept that Ik's a little shook and rather giddy ; is 
 there, Bailey ?" 
 
 44 11 — r— reether shook, Poll — reether so ! ' said 
 Mr. 1! liley. '• What, my lovely Sairey ! 
 you air!" 
 
 44 What a boy he is!" cried the tender- 1 
 Poll, actually sobbing over him. ** I ne\ 
 such a boy! It's? all his fun. He's full of it 
 He shall go into th< along with inc. I 
 
 rmined he shall. We'll make it S« 
 pi|Kj and Bailey. He shall have the sporting 
 branch (wbal '!! bo for the matches!) 
 
 and me the shavin'. I'll m ike over the birds to 
 him as soon as ever he's well enough. He shall 
 have the little bullfinch in the shop, and all. He's 
 •ech a bov 1 I ask your pardon, ladies and gea> 
 
312 
 
 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 tlemen, but I thought there might be some one 
 liere that know'd him !" 
 
 Mrs. Gamp had observed, not without jealousy 
 and scorn, that a favourable impression appeared 
 to exist in behalf of Mr. Svveedlepipe and his 
 young friend ; and that she had fallen rather 
 into the background in consequence. She now 
 struggled to the front, therefore, and stated her 
 business. 
 
 " Which, Mr. Chuzzlewit," she said, " is well 
 beknown to Mrs. Harris as has one sweet infant 
 (though she do not wish it known) in her own 
 family by the mother's side, kep in spirits in a 
 bottle ; and that sweet babe she see at Greenwich 
 Fair, a travellin in company with the pink-eyed 
 lady, Prooshan dwarf, and iivin skelinton, which 
 judge her feelins wen the barrel organ played, 
 and she was showed her own dear sister's child, 
 the same not bein expected from the outside pic- 
 ter, where it was painted quite contrairy in a 
 livin state, a many sizes larger, and performing 
 beautiful upon the Arp, which never did that 
 dear child know or do : since breathe it never 
 did, to speak on, in this wale! And Mrs. Harris, 
 Mr. Chuzzlewit, has knowed me many year, 
 and can give you information that the lady which 
 is widdered can't do better and may do worse, 
 than let me wait upon her, which I hope to do. 
 Permittin the sweet faces as I see afore me." 
 
 " Oh !" said Mr. Chuzzlewit. " Is that your 
 business? Was this good person paid for the 
 trouble we gave her ?" 
 
 " I paid her, sir," returned Mark Tapiey ; 
 " liberal." 
 
 " The young man's words is true," said 
 Mrs. Gamp, " and thank you kindly." 
 
 " Then here we will close our acquaintance, 
 Mrs. Gamp," retorted Mr. Chuzzlewit. "And 
 Mr. Svveedlepipe — is that your name ?" 
 
 " That is my name, sir," replied Poll, accept- 
 ing with a profusion of gratitude, some chinking 
 pieces which the old man slipped into his hand. 
 
 " Mr. Sweedlepipe, take as much care of your 
 lady-lodger as you can, and give her a word or 
 two of good advice now and then. Such," said 
 old Martin, looking gravely at the astonished 
 Mrs. Gamp, " as hinting at the expediency of a 
 little less liquor, and a little more humanity, and 
 a little less regard for herself, and a little more 
 
 regard for her patients, and perhaps a trifle of 
 additional honesty. Or when Mrs. Gamp gets 
 into trouble, Mr. Sweedlepipe, it had better not 
 be at a time when I am near enough to the Old 
 Bailey, to volunteer myself as a witness to her 
 character. Endeavour to impress that upon her 
 at your leisure, if you please." 
 
 Mrs. Gamp clasped her hands, turned up her 
 eyes till they were quite invisible, threw back 
 her bonnet for the admission of fresh air to her 
 heated brow ; and in the act of saying faintly — 
 "Less liquor! — Sairey Gamp! — Bottle on the 
 chimley- piece, and let me put my lips to it when 
 I am so dispoged !"- — fell into one of the walking 
 swoons: in which pitiable state she was con- 
 ducted forth by Mr. Sweedlepipe, who between 
 his two patients, the swooning Mrs. Gamp and 
 the revolving Bailey, had enough to do, pooj 
 fellow. 
 
 The old man looked about him, with a smile- 
 until his eyes rested on Tom Pinch's sister 
 when he smiled the more. 
 
 " We will all dine together," he said ; " and as 
 you and Mary have enough to talk of, Martin, 
 you shall keep house for us until the afternoon, 
 with Mr. and Mrs. Tapiey. I must see your 
 lodgings in the meanwhile, Tom." 
 
 Tom was quite delighted. So was Ruth. She 
 would go with them. 
 
 " Thank you, my love," said Mr. Chuzzlewit. 
 " But I am afraid I must take Tom a little out 
 of the way, on business. Suppose you go on 
 first, my dear ?" 
 
 Pietty little Ruth was equally delighted to do 
 that. 
 
 " But not alone," said Martin, " not alone. 
 Mr. Westlock, I dare say, will escort you." 
 
 Why, of course he would : what else had 
 Mr. VVestlock in his mind? How dull these old 
 men are ! 
 
 " You are sure you have no engagement ?" he 
 persisted. 
 
 Engagement ! As if he could have any en. 
 gagemeot. 
 
 So they went off arm in arm. When Tom 
 and Mr. Chuzzlewit went off arm in arm a few 
 minutes after them, the latter was still smiling: 
 and really, for a gentleman of his habits, in 
 rather a knowing manner. 
 
 CHAPTER LIII. 
 
 WHAT JOHN WESTLOCK SAID TO TOM PINCH'S SISTER; WHAT TOM PINCH'S SISTER 
 SAID TO JOHN VVESTLOCK; WHAT TOM PINCH SAID TO BOTH OF THEM; AND 
 HOW THEY ALL PASSED THE REMAINDER OF THE DAY. 
 
 Brilliantly the Temple Fountain sparkled 
 in the sun, and laughingly its liquid music 
 played, and merrily the idle drops of water 
 danced and danced, and peeping out in sport 
 among the trees, plunged lightly down to hide 
 themselves, as little Ruth and her companion 
 came towards it. 
 
 And why they came towards the Fountain at 
 all is a mystery ; for they had no business there. 
 It was not in their way. It was quite out of 
 their way. They had no more to do with the 
 Fountain, bless you, than they had with — with 
 Love, or any out of the way thing of that sort. 
 
 It was all very well for Tom and his sister to 
 Drake appointments by the Fountain, but that 
 
 was quite another affair. Because, of course, 
 when she had to wait a minute or two, it would 
 have been very awkward for her to have had to 
 wait in any but a tolerably quiet spot ;* and that 
 was as quiet a spot, every thing considered, as 
 they could choose. But when she had John 
 Westlock to take care of her, and was going 
 home with her arm in his (home being in a 
 different direction altogether), their coming any 
 where near that Fountain, was quite extraor- 
 dinary. 
 
 However, there they found themselves. And 
 another extraordinary part of the matter, was, 
 that they seemed to have come there by a silent 
 understanding. Yet when they got there, they 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 
 
 313 
 
 were a little confused by being there, which was 
 the strangest part of ail; because there is no- 
 thing naturally confusing in a Fountain. We 
 ull know that. 
 
 What a good oW place it was! Juli 
 Wilh quite un eurnest affection for it. 
 
 "A pleasant place, indeed," said little Ruth. 
 "So shady!" 
 
 Oh wicked little; Ruth! 
 
 They came La a stop when John began to 
 praise it. The day was exquisite ; and stopping 
 at all, it was quite natural — nothing could he 
 more so — that they should glance down Garden 
 Court ; because Garden Court ends in the Garden, 
 and the Garden ends in the River, and that 
 glimpse is very bright and fresh and shining on 
 a rammer's day. Then oh little Ruth, why not 
 look boldly at it! Why fit that tiny, precious, 
 blessed little foot into the cracked comer of an 
 insensible old flagstone in the pavement; and be 
 so very anxious to adjust it to a nicety ! 
 
 If the fiery- faced matron in the crunched bon- 
 net could have seen them as they walked away : 
 how many years' purchase might Fiery Face 
 have been disposed to take for her situation in 
 Furnival's Inn as laundress to Mr. West lock ! 
 
 They went away, but not through London's 
 streets ! Through some enchanted city, where 
 the pavements were of air; where all the rough 
 founds of a stirring town were softened into gen- 
 tle music; where every thing was happy; where 
 there was no distance, and no time. There were 
 two good-tempered burly draymen letting down 
 big butts of beer into a cellar, somewhere; and 
 when John helped her — almost lifted her — the 
 lightest, easiest, neatest thing you ever saw — 
 across the rope, they said he owed them a good 
 turn for giving him the chance. Celestial dray- 
 men ! 
 
 Green pastures, in the summer tide, deep-lit- 
 tered straw-yards in the winter, no stint of corn 
 and clover, ever to that noble horse who would \ 
 dance on the pavement with a gig behind him, 
 and who frightened her, and made her clasp his 
 arm wilh both hands (both hands: meeting one 
 upon the other, so endearingly !), and caused her 
 to implore him to take refuge in the pastry- 
 cook's; and afterwards to peep out at the door 
 so shrinkingly ; and then: looking at him with 
 those eyes : to ask him was he sure — now was 
 he sure — they might go safely on! Oh for a 
 string of rampant horses ! For a lion, for a bear, 
 a mad bull, any thing to bring the little hands to- 
 gether on his arm, again ! 
 
 They talked, of course. They talked of Tom, 
 and all these changes, and the attachment Mr. 
 Chuzzlcwit had conceived for him, and the bright 
 prospects he had in such a friend, and a great 
 deal more to the same purpose. The more they 
 talked, the more afraid this fluttering little Ruth 
 became of any pause; and sooner than have a 
 pause she would say the same things over again; 
 and if she hadn't courage or presence of mind 
 enough for that (to say the truth she very seldom 
 had), ftbf w it ton thousand times more charming 
 and irresistible than she had been be 
 
 u Martin will be married very sooq now, I 
 suppose," said John. 
 
 She supposed he would. Never did a bewitch- 
 ing little woman suppose anything in such a faint 
 voice as Ruth supposed tfi.it. 
 
 But feeling that another of those alarming 
 
 4a 
 
 pauses was approaching, rIic remarked that he 
 would have a beautiful wife. Didn't Mr. WesU 
 lock think so? 
 
 m Yo— yes," said John ; " oh, yes." 
 
 She feared he was rather hard to please, he 
 spoke so coldly. 
 
 ■ Rather say already pleased," said John. " 1 
 have scarcely seen her. 1 had BO care to see 
 her. 1 had no eyes for her, this morning." 
 
 Oh, good gracious ! 
 
 It was well they had reached their destination. 
 
 .» r could have gone any further. It would 
 
 have been impossible to walk in such a tremble. 
 
 Tom had not come in. They entered the tri- 
 angular parlour together, and alone. Fiery Face, 
 lit ry Face, how many years' purchase now! 
 
 She sat down on the little sofa, and untied ber 
 bonnet-strings. He sat down by her side, and 
 very pear her: very, very near her. Oh, rapid, 
 swelling, bursting little heart, you knew that it 
 would come to this, and hoped "it would. Why 
 beat so wiidly, heart! 
 
 " Dear Ruth ! Sweet Ruth ! If I had loved you 
 less, I could have told yon that I loved you, long 
 ago. I have loved you from the first. There 
 never was a creature in the world more truly 
 loved than you, dear Ruth, by me!" 
 
 She clas|>ed her little hand? before her face. 
 The gushing tears of joy, and pride, and hope, 
 and innocent affection, would not be restrained. 
 Fresh from her full young heart they came to 
 answer him. 
 
 " My dear love ! If this is : I almost dare to 
 hope it is, now : not painful or distres>ing to you, 
 you make me happier than I can tell, or you 
 imagine. Darling Ruth! My own good, gentle, 
 winning Ruth! I hope I know the value of your 
 heart, I hope I know the worth of your angel 
 nature. Let me try and show you that I do; 
 and you will make me happier, Ruth — " 
 
 " Not happier," she sobbed, "than you make 
 me. No one can be happier, John, than you 
 make me !" 
 
 Fiery Face, provide yourself! The usual 
 wages, or the usual warning. It's all over. Fiery 
 Face. We needn't trouble you any further. 
 
 The little hands could meet each other now, 
 without a rampant horse to urge them. There 
 was no occasion for lions, bears, or mad bulls. It 
 could all be done, and infinitely better, without 
 their assistance. No burly drayman, or big butts 
 of beer, were wanted for apologies. No apology 
 at all was wanted. The soft, light touch fell 
 coyly, but quite naturally, upon the lover's shoul- 
 der ; the delicate waist, the drooping head, the 
 blushing cheek, the beautiful eyes, the exquisite 
 little mouth itself, were all as natural as possible 
 If all the horses in Arahy had run away at once, 
 thev couldn't have improved upon it. 
 
 soon began to talk of Tom again. 
 
 " I hope he will be glad to hear of it!" said 
 John, with sparkling eyes. 
 
 Ruth drew the little hands a little tighter when 
 he said it, and looked up seriously into his face. 
 
 •' 1 am never to leave him, am I, dear? 1 
 could never leave Tom. 1 am sure you know 
 that" 
 
 "Do you tin ok I wonld ask you ?" he return 
 ed, with a — well ! Never mind with what 
 
 " I am sure you never would," she answered, 
 the bright tears standing in her eyes. 
 
 " And I will swear it, Ruth, my darling, if yo- 
 
314 
 
 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 please. Leave Tom ! That would be a strange 
 beginning. Leave Tom, dear ! If Tom and 
 we be not inseparable, and Tom, (God bless him) 
 have not all honour and all love in our home, my 
 little wife, may that home never be 1 And that's 
 a strong oath, Ruth." 
 
 Shall it be recorded how she thanked him ? 
 Yes, it shall. In all simplicity and innocence 
 and purity of heart, yet with a timid, graceful, 
 half-deter mined hesitation, she set a little rosy 
 seal upon the vow, whose colour was reflected in 
 her face, and flashed up to the braiding of her 
 dark brown hair. 
 
 "Tom will be so happy, and so proud, and 
 glad," she said, clasping her little hands. " But 
 so surprised ! I am sure he has never thought 
 of such a tiring." 
 
 Of course John asked her immediately — be- 
 cause you know they were in that foolish, state 
 when great allowances must be made — when she 
 had begun to think of (such a thing, and this 
 made a little diversion in their talk ; a charming 
 diversion to them, but not so interesting to us; 
 at the end of which *they came back to Tom 
 again. 
 
 "Ah, dear Tom!" said Ruth. U I suppose I 
 ought to tell you every thing now. I should 
 have no secrets from you. Should I John, love?" 
 
 It is of no use saying how that preposterous 
 John answered her, because he answered in a 
 manner whieh is untranslatable on paper, though 
 highly satisfactory in itself. But what he con- 
 veyed was, No no no, sweet Ruth ; or something 
 to that effect. 
 
 Then she told him Tom's great secret; not 
 exactly saying how she had found it out, but 
 leaving him to understand it if he liked; and 
 John was sadly grieved to hear it, and was full 
 of sympathy and sorrow. But they would tn r , 
 he said, only the more, on this account, to make 
 him happy, and to beguile him with his favourite 
 pursuits. And then, in all the confidence of such 
 a time, he told her how he had a capital oppor- 
 tunity of establishing himself in his old profes- 
 sion in the country; and how he had been think- 
 ing, in the event of that happiness coming upon 
 him whieh had actually come — there was another 
 slight diversion here — how he had been thinking 
 that it would afford occupation to Torn, and 
 enable ihem to live together in the easiest man- 
 ner, without any sense of dependence on Tom's 
 part ; and to be as happy as the day was long : 
 and Ruth deceiving this with joy, they went on 
 catering for Torn to that extent that they had 
 already purchased him a select library and built 
 him an organ, on which he was performing with 
 the greatest satisfaction : when they heard him 
 knocking at the door. 
 
 Though she longed to tell him what had hap- 
 pened, poor little Ruth was greatly agitated by 
 his arrival ; the more so because she knew that 
 Mr. Chuzzlewit was with him. So she said, all 
 in a tremble : 
 
 " What shall I do, dear John ! I can't bear 
 that he should hear it from any one but me, and 
 I could not tell him, unless we were alone." 
 
 " Do, my love," said John, " whatever is natu- 
 ral to you on the impulse of the moment, and I 
 am sure it will be right." 
 
 He had hardly time to say thus much, and 
 Ruth had hardly time to — just to get a little far- 
 ther off— upon the sofa, when Tom and Mr. 
 
 Chuzzlewit came in. Mr. Chuzzlewit came first, 
 and Tom was a few seconds behind him. 
 
 Now Ruth had hastily resolved that she would 
 beckon Tom up stairs after a short tune, and 
 would tell him in his little bedroom. But when 
 she saw his dear old face come in, her heart was 
 so touched that she ran into his arms, and laid 
 her head down on his breast, and sobbed out, 
 " Bless me, Tom ! My dearest brother !" 
 
 Tom looked up, in surprise, and saw John 
 Westlock close beside him, holding out his hand. 
 
 " John !" cried Tom. " John !" 
 
 " Dear Tom," said his friend, "give me your 
 hand. We are brothers, Tom.' 
 
 Torn wrung it with all his force, embraced his 
 sister fervently, and put her in John Westlock's 
 arms. 
 
 " Don't speak to me, John. Heaven is very 
 
 good to us. I " Tom could find no further 
 
 utterance, but left the room; and Ruth went 
 after him. 
 
 And when they came back, which they did 
 by-and-by, she looked more beautiful,. and Tom 
 more good and true (if that were possible) than 
 ever. And though Tom could not speak upon 
 the subject even now : being yet too newly glad : 
 he put both his hands in both of John's with 
 emphasis sufficient for the best speech ever 
 spoken. 
 
 " I am glad you chose to-day," said Mr. Chuz- 
 zlewit to John; with the same knowing smile as 
 when they had left him. " I thought you would. 
 I hope Tom and I lingered behind a discreet 
 time. It's so long since I had any practical 
 knowledge of these subjects, that I have been 
 anxious, I assure you." 
 
 " Your knowledge is still pretty accurate, 
 Sir," returned John laughing, " if it led you to 
 foresee what would happen to day." 
 
 " Why, I am not sure, Mr. Westlock," said 
 the old man, " that any great spirit of prophecy 
 was needed, after seeing you and Ruth together. 
 Come hither, pretty one. See what Tom and I 
 purchased this morning, while you were dealing 
 in exchange with that young merchant there." 
 
 The old man's way of seating her beside him, 
 and humouring his voice as if she were a mere 
 child, was whimsical enough, but full of tender- 
 ness, and not ill adapted, somehow, to charming 
 little Ruth. 
 
 " See here !" he said, taking a case from his 
 pocket, " what a beautiful necklace. Ah ! How 
 it glitters ! Ear-rings, too, and bracelets, and a 
 zone for your waist. This set is yours, and 
 Mary has another like it. Tom couldn't under- 
 stand why I wanted two. What a short-sighted 
 Tom ! Ear-rings and bracelets, and a zone for 
 your waist ! Ah ! beautiful ! Let us see how 
 brave they look. Ask Mr. Westlock to clasp 
 them on." 
 
 It was the prettiest thing to see her holding 
 out her round, white arm ; and John (oh deep, 
 deep, John !) pretending thai the bracelet was 
 very hard to fasten; it was the prettiest thing to 
 see her girding on the precious little zone, and 
 yet obliged to have assistance because her finger* 
 were in such terrible perplexity ; it was the 
 prettiest thing to see her so confused and bashful, 
 with the smiles and blushes playing brightly on 
 her face, like the sparkling light upon the jewels , 
 it was the prettiest thing that you would see, in 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 
 
 315 
 
 the common experiences of a twelvemonth, rely 
 upon it. 
 
 " The nt of jewels and Wkj wearer are so well 
 matched," said the old man, M that 1 don't know 
 whicli becomes the other niosi. Mr. H 
 could till mi , I have no doubt ; but I'll not ask 
 him for he is bribed. Health to wear them, mv 
 dear, and happiness to make you forgetful of 
 them, exoept as a remembrance of a loving 
 friend !" 
 
 Il< potted her upon the cheek, and said to 
 Tom: 
 
 " I must play the part of father here, Tom, 
 also. There are not many fathers who marry 
 two daughters on the same day; but we will 
 overlook the improbability for the gratification 
 of an old man's fancy. I may claim that much 
 indulgence," be added, " for I have gratified few 
 fancies enough in my life tending to the happi- 
 ness of others, Heaven knows!" 
 
 These various proceedings had occupied so 
 much lime, and they fell into such a pleasant 
 conversation now, that it was within a quarter 
 of an hour of the lime appointed for dinner be- 
 (ore any of them thought about it. A hackney, 
 coach soon carried them to the Temple, however; 
 and there they found every thing prepared 1 for 
 their reception. 
 
 Mr. Taplcy having been furnished with un- 
 limited credentials relative to the ordering of 
 dinner, had so exerted bimself for the honour of 
 the party, that a prodigious banquet was served, 
 under the joint direction of himself and his in- 
 tended. Mr. Chuzzlewit would have had them 
 of the party, and Martin urgently seconded his 
 wish, but Mark could by no means be persuaded 
 to sit down at table; observing, that in having 
 the honour of attending to their comforts, he 
 felt himself, indeed, the landlord of the Jolly 
 Taplcy, and could almost delude himself into 
 tho belief that the entertainment was actually 
 being held under the Jolly Tapley's roof. 
 
 For the better encouragement of himself in 
 this fable, Mr. Tapley took it upon him to issue 
 divers general directions to the waiters from the 
 Hotel, relative to the disposal of the dishes and 
 so forth; and as they were usually in direct op- 
 position to all precedent, and were always issued 
 in his most facetious form of thought and speech, 
 they occasioned great merriment among these 
 attendants; in which Mr. Tapley partieipated, 
 with an infinite enjoyment of his own humour. 
 He likewise entertained them with short anec- 
 dotes of his travels, appropriate to the occasion ; 
 and now and then with some comic peel 
 other between himself and Mrs. Lupin; so that 
 explosive laughs were constantly issuing from 
 the sideboard, and from the backs of chairs ; and 
 the head. waiter (who wore powder, and knec- 
 smalls, and was usually a grave man) got to be 
 a bright scarlet in the face, and broke his waist- 
 coat. strings, audibly. 
 
 Young Martin sat at the head of the table, 
 and Tom Finch at the foot ; and if there was a 
 genial face at that board, it was Tom's. Tin v 
 ail took their tone from Tom. Everybody drank 
 to him, everybody looked to him, everybody 
 thought of him, everybody loved him. If he so 
 much as laid down his knife and fork, somebody 
 put out a hand to shake with him. Martin and 
 Mary had taken him aside before dinner, and 
 sooken to him so heartily of the time to come: , 
 
 laying such fervent Btress upon the trust they 
 had in his completion of their felicity, by his 
 society atid closest friendship : that Tom was 
 positively moved to tears. He couldn't bear it 
 His heart was full, he said, of happiness. And 
 so it was. Tom spoke the honest truth. It 
 was. Large as thy heart was, dear Tom Pinch, 
 it had no room that day, for any thing but hap- 
 and sympathy ! 
 
 And there was Fips, old Fips of Austin Friars, 
 present at the dinner, and turning out to be tbe 
 jolliest old dog that ever did violence to his con- 
 vivial sentiments by shutting himself up in a 
 dark office. "Where is he!" said Fips, when 
 he came in. And then he pounced on Tom, 
 and told him that he wanted to relieve himself of 
 all his old constraint; and in the first place 
 shook him by one hand, and in the second place 
 shook him by the other, and in the third place 
 nudged him in the waistcoat, and in the fourth 
 place, said, " How are you !" and in a great 
 many other places did a great many other things 
 to show his friendliness and Joy, And he sang- 
 8ong8, did Fips; and made speeches, did Fips, 
 and knocked off his wine pretty handsome, did 
 Fips; and, in short, he was a perfect Trump, 
 was Fips, in all respects. 
 
 But ah ! the happiness of strolling home at 
 night — obstinate little Ruth, she wouldn't hear 
 of riding ! — as they had done on that dear night, 
 from Furnival's Inn ! The happiness of being 
 able to talk about it, and to confide their happi- 
 ness to each other ! The happiness of staling 
 all their little plans to Tom, and seeing his 
 bright face grow brighter as they spoke ! 
 
 When they reached home, Tom left John and 
 his sister in the parlour, and went up stairs into 
 his own room, under pretence of seeking a book* 
 And Tom actually winked to himself, when he 
 got upstairs: he thought it such a deep thing 
 to have done. 
 
 " They like to be by themselves of course," 
 said Tom ; " and I came away so naturally, that 
 1 have no doubt they are expecting me, every 
 moment, to return. That's capital I" 
 
 But he had not sat reading very long, when 
 he heard a tap al his door. 
 
 "May I come in ?" said John. 
 
 "Oh, surely !" Tom replied. 
 
 " Don't leave us, Tom. Don't sit by yourself. 
 We want to make you merry ; not melancholy." 
 
 " My dear friend," said Tom, with a cheerful 
 smile. 
 
 " Brother, Tom. Brother." 
 
 "My dear brother," said Tom; "there is no 
 danger of my being melancholy. How can I 
 be melancholy, when I know that you and Ruth 
 are so blest in each other ! I think I can find 
 my tongue to-night, John," he added, after a 
 moment's panse. " But I never can tell yon 
 what unutterable joy this day has given inc. 
 It would be unjust to you to speak of your 
 having chosen a portionless girl, for I feel that 
 you know her worth ; I am sure you know hei 
 worth. Nor will it diminish in your estimation, 
 John ; which money might." 
 
 " Which money would, Tom," he returned. 
 " Her worth ! Oh, who could see her here, and 
 not lew In r. Who could know her, Tom, and 
 not honour her. Who could ever stand p omc cs cd 
 of such a heart as hers, and grow indifferent to 
 the treasure. Who could feel the rapture that I 
 
316 
 
 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 feel to-day, and love as I love her, Tom ; without 
 knowing something of her worth ! Your joy 
 unutterable! No, no, Torn. It's mine, it's mine." 
 
 ** No, no, John," said Torn. " It's mine, it's 
 mine." 
 
 Their friendly contention was brought to a 
 close by little Ruth herself, who came peeping 
 in at the door. And oh, the look, the glorious, 
 half-proud, half-timid look she gave Tom, when 
 her lover drew her to his side ! As much as to 
 say, " Yes indeed, Tom, he will do it. But then 
 he has a right you know. Because I am fond 
 of him, Tom." 
 
 As to Tom, he was perfectly delighted. He 
 could have sat and looked at them, just as they 
 were, for hours. 
 
 ** I have told Tom, love ; as we agreed ; that 
 we are not going to permit him to run away, 
 and that we cannot possibly allow it. The loss 
 of one person, and such a person as Tom, too, 
 out of our small household of three, is not to be 
 endured : and so 1 have told him. Whether he 
 
 is considerate, or whether he is only selfish, I 
 don't know. But he needn't be considerate, for 
 he is not the least restraint upon us. Is he, 
 dearest Ruth ?'° 
 
 Well ! He really did not seem to be any par- 
 ticular restraint upon them. Judging from what 
 ensued. 
 
 Was it folly in Tom to be so pleased by their 
 remembrance of him, at such a time ? Was 
 their graceful love a folly, were their dear ca- 
 resses follies, was their lengthened parting folly? 
 Was it folly in him to watch her window from 
 the street, and rate its scantiest gleam of light 
 above all diamonds ; folly in her to breathe his 
 name upon her knees, and pour out her pure 
 heart before that Being, from whom such hearts 
 and such affections come ! 
 
 If these be follies, then Fiery Face go on and 
 prosper! If they be not, then Fiery .Face 
 avaunt ! But set the crunched bonnet at some 
 other single gentleman, in any case, for one is 
 lost to thee for ever ! 
 
 CHAPTER LIV. 
 
 GIVES THE AUTHOR GREAT CONCERN. FOR IT IS THE LAST IN THE BOOR. 
 
 Todgers's was in high feather, and mighty 
 preparations for a late breakfast were astir in 
 its commercial bowers. The blissful morning 
 had arrived when Miss Pecksniff was to be 
 united, in holy matrimony, to Augustus. 
 
 Miss Pecksniff was in a frame of mind, 
 equally becoming to herself and the occasion. 
 She was full of clemency and conciliation. She 
 had laid in several chaldrons of live coals, and 
 was prepared to heap them on the heads of her 
 enemies. She bore no spite or malice in her 
 heart. Not the least. 
 
 Quarrels, Miss Pecksniff said, were dreadful 
 things in families; and though she never could 
 forgive her dear papa, she was willing to receive 
 her other relations. They had been separated, 
 she observed, too long. It was enough to call 
 down a judgment upon the family. She believed 
 the death of Jonas was a judgment on them for 
 their internal dissensions. And Miss Pecksniff 
 was confirmed in this belief, by the lightness 
 with which the visitation had fallen on herself. 
 
 By way of doing sacrifice — not in triumph ; 
 not, of course, in triumph, but in humiliation of 
 spirit — this amiable young person wrote, there- 
 fore, to her kinswoman of the strong mind, and 
 informed her, that her nuptials would take place 
 on such a day. That she had been much hurt 
 by the unnatural conduct of herself and daugh- 
 ters, and hoped they might not have suffered in 
 their consciences. That being desirous to for- 
 give her enemies, and make her ,jeace with the 
 world before entering into the most solemn of 
 covenants with the most devoted of men, she 
 now held out the hand of friendship. That if 
 the strong-minded woman took that hand, in the 
 temper in which it was extended to her, she, 
 Miss Pecksniff, did invite her to be present at 
 the ceremony of her marriage, and did further- 
 more invite the three red-nosed spinsters, her 
 daughters (but Miss Pecksniff did not particu- 
 larize their noses), to attend as bridesmaids. 
 
 The strong-minded woman returned for an- 
 •wer. that herself and daughters were, as re- 
 
 garded their consciences, in the enjoyment of 
 robust health, which she knew Miss Pecksniff 
 would be glad to hear. That she had received 
 Miss Pecksniffs note with unalloyed delight, 
 because she never had attached the least im- 
 portance to the paltry and insignificant jeal- 
 ousies with which herself and circle had been 
 assailed ; otherwise than as she found them, in 
 the contemplation, a harmless source of inno- 
 cent mirth. That she would joyfully attend 
 Miss Pecksniff's bridal; and that her three dear 
 daughters would be happy to assist, on so inte- 
 resting, and so very unexpected — which the 
 strong-minded woman underlined — so very un- 
 expected an occasion. 
 
 On the receipt of this gracious reply, Miss 
 Pecksniff extended her forgiveness and her in- 
 vitations to Mr. and Mrs. Spottletoe; to Mr. 
 George Chuzzlewit the bachelor cousin ; to the 
 solitary female who usually had the toothache ; 
 and to the hairy young gentleman with the out- 
 line of a face ; surviving remnants of the party 
 that had once assembled in Mr. Pecksniff's par- 
 lour. After which Miss Pecksniff remarked, 
 that there was a sweetness in doing our duty, 
 which neutralised the bitter in our cups. 
 
 "The wedding guests had not yet assembled, 
 and indeed it was so early that Miss Pecksniff 
 herself was in the act of dressing at her leisure, 
 when a carriage stopped near the Monument ; 
 and Mark, dismounting from the rumble, as- 
 sisted Mr. Chuzzlewit to alight. The carriage 
 remained in waiting ; so did Mr. Tapley. Mr. 
 Chuzzlewit betook himself to Todgers's. 
 
 He was shown, by the degenerate successor 
 of Mr. Bailey, into the dining-parlour; where — 
 for bis visit was expected — Mrs. Todgers im- 
 mediately appeared. 
 
 " You are dressed, I see, for the wedding," he 
 said. 
 
 Mrs. Todgers, who was greatly flurried by 
 the preparations, replied in the affirmative. 
 
 " It goes against my wishes to have it in pro- 
 gress just now, I assure you, Sir," said Mrs. 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 
 
 317 
 
 Todgers; "but Miss Pecksniffs mind was set 
 upon it, and it really is time that Miss Peck- 
 sniff* was married. That cannot be denied, 
 6ir." 
 
 "No," said Mr. Chuzzlewit, "assuredly not. 
 Hrr s-i-tcr takes M part in the pTO CS jedlogsf 
 
 "Oh dear, no, Sir. Poor thing !" said Mrs. 
 Todgcrs, shaking her head, and dipping her 
 has known the worst, she lias 
 nt ver left my room ; the next room." 
 
 44 Is she prepared to sec me ?" he inquired. 
 
 41 Quits prepared, Sir." 
 
 * Then let us lose no time " 
 
 Mrs. Todgers conducted him into the little 
 back chamber commanding the prospect of the 
 churn ; and there, sadly different from when it 
 had first been her lodging, sut poor Merry, in 
 mourning weeds. The room looked very dark 
 and sorrowful ; and so did she ; hut she had one 
 friend beside her, faithful to the last. Old 
 Chuffey. 
 
 When Mr. Chuzzlewit sat down at her side, 
 6he took his hand and put it to her lips. She 
 was in great grief. He too was agitated ; for he 
 had not seen her since their parting in the 
 churchyard. 
 
 u I judged you hastily," he said, in a low voice. 
 "I fear I judged you cruelly. Let me know that 
 I have your forgiveness." 
 
 "She kissed his hand again; and retaining it 
 in hers, thanked him in a broken voice, for all 
 his kindness to her since." 
 
 "Tom Pinch," said Martin, "has faithfully 
 related to me all thut you desired him to convey ; 
 at a time when he deemed it very improbable 
 that he would ever have an opportunity of deliver- 
 ing your message. Believe mc, that if I ever 
 deal again with an ill-advised and unawakened 
 nature, hiding the strength it thinks its weak- 
 ness: I will have long and merciful considera- 
 tion for it." 
 
 " You had for me ; even for me," she an- 
 swered. "I quite believe it. I said the words 
 you have repeated, when my distress was very 
 sharp and hard to bear; I say them now for 
 others ; but I cannot urge them for myself. 
 You spoke to me after you had seen and watched 
 me day by day. There was greut consideration 
 in that. You might have spoken, perhaps, more 
 kindly; you might have tried to invite my con- 
 fidence by greater gentleness; but the end would 
 have been the same." 
 
 He shook His bead in doubt, and not without 
 some inward self-reproach. 
 
 " How can I hope," she said, "that your inter- 
 position would have prevailed with me, when I 
 Know how obdurate I was ! I never thought at 
 all ; dear Mr. Chuzzlcwitt, I never thought nt 
 all ; I had no thought, no heart, no care to find 
 une ; at that time. It has grown out of my 
 trouble. I have felt it in my trouble. I wouldn't 
 recall my trouble, such as it is, as has been — and 
 it is light in comparison with trials which hun- 
 dreds of good people suffer every day, I know — 
 I wouldn't recall it to-morrow, if I could. It hns 
 been my friend, for without it, no one could have 
 changed me ; nothing could have changed mc. 
 Do not mistrust me because of theso tears ; I 
 cannot help them. I am grateful for it, in my 
 soul. Indeed I am !" 
 
 u Indeed she is!" said Mrs. Todgcrs. M I 
 believe it, Sir." 
 
 u And so do I !" said Mr. Chuzzlewit. ** Now» 
 attend to me, my dear. Your late husband's 
 estate, if not wasted by the confession of a large 
 debt to the broken office (which document, being 
 useless to tho runaways, has been Stat over to 
 England by them : not so much for the sake of 
 the creditors as for the gratification of their dis- 
 like to him, whom they suppose to bo still living), 
 will be seized upon by law ; for it is not exempt, 
 as I learn, from the claims of those who have 
 HiitVered by the fraud in which he was engaged. 
 Your father's property was all, or nearly all, 
 embarked in the same transaction. If there be 
 any left, it will be seized on in like manner 
 There is no home there." 
 
 " I couldn't return to him," she said, with an 
 instinctivo reference to his having forced her 
 marriage on. " I could not return to him !" 
 
 44 1 know it," Mr. Chuzzlewit resumed : "and 
 I am here, because I know it. Come with me ! 
 From all who are about me, you are certain (I 
 have ascertained it) of a generous welcome. But 
 until your health is re-established, and you are 
 sufficiently composed to bear welcome, you shall 
 have your abode in any quiet retreat of your own 
 choosing, near London ; not «o far removed but 
 that this kind-hearted lady may visit you as often 
 as she pleases. You have suffered much ; but 
 you are young, and have a brighter and a better 
 future stretching out before. Come with mc 
 Your sister is careless of you, I know. She 
 hurries on and publishes this marriage, in a 
 spirit which (to say no more of it) is barely 
 decent, is unsisterly, and bad. Leave the house 
 before her guests arrive. She means to give you 
 pain. Spare her the offence ; and come with 
 me!" 
 
 Mrs. Todgcrs, though most unwilling to part 
 with her, added her persuasions. Even poor old 
 Chuffey (of course included in the project) added 
 his. She hurriedly attired herself, and was 
 ready to depart, when Miss Pecksniff" dashed 
 into the room. 
 
 Miss Pecksniff dashed in so suddenly, that she 
 was placed in an embarrassing position. For 
 though she had completed her bridal toilette as 
 to her head, on which she bore a bridal bonnet 
 with orange flowers, she had not completed it as to 
 her skirts, which displayed no choicer decoration 
 than a dimity bedgown. She had dashed in, in 
 fact, about halfway through, to console bef 
 in her affliction with a sight of the aforesaid 
 bonnet ; and being quite unconscious of the 
 presence of a visiter, until she found Mr. Chuz- 
 zlewit standing face to face with her, her surprise 
 was an uncqmfortable one. 
 
 ■ So, young lady !" said the old man, 
 her with strong disfavour. " You arc to be mar- 
 ried to-day !" 
 
 44 Yes, sir," returned Miss Pecksniff, modestly. 
 "I am. I — my dress is rather — really, Mrs. 
 Todgcrs !" 
 
 ir delicacy," said old Martin, " is troubled 
 I perceive. I am not surprised to find it so. You 
 haw < -hosen the |>eriod of your marriage, unfor- 
 tunately." 
 
 44 I beg your pardon, Mr. Chuzzlewit," retort*! 
 Cherry ; very red and angry in a moon nt : " but 
 if you have sirs thing to say on that subject, I 
 must lx you to Augustus. You wil. 
 
 M irn ly think it manly, 1 hope, to force an argu- 
 ment on me, when Augustus is at all limea ready 
 
318 
 
 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 to discuss it with you. I have nothing to do 
 with any deceptions that may have been prac- 
 tised on my parent," said Miss Pecksniff, point- 
 edly ; " and as I wish to be on good terms with 
 every body at such a time, I should have been 
 glad if you would have favoured us with your 
 company at breakfast. But I will not ask you as 
 it is : seeing that you have been prepossessed and 
 set against me in another quarter. I hope I have 
 my natural affections for another quarter, and 
 my natural pity for another quarter ; but I can- 
 not always submit to be subservient to it, Mr. 
 (Jhuzzlewit. That would be a little too much. I 
 trust I have more respect for myself, as well as 
 for the man who claims me as his Bride." 
 
 " Your sister, meeting, as I think : not as she 
 Bays, for she has said nothing about it : with 
 little consideration from you, is going away with 
 me," said Mr. Chuzzlewit. 
 
 " I am very happy to find that she has some 
 good fortune at last," returned Miss Pecksniff, 
 tossing her head. " I congratulate her, I am 
 sure. I am not surprised that this event should be 
 painful to her; painful to her: but I can't help 
 that, Mr. Chuzzlewit. It's not my fault." 
 
 "Come, Miss Pecksniff!" said the old man, 
 quietly. u I should like to see a better parting 
 between you. I should like to see a better part- 
 ing on your side, in such circumstances. It 
 would make me your friend. You may want a 
 friend one day or other." 
 
 " Every relation of life, Mr. Chuzzlewit, beg- 
 ging your pardon : and every friend in life :" 
 returned Miss Pecksniff, with dignity, "is now 
 bound up and cemented in Augustus. So long 
 as Augustus is my own, I cannot want a friend. 
 When you speak of friends, sir, I must beg, once 
 for all, to refer you to Augustus. That is my 
 impression of the religious ceremony in which I 
 am so soon to take a part at that altar to which 
 Augustus will conduct me. I bear no malice at 
 any time, much less in a moment of triumph, 
 towards any one ; much less towards my sister. 
 On the contrary, I congratulate her. If you 
 didn't hear me say so, I am not to blame. And 
 as I owe it to Augustus, to be punctual on an 
 occasion when he may naturally be supposed to 
 be — to be impatient — really, Mrs. Todgers! — I 
 must beg your leave, Sir, to retire." 
 
 After these words the bridal bonnet disap- 
 peared ; with as much state, as the dimity bed- 
 gown left in it. 
 
 Old Martin gave his arm to the younger sister 
 without speaking ; and led her out. Mrs. Tod- 
 gers, with her holiday garments fluttering in the 
 wind, accompanied them to the carriage, clung 
 round Merry's neck at parting, ana ran back to 
 her own dingy house, crying the whole way. 
 She had a lean lank body, Mrs. Todgers, but a 
 well-conditioned soul within. Perhaps the Good 
 Samaritan was lean and lank, and found it hard 
 to live. Who knows ! 
 
 Mr. Chuzzlewit followed her so closely with 
 his eyes, that until she had shut her own door, 
 they did not encounter Mr. Tapley's face. 
 
 " Why, Mark !" he said, as soon as he observed 
 it, " what's the matter !" 
 
 " The wonderfullest ewent, sir !" returned 
 Mark, pumping at his voice in a most laborious 
 manner, and hardly able to articulate with all his 
 efforts. "A coincidence as never was equalled ! 
 I'm blessed if here ain't two old neighbours of 
 •urn, sir J" 
 
 " What neighbours !" cried old Martin, looking 
 out of window. " Where 1" 
 
 "I was a walkin' up and down not five yards 
 from this spot," said Mr. Tapley, breathless, " and 
 they come upon me like their own ghosts, as I 
 thought they was ! It's the wonderfnllest ewent 
 that ever happened. Bring a feather, somebody, 
 and knock me down with it!" 
 
 " What do you mean !" exclaimed old Martin, 
 quite as much excited by the spectacle of Mark's 
 excitement, as that strange person was himself! 
 ■ Neighbours, where !" 
 
 " Here, sir !" replied Mr. Tapley. •' Here in 
 the city of London ! Here upon these very stones ! 
 Here they are, sir! Don't I know 'em ! Lord 
 love their welcome faces, don't I know 'em !" 
 
 With which ejaculations Mr. Tapley not only 
 pointed to a decent-looking man and woman 
 standing by, but commenced embracing them al- 
 ternately, over and over again, in Monument 
 Yard. 
 
 "Neighbours, where!" old Martin shouted: 
 almost maddened by his ineffectual efforts to get 
 out at the coach-door. 
 
 Neighbours in America ! Neighbours in 
 
 Eden !" cried Mark. 
 
 Neishboui 
 
 the 
 
 swamp, neighbours in the bush, neighbours in 
 the fever. Didn't she nurse us ! Didn't he help 
 us ! Shouldn't we both have died without 'em ! 
 Hav'n't they come a strugglin' back, without a 
 single child for their consolation ! And talk to 
 me of neighbours!" 
 
 Away he went again, in a perfectly wild state, 
 hugging them, and skipping round them, and 
 cutting in between them, as if he were performing 
 some frantic and outlandish dance. 
 
 Mr. Chuzzlewit no sooner gathered who these 
 people were, than he burst open the coach-door 
 somehow or other, and came tumbling out among 
 them ; and as if the lunacy of Mr. Tapley were 
 contagious, he immediately began to shake hands 
 too, and exhibit every demonstration of the live- 
 liest joy. 
 
 "Get up behind !" he said. "Get up in the 
 rumble. Come along with me ! Go you on the 
 box, Mark. Home ! Home !" 
 
 " Home !" cried Mr. Tapley, seizing the old 
 man's hand in a burst of enthusiasm. "Exactly 
 my opinion, sir. Home, for ever ! Excuse the 
 liberty, Sir, I can't help it. Success to the Jolly 
 Tapley! There's nothin' in the house they 
 sha'n't have for the askin' for, except a bill 
 Home to be sure ! Hurrah !" 
 
 Home they rolled accordingly, when he had 
 got the old man in again, as fast as they could 
 go ; Mark abating nothing of his fervour by the 
 way but, allowing it to vent itself as unrestrained- 
 ly as if he had been on Salisbury Plain. 
 
 And now the wedding party began to assem- 
 ble at Todgers's. Mr. Jinkins, the only boarder 
 invited, was on the ground first. He wore a 
 white favour in his bulton-hole, and a bran new 
 extra super double-milled blue saxony dress coat 
 (that was its description in the bill), with a 
 variety of tortuous embellishments about the 
 pockets, invented by the artist to do honour to 
 the day. The miserable Augustus no longer felt 
 strongly even on the subject of Jinkins. He 
 hadn't strength of mind enough to do it. "Let 
 him come !" he had said, in answer to Miss Peck- 
 sniff, when she urged the point. " Let him come ! 
 He has ever been my rock ahead through life. 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT, 
 
 319 
 
 'Tis mnrt he should be there. Ha, ha ! Oh, yes ; 
 let Jinkins come !" 
 
 Jiokioe had come, with all the pleasure in life; 
 and there he was. For some lew ininulis lie 
 had no companion but the breakfast, which was 
 set forth in lite drawing. room, with unusual taste 
 iminy. JJut .Mrs. Todgefl soon joined 
 him; end Ike hacht lor cou>in, l lit; hairy young 
 gcnilcmm, and .Mr. and Mrs. Spottletoe, arrived 
 in quick succession. 
 
 .Mr. BpottletOl honoured Jinkins with an en- 
 couraging how. "GlodftO know you, Sir," he 
 said, "Give you joy J" Under the impression 
 that Jinkins was the happy man. 
 
 .Mr. Jinkins explained. He was merely doing 
 tne honours tor his friend Moddlc, who had 
 ceased to reside in the house, and had not yet 
 arrived. 
 
 u Not arrived, Sir !" exclaimed Spottletoe in a 
 great t 
 
 '• Not yet," said Mr. Jinkins. 
 
 '• Upon my soul !" cried Spottletoe. u He be- 
 gins well! Upon my life and honour this young 
 man brains well! But I should very much like 
 to know how it is that every one who comes into 
 contact with this family is guilty of some gross 
 insult to it ! Death ! Not arrived yet. Not here 
 to receive us !" 
 
 The nephew with the outline of a countenance 
 suggested that perhaps he had ordered a new 
 pair of boots, and they hadn't come home. 
 
 44 Don't talk to me of boots, Sir !" retorted 
 Spottletoe, with immense indignation. u lie is 
 bound to come here in his slippers then ; he is 
 bound to come here barefoot. Don't offer such a 
 wretched and evasive plea to me on behalf of 
 your friend, as boots, Sir." 
 
 " He is not my friend," said the nephew. 1 1 
 never saw him." 
 
 44 Very well, Sir," returned the fiery Spottletoe. 
 u Then don't talk to me." 
 
 The door was thrown open at this juncture, 
 and .Miss Pecksniff entered, tottering, and sup- 
 ported by her three bridesmaids. The strong- 
 minded woman brought up the rear, having 
 wuited outside until now, for the purpose of spoil- 
 ing the effect. 
 
 14 How do you do, ma'am," said Spottletoe to 
 the strong-minded woman in a tone of defiance. 
 " 1 believe you see Mrs. Spottletoe, Ma'am." 
 
 The strong-minded woman, with an air of 
 great interest in Mrs. Spottletoe's hcaith, regret- 
 ted that she was not more easily seen. Nature 
 erring, in that lady's case, upon the slim side. 
 
 ".Mrs. Spottletoe is at least more easily seen 
 than the bridegroom, Ma'am," returned that 
 lady's husband. "That is, unless he has con- 
 fined his attentions to any purlicular part or 
 branch of this family, which would be quite in 
 keeping with its usual proceedings." 
 
 "if you ulludc to me, Sir " the strong. 
 
 minded woman began. 
 
 ** Pray," interposed Miss Pecksniff, " do not 
 allow Augustus, at this awful moment of his life 
 and mine, to be the means of disturbing that 
 hormone which it is ever Augustus's and my 
 wi-h to maintain. Augustus has not been intro- 
 duced to any of my relations now present. He 
 preferred not." 
 
 " Why, then, I venture to assert," cried Mr. 
 Spottletoe, "that the man who aspires to join this 
 family, and ■ prefers not' to be introduced to its 
 
 members, is an impertinent Puppy. That's my 
 
 opinion ot /urn .'" 
 
 The strong-minded woman remarked wilii 
 great suavity, that she was afraid he must be. 
 Her three daughters observed aloud that it was 
 
 foJ :" 
 
 " You do not know Augustus," said Miss 
 Pecksniff, tearfully. " indeed you do w t knots 
 him. Augustus is all mildness and humility. 
 Wait 'lill you see Augustus, and I'm sure he 
 will conciliate your affections." 
 
 44 The question arises," said Spottletoe, folding 
 his arms ; ' How long we are to wait. 1 am not 
 accustomed to wait; that's the fact. And 1 want 
 to know how long we are expected to wait." 
 
 44 .Mrs. Todgers!" said Charily, " Mr. Jinkins ! 
 I am afraid there must be some mistake. I 
 think Augustus must have gone straight to the 
 Altar !" 
 
 As such a thing was possible, and the church 
 was close at hand, Mr. Jinkins ran off to see : 
 accompanied by Mr. George Chuzzlewit the 
 bachelor cousin, who preferred anything to the 
 aggravation of sitting near the breakfast, with- 
 out being able to eat it. Put they came back 
 with no other tidings than a familiar message 
 from the clerk importing that if they wanted to 
 be married that morning, they had better look 
 sharp : as the curate wasn't going to wait there 
 all day. 
 
 The bride was now al armed ; seriously alarm- 
 ed. Good Heavens what could have happened ! 
 Augustus! Dear Augustus ! 
 
 Mr Jinkins volunteered to take a cab, and 
 seek him at the newly. furnished house. The 
 strong-minded woman administered comfort to 
 Miss Pecksniff. " It was a specimen of what she 
 had to expect. It would do her good. It would 
 dispel the romance of the affair." The red-nosed 
 daughters also administered the kindest comfort. 
 44 Perhaps he'd come," they said. The sketchy 
 nephew hinted that he Height have fallen off a 
 bridge. The wrath of Mr. Spottletoe resisted all 
 the entreaties of his wife. Every body spoke at 
 once, and Miss Pecksniff, with clasped hands, 
 sought consolation every where and found it 
 nowhere, when Jinkins, having met the postman 
 at the door, came back with a letter : which he 
 put into her hand. 
 
 Miss Pecksniff opened it : glanced at it ; uttered 
 a piercing shriek ; threw it down upon the 
 ground ; and fainted away. 
 
 They picked it up; and crowding round, an! 
 looking over one another's shoulders, read in the 
 words and dashes following, this communica. 
 lion : » 
 
 14 Off Gravesk 
 "Clifpf.r Schooner, Com* 
 
 ' Wednesday night. 
 
 44 Ever injored Miss Pecksniff, 
 
 ' lire this reaches you, the undersigned 
 will be— if not a corpse— on the way to Va.i 
 Diemen's Land. Send not in pursuit. I never 
 will be taken alive! 
 
 "The burden— 300 tons per register— forgive, 
 if in inv distraction, I allude to the ship— oil 
 my mind— has been truly dreadful. Frequently 
 — when you have sought to soothe my brow with 
 kifses— has self-destruction flashed across me. 
 Frequently — incredible as it may seem — have 1 
 abandoned the idea. 
 
455 
 
 320 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 
 
 *I love another. She is another's. Every 
 thing appears to be somebody else's. Nothing in 
 the world is mine — not even my Situation — 
 which I have forfeited — by my rash conduct — in 
 running away. 
 
 14 If you ever loved me, hear my last appeal ! 
 The last appeal of a miserable and blighted exile. 
 Forward the enclosed — it is the key of my desk 
 — to the office — by hand. Please address to 
 Bobbs and Cholberry — I mean Chobbs and Bol- 
 berry — but my hand is totally unhinged. I left 
 a penknife — with a buck-horn handle — in your 
 work-box. It will repay the messenger. May 
 it make him happier than ever it did me! 
 
 u Oh, Miss Pecksniff, why didn't you leave me 
 a-lone ! Was it not cruel, cruel! Oh, my good- 
 ness, have you not been a witness of my feelings 
 — have you not seen them flowing from my eyes 
 — did you not, yourself, reproach me with weep- 
 ing more than usual on that dreadful night when 
 last we met — in that house — where I once was 
 peaceful — though blighted — in the society of Mrs. 
 Todgers ! 
 
 "But it was written — in the Talmud — that 
 you should involve yourself in the inscrutable 
 and gloomy Fate which it is my mission to ac- 
 complish, and wreathes itself — e'en now — about 
 my temples. I will not reproach, for I have 
 wronged you. May the Furniture make some 
 amends! 
 
 " Farewell ! Be the proud bride of a ducal 
 coronet, and forget me ! Long may it be before 
 you know the anguish with which I now sub- 
 scribe myself — amid the tempestuous bowlings 
 of the — sailors, 
 
 "Unalterably, 
 
 44 Never yours, 
 
 44 Augustus." 
 
 They thought as little of Miss Pecksniff, while 
 they greedily perused this letter, as if she were 
 the very last person on earth whom it concerned. 
 But Miss Pecksniff really had fainted away. 
 The bitterness of her mortification ; the bitter- 
 ness of having summoned witnesses, and such 
 witnesses to behold it; the bitterness of knowing 
 that the strong-minded woman and the red-nosed 
 daughters towered triumphant in this hour of 
 their anticipated overthrow ; was too much to 
 be borne. Miss Pecksniff had fainted away in 
 earnest. 
 
 What sounds are these that fall so grandly on 
 the ear ! What darkening room is this ! 
 
 And that mild figure seated at an organ, who 
 is he ? Ah Tom, dear Tom, old friend ! 
 
 Thy head is prematurely gray, though Time 
 has passed between thee and our old association, 
 Tom. But in those sounds with which it is thy 
 wont to bear the twilight company, the music of 
 
 thy heart speaks out: the story of thy life relate* 
 itself. 
 
 Thy life is tranquil, calm, and happy, Tom, 
 In the soft strain which ever and again comes 
 stealing back upon the ear, the memory of thine 
 old love may find a voice perhaps; but it is a 
 pleasant, softened, whispering memory, like that 
 in which we sometimes hold the dead, and does 
 not pain or grieve thee, God be thanked ! 
 
 Touch the notes lightly, Tom, as lightly as 
 thou wilt, but never will thine hand fall half so 
 lightly on that instrument as on the head of 
 thine old tyrant brought down, very, very low ; 
 and never will it make as hollow a response to 
 any touch of thine, as he does always. 
 
 For a drunken, begging, squalid-letter-wriling 
 man, called Pecksniff: with a shrewish daughter: 
 haunts thee, Torn; and when he makes appeals 
 to thee for cash, reminds thee that he built thy 
 fortunes better than his own ; and when he spends 
 it, entertains the ale-house company, with tales 
 of thine ingratitude and his munificence towards 
 thee once upon a time; and then he shows his 
 elbows worn in holes, and puts his soleless shoes 
 up, on a bench, and begs his auditors look there; 
 while thou art comfortably housed and clothed. 
 All known to thee, and yet all borne with, Tom! 
 
 So, with a smile upon thy face, thou passest 
 gently to another measure ; to a quicker and more 
 joyful one; and little feet are used to dance about 
 thee at the sound ; and bright young eyes to 
 glance up into thine. And there is one slight 
 creature, Tom — her child; not Ruth's — whom 
 thine eyes follow in the romp and dance: who, 
 wondering sometimes to see thee look so thought, 
 ful, runs to climb up on thy knee, and put her 
 cheek to thine : who loves thee, Tom, above the 
 rest, if that can be : and falling sick once, chose 
 thee for her nurse: and never knew impatience, 
 Tom, when thou wert by her side. 
 
 Thou glidest now, into a graver air: an air 
 devoted to old friends and bygone times ; and in 
 thy lingering touch upon the keys, and the rich 
 swelling of the mellow harmony, they rise before 
 thee. Tne spirit of that old man dead, who de- 
 lighted to anticipate thy wants, and never ceased 
 to honour thee, is there, among the rest: repeat- 
 ing, with a face composed ami calm, the words 
 he said to thee upon his bed, and blessing thee! 
 
 And coming from a garden, Tom : bestrewn 
 with flowers by children's hands: thy sister little 
 Ruth, as light of foot and heart as in old days, 
 sits down beside thee. From the Present, and 
 the Past, with which she is so tenderly entwined 
 in all thy thoughts, thy strain soars onward to 
 the Future. As it resounds within thee and 
 without, thy kindling face looks on her with a 
 Love and Trust, that knows it cannot die. The 
 noble music, rolling round her in a cloud of 
 melody, shuts out the grosser prospect of an 
 earthly parting, and uplifts her, Tom, to Heavea! 
 
 THE END.