itVLtr.^ce. 
 
 AY. 
 
 
C; r A TRIBUTE TO GENIUS 
 W 1812 .^^^.1912'^ 
 
 
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 ^iii^tUiura 
 
THE 
 
 LIFE AND ADVENTURES 
 
 NICHOLAS NICKLEBY 
 
 BY CHARLES DICKENS. 
 
 WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY PHIZ. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 CHAPMAN AND HALL, 186, STRAND 
 
 MDCCCXXXIX. 
 
LONDON : 
 BRADBUEY AND EVANS, PRINTERS, WHITEFRIAR& 
 
TO 
 
 W. C. MACREADY, ESQ., 
 
 THE FOLLOWING PAGES 
 
 ARE INSCRIBED, 
 
 AS A SLIGHT TOKEN OF ADMIRATION AND REGARD, 
 
 BY HIS FRIEND, 
 
 THE AUTHOR. 
 
PEEFACE 
 
 It has afforded the Author great amusement and satisfaction, 
 during the progress of this work, to learn from country friends 
 and from a variety of ludicrous statements concerning himself 
 in provincial newspapers, that more than one Yorkshire 
 schoolmaster lays claim to being the original of Mr. S queers. 
 One worthy, he has reason to believe, has actually consulted 
 authorities learned in the law, as to his having good grounds 
 on which to rest an action for libel; another has meditated 
 a journey to London, for the express purpose of committing 
 an assault and battery upon his traducer ; a third perfectly 
 remembers being waited on last January twelvemonth by two 
 gentlemen, one of whom held him in conversation while the other 
 took his likeness ; and, although Mr. Squeers has but one 
 eye, and he has two, and the published sketch does not resemble 
 him (whoever he may be) in any other respect, still he and 
 all his friends and neighbours know at once for whom it is 
 meant, because — the character is so like him. 
 
 While the Author cannot but feel the full force of the com- 
 pliment thus conveyed to him, he ventures to suggest that these 
 contentions may arise from the fact, that Mr. Squeers is the 
 representative of a class, and not of an individual. Where 
 
VIU PREFACE. 
 
 imposture, ignorance, and brutal cupidity, are the stock in 
 trade of a small body of men, and one is described by these 
 characteristics, all his fellows will recognise something belonging 
 to themselves, and each will have a misgiving that the portrait 
 is his own. 
 
 To this general description, as to most others, there may bo 
 some exceptions; and although the Author neither saw nor 
 heard of any in the course of an excursion which he made into 
 Yorkshire, before he commenced these adventures, or before 
 or since, it affords him much more pleasure to assume their 
 existence than to doubt it. He has dwelt thus long upon this 
 point, because his object in calling public attention to the 
 system would be very imperfectly fulfilled, if he did not state 
 now in his own person, emphatically and earnestly, that Mr. 
 Squeers and his school are faint and feeble pictures of an exist- 
 ing reality, purposely subdued and kept do^^^l lest they should 
 be deemed impossible — that there are upon record trials at law 
 in which damages have been sought as a poor recompense for 
 lasting agonies and disfigurements inflicted upon children by 
 the treatment of the master in these places, involving such 
 offensive and foul details of neglect, cruelty, and disease, as no 
 writer of fiction would have the boldness to imagine — and that, 
 since he has been engaged upon these Adventures, he has 
 received from private quarters far beyond the reach of suspicion 
 or distrust, accounts of atrocities, in the perpetration of which 
 upon neglected or repudiated children these schools have been 
 the main instruments, very far exceeding any that appear in 
 these pages. 
 
 To turn to a more pleasant subject, it may be right to say, 
 that there are two characters in this book which are drawn 
 from life. It is remarkable that what we call the world, which 
 
PREFACE. IX 
 
 is SO very credulous in what professes to be true, is most incre- 
 dulous in what professes to be imaginary ; and that while every 
 day in real life it will allow in one man no blemishes, and in 
 another no virtues, it will seldom admit a very strongly-marked 
 character, either good or bad, in a fictitious narrative, to be 
 within the limits of probability. For this reason, they have 
 been very slightly and imperfectly sketched. Those who take 
 an interest in this tale will be glad to learn that the Brothers 
 Cheeryble live ; that their liberal charity, their singleness of 
 heart, their noble nature, and their unbounded benevolence, are 
 no creations of the Author's brain; but are prompting every 
 day (and oftenest by stealth) some munificent and generous 
 deed in that town of which they are the pride and honour. 
 
 It only now remains for the writer of these passages, with 
 that feeling of regret with which we leave almost any pursuit 
 that has for a long time occupied us and engaged our thoughts, 
 and which is naturally augmented in such a case as this, when 
 that pursuit has been surrounded by all that could animate and 
 cheer him on, — it only now remains for him, before abandoning 
 his task, to bid his readers farewell. 
 
 " The author of a periodical performance," says Mackenzie, 
 " has indeed a claim to the attention and regard of his readers, 
 more interesting than that of any other writer. Other writers 
 submit their sentiments to their readers, with the reserve and 
 circumspection of him who has had time to prepare for a public 
 appearance. He who has followed Horace's rule, of keeping 
 his book nine years in his study, must have withdrawn many 
 an idea which in the warmth of composition he had conceived, 
 and altered many an expression which in the hurry of writing 
 he had set down. But the periodical essayist commits to his 
 readers the feelings of the day, in the lai^guage which those 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 feelings have prompted. As he has delivered himself with the 
 freedom of intimacy* and the cordiality of friendship, he wil 
 naturally look for the indulgence which those relations may 
 claim ; and when he bids his readers adieu, will hope, as well 
 as feel, the regrets of an acquaintance, and the tenderness of 
 a friend." 
 
 With such feelings and such hopes the periodical essayist, the 
 Author of these pages, now lays them before his readers in a 
 completed form, flattering himself, like the writer just quoted, 
 that on the first of next month they may miss his company at 
 the accustomed time as something which used to be expected 
 with pleasure ; and think of the papers which on that day of so 
 many past months they have read, as the correspondence of one 
 who wished their happiness, and contributed to their amusement. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Chapter I. — Introduces all the rest ..... 1 
 
 Chap. II. — Of Mr. Ralph Nickleby, and his Establishment, and his Under- 
 takings. And of a great Joint Stock Company of vast national im- 
 portance ........ 5 
 
 Chap. III. — Mr. Ralph Nickleby receives Sad Tidings of his Brother, but 
 bears up nobly against the intelligence communicated to him. The 
 Reader is informed how he liked Nicholas, who is herein introduced, 
 and how kindly he proposed to make his Fortune at once . . 14 
 
 Chap. IV. — Nicholas and his Uncle (to secure the Fortune without loss of 
 
 time) wait upon Mr. Wackford Squeers, the Yorkshire Schoolmaster . 22 
 
 Chap. V. — Nicholas starts for Yorkshire. — Of his Leave-taking and his 
 
 Fellow Travellers, and what befel them on the road . . .33 
 
 Chap. VI. — In which the Occurrence of the Accident mentioned in the 
 last Chapter, affords an opportunity to a couple of Gentlemen to tell 
 Stories against each other • . . . . , 41 
 
 Chap. VII. — Mr. and Mrs. Squeers at Home .... 58 
 
 Chap. VIII.-— Of the Internal Economy of Dotheboys Hall • • 65 
 
 Chap. IX. — Of Miss 'Squeers, Mrs. Squeers, Master Squeers, and Mr. 
 Squeers ; and various Matters and Persons connected no less with the 
 Squeerses than with Nicholas Nickleby . . . .74 
 
 Chap. X. — How Mr. Ralph Nickleby provided for his Niece and Sister-in- 
 
 Law 86 
 
 Chap. XI. — Mr. Newman Noggs Inducts Mrs. and Miss Nickleby into 
 
 their New Dwelling in the City . . . . . ,97 
 
 Chap. XII. — ^Whereby the Reader will be enabled to trace the further 
 course of Miss Fanny Squeers's Love, and to ascertain whether it 
 ran smoothly or otherwise . . , . . ,101 
 
 Chap. XIII. — Nicholas varies the monotony of Dotheboys Hall by a most 
 vigorous and remarkable Proceeding, which leads to Consequences of 
 . some importance . . . , • . . 1 09 
 
 Chap. XIV. — Having the Misfortune to treat of none but Common People, 
 
 is necessarily of a Mean and Vulgar Character .... 120 
 
XU CONTENTS. 
 
 FAOB 
 
 Chap. XV. — Acquaints the Reader -with the Cause and Origin of the Inter- 
 ruption described in the last Chapter, and with some other Matters 
 necessary to be known ..... . 121) 
 
 Chap. XVI. — Nicholas seeks to employ himself in a New Capacity, and 
 being unsuccessful, accepts an engagement as Tutor in a Private 
 Family ....... .139 
 
 Chap. XVII.— Follows the Fortunes of Miss Nickleby . . .153 
 
 Chap. XVIII. — Miss Knag, after doating on Kate Nickleby for three whole 
 Days, makes up her mind to hate her for evermore. The Causes 
 which lead Miss Knag to form this resolution . . . .161 
 
 Chap. XIX. — Descriptive of a Dinner at Mr. Ralph Nickleby's, and of the 
 Manner in which the Company entertained themselves before Dinner, 
 at Dinner, and after Dinner . . . . . .171 
 
 Chap. XX. — Wherein Nicholas at length encounters his Uncle, to whom 
 
 he expresses his Sentiments with much Candour. His Resolution . 184 
 
 Chap. XXI. — Madame Mantalini finds herself in a Situation of some DiflS- 
 
 culty, and Miss Nickleby finds herself in no Situation at all . . 193 
 
 Chap. XXII. — Nicholas, accompanied by Smike, sallies forth to seek his 
 Fortune. He encounters Mr. Vincent Crummies ; and who he was is 
 herein made manifest ....... 203 
 
 Chap. XXIII. — Treats of the Company of Mr. Vincent Crummies, and of 
 
 his Affairs, Domestic and Theatrical . . • . . 215 
 
 Chap. XXIV. — Of the Great Bespeak for Miss Snevellicci, and the first 
 
 appearance of Nicholas upon any Stage ..... 225 
 
 Chap. XXV. — Concerning a young Lady from London who joins the Com- 
 pany, and an elderly Admirer who follows in her Train ; with an affect- 
 ing Ceremony consequent on theirArrival .... 238 
 
 Chap. XXVI. — Is fraught with some Danger to Miss Nickleby's Peace of 
 
 Mind 248 
 
 Chap. XXVII. — Mrs. Nickleby becomes acquainted with Messrs. Pyke and 
 
 Pluck, whose Affection and Interest are beyond all bounds . . 257 
 
 Chap. XXVIII. — Miss Nickleby, rendered desperate by the Persecution of 
 Sir Mulberry Hawk, and the complicated Difficulties and Distresses 
 which surround her, appeals, as a last resource, to her Uncle for Pro- 
 tection ......... 268 
 
 Chap. XXIX. — Of the Proceedings of Nicholas, and certain Internal Div- 
 
 sions in the Company of Mr. Vincent Crummies . . .281 
 
 Chap. XXX. — Festivities are held in honour of Nicholas, who suddenly 
 withdraws himself from the society of Mr. Vincent Crummies and his 
 Theatrical Companions ^ ..... . 289 
 
CONTENTS. Xiii 
 
 PAGB 
 
 Chap. XXXI. — Of Ralph Nickleby and Newman Noggs, and some wise 
 
 Precautions, the success or failure of which will appear in the Sequel , 301 
 
 Chap. XXXII. — Relating chiefly to some remarkable Conversation, and 
 
 some remarkable Proceedings to which it gives rise . . . 307 
 
 Chap. XXXIII — In which Mr. Ralph Nickleby is reUeved, by a very 
 
 expeditious Process, from all Commerce with his relations . . 315 
 
 Chap. XXXIV. — Wherein Mr. Ralph Nickleby is visited by Persons with 
 
 whom the Reader has been already made acquainted . . ,321 
 
 Chap. XXXV. — Smike becomes known to Mrs. Nickleby and Kate. Nicho- 
 las also meets with new Acquaintances, and brighter Days seem to dawn 
 upon the Family .... . . 333 
 
 Chap. XXXVI. — Private and confidential ; relating to family matters. 
 Showing how Mr. Kenwigs underwent violent Agitation, and how Mrs. 
 Kenwigs was as well as could be expected . . , ,345 
 
 Chap. XXXVII. — Nicholas finds further Favour in the eyes of the Brothers 
 Cheeryble and Mr. Timothy Linkinwater. The Brothers give a Banquet 
 on a great annual occasion ; Nicholas, on returning home from it, 
 receives a mysterious and important Disclosure from the lips of Mrs, 
 Nickleby ........ 353 
 
 Chap. XXXVIII. — Comprises certain Particulars arising out of a Visit of 
 Condolence, which may prove important hereafter. Smike unexpectedly 
 encounters a very old Friend, who invites him to his house, and will 
 take no denial ....... 366 
 
 Chap. XXXIX. — In which another old Friend encounters Smike, very 
 
 opportunely and to some purpose ..... 378 
 
 Chap. XL. — In which Nicholas falls in Love. He employs a Mediator, 
 whose Proceedings are crowned with unexpected Success, excepting in 
 one solitary Particular ....... 385 
 
 Chap. XLI. — Containing'some Romantic Passages between Mrs. Nickleby 
 
 and the Gentleman in the Small-Clothes next Door . . . 398 
 
 Chap. XLII. — Illustrative of the convivial Sentiment, that the best of 
 
 Friends must sometimes part ...... 408 
 
 Chap. XLIII. — Officiates as a kind of Gentleman Usher, in bringing various 
 
 people together . ...... 417 
 
 Chap. XLIV. — Mr. Ralph Nickleby cuts an old Acquaintance. It would 
 also appear from the contents hereof, that a joke, even between Husband 
 and Wife, may be sometimes carried too far . . • • 427 
 
 Chap. XLV. — Containing matter of a surprising kind . . . 439 
 
 Chap. XLVI. — Throws some light upon Nicholas's Love ; but whether for 
 
 Good or Evil the Reader must determine • . • • 449 
 
XIV CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGB 
 
 Chap. XLVII. — Mr. Ralph Nickleby has some confidential intercourse 
 with another old Friend. They concert between them a Project, which 
 promises well for both ....... 460 
 
 Chap. XLVIII. — Being for the Benefit of Mr. Vincent Crummies, and 
 
 Positively his last Appearance on this Stage . . . . 472 
 
 Chap. XLIX Chronicles the further Proceedings of the Nickleby Family, 
 
 and the Sequel of the Adventure of the Gentleman in the Smalk 
 clothes ......... 481 
 
 Chap. L — Involves a serious Catastrophe ..... 493 
 
 Chap. LI. — The project of Mr. Ralph Nickleby and his Friend approaching 
 a successful Issue, becomes unexpectedly known to another Party, not 
 admitted into their Confidence ...... 504 
 
 Chap. LI I. — Nicholas despairs of rescuing Madeline Bray, but plucks up 
 his spirits again, and determines to attempt it. Domestic Intelligence 
 of the Kenwigses and Lilly vicks . . . . .513 
 
 Chap. LIIl. — Containing the further progress of the Plot contrived by Mr. 
 
 Ralph Nickleby and Mr. Arthur Gride . . . . .523 
 
 Chap. LIV.— The Crisis of the Project and its Result . . .535 
 
 Chap. LV Of Family matters, Cares, Hopes, Disappointments, and Sor- 
 rows ... ...... 545 
 
 Chap. LVI — Ralph Nickleby, baffled by his Nephew in his late Design, 
 hatches a scheme of Retaliation which accident^ suggests to him, and^ 
 takes into his Counsels a tried Auxiliary .... 554 
 
 Chap. LVII. — How Ralph Nickleby's Auxiliary went about his work, and 
 
 how he prospered with it . . . . . .564 
 
 Chap- LVIII. — In which one Scene of this History is closed . . 572 
 
 Chap. LIX. — The Plots begin to fail, and doubts and dangers to disturb 
 
 the Plotter T ........ 577 
 
 Chap. LX. — The Dangers thicken, and the worst is told . ... 588 
 
 Chap. LXI. — Wherein Nicholas and his Sister forfeit the Good Opinion 
 
 of all worldly and prudent People ..... 596 
 
 Chap. LXII. — Ralph makes one last Appointment— and keeps it . . 603 
 
 Chap. LXIII. — The Brothers Cheeryble make various Declarations for 
 themselves and others, and Tim Linkinwater makes a Declaration for 
 himself ......... 608 
 
 Chap. LXIV.— An old Acquaintance is Recognised under melancholy cir- 
 
 i. cumstances, and Dotheboys Hall breaks up for ever . . .615 
 
 Chap. LXV— Conclusion . . ... . .622 
 
LIST OF PLATES. 
 
 I'AfJB 
 MR. RALPH NICKLEBy's FIRST VISIT TO HIS POOR RELATIONS . . . . 18 
 
 THE YORKSHIRE SCHOOLMASTER AT THE SARACEn's HEAD 25 
 
 NICHOLAS starts FOR YORKSHIRE 38 
 
 IHE FIVE SISTERS OF YORK 45 
 
 THE INTERNAL ECONOMY OF DOTHEBOYS HALL 63 
 
 KATE NICKLEBY SITTING TO MISS LA CREEVY 89 
 
 NEWMAN NOGGS LEAVES THE LADIES IN THE EMPTY HOUSE 100 
 
 NICHOLAS ASTONISHES MR. SQUEERS AND FAMILY 116 
 
 NICHOLAS ENGAGED AS TUTOR IN A PRIVATE FAMILY 153 
 
 MADAME MANTALINI INTRODUCES KATE TO MISS KNAG , . , .157 
 
 MISS NICKLEBY INTRODUCED TO HER UNCLe's FRIENDS . . . , . . 175 
 
 MR. RALPH NICKLEBY's " HONESt" COMPOSURE 188 
 
 THE PROFESSIONAL GENTLEMAN AT MADAME MANTALINl's 196 
 
 THE COUNTRY MANAGER REHEARSES A COMBAT 209 
 
 THE GREAT BESPEAK FOR MISS SNEVELLICCI . 237 
 
 NICHOLAS INSTRUCTS SMIKE IN THE ART OP ACTING ...... 248 
 
 AFFECTIONATE BEHAVIOUR OF MESSRS. PYKE AND PLUCK 261 
 
 NICHOLAS HINTS AT THE PROBABILITY OF HIS LEAVING THE COMPANY . . 288 
 
 THEATRICAL EMOTION OF MR. VINCENT CRUMMLES 300 
 
 NICHOLAS ATTRACTED BY THE MENTION OF HIS SISTER'S NAME IN THE COFFEE-ROOM 310 
 
 MR. AND MRS. MANTALINI IN RALPH NICKLEBY's OFFICE . . ' . * . 322 
 
 EMOTION OF MR. KEN WIGS ON HEARING THE FAMILY NEWS FROM NICHOLAS . 351 
 
XVI LIST OP PLATES. 
 
 LINKINWATEE INTIMATES UIS APPROVAL OF XICftOLAS 355 
 
 A SUDDEN RECOGNITION, UNEXPECTED ON BOTH SIDES 373 
 
 NICUOLAS RECOGNISES THE YOUNG LADV UNKNOWN . . . . . 390 
 
 THE GENTLEMAN NEXT DOOR DECLARES HIS PASSION FOR MRS. NICKLEBY . . 404 
 MR. MANTALINI POISONS HIMSELF FOR THE SEVENTH TIME .... 435 
 
 MR. SNAWLEY ENLARGES ON PARENTAL INSTINCT 444 
 
 NICHOLAS MAKES HIS FIRST VISIT TO MR. BRAY 457 
 
 THE CONSULTATION 4G2 
 
 MYSTERIOUS APPEARANCE OF THE GP:NTLEMAN IN THE SMALL CLOTHES . . 487 
 
 THE LAST BRAWL BETWEEN SIR MULBERRY AND HIS PUPIL .... 500 
 
 GREAT EXCITEMENT OF MISS KENWIGS AT THE HAIR-DRESSER's SHOP . . . 51S 
 
 NICHOLAS CONGRATULATES ARTHUR GRIDE ON HIS WEDDING MORNING . . 543 
 
 MR. SQUEERS AND MRS. SLIDERSKEW UNCONSCIOUS OF VISITORS . . . . 571 
 
 THE RECOGNITION 574 
 
 THE BREAKING UP AT DOTHEBOYS HALL 615 
 
 REDUCED CIRCUMSTANCES OF MR. MANTALINI 617 
 
 THE CHILDREN AT THEIR COUSIN's GRAVE 624 
 
Bradlairy nnd Ev:ui4,l 
 
 LONDON : CHAPMAN AND HALL, 186, STRAND. 
 
 rPrintora, Whitefriars, LonAm. 
 
BRITISH COLLEGE OF HEALTH 
 
 HAMILTON PLACE, NEW ROAD, LONDON. 
 CONSUMPTION CURED BY MORISON^S MEDICINES, 
 
 ATTESTED BY 
 
 LADY SOPHIA GREY, OF ASHTON HAYES, NEAR NORTHWICH, CHESHIRE. 
 To the Editor of the Times. 
 
 Sir, — I now beg to forward for publication, at Lady Sophia Grey's own request, her letter, detailings 
 Cure of Consumption. 
 
 I cannot but express my astonishment, that after the repeated cases of cure which, during a period of 
 fourteen years, have been performed under the Hygeian system — which fact must be within the knowledge 
 of many of the medical body — the truth of that system being moreover confirmed by the most distinguished 
 members of the profession, such as the late Dr. James Hamilton, of Edinburgh, as to the practice, and 
 now by Professor Magendie, as to the theory — the medical profession generally should persist in treating 
 diseases on the principles of Organic Pathology, by multifarious and pernicious drugs. 
 
 The cure of Consumption here alluded to, is not by many the only one performed under the Hygeian 
 treatment, as Mr. Tothill, Surgeon, of Heavitrce, near Exeter, has effected several cures of that disease by 
 my medicines ; and I should also cite the case of Sir Richard Sutton's son, who was cured of it, after 
 having been given over by the faculty. In proof of the case now reported being consumption, we have the 
 sound judgment of Lady Sophia Grey, who had been acquainted with the family twenty-nine years, and 
 knew them to be consumptive, two of its members having fallen victims to the disease. The party took 
 my medicine as a last resort. I am, Sir, yours obediently, James Morison, the Hygeist. 
 
 British College of Health, New Road, London, Jan. 2, 1839. 
 
 P.S. I am aware that the faculty deem such cases, and many others, incurable. So should I, did I 
 believe in their untenable doctrine of Organic Pathology, which in the language of Magendie " attributes 
 everything to the solids, and refuses the liquids all participation in the production of morbid alterations." — 
 Lancet, page 463, 22d December, 1838. But according to the Hygeian treatment the Blood is purified 
 and the progress of disease stopped. 
 
 COPY OF LADY SOPHIA GREy's LETTER. 
 
 Ashton Hayes, near Chester, Dec. 31, 1838. 
 Sir, — Having so greatly benefited by your invaluable medicines, for the last five years, that if my con- 
 stitution had not been completely ruined by loss of blood and mercury twenty years before I was so fortu- 
 nate as to hear of your medicines, I am confident I should now be as strong as the strongest of my age (61 ) ; 
 but excepting very slight ailments, I now, comparatively speaking, enjoy good health; and it gives nic 
 sincere pleasure in having it in my power to send you to be published a Curk of Consumption, under my 
 own eye, of a young man, whom I have known from his birtl), and all his fivmily for the last twenty-nii 
 years — two of them died of rapid decline, and he. was fast going in the same most dreadful and iucurahl 
 complaint, and was urged by some friends of. his to try your medicines. He began by taking three of No. 
 1 at night and three of No. 2 the next morning, and continued increasing until he got to ten of each, and 
 then felt so well he decreased to one pill, but the night-sweats returned, and he began taking them again 
 in larger doses, and on a different plan — No. 1 Pills one night and No. 2 Pills the next, and bo on till he 
 got to twenty-eight at one dose, and this conquered the complaint ; he then decreased them to one pill, 
 and is now in good health. He docs not wish to have his name published, but if any one wishes for further 
 particulars, they may apply by letter or in person to me, and may hear everything from him by word-of- 
 mouth. He lives in the parish of Tarven. — Your medicines are highly valued in this parish, and the poor 
 are most grateful for them. If I had permission, I could tell you of many that are rich, who have been 
 restored to health by them. Whenever I have any case that I have attended and can vouch for the truth 
 of, you may depend on my informing you of it, for merit and benevolence ought to be encouraged, and it is 
 hard that those who cannot afford advice, or are called incurable, should not benefit, as I have done, by 
 your wonderful medicines. I remain, Sir, your obedient and obliged. 
 
 To James Morison, Esq. SOPHIA GREY. 
 
 CAX7TI0N. 
 
 Whereas spurious imitations of my Medicines are now in circulation, I, James Morison, the Hyg«ist, hereby gire 
 notice, that I am in no wise connected with the following Medicines purporting to be mine, and «old under the various 
 names of " Dr. Morrison's Pills;" " The Hygeian Pills ;" " The Improved Vegeteble Universal Pills ;" " The Original 
 Morison's Pills, as compoimded by the late Mr. Moat ;" " The Original Hygeian Vegetable Pills ;" "^The Original Mo- 
 rison's Pills ;" &c. &c. 
 
 That my Medicines are prepared only at the British College of Health, Hamilton Place, King'i Cross, London ; ai^' 
 sold by the General Agents to the British College of Health, and their Sub-Agents ; and that no Chemist or Druggi* 
 is authorised by me to dispose of the same. 
 
 None can be genuine, without the words " MonisoN's Universal Medicinhs " are engraved on the GoTernment 
 Stamp, in white letters upon a red ground.— In witness whereof I have hereunto set my hand. 
 
 British College of Health, King's Cross. JAMES MORISON, the HygeisL 
 
 Sold in Boxes, at \t. \^d., 2s. 9d., 4*. 6cf., and Family Packets, conUining three As. W. Boxes, at 11*. each. 
 GENERAL DEPOTS IN LONDON FOR THE SALE OF THE MEDICINES. 
 
 Medical Dissenter Office. 368, Strand; Mrs, Twell, 10, Hand-court, Holborn ; Mr. Good, Western Branch, 7f» 
 Edgeware-road ; Mr. Field, Gfi, Qu?.drant, Regent-street; Mr. Haslett, 118, Ratcliffe-highway ; Mr. Lofts, 3, Park- 
 place, Mile-end-road ; Messrs. Hannay & Co., 63, Oxford-street ; Mr. Chappell, 84, Lombard-street. 
 
 N.B — Sub-Agents may be found in every Town or Village throughout the Kingdom, duly appointed by the General 
 Agents ; and the Public are hereby further cautioned against purchasing the Medicine, except of (he regularlj* 
 »pp©Inted Agents to the British College of Health, as many spurious imitations are in circiUatioo* 
 
LIFE AND ADVENTURES 
 
 NICHOLAS NICKLEBY 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 INTRODUCES ALL THE REST. 
 
 There once lived in a sequestered part of the county of Devonshire, 
 one Mr. Godfrey Nickleby, a worthy gentleman, who taking it into 
 his head rather late in life that he must get married, and not being- 
 young enough or rich enough to aspire to the hand of a lady of fortune, 
 had wedded an old flame out of mere attachment, who in her turn had 
 taken him for the same reason : thus two people who cannot afford to 
 play cards for money, sometimes sit down to a quiet game for love. 
 
 Some ill-conditioned persons, who sneer at the life-matrimonial, may 
 perhaps suggest in this place that the good couple would be better 
 likened to two principals in a sparring match, who, when fortune is 
 low and backers scarce, will chivalrously set to, for the mere pleasure 
 of the buffetting ; and in one respect indeed this comparison would 
 hold good, for as the adventurous pair of the Fives' Court will after- 
 wards send round a hat, and trust to the bounty of the lookers-on for 
 the means of regaling themselves, so Mr. Godfrey Nickleby and his 
 partner, the honey-moon being over, Ipoked wistfully out into the 
 world, relying in no inconsiderable degree upon chance for the improve- 
 ment of their means. Mr. Nickleby's income, at the period of his 
 marriage, fluctuated between sixty and eighty pounds per annum. 
 
 There are people enough in the world, heaven knows ! and even in 
 London (where Mr. Nickleby dwelt in those days) but few complaints 
 prevail of the population being scanty. It is extraordinary how long 
 a man may look among the crowd without discovering the face of a 
 friend, but it is no less true. Mr. Nickleby looked and looked till his 
 eyes became sore as his heart, but no friend appeared; and when, 
 growing tired of the search, he turned his eyes homeward, he saw very 
 little there to relieve his weary vision. A painter, who has gazed too 
 long upon some glaring colour, refreshes his dazzled sight by looking 
 
 B 
 
2 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 upon a darker and more sombre tint ; but everything that met Mr. 
 Nickleby's gaze wore so black and gloomy a hue, that he would have 
 been beyond description refreshed by the very reverse of the contrast. 
 
 At length, after five years, when Mrs. Nickleby had presented her 
 husband with a couple of sons, and that embarrassed gentleman, im- 
 pressed with the necessity of making some provision for his family, 
 was seriously revolving in his mind a little commercial speculation of 
 insuring his life next quarter-day, and then falling from the top of the 
 Monument by accident, there came one morning, by the general post, 
 a black-bordered letter to inform him how his uncle, Mr. Ralph 
 Nickleby, was dead, and had left him the bulk of his little property, 
 amounting in all to five thousand pounds sterling. 
 
 As the deceased had taken no further notice of his nephew in his 
 life-time, than sending to his eldest boy (who had been christened after 
 him, on desperate speculation) a silver spoon in a morocco case, which 
 as he had not too much to eat with it, seemed a kind of satire upon his 
 having been bom without that useful article of plate in his mouth, Mr. 
 Godfrey Nickleby could at first scarcely believe the tidings thus con- 
 veyed to him. On further examination, however, they turned out to 
 be strictly correct. The amiable old gentleman, it seemed, had intended 
 to leave the whole to the Royal Humane Society, and had indeed exe- 
 cuted a will to that efi^ect ; but the Institution having been unfortunate 
 enough, a few months before, to save the life of a poor relation to whom 
 he paid a weekly allowance of three shillings and sixpence, he had in a 
 fit of very natural exasperation, revoked the bequest in a codicil, and 
 left it all to Mr. Godfrey Nickleby ; with a special mention of his 
 indignation, not only against the society for saving the poor relation's 
 life, but against the poor relation also, for allowing himself to be 
 saved. 
 
 With a portion of this property Mr. Godfrey Nickleby purchased a 
 small farm near Dawlish, in Devonshire, whither he retired with his 
 wife and two children, to live upon the best interest he could get for 
 the rest of his money, and the little produce he could raise from his 
 land. The two prospered so well together that, when he died, some 
 fifteen years after this period, and some five after his wife, he was 
 enabled to leave to his eldest son, Ralph, three thousand pounds in 
 cash, and to his youngest son, Nicholas, one thousand and the farm ; 
 if indeed that can be called a farm, which, exclusive of house and 
 paddock, is about the size of Russell Square, measuring from the street- 
 doors of the houses. 
 
 These two brothers had been brought up together in a school at 
 Exeter, and being accustomed to go home once a week, had often 
 heard, from their mother's lips, long accoimts of their father's suffer- 
 ings in his days of poverty, and of their deceased uncle's importance 
 in his days of affluence, which recitals produced a very different 
 impression on the two : for while the younger, who was of a timid 
 and retiring disposition, gleaned from thence nothing but fore warnings 
 to shun the great world and attach himself to the quiet routine of 
 a country life ; Ralph, the elder, deduced from the often-repeated tale 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. B 
 
 the two great morals that riches are the only true source of happi- 
 ness and power, and that it is lawful and just to compass their 
 acquisition by all means short of felony. " And," reasoned Ralph with 
 himself, " if no good came of my uncle's money when he was alive, 
 a great deal of good came of it after he was dead, inasmuch as my 
 father has got it now, and is saving it up for me, which is a highly 
 virtuous purpose ; and, going back to the old gentleman, good did 
 come of it to him too, for he had the pleasure of thinking of it all 
 his life long, and of being envied and courted by all his family besides." 
 And Ralph always wound up these mental soliloquies by arriving at 
 the conclusion, that there was nothing like money. 
 
 Not confining himself to theory, or permitting his faculties to rust 
 even at that early age in mere abstract speculations, this promising lad 
 commenced usurer on a limited scale at school, putting out at good 
 interest a small capital of slate-pencil and marbles, and gradually ex- 
 tending his operations until they aspired to the copper coinage of this 
 realm, in which he speculated to considerable advantage. Nor did he 
 trouble his borrowers with abstract calculations of figures, or references 
 to ready-reckoners; his simple rule of interest being all comprised 
 in the one golden sentence, " two-pence for every half-penny," which 
 greatly simplified the accounts, and which, as a familiar precept, 
 more easily acquired and retained in the memory than any known rule 
 of arithmetic, cannot be too strongly recommended to the notice of 
 capitalists, both large and small, and more especially of money-brokers 
 and bill-discounters. Indeed, to do these gentlemen justice, many of 
 them are to this day in the frequent habit of adopting it with eminent 
 success. 
 
 In like manner, did young Ralph Nickleby avoid all those minute 
 and intricate calculations of odd days, which nobody who has ever 
 worked sums in simple-interest can fail to have found most embar- 
 rassing, by establishing the one general rule that all sums of principal 
 and interest should be paid on pocket-money day, that is to say, on 
 Saturday ; and that whether a loan were contracted on the Monday 
 or on the Friday, the amount of interest should be in both cases 
 the same. Indeed he argued, and with great show of reason, that 
 it ought to be rather more for one day than for five, inasmuch as the 
 borrower might in the former case be very fairly presumed to be in 
 great extremity, otherwise he would not borrow at all with such odds 
 against him. This fact is interesting, as illustrating the secret con- 
 nection and sympathy which always exists between great minds. 
 Though master Ralph Nickleby was not at that time aware of it, the 
 class of gentlemen before alluded to, proceed on just the same princi|>le 
 in all their transactions. 
 
 From what we have said of this young gentleman, and the natural 
 admiration the reader will immediately conceive of his character, it may 
 perhaps be inferred that he is to be the hero of the work which we 
 shall presently begin. To set this point at rest for once and for ever, 
 we hasten to undeceive them, and stride to its commencement. 
 
 On the death of his father, Ralph Nickleby, who had been some time 
 
 b2 
 
,4 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 before placed in a mercantile house in London, applied himself pas- 
 sionately to his old pursuit of money-getting, in which he speedily be- 
 came so buried and absorbed, that he quite forgot his brother for many 
 years ; and if at times a recollection of his old play-fellow broke upon 
 him through the haze in which he lived — for gold conjures up a mist 
 about a man more destructive of all his old senses and lulling to his 
 feelings than the fumes of charcoal — it brought along with it a com- 
 panion thought, that if they were intimate he would want to borrow 
 money of him : and Mr. Ralph Nickleby shrugged his shoulders, and 
 said things were better as they were. 
 
 As for Nicliolas, he lived a single man on the patrimonial estate 
 until he grew tired of living alone, and then he took to wife the 
 daughter of a neighbouring gentleman with a dower of one thousand 
 pounds. This good lady bore him two children, a son and a daughter, 
 and wlien the son was about nineteen, and the daughter fourteen, as 
 near as we can guess — impartial records of young ladies' ages being, 
 before the passing of tlie new act, nowhere preserved in the registries of 
 this country — Mr. Nickleby looked about him for the means of repair- 
 ing his capital, now sadly reduced by this increase in his family and 
 the expenses of their education. 
 
 " Speculate with it," said Mrs. Nickleby. 
 
 *' Spec — u — late, my dear ?" said Mr. Nickleby, as though in doubt. 
 
 " Why not?" asked Mrs. Nickleby. 
 
 " Because, my dear, if we should lose it," rejoined Mr. Nickleby, 
 who was a slow and time-taking speaker, " if we should lose it, we 
 shall no longer be able to live, my dear." 
 
 " Fiddle," said Mrs. Nickleby. 
 
 " I am not altogether sure of that, my dear," said Mr. Nickleby. 
 
 " There's Nicholas," pursued the lady, " quite a young man — it's 
 time he was in the way of doing something for himself ; and Kate too, 
 poor girl, without a penny in the world. Think of your brother; 
 would he be what he is, if he hadn't speculated ? " 
 
 " That's tme," replied Mr. Nickleby. " Very good, my dear. Yes. 
 I will speculate, my dear." 
 
 Speculation is a round game ; the players see little or nothing of 
 their cards at first starting ; gains may be great — and so may losses. 
 The run of luck went against Mr. Nickleby ; a mania prevailed, a 
 bubble burst, four stock-brokers took villa residences at Florence, four 
 Imndred nobodies were ruined, and among them Mr. Nickleby. 
 
 " The very house I live in," sighed the poor gentleman, " may be 
 taken from me to-morrow. Not an article of my old furniture, but 
 will be sold to strangers ! " 
 
 The last reflection hurt him so much, that he took at once to his bed, 
 apparently resolved to keep that, at all events. 
 
 " Cheer up. Sir ! " said tlie apothecary. 
 
 " You mustn't let yourself be cast down, Sir," said the nurse. 
 
 " Such things happen every day," remarked the lawyer. 
 
 " And it is very sinful to rebel against them," whispered the clergy ^ 
 man. 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 5 
 
 " And what no man with a fiimily ought to do," added the neighbours. 
 
 Mr. Nickleby shook his head, and motioning them all out of the 
 room, embraced his wife and children, and having pressed them by 
 turns to his langTiidly beating heart, sunk exhausted on his pillow. 
 They were concerned to find that his reason went astray after this, for 
 he babbled for a long time about the generosity and goodness of his 
 brother, and the merry old times when they were at school together. 
 This fit of wandering past, he solemnly commended them to One who 
 never deserted the widow or her fatherless children, and smiling gently 
 on them, turned upon his face, and observed, that he thought he could 
 fall asleep. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 OF MR. RALPH NICKLEBY, AND HIS ESTABLISHMENT, AND HIS UNDER- 
 TAKINGS. AND OF A GREAT JOINT STOCK COMPANY OP VAST 
 NATIONAL IMPORTANCE. 
 
 Mr. Ralph Nickleby was not, strictly speaking, what you would 
 call a merchant : neither was he a banker, nor an attorney, nor a special 
 pleader, nor a notary. He was certainly not a tradesman, and still 
 less could he lay any claim to the title of a professional gentleman ; 
 for it w^ould have been impossible to mention any recognised profession 
 to which he belonged. Nevertheless, as he lived in a spacious house 
 in Golden Square, which, in addition to a brass plate upon the street- 
 door, had another brass plate two sizes and a half smaller upon the left 
 hand door-post, surmounting a brass model of an infant's fist grasping 
 a fragment of a skewer, and displaying the word " Office," it was 
 clear that Mr. Ralph Nickleby did, or pretended to do, business of 
 some kind; and the fact, if it required any further circumstantial 
 evidence, was abundantly demonstrated by the diurnal attendance, 
 between the hours of half-past nine and five, of a sallow-faced man in 
 rusty brown, who sat upon an uncommonly hard stool in a species of 
 butler's pantry at the end of the passage, and always had a pen behind 
 his ear when he answered the bell. 
 
 Although a few members of the graver professions live about Golden 
 Square, it is not exactly in anybody's way to or from anywhere. It 
 is one of the squares that have been ; a quarter of the town that has 
 gone down in the world, and taken to letting lodgings. Many of its 
 first and second floors are let furnished to single gentlemen, and it 
 takes boarders besides. It is a great resort of foreigners. The dark- 
 complexioned men who wear large rings, and heavy w^atch-gniards and 
 bushy whiskers, and who congregate under the Opera colonnade, and 
 about the box-office in the season, between four and five in the after- 
 noon, when Mr. Seguin gives away the orders, — all live in Golden 
 Square, or within a street of it. Two or three violins and a wind 
 instrument from the Opera band reside within its precincts. Its 
 
6. LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 boarding-houses are musical, and the notes of pianos and harps float 
 in the evening tune round the head of the mournful statue, the guardian 
 genius of a little wilderness of shrubs, in the centre of the square. 
 On a summer's night, windows are thrown open, and groups of 
 swarthy mustachio'd men are seen by the passer-by lounging at the 
 casements, and smoking fearfully. Sounds of gruff voices practising 
 vocal music invade the evening's silence, and the fumes of choice 
 tobacco scent the air. There, snuff and cigars, and German pipes 
 and fl^utes, and violins, and violoncellos, divide the supremacy between 
 them. It is the region of song and smoke. Street bands are on their 
 mettle in Golden Square, and itinerant glee-singers quaver involuntarily 
 as they raise their voices within its boundaries. 
 
 This would not seem a spot very well adapted to the transaction of 
 business; but Mr. Ralph Nickleby had lived there notwithstanding 
 for many years, and uttered no complaint on that score. He knew 
 nobody round about and nobody knew him, although he enjoyed the 
 reputation of being immensely rich. The tradesmen held that he was 
 a sort of lawyer, and the other neighbours opined that he was a kind of 
 general agent ; both of which guesses were as correct and definite as 
 guesses about other people's affairs usually are, or need to be. 
 
 Mr. Ralph Nickleby sat in his private office one morning, ready 
 dressed to walk abroad. He wore a bottle-green spencer over a blue 
 coat ; a white waistcoat, grey mixture pantaloons, and Wellington 
 boots drawn over them : the comer of a small-plaited shirt frill strug- 
 gled out, as if insisting to show itself, from between his chin and the 
 top button of his spencer, and the garment was not made low enough 
 to conceal a long gold watch-chain, composed of a series of plain rings, 
 which had its beginning at the handle of a gold repeater in Mr. 
 Nickleby's pocket, and its termination in two little keys, one belong- 
 ing to the watch itself, and the other to some patent padlock. He 
 wore a sprinkling of powder upon his head, as if to make himself look 
 benevolent ; but if that were his purpose, he would perhaps have done 
 better to powder his countenance also, for there was something in its 
 very wrinkles, and in his cold restless eye, which seemed to tell of 
 cunning that would announce itself in spite of him. However this 
 might be, there he was ; and as he was all alone, neither the powder 
 nor the wrinkles, nor the eyes, had the smallest effect, good or bad, 
 upon anybody just then, and are consequently no business of ours 
 just now. 
 
 Mr. Nickleby closed an account-book which lay on his desk, and 
 throwing himself back in his chair, gazed with an air of abstraction 
 through the dirty window. Some Ijondon houses have a melancholy 
 little plot of ground behind them, usually fenced in by four high white- 
 washed walls and frowned upon by stacks of chimneys, in which there 
 withers on from year to year a crippled tree, that makes a show 
 of putting forth a few leaves late in autunui, when other trees shed 
 theirs, ancl drooping in the effort, lingers on all crackled and smoke- 
 dried till the following season, when it repeats the same process, and 
 perhaps if the weather be particularly genial, even tempts some 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY, 7 
 
 rheumatic sparrow to chirrup in its branches. People sometimes call 
 these dark yards "gardens;" it is not supposed that they were ever 
 planted, but rather that they are pieces of unreclaimed land, with the 
 withered vegetation of the original brick-field. No man thinks of 
 walking in this desolate place, or of turning it to any account. A few 
 hampers, half-a-dozen broken bottles, and such-like rubbish, may be 
 thrown there when the tenant first moves in, but nothing more ; and 
 there they remain till he goes away again, the damp straw taking just 
 as long to moulder as it thinks proper, and mingling with the scanty 
 box, and stunted everbrowns, and broken flower-pots, that are scattered 
 mournfully about — a prey to " blacks" and dirt. 
 
 It was into a place of this kind that Mr. Ralph Nickleby gazed as 
 he sat with his hands in his pockets looking out at window. He had 
 fixed his eyes upon a distorted fir-tree, planted by some former tenant 
 in a tub that had once been green, and left there years before, to rot 
 away piecemeal. There was nothing very inviting in the object, but 
 Mr. Nickleby was wrapt in a brown study, and sat contemplating it 
 with far greater attention than, in a more conscious mood, he would 
 have deigned to bestow upon the rarest exotic. At lengih his eyes 
 wandered to a little dirty window on the left, through which the face 
 of the clerk was dimly visible, and that worthy chancing to look up, 
 he beckoned him to attend. 
 
 In obedience to this summons the clerk got off the high stool (to 
 which he had communicated a high polish, by countless gettings off 
 and on), and presented himself in Mr. Nickleby's room. He was a tall 
 man of middle-age with two goggle eyes whereof one was a fixture, a 
 rubicund nose, a cadaverous face, and a suit of clothes (if the term be 
 allowable when they suited him not at all) much the worse for wear, 
 very much too small, and placed upon such a short allowance of buttons 
 that it was quite marvellous how he contrived to keep them on. 
 
 " Was that half-past twelve, Noggs ?" said Mr. Nickleby, in a sharp 
 and grating voice. 
 
 " Not more than five-and-twenty minutes by the — " Noggs was 
 going to add public-house clock, but recollecting himself, he substituted 
 " regular time." 
 
 " My watch has stopped," said Mr. Nickleby ; " I don't know from 
 what cause." 
 
 " Not wound up " said Noggs. 
 
 " Yes, it is," said Mr. Nickleby. 
 
 " Over-wound then" rejoined Noggs. 
 
 " That can't very well be," observed Mr. Nickleby. 
 
 " Must be," said Noggs. 
 
 "Well!" said Mr. Nickleby, putting the repeater back in his 
 pocket ; " perhaps it is." 
 
 Noggs gave a peculiar grunt as was his custom at the end of all 
 disputes with his master, to imply that he (Noggs) triumphed, and 
 (as he rarely spoke to anybody unless somebody spoke to him) fell into 
 a grim silence, and rubbed his hands slowly over each other, cracking 
 the joints of his fingers, and squeezing them into all possible distortions. 
 
8 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 Tlie incessant performance of this routine on every occasion, and the 
 communication of a fixed and rigid look to his unaffected eye, so as ta 
 make it uniform with the other, and to render it impossible for anybody 
 to determin(i where or at what he was looking, were two among the 
 immerous peculiarities of Mr. Noggs, which struck an inexperienced 
 observer at first sight. 
 
 " I am going to the London Tavern this morning," said Mr. 
 Nickleby. 
 
 " Public meeting?" inquired Noggs. 
 
 Mr. Nickleby nodded. " I expect a letter from the solicitor respect- 
 ing that mortgage of Ruddle's. If it comes at all, it will be here by 
 the two o'clock delivery. I shall leave the city about that time and 
 walk to Charing-Cross on the left-hand side of the way ; if there are 
 any letters, come and meet me, and bring them with you." 
 
 Noggs nodded ; and as he nodded, there came a ring at the office 
 bell : the master looked up from his papers, and the clerk calmly 
 remained in a stationary position. 
 
 " The bell," said Noggs, as though in explanation ; " at home ?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 . "To anybody?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " To the tax-gatherer?" 
 
 " No ! Let him call again." 
 
 Noggs gave vent to his usual gTunt, as much as to say " I thought 
 so ! " and, the ring being repeated, went to the door, whence he pre- 
 sently returned ushering in, by the name of Mr. Bonney, a pale gen- 
 tleman in a violent hurry, who, with his hair standing up in great 
 disorder all over his head, and a very narrow white cravat tied loosely 
 round his throat, looked as if he had been knocked up in the night 
 and had not dressed himself since. 
 
 " My dear Nickleby," said the gentleman, taking off a white hat 
 which was so full of papers that it would scarcely stick upon his head, 
 " there's not a moment to lose ; I have a cab at the door. Sir 
 Matthew Pupker takes the chair, and three members of Parliament 
 are positively coming. I have seen two of them safely out of bed ; 
 and the third, who was at Crockford's all night, has just gone home 
 to put a clean shirt on, and take a bottle or two of soda-water, and will 
 certainly be with us in time to address the meeting. lie is a little 
 excited by last night, but never mind that ; he always speaks the 
 stronger for it." 
 
 " It seems to promise pretty well," said Mr. Ralph Nickleby, whose 
 deliberate manner was strongly opposed to the vivacity of the other 
 man of business. 
 
 "Pretty well!" echoed Mr. Bonney ; "It's the finest idea that was 
 evef started. ' United Metropolitan Improved Hot Muffin and 
 Crumpet Baking and Punctual Delivery Company. Capital, five 
 millions, in five hundred thousand shares of ten pounds each.' Why 
 the very name will get the shares up to a ])reminm in ten days." 
 
 " And wlien they are at a premium," said Mr. Ralph Nickleby, smiling. 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. » 
 
 " When they are, you know what to do with them as well as any 
 man alive, and how to back quietly out at the right time," said Mr. 
 Bonney, slapping the capitalist familiarly on the shoulder. " By the 
 bye, what a very remarkable man that clerk of yours is." 
 
 " Yes, poor devil \" replied Ralph, drawing on his gloves. " Though 
 Newman Noggs kept his horses and hounds once." 
 
 " Aye, aye V said the other carelessly. 
 
 " Yes," continued Ralph, " and not many years ago either ; but he 
 squandered his money, invested it anyhow, borrowed at interest, and 
 in short made first a thorough fool of himself, and then a beggar. He 
 took to drinking, and had a touch of paralysis, and then came here to 
 borrow a pound, as in his better days I had — had — " 
 
 "Had done business with him," said Mr. Bonney with a meaning 
 look. 
 
 " Just so," replied Ralph ; " I couldn't lend it, you know." 
 
 " Oh, of course not." 
 
 " But as I wanted a clerk just then, to open the door and so forth, 
 I took him out of charity, and he has remained with me ever since. 
 He is a little mad, I think," said Mr. Nickleby, calling up a charitable 
 look, " but he is useful enough, poor creature — useful enough." 
 
 The kind-hearted gentleman omitted to add that Newman Noggs, 
 being utterly destitute, served him for rather less than the usual wages 
 of a boy of thirteen; and likewise failed to mention in his hasty 
 chronicle, that his eccentric taciturnity rendered him an especially 
 valuable person in a place where much business was done, of which it 
 was desirable no mention should be made out of doors. The other 
 gentleman was plainly impatient to be gone, however, and as they 
 hurried into the hackney cabriolet immediately afterwards, perhaps 
 Mr. Nickleby forgot to mention circumstances so unimportant. 
 
 There was a great bustle in Bishopsgate Street Within, as they 
 drew up, and (it being a windy day) half a dozen men were tacking 
 across the road under a press of paper, bearing gigantic announcements 
 that a Public Meeting would be holden at one o'clock precisely, to 
 take into consideration the propriety of petitioning Parliament in 
 favour of the United Metropolitan Improved Hot Muffin and Cnmipet 
 Baking and Punctual Delivery Company, capital five millions, in 
 five hundred thousand shares of ten pounds each ; which sums 
 were duly set forth in fat black figures of considerable size. Mr. 
 Bonney elbowed his way briskly up stairs, receiving in his progress 
 many low bows from the waiters who stood on the landings to show 
 the way, and, followed by Mr. Nickleby, dived into a suite of apart- 
 ments behind the great public room, in the second of which was a 
 business-looking table, and several business-looking people. 
 
 " Hear 1 " cried a gentleman with a double c-hin, as Mr. Boimey 
 presented himself. " Chair, gentlemen, chair." 
 
 The new comers were received with universal approbation, and Mr. 
 Bonney bustled up to the top of the table, took off his hat, ran his 
 fingers through his hair, and knocked a hackney-coachmen's knock 
 on the table with a little hammer: whereat several gentlemen cried 
 
10 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 " Hear ! " and nodded slightly to each other, as much as to say what 
 spirited conduct that was. Just at this moment a waiter, feverish with 
 agitation, tore into the room, and throwing the door open with a crash, 
 shouted " Sir Matthew Pupker." 
 
 The committee stood up and clapped their hands for joy ; and 
 while they were clapping them, in came Sir Matthew Pupker, at- 
 tended by two live members of Parliament, one Irish and one Scotch, 
 all smiling and bowing, and looking so pleasant that it seemed a 
 perfect marvel how any man could have the heart to vote against them. 
 Sir Matthew Pupker especially, who had a little round head with a 
 flaxen wig on the top of it, fell into such a paroxysm of bows, that the 
 wig threatened to be jerked oiF every instant. When these symptoms 
 had in some degree subsided, the gentlemen who were on speaking 
 terms with Sir Matthew Pupker, or the two other members, crowded 
 round them in three little groups, near one or other of which the 
 gentlemen who were not on speaking terms with Sir Matthew Pupker 
 or the two other members, stood lingering, and smiling, and rubbing 
 their hands, in the desperate hope of something turning up which might 
 bring them into notice. All this time Sir Matthew Pupker and the 
 two other members were relating to their separate circles what the 
 intentions of government were about taking up the bill, with a full 
 account of what the government had said in a whisper the last time 
 they dined with it, and how the government had been observed to wink 
 when it said so ; from which premises they were at no loss to draw the 
 conclusion, that if the government had one object more at heart than 
 another, that one object was tlie welfare and advantage of the United 
 Metropolitan Improved Hot Muffin and Crumpet Baking and Punctual 
 Delivery Company. 
 
 Meanwhile, and pending the Arrangement of the proceedings, and a 
 fair division of the speechifying, the public in the large room were 
 eyeing, by turns, the empty platform, and the ladies in the Music 
 Gallery. In these amusements the greater portion of them had been 
 occupied for a couple of hours before, and as the most agTeeable diver- 
 sions pall upon the taste on a too protracted enjoyment of them, the 
 sterner spirits now began to hammer the floor with their boot-heels, and 
 to express their dissatisfaction by various hoots and cries. These vocal 
 exertions, emanating from the })eoplc who liad been there longest, 
 naturally proceeded from tliose who were nearest to tlie platform and 
 furthest from the policemen in attendance, who having no great mind 
 to flght tlieir way through the crowd, but entertaining nevertheless a 
 praiseworthy desire to do something to quell the disturbance, immedi- 
 ately began to drag fortli by the coat tails and collars all the quiet 
 people near the door ; at the same time dealing out various smart and 
 tingling blows with their truncheons, after the manner of that ingenious 
 actor, Mr. Punch, whose brillijint example, both in the fashion of his 
 weapons and tlieir use, this ])ranch of tlio executive occasionally 
 follows. 
 
 Several very exciting skinnishes were in progress, when a loud shout 
 attracted the attention even of the belligerents, and thqi there poured 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 11 
 
 on to the platfonn, from a door at the side, a long line of gentlemen with 
 their hats off, all looking behind them, and uttering vociferous cheers ; 
 the cause whereof was sufficiently explained when Sir Matthew Pupker 
 and the two other real members of Parliament came to the front, amidst 
 deafening shouts, and testified to each other in dumb motions that they 
 had never seen such a glorious sight as that in the whole course of their 
 public career. . 
 
 At leng-th, and at last, the assembly left off shouting, but Sir 
 Matthew Pupker being voted into the chair, they underwent a relapse 
 which lasted five minutes. This over. Sir Matthew Pupker went on 
 to say what must be his feelings on that great occasion, and what must 
 be that occasion in the eyes of the world, and what must be the intel- 
 ligence of his fellow-countrymen before him, and what must be the 
 wealth and respectability of his honourable friends behind him ; and 
 lastly, what must be the importance to the wealth, the happiness, the 
 comfort, the liberty, the very existence of a free and great people, of 
 such an Institution as the United Metropolitan Improved Hot Muffin 
 and Crumpet Baking and Punctual Delivery Company. 
 
 Mr. Bonney then presented himself to move the first resolution, and 
 having run his right hand through his hair, and planted his left in an 
 easy manner in his ribs, he consigned his hat to the care of the gentle- 
 man with the double chin (who acted as a species of bottle-holder to 
 the orators generally), and said he would read to them the first resolu- 
 tion — " That this meeting views with alann and apprehension, the 
 existing state of the Muffin Trade in this Metropolis and its neighbour- 
 hood; that it considers the Muffin Boys, as at present constituted, 
 wholly undeserving the confidence of the public, and that it deems the 
 whole Muffin system alike prejudicial to the health and morals of the 
 people, and subversive of the best interests of a great commercial 
 and mercantile community." The honourable gentleman made a 
 speech which drew tears from the eyes of the ladies, and awakened the 
 liveliest emotions in every individual present. He had visited the 
 houses of the poor in the various districts of London, and had 
 found them destitute of the slightest vestige of a muffin, which 
 there appeared too much reason to believe some of these indigent per- 
 sons did not taste from year s end to year's end. He had found that 
 among muffin sellers there existed drunkenness, debauchery, and profli- 
 gacy, which he attributed to the debasing nature of their employment 
 as at present exercised ; he had found the same vices among the poorer 
 class of people who ought to be muffin consumers, and this he attributed 
 to the despair engendered by their being placed beyond the reach of 
 that nutritious article, which drove them to seek a false stimulant in 
 intoxicating liquors. He would undertake to prove before a committee 
 of the House of Commons, that there existed a combination to keep up 
 the price of muffins, and to give the bellman a monopoly ; he would 
 prove it by bellmen at the bar of that House ; and he would also prove, 
 that these men corresponded with each other by secret words and signs, 
 as, "Snooks," "Walker," "Ferguson," "Is Murphy right?" and 
 many others. It was this melancholy state of things that the Company 
 
12 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 proposed to correct ; firstly, by prohibiting under heavy penalties all 
 private muffin trading of every description ; and secondly, by them- 
 selves supplying the public generally, and the poor at their own homes, 
 with muffins of first quality at reduced prices. It was with this 
 object that a bill had been introduced into Parliament by their patri- 
 otic chairman Sir Mathew Pupker ; it was tliis bill that they had met 
 to support ; it w^as the supporters of tliis bill who would confer undy- 
 ing brightness and splendour upon England, under the name of the 
 United Metropolitan Improved Hot Muffin and Crumpet Baking and 
 Punctual Delivery Company ; he would add, with a capital of Five 
 Millions, in five hundred thousand shares of ten pounds each. 
 
 Mr. Ralph Nickleby seconded the resolution, and another gentleman 
 having moved that it be amended by the insertion of the words " and 
 crumpet " after the word " muffin," whenever it occurred, it was car- 
 ried triumphantly ; only one man in the crowd cried " No ! " and he 
 was promptly taken into custody, and straightway borne off. 
 
 The second resolution, which recognised the expediency of imme- 
 diately abolishing "all muffin (or crumpet) sellers, all traders in 
 muffins (or crumpets) of whatsoever description, whether male or female, 
 boys or men, ringing hand-bells or otherwise," was moved by a grievous 
 gentleman of semi-clerical appearance, who went at once into such deep 
 pathetics, that he knocked the first speaker clean out of the course in 
 no time. You might have heard a pin fall — a pin ! a feather — as he 
 described the cruelties inflicted on muffin boys by their masters, 
 which he very wisely urged were in themselves a sufficient reason for 
 the establishment of that inestimable company. It seemed that the 
 imhappy youths were nightly turned out into the wet streets at the 
 most inclement periods of the year, to wander about in darkness and 
 rain — or it might be hail or snow — for hours together, without shelter, 
 food, or warmth ; and let the public never forget upon the latter point, 
 that while the muffins were provided with w^ann clothing and blankets, 
 the boys were wholly unprovided for, and left to their own miserable 
 resources. (Shame ! ) The honourable gentleman related one case of a 
 muffin boy, who having been exposed to this inhuman and barbarous 
 system for no less than five years, at length fell a victim to a cold in 
 the head, beneath which he gradually sunk until he fell into a perspi- 
 ration and recovered ; this he could vouch for, on his own authority, but 
 lie had heard (and he had no reason to doubt the fact) of a still more 
 heart-rending and appalling circumstance. He had heard of the case 
 of an orphan muffin boy, who, having been run over by a hackney car- 
 riage, had ])een removed to the hospital, had undergone the amputation 
 of his leg below tlie knee, and was now actually pursuing his occupa- 
 tion on crutches. Fountain of justice, were these things to last ! 
 
 This was the department of the sul)ject that took the meeting, and this 
 was the style of speaking to enlist their sympathies. The men shouted, 
 the ladies wept into their pocket-handkerchiefs till they were moist, 
 and waved them till they were dry ; the excitement was tremendous, 
 and Mr. Nickleby whispered his friend that the shares were thenceforth 
 at a premium of five-and twenty per cent. 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 13 
 
 The resolution was of course carried with loud acclamations, every 
 man holding up both hands in favour of it, as he would in his enthu- 
 siasm have held up both legs also, if he could have conveniently accom- 
 plished it. This done, the draft of the proposed petition was read at 
 leng-th ; and the petition said, as all petitions do say, that the petitioners 
 were very humble, and the petitioned very honorable, and the object 
 very virtuous, therefore (said the petition) the bill ought to be passed 
 into a law at once, to the everlasting honor and glory of that most honor- 
 able and glorious Commons of England in Parliament assembled. 
 
 Then the gentleman who had been at Crockford's all night, and who 
 looked something the worse about the eyes in consequence, came 
 forward to tell his fellow-countrymen what a speech he meant to make 
 in favour of that petition whenever it should l^e presented, and how 
 desperately he meant to taunt the parliament if they rejected the bill ; 
 and to infonn them also that he regretted his honorable friends had not 
 inserted a clause rendering the purchase of muffins and crumpets com- 
 pulsory upon all classes of the community, which he — opposing all half 
 measures, and preferring to go the extreme animal — pledged himself to 
 propose and divide upon in committee. After announcing this deter- 
 mination, the honorable gentleman grew jocular; and as patent boots, 
 lemon-coloured kid gloves, and a fur coat collar, assist jokes materially, 
 there was immense laughter and much cheering, and moreover such a 
 brilliant display of ladies' pocket-handkerchiefs, as threw the griev- 
 ous gentleman quite into the shade. 
 
 And when the petition had been read and was about to be adopted, 
 there came forward the Irish member (who was a young gentle- 
 man of ardent temperament), with such a speech as only an Irish 
 member can make, breathing the true soul and spirit of poetry, and 
 poured forth with such fervour, that it made one warm to look at him ; 
 in the course whereof he told them how he would demand the extension 
 of that great boon to his native country ; how he would claim for her 
 equal rights in the muffin laws as in all other laws ; and how he yet 
 hoped to see the day when crumpets should be toasted in her lowly 
 cabins, and muffin bells should ring in her rich green valleys. And 
 after him came the Scotch member, with various pleasant allusions to 
 the probable amount of profits, which increased the good humour that 
 the poetry had awakened ; and all the speeches put together did exactly 
 what, they were intended to do, and established in the hearers' minds 
 that there was no speculation so promising, or at the same time so 
 praiseworthy, as the United Metropolitan Improved Hot Muffin and 
 Crumpet Baking and Punctual Delivery Company. 
 
 So, the petition in favour of the bill was agreed upon, and the meet- 
 ing adjourned with acclamations, and Mr. Nickleby and the other 
 directors went to the office to lunch, as they did every day at half-past 
 one o'clock ; and to remunerate themselves for which trouble, (as the 
 company was yet in its infancy,) they only charged three guineas each 
 man for every such attendance. 
 
14 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 MR. RALPH NICKLEBY RECEIVES SAD TIDINGS OP HIS BROTHER, 
 BUT BEARS UP NOBLY AGAINST THE INTELLIGENCE COMMUNI- 
 CATED TO HIM. THE READER IS INFORMED HOW HE LIKED 
 NICHOLAS, WHO IS HEREIN INTRODUCED, AND HOW KINDLY HE 
 PROPOSED TO MAKE HIS FORTUNE AT ONCE. 
 
 Having rendered his zealous assistance towards despatching the 
 lunch, with all that promptitude and energy which are among the 
 most important qualities that men of business can possess, Mr. Ralph 
 Nickleby took a cordial farewell of his fellow speculators, and bent 
 his steps westward in unwonted good humour. As he passed Saint 
 Paul's he stepped aside into a doorway to set his watch, and with 
 his hand on the key and his eye on the cathedral dial, was intent upon 
 so doing, when a man suddenly stopped before him. It was Newman 
 Noggs. 
 
 " Ah ! Newman," said Mr. Nickleby, looking up as he pursued 
 his occupation. " The letter about the mortgage has come, has it ? I 
 thought it would." 
 
 " Wrong," replied Newman. 
 
 " What ! and nobody called respecting it ? " inquired Mr. Nickleby, 
 pausing. Noggs shook his head. 
 
 " What has come, then?" inquired Mr. Nickleby. 
 
 " I have," said Newman. 
 
 " What else ?" demanded the master, sternly. 
 
 "This," said Newman, drawing a sealed letter slowly from his 
 pocket. " Post-mark, Strand, black wax, black border, woman's 
 hand, C. N. in the corner." 
 
 " JBlack wax," said Mr. Nickleby, glancing at the letter. " I know 
 something of that hand, too. Newman, I shouldn't be surprised if my 
 brother were dead." 
 
 " I don't think you would," said Newman, quietly. 
 
 " Why not, sir ? " demanded Mr. Nickleby. 
 
 " You never are surprised," replied Newman, " that's all.'* 
 
 Mr. Nickleby snatched the letter from his assistant, and fixing a cold 
 look upon liiiii, opened, read it, put it in his pocket, and having now 
 hit the time to a second, began winding up his watch. 
 
 " It is as I expected, Newman," said Mr. Nickleby, while he was 
 thus' engaged. "Ilcz^dcad. Dear me. Well, that's a sudden thing. 
 I shouldn't have thought it, n^ally." With these touching expressions 
 of sorrow, Mr. Nickleby replaced his watch in his fob, and fitting on 
 his gloves to a nicety, turned upon his way, and walked slowly west- 
 ward with his hands behind him. 
 
 " Children alive ? " inquired Noggs, stepping up to him. 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 15 
 
 "Why, that's the very thing," replied Mr. Nickleby, as though his 
 thoughts were about them at that moment. " They are both alive." 
 
 " Both ! " repeated Newman Noggs, in a low voice. 
 
 " And the widow, too," added Mr. Nickleby, " and all three in 
 London, confound them ; all three here, Newman." 
 
 Newman fell a little behind his master, and his face was curiously 
 twisted as by a spasm, but whether of paralysis, or grief, or inward 
 laughter, nobody but himself could possibly explain. The expression 
 of a man's face is commonly a help to his thoughts, or glossary on 
 his speech ; but the countenance of Newman Noggs, in his ordinary 
 moods, was a problem which no stretch of ingenuity could solve. 
 
 " Go home ! " said Mr. Nickleby after they had walked a few paces, 
 looking round at the clerk as if he were his dog. The words were 
 scarcely uttered when Newman darted across the road, slunk among 
 the crowd, and disappeared in an instant. 
 
 " Reasonable, certainly ! " muttered Mr. Nickleby to himself, as he 
 walked on, " very reasonable ! My brother never did anything for 
 me, and I never expected it ; the breath is no sooner out of his body 
 than I am to be looked to, as the support of a great hearty woman and 
 a grown boy and girl. What are they to me ? / never saw them." ^ 
 
 Full of these and many other reflections of a similar kind, Mr. 
 Nickleby made the best of his way to the Strand, and referring to his 
 letter as if to ascertain the number of the house he wanted, stopped at 
 a private door about half-way down that crowded thoroughfare. 
 
 A miniature painter lived there, for there was a large gilt frame 
 screwed upon the street-door, in which were displayed, upon a black 
 velvet ground, two portraits of naval dress coats with faces looking out 
 of them and telescopes attached ; one of a young gentleman in a very 
 vermilion uniform, flourishing a sabre ; and one of a literary character 
 with a high forehead, a pen and ink, six books, and a curtain. There 
 was moreover a touching representation of a young lady reading a 
 manuscript in an unfathomable forest; and a charming whole length of 
 a large-headed little boy, sitting on a stool with his legs fore-shortened 
 to the size of salt-spoons. Besides these works of art, there were a 
 great many heads of old ladies and gentlemen smirking at each other 
 out of blue and brown skies, and an elegantly- written card of terms with 
 an embossed border. 
 
 Mr. Nickleby glanced at these frivolities with great contempt, and 
 gave a double knock, which having been thrice repeated was answered 
 by a servant girl with an uncommonly dirty face. 
 
 " Is Mrs. Nickleby at home, girl ? " demanded Ralph, sharply. 
 
 " Her name ain't Nickleby," said the girl, " La Creevy, you mean." 
 
 Mr. Nickleby looked very indignant at the handmaid on being thus 
 corrected, and demanded with much asperity what she meant ; which 
 she was about to state, when a female voice, proceeding from a perpen- 
 dicular staircase at the end of the passage, inquired who was wanted. 
 
 " Mrs. Nickleby" said Ralph. 
 
 " It's the second floor, Hannah," said the same voice ; " what a 
 stupid thing you are ! Is the second floor at home ? " 
 
16 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 " Somebody went out just now, but I tbink it was the attic which 
 had been a cleaning of himself," replied the girl. 
 
 " You had better see," said the invisible female. " Show the 
 gentleman where the bell is, and tell him he mustn't knock double 
 knocks for the second floor ; I can't allow a knock except when the 
 bell's broke, and then it must be two single ones." 
 
 " Here," said Ralph, walking in without more parley, " I beg your 
 pardon ; is that Mrs. La what's-her-name ? " 
 
 " Creevy — La Creevy," replied the voice, as a yellow head-dress 
 bobbed over the bannisters. 
 
 " I'll speak to you a moment, ma'am, with your leave," said Ralph. 
 
 The voice replied that the gentleman was to walk up ; but he had 
 walked up before it spoke, and stepping into the first floor, was received 
 by the wearer of the yellow head-dress, who had a gown to correspond, 
 and was of much the same colour herself. Miss La Creevy was a 
 mincing young lady of fifty, and Miss La Creevy's apartment was the 
 gilt frame down stairs on a larger scale and something dirtier. 
 
 " Ilem ! " said Miss La Creevy, coughing delicately behind her black 
 silk mitten. " A miniature, I presume. A very strongly-marked 
 countenance for the purpose. Sir. Have you ever sat before ? " 
 
 " You mistake my purpose, I see. Ma'am," replied Mr. Nickleby, 
 in his usual blunt fashion. " I have no money to throw away on 
 miniatures, ma'am, and nobody to give one to (thank God) if I had. 
 Seeing you on the stairs, I wanted to ask a question of you, about some 
 lodgers here." 
 
 Miss La Creevy coughed once more — this cough was to conceal her 
 disappointment — and said, " Oh, indeed ! " 
 
 " I infer from what you said to your servant, that the floor above 
 belongs to you, ma'am ? " said Mr, Nickleby. 
 
 Yes it did. Miss La Creevy replied. The upper part of the house 
 belonged to her, and as she had no necessity for the second-floor rooms 
 just then, she was in the habit of letting them. Indeed, there was a 
 lady from the country and her two children in them, at that present 
 speaking. 
 
 " A widow, ma'am ? " said Ralph. 
 ( " Yes, she is a widow," replied the lady. 
 
 " A poor widow, ma'am ? " said Ralph, with a powerful emphasis on 
 that little adjective which conveys so much. 
 
 " Well, I am afraid slie is poor," rejoined Miss I^a Creevy. 
 
 " I happen to know that she is, ma'am," said Ralph. " Now what 
 business has a poor widow in such a house as this, ma'am ? " ^ 
 
 " Very true," replied Miss La Creevy, not at all displeased with this 
 implied compliment to the apartments. " Exceedingly true." 
 
 " I know her circumstances intimately, ma'am," said Ralph ; " in fact, 
 I am a relation of the family ; and I should recommend you not to keep 
 them here, ma'am." 
 
 " I sliould hope, if there was any incompatibility to meet the pecu- 
 niary obligations," said Miss La Creevy with another cough, " that the 
 lady's family would " 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 17 
 
 " No they wouldn't, ma'am," interrupted Ralph, hastily. " Don't 
 think it." 
 
 " If I am to understand that ;" said Miss La Creevy, " the case 
 wears a very diiferent appearance." 
 
 " You may understand it then, ma'am," said Ralph, " and make 
 your arrangements accordingly. I am the family, ma'am — at least, I 
 believe I am the only relation they have, and I think it right that you 
 should know / can't support them in their extravagances. How long 
 have they taken these lodgings for ?" 
 
 " Only from week to week," replied Miss La Creevy. " Mrs. 
 Nicklehy paid the first week in advance." 
 
 " Then you had better get them out at the end of it," said Ralph. 
 " They can't do better than go back to the country, ma'am ; they are 
 in everybody's way here." 
 
 " Certainly," said Miss La Creevy, rubbing her hands; "if Mrs. 
 Nickleby took the apartments without the means of paying for them, 
 it was very unbecoming a lady." 
 
 " Of course it was, ma'am," said Ralph. 
 
 " And naturally," continued Miss La Creevy, " I who am at present 
 — hem — an unprotected female, cannot afford to lose by the apart- 
 ments." 
 
 " Of course you can't, ma'am," replied Ralph. 
 
 " Though at the same time," added Miss La Creevy who was plainly 
 wavering between her good-nature and her interest, " I have nothing 
 whatever to say against the lady, who is extremely pleasant and affable, 
 though, poor thing, she seems terribly low in her spirits ; nor against 
 the young people either, for nicer, or better-behaved young people 
 cannot be." 
 
 " Very well, ma'am," said Ralph, turning to the door, for these 
 encomiums on poverty irritated him ; " I have done my duty, and 
 perhaps more than I ought : of course nobody will thank me for saying 
 what I have." 
 
 " I am sure / am very much obliged to you at least. Sir," said Miss 
 La Creevy in a gracious manner. " Would you do me the favour to 
 look at a few specimens of my portrait painting ?" 
 
 " You're very good, ma'am," said Mr. Nickleby, making off with 
 great speed ; " but as I have a visit to pay up stairs, and my time is 
 precious, I really can't." $m' 
 
 " At any other time when you are passing, I shall be most happy," 
 said Miss La Creevy. " Perhaps you will have the kindness to take a 
 card of terms with you ? Thank you — good morning." 
 
 *' Good morning, ma'am," said Ralph, shutting the door abruptly 
 after him to prevent any further conversation. " Now for my sister- 
 in-law. Bah !" 
 
 Climbing up another perpendicular flight, composed with great 
 mechanical ingenuity of nothing but corner stairs, Mr. Ralph Nickleby 
 stopped to take breath on the landing, when he was overtaken by the 
 handmaid, whom the politeness of Miss La Creevy had despatched to 
 announce him, and who had apparently been making a variety of 
 
18 LIFE AND ADVENTTTRES OP 
 
 unsuccessful attempts since their last interview, to wipe her dirty face 
 clean upon an apron much dirtier. 
 " What name ?" said the girl. 
 " Nickleby," replied Ralph. 
 
 " Oh ! Mrs. Nickleby," said the girl, throwing open the door, 
 '' here's Mr. Nickleby." 
 
 A lady in deep mourning rose as Mr. Ralph Nickleby entered, but 
 appeared incapable of advancing to meet him, and leant upon the arm 
 of a slight but very beautiful girl of about seventeen, who had been 
 sitting by her. A youth, who appeared a year or two older, stepped 
 forward and saluted Ralph as his uncle. 
 
 " Oh," growled Ralph, with an ill-favoured frown, " you are 
 Nicholas, I suppose ?" 
 
 " That is my name, Sir," replied the youth. 
 
 " Put my hat down," said Ralph, imperiously. " Well, ma'am, how 
 do you do ? You must bear up against sorrow, ma'am ; I always do." 
 
 " Mine was no common loss!" said Mrs. Nickleby, applying her 
 handkerchief to her eyes. 
 
 " It was no -MTicommon loss, ma'am," returned Ralph, as he coolly 
 unbuttoned his spencer. " Husbands die every day, ma'am, and 
 wives too." 
 
 " And brothers also, Sir," said Nicholas, with a glance of indig- 
 nation. 
 
 " Yes, Sir, and puppies, and pug-dogs likewise," replied his uncle, 
 taking a chair. " You didn't mention in your letter what my brothers 
 complaint was, ma'am." 
 
 " The doctors could attribute it to no particular disease," said Mrs. 
 Nickleby, shedding tears. " We have too much reason to fear that 
 he died of a broken heart." 
 
 " Pooh ! " said Ralph, " there's no such thing. I can understand a 
 man's dying of a broken neck, or suffering from a broken arm, or a 
 broken head, or a broken leg, or a broken nose ; but a broken heart — 
 nonsense, it's the cant of the day. If a man can't pay his debts, he 
 dies of a broken heart, and his widow's a martyr." 
 
 " Some people, I believe, have no hearts to break," observed 
 Nicholas, quietly. 
 
 " How old is this boy, for God's sake ?" inquired Ralph, wheeling 
 back his chair, and surveying his nephew from head to foot with in- 
 tense scorn. 
 
 " Nicholas is very nearly nineteen," replied the widow. 
 
 " Nineteen, eh !" said Ralph, " and what do you mean to do for 
 your bread, Sir ?" 
 
 " Not to live upon my mother," replied Nicholas, his heart swelling 
 as he spoke. 
 
 " You'd havo little enough to live upon, if you did," retorted the 
 uncle, eyeing him contemptuously. 
 
 " Whatever it be," said Nicholas, flushed with anger, " I shall not 
 look to you to make it more." 
 
 "Nicholas, my dear, recollect yourself," remonstrated Mrs. Nickleby. 
 
#^ 
 
 m 
 
. -k-jSWI. 
 
 ^ 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 19 
 
 *' Dear Nicholas, pray," urged the young lady. 
 
 " Hold your tongue. Sir," said Ralph. " Upon my word ! Fine 
 beginnings, Mrs. Nickleby — fine beginnings." 
 
 Mrs. Nickleby made no other reply than entreating Nicholas by a 
 gesture to keep silent, and the uncle and nephew looked at each other 
 for some seconds without speaking. The face of the old man was stern, 
 hard-featured and forbidding ; that of the young one, open, handsome, 
 and ingenuous. The old man s eye was keen with the twinklings of 
 avarice and cunning ; the young man s, bright with the light of intelli- 
 gence and spirit. His figure was somewhat slight, but manly and 
 well-formed ; and apart from all the grace of youth and comeliness, 
 there was an emanation from the warm young heart in his look and 
 bearing which kept the old man down. 
 
 However [striking such a contrast as this, may be to lookers-on, none 
 ever feel it with half the keenness or acuteness of perfection with 
 which it strikes to the verj^- soul of him whose inferiority it marks. It 
 galled Ralph to the heart's core, and he hated Nicholas from that hour. 
 
 The mutual inspection was at length brought to a close by Ralph 
 withdrawing his eyes with a great show of disdain, and calling Nicholas 
 *' a boy." This word is much used as a term of reproach by elderly 
 gentlemen towards their juniors, probably with the view of deluding 
 society into the belief that if they could be young again, they wouldn't 
 on any account. 
 
 " Weil, ma'am," said Ralph, impatiently, " the creditors have ad- 
 ministered, you tell me, and there's nothing left for you ?" 
 
 " Nothing," replied Mrs. Nickleby. 
 
 " And you spent what little money you had, in coming all the way 
 to London, to see what I could do for you ?" pursued Ralph. 
 
 " I hoped," faltered Mrs. Nickleby, "that you might have an 
 opportunity of doing something for your brother's children. It was 
 his dying wish that I should appeal to you in their behalf." 
 
 " I don't know how it is," muttered Ralph, walking up and down 
 the room, " but whenever a man dies without any property of his own, 
 he always seems to think he has a right to dispose of other people's. 
 What is your daughter fit for, ma'am ?" 
 
 " Kate has been well educated," sobbed Mrs. Nickleby. " Tell your 
 uncle, my dear, how far you went in French and extras." 
 
 The poor girl was about to murmur forth something, when her uncle 
 stopped her very unceremoniously. 
 
 " We must try and get you apprenticed at some boarding-school," 
 said Ralph. " You have not been brought up too delicately for that, I 
 hope ?" 
 
 " No, indeed, uncle," replied the weeping girl. " I will try to do 
 anything that will gain me a home and bread." 
 
 " Well, well," said Ralph, a little softened, either by his niece's 
 beauty or her distress (stretch a point, and say the latter). " You 
 must try it, and if the life is too hard, perhaps dress-making or 
 tambour- work will come lighter. Have you ever done anything, Sir ?" 
 (turning to his nephew.) 
 
 c 2 
 
20 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 " No," replied Nicholas, bluntly. 
 
 *' No, I thought not !" said Ralph. " This is the way my brother 
 brought up his children, ma'am." 
 
 " Nicholas has not long completed such education as his poor father 
 could give him," rejoined Mrs. Nickleby, " and he was thinking of—" 
 
 " Of making something of him some day," said Ralph. " The old 
 story ; always thinking, and never doing. If my brother had been a 
 man of activity and prudence, he might have left you a rich woman, 
 ma'am : and if he had turned his son into the world, as my father 
 turned me, when I wasn't as old as that boy by a year and a half, he 
 would have been in a situation to help you, instead of being a burden 
 vipon you, and increasing your distress. My brother was a thoughtless, 
 inconsiderate man, Mrs. Nickleby, and nobody, I am sure, can have 
 better reason to feel that, than you." 
 
 This appeal set the widow upon thinking that perhaps she might 
 have made a more successful venture with her one thousand pounds, 
 and then she began to reflect what a comfortable sum it would have 
 been just then ; which dismal thoughts made her tears flow faster, and 
 in the excess of these griefs she (being a well-meaning woman enough, 
 but rather weak withal) fell first to deploring her hard fate, and then 
 to remarking, with many sobs, that to be sure she had been a slave to 
 poor Nicholas, and had often told him she might have married better 
 (as indeed she had, very often), and that she never knew in his life-time 
 how the money went, but that if he had confided in her they might 
 all have been better ofl^ that day ; with other bitter recollections 
 common to most married ladies either during their coverture, or after- 
 wards, or at both periods. Mrs. Nickleby concluded by lamenting 
 that the dear departed had never deigned to profit by her advice, save on 
 one occasion : which was a strictly veracious statement, inasmuch as he 
 had only acted upon it once, and had ruined himself in consequence. 
 
 Mr. Ralph Nickleby heard all this with a half smile ; and when the 
 widow had finished, quietly took up the subject where it had been left 
 before the above outbreak. 
 
 "Are you willing to work. Sir?" he inquired, frowning on his 
 nephew. 
 
 " Of course I am," replied Nicholas haughtily. 
 
 *' Then see here. Sir," said his uncle. " This caught my eye this 
 morning, and you may thank your stars for it." 
 
 With this exordium, Mr. Ralph Nickleby took a newspaper from 
 his pocket, and after unfolding it, and looking for a short tim^ among 
 the advertisements, read as follows. 
 
 *' Education. — At Mr. Wackford Squeers's Academy, Dotheboys 
 Hall, at the delightful village of Dotheboys, near Greta Bridge in 
 Yorkshire. Youth are boarded, clothed, booked, furnished with 
 pocket-money, provided with all necessarit^, instructed in all languages, 
 living and dead, matliematics, ortliography, geometry, astronomy, tri- 
 gonometry, the use of the globes, algebra, singk) stick (if required), 
 writing, arithmetic, fortification, and every otlier branch of classical 
 literature. Terms, twenty guineas per ammm. No extras, no vaca- 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 21 
 
 tions, and diet unparalleled. Mr. Squeers is in town, and attends daily, 
 from one till four, at the Saracen s Head, Snow Hill. N.B. An 
 able assistant wanted. Annual salary £5. A Master of Arts would 
 be preferred." 
 
 " There," said Ralph, folding the paper again. " Let him get that 
 situation, and his fortune is made." 
 
 " But he is not a Master of Arts," said Mrs. Nickleby. 
 
 " That," replied Ralph, " that, I think, can be got over." 
 
 " But the salary is so small, and it is such a long way off, uncle \" 
 faltered Kate. 
 
 " Hush, Kate my dear," interposed Mrs. Nickleby ; " your uncle 
 must know best." 
 
 " I say," repeated Ralph, tartly, " let him get that situation, 
 and his fortune is made. If he don't like that, let him get one for 
 himself. Without friends, money, recommendation, or knowledge of 
 business of any kind, let him find honest employment in London which 
 will keep him in shoe leather, and I'll give him a thousand pounds. 
 At least," said Mr. Ralph Nickleby, checking himself, " I would if I 
 had it." 
 
 " Poor fellow !" said the young lady. " Oh ! uncle, must we be 
 separated so soon !" 
 
 " Don't teaze your uncle with questions when he is thinking only for 
 our good, my love," said Mrs. Nickleby. " Nicholas, my dear, I wish 
 you would say something." 
 
 " Yes, mother, yes," said Nicholas, who had hitherto remained silent 
 and absorbed in thought. " If I am fortunate enough to be appointed 
 to this post. Sir, for which I am so imperfectly qualified, what will 
 become of those I leave behind?" 
 
 " Your mother and sister. Sir," replied Ralph, " will be provided for 
 in that case (not otherwise), by me, and placed in some sphere of life 
 in which they will be able to be independent. That will be my imme- 
 diate care ; they will not remain as they are, one week after your 
 departure, I will undertake." 
 
 " Then," said Nicholas, starting gaily up, and wringing his uncle's 
 hand, " I am ready to do anything you wish me. Let us try our 
 fortune with Mr. Squeers at once ; he can but refuse." 
 
 " He won't do that," said Ralph. " He will be glad to have you on 
 my recommendation. Make yourself of use to him, and you'll rise to 
 be a partner in the establishment in no time. Bless me, only think ! 
 if he were to die, why your fortune's made at once." 
 , *' To be sure, I see it all," said poor Nicholas, delighted with a 
 thousand visionary ideas, that his good spirits and his inexperience 
 were conjuring up before him. " Or suppose some young nobleman 
 who is being educated at the Hall, were to take a fancy to me, and get 
 his father to appoint me his travelling tutor when he left, and when 
 we come back from the continent, procured me some handsome appoint- 
 ment. Eh ! uncle ?" 
 
 " Ah, to be sure !" sneered Ralph. 
 
 *' And who knows, but when he came to see me when I was settled 
 
22 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 (as he would of course), he might fall in love with Kate, who would 
 be keeping my house, and — and — marry her, eh ! uncle ? Who knows ?'* 
 
 " Who, indeed !" snarled Ralph. 
 
 " How happy we should be !" cried Nicholas with enthusiasm. 
 " The pain of parting is nothing to the joy of meeting again. Kate 
 will be a beautiful woman, and I so proud to hear them say so, and 
 mother so happy to be with us once again, and all these sad times for- 
 gotten, and — " The picture was too bright a one to bear, and Nicholas, 
 fairly overpowered by it, smiled faintly, and burst into tears. 
 
 This simple family, born and bred in retirement, and wholly unac- 
 quainted with what is called the world — a conventional phrase which, 
 being interpreted, signifieth all the rascals in it — mingled their tears 
 together at the thought of their first separation ; and, this first gush 
 of feeling over, were proceeding to dilate with all the buoyancy of 
 untried hope on the bright prospects before them, when Mr. Ralph 
 Nickleby suggested, that if they lost time, some more fortunate can- 
 didate might deprive Nicholas of the stepping-stone to fortune which 
 the advertisement pointed out, and so undermine all their air-built 
 castles. This timely reminder effectually stopped the conversation, 
 and Nicholas having carefully copied the address of Mr. Squeers, the 
 uncle and nephew issued forth together in quest of that accomplished 
 gentleman ; Nicholas firmly persuading himself that he had done hi» 
 relative great injustice in disliking him at first sight, and Mrs. Nickleby 
 being at some pains to inform her daughter that she was sure he was a 
 much more kindly disposed person than he seemed, which Miss Nickleby 
 dutifully remarked he might very easily be. 
 
 To tell the truth, the good lady's opinion had been not a little in- 
 fluenced by her brother-in-law's" appeal to her better understandings 
 and his implied compliment to her high deserts ; and although she had 
 dearly loved her husband and still doted on her children, he had struck 
 so successfully on one of those little jarring chords in the human 
 heart (Ralph was well acquainted with its worst weaknesses, though 
 he knew nothing of its best), that she had already begim seriously to 
 consider herself the amiable and suffering victim of her late husband's 
 imprudence. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 NICHOLAS AND HIS UNCLE (tO SECURE THE FORTUNE WITHOUT LOSS 
 OP time) watt upon MR. WACKFORD SQUEERS, THE YORKSHIRE 
 SCHOOLMASTER. 
 
 Snow Hill ! What kind of place can the quiet town's-people wha 
 see the words emblazoned in all the legibility of gilt letters and dark 
 shading on the north-country coaches, take Snow Hill to be ? All 
 people have some undefined and shadowy notion of a place whose name 
 is frequently before their eyes or often in their ears, and what a vast 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 23 
 
 number of random ideas there must be perpetually floating about, re- 
 garding this same Snow Hill. The name is such a good one. Snow 
 Hill— Snow Hill too, coupled with a Saracen's Head : picturing to us 
 by a double association of ideas, something stern and rugged. A bleak 
 desolate tract of country, open to piercing blasts and fierce wintry 
 storms — a dark, cold, and gloomy heath, lonely by day, and scarcely to 
 be thought of by honest folks at night — a place which solitary way- 
 farers shun, and where desperate robbers congregate ; — this, or something 
 like this, we imag-ine must be the prevalent notion of Snow Hill 
 in those remote and rustic parts, through which the Saracen's Head, 
 like some grim apparition, rushes each day and night with mysterious 
 and ghost-like punctuality, holding its swift and headlong course in all 
 weathers, and seeming to bid defiance to the very elements them- 
 selves. 
 
 The reality is rather different, but by no means to be despised not- 
 withstanding. There, at the very core of London, in the heart of its 
 business and animation, in the midst of a whirl of noise and motion : 
 stemming as it were the giant currents of life that flow ceaselessly on 
 from different quarters, and meet beneath its walls, stands Newgate ; 
 and in that crowded street on which it frowns so darkly — within a few 
 feet of the squalid tottering houses — upon the very spot on which the 
 venders of soup and fish and damaged fruit are now plying their trades 
 — scores of human beings, amidst a roar of sounds to which even the 
 tumult of a great city is as nothing, four, six, or eight strong men at a 
 time, have been hurried violently and swiftly from the world, when the 
 scene has been rendered frightful with excess of human life ; when'curious 
 eyes have glared from casement, and house-top, and wall and pillar, and 
 when, in the mass of white and upturned faces, the dying wretch, in his 
 all-comprehensive look of agony, has met not one — not one — that bore 
 the impress of pity or compassion. 
 
 Near to the jail, and by consequence near to Smithfield also, and the 
 Compter and the bustle and noise of the city ; and just on that parti- 
 cular part of Snow Hill where omnibus horses going eastwards seriously 
 think of falling down on purpose, and where horses in hackney cabrio- 
 lets going westwards not unfrequently fall by accident, is the coach- 
 yard of the Saracen s-Head Inn, its portal guarded by two Saracens* 
 heads and shoulders, which it was once the pride and glory of the 
 choice spirits of this metropolis to pull down at night, but which have 
 for some time remained in undisturbed tranquillity ; possibly because 
 this species of humour is now confined to Saint James's parish, where 
 door knockers are preferred, as being more portable, and bell-wires 
 esteemed as convenient tooth-picks. Whether this be the reason or 
 not, there they are, frowning upon you from each side of the gateway, 
 and the inn itself, garnished with another Saracen's Head, frowns upon 
 you from the top of the yard ; while from the door of the hind boot of 
 all the red coaches that are standing therein, there glares a small Saracen's 
 Head with a twin expression to the large Saracen's Heads below, so 
 that the general appearance of the pile is of the Saracenic order. 
 
 When you walk up this yard, you will see the booking-office on your 
 
24 
 
 LIFE AND ADVBNTURK8 OF 
 
 left, and the tower of Saint Sepulchre's church darting aLruptly up 
 into the sky on your right, and a gallery of bed-rooms on both sides. 
 Just before you, you will observe a long window with the words 
 " coffee-room " legibly painted above it ; and looking out of that win- 
 dow, you would have seen in addition, if you had gone at the right 
 time, Mr. Wackford Squeers with his hands in his pockets. 
 
 Mr. Squeers's appearance was not prepossessing. He had but one 
 eye, and the popular j)rejudice runs in favour of two. The eye he had 
 was unquestionably useful, but decidedly not ornamental, being of a 
 greenish grey, and in shape resembling the fanlight of a street door. 
 The blank side of his face was much wrinkled and puckered up, which 
 gave him a very sinister appearance, especially when he smiled, at 
 which times his expression bordered closely on the villanous. His 
 hair was very flat and shiny, save at the ends, where it was brushed 
 stiffly up from a low protruding forehead, which assorted well with 
 his harsh voice and coarse manner. He was about two or three and 
 fifty, and a trifle below the middle size ; he wore a white neckerchief 
 with long ends, and a suit of scholastic black, but his coat sleeves being 
 a gi'eat deal too long, and his trousers a great deal too short, he ap- 
 peared ill at ease in his clothes, and as if he were in a perpetual state 
 of astonishment at finding himself so respectable. 
 
 Mr. Squeers was standing in a box by one of the coffee-room fire- 
 places, fitted with one such table as is usually seen in coffee-rooms, 
 and two of extraordinary shapes and dimensions made to suit the 
 angles of the partition. In a comer of the seat was a very small deal 
 trunk, tied round with a scanty piece of cord ; and on the trunk was 
 perched — his lace-up half-boots and corduroy trowsers dangling in the 
 air — a diminutive boy, with his shoulders drawn up to his ears, and his 
 hands planted on his knees, who glanced timidly at the schoolmaster 
 from time to time with evident dread and apprehension. 
 
 " Half-past three," muttered Mr. Squeers, turning from the window, 
 and looking sulkily at the coffee-room clock. " There will be nobody 
 here to-day." 
 
 Much vexed by this reflection, Mr. Squeers looked at the little boy 
 to see whether he was doing anything he could beat him for : as he 
 happened not to be doing anything at all, he merely boxed liis ears, and 
 told him not to do it again. 
 
 " At Midsummer," muttered Mr. Squeers, resuming his complaint, " I 
 took down ten boys ; ten twentys — two hundred pound. I go back 
 at eight o'clock to-morrow morning, and have got only three — thrt« 
 oughts an ought — three twos six — sixty ])ound. Wliat's come of all 
 the boys ? what's parents got in their heads ? what does it all mean ? " 
 
 Here the little boy on the top of the trunk gave a violent sneeze. 
 
 " Halloa, Sir ! " growled the schoolmaster, turning round. '' What's 
 that, Sir ? " 
 
 " Nothing, please Sir," replied the little boy. 
 
 " Nothing, Sir ! " exclaimed Mr. Squeers. 
 
 " Please Sir, I sneezed," rejoined the boy, trembling till the little 
 trunk shook under him. 
 
■■^. 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 25 
 
 " Oh ! sneezed, did you ? " retorted Mr. Squeers. " Then what did 
 you say ' nothing- ' for, Sir ? " 
 
 In default of a better answer to this question, the little boy screwed 
 a couple of knuckles into each of his eyes and began to cry, wherefore 
 Mr. Squeers knocked him off the trunk with a blow on one side of 
 his face, and knocked him on again with a blow on the other. < 
 
 " Wait till I get you down into Yorkshire, my young gentleman," 
 said Mr. Squeers, " and then I'll give you the rest. Will you hold 
 that noise. Sir ? " 
 
 " Ye — ye — yes," sobbed the little boy, rubbing his face very hard 
 with the Beggar's Petition in printed calico. 
 
 " Then do so at once. Sir," said Squeers. " Do you hear ? " 
 
 As this admonition was accompanied with a threatening gesture, and 
 uttered with a savage aspect, the little boy rubbed his face harder, as if 
 to keep the tears back ; and, beyond alternately sniffing and choking, 
 gave no further vent to his emotions. 
 
 " Mr. Squeers," said the waiter, looking in at this juncture ; " here's 
 a gentleman asking for you at the bar." 
 
 " Show the gentleman in, Richard," replied Mr. Squeers, in a soft 
 voice. " Put your handkerchief in your pocket, you little scoundrel, 
 or I'll murder you when the gentleman goes." 
 
 The schoolmaster had scarcely uttered these words in a fierce whisper, 
 when the stranger entered. Affecting not to see him, Mr. Squeers 
 feigned to be intent upon mending a pen, and oifering benevolent advice 
 to his youthful pupil. 
 
 " My dear child," said Mr. Squeers, " all people have their trials. 
 This early trial of yours that is fit to make your little heart burst, and 
 your very eyes come out of your head with crying, what is it ? Nothing ; 
 less than nothing. You are leaving your friends, but you will have a 
 father in me, my dear, and a mother in Mrs. Squeers. At the delightful 
 village of Dotheboys, near Greta Bridge, in Yorkshire, where youth are 
 boarded, clothed, booked, washed, furnished with pocket-money, pro- 
 vided with all necessaries — " 
 
 " It is the gentleman," observed the stranger, stopping the schoolmas- 
 ter in the rehearsal of his advertisement. " Mr. Squeers, I believe. Sir ? " 
 
 " The same. Sir," said Mr. Squeers, with an assumption of extreme 
 surprise. 
 
 " The gentleman," said the stranger, " that advertised in the Times 
 newspaper?" 
 
 • — " Morning Post, Chronicle, Herald, and Advertiser, regarding the 
 Academy called Dotheboys Hall at the delightful village of Dotheboys, 
 near Greta Bridge, in Yorkshire," added Mr. Squeers. " You come ou 
 business. Sir. I see by my young friends. How do you do, my little 
 gentleman ? and how do i/ou do. Sir ? " With this salutation Mr. Squeers 
 patted the heads of two hollow-eyed, small-boned little boys, whom 
 the applicant had brought with him, and waited for further communi- 
 cations. 
 
 " I am in the oil and colour way. My name is Snawley, Sir," said 
 the stranger. 
 
26E LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 Squeers inclined his head as ranch as to say, *' And a remarkably* 
 pretty name, too." 
 
 The stranger continued. " I have been thinking, Mr. Squeers, of 
 placing my two boys at your school." 
 
 " It is not for me to say so. Sir," replied Mr. Squeers, " but I don't 
 think you could possibly do a better thing." 
 
 " Hem ! " said the other. " Twenty pounds per annewum, I believe, 
 Mr. Squeers?" 
 
 " Guineas," rejoined the schoolmaster, with a persuasive smile. 
 . " Pounds for two, I think, Mr. Squeers," said Mr. Snawley 
 solemnly. 
 
 " I don t think it could be done. Sir," replied Squeers, as if he 
 had never considered the proposition before. " Let me see ; four fives 
 is twenty, double that, and deduct the — well, a pound either way shall 
 not stand betwixt us. You must recommend me to your connection. 
 Sir, and make it up that way." ^ 
 
 " They are not great eaters," said Mr. Snawley. 
 
 " Oh ! that doesn't matter at all," replied Squeers. " We don't 
 consider the boys' appetites at our establishment." This vfas strictly 
 true ; they did not. 
 
 "Every wholesome luxury. Sir, that Yorkshire can afford," con- 
 tinued Squeers ; " every beautiful moral that Mrs. Squeers can instil ; 
 every — in short, every comfort of a home that a boy could wish for, will 
 be theirs, Mr. Snawley." 
 
 " I should wish their morals to be particularly attended to," said 
 Mr. Snawley. 
 
 " I am glad of that, Sir," replied the schoolmaster, drawing himself 
 Tip. " Tliey have come to the right shop for morals. Sir." 
 
 " You are a moral man yourself;" said Mr. Snawley. 
 
 "I rather believe I am. Sir," replied Squeers. 
 
 *' I have the satisfaction to know you are. Sir," said Mr. Snawley. 
 " I asked one of your references, and he said you were pious." 
 
 " Well, Sir, I hope I am a little in that way," replied Squeers. 
 
 " I hope I am also," rejoined the other. " Could I say a few words 
 with you in the next box ? " 
 
 " By all means," rejoined Squeers, with a grin. " My dears, will 
 you speak to your new playfellow a minute or two ? That is one of 
 my boys. Sir. Belling his name is, — a Taunton boy that, Sir." 
 
 " Is he, indeed ?" rejoined Mr. Snawley, looking at the poor little 
 urchin as if he were some extraordinary natural curiosity. 
 
 " He goes down with me to-morrow. Sir," said Squeers. " That's 
 his luggage that he is sitting upon now. Each boy is required to 
 bring. Sir, two suits of clothes, six shirts, six pair of stockings, two 
 nightcaps, two pocket-handkerchiefs, two pair of shoes, two hats, and 
 a razor." 
 
 " A razor !" exclaimed Mr .'^ Snawley, as they walked into the next 
 box. " AVhat for ?" 
 
 " To shave with," replied Squeers, in a slow and measured tone. 
 
 There was not much in these three words, but there must have beeu 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 27 
 
 something in the manner in which they were said, to attract attention, 
 for the schoolmaster and his companion looked steadily at each other 
 for a few seconds, and then exchanged a very meaning smile. Snawley 
 was a sleek flat-nosed man, clad in sombre garments, and long black 
 gaiters, and bearing in his countenance an expression of much morti- 
 fication and sanctity, so that his smiling without any obvious reason was 
 the more remarkable. 
 
 " Up to what age do you keep boys at your school then ?" he asked 
 at length. 
 
 " Just as long as their friends make the quarterly payments to my 
 agent in town, or until such time as they nm away," replied Squeers. 
 *' Let us understand each other ; I see we may safely do so. What 
 are these boys ;— natural children ?"» 
 
 " No," rejoined Snawley, meeting the gaze of the schoolmaster s one 
 eye. " They ant." 
 
 " I thought they might be," said Squeers, coolly. " We have a 
 good many of them ; that boy's one." 
 
 " Him in the next box ?" said Snawley. 
 
 Squeers nodded in the affirmative, and his companion took another 
 peep at the little boy on the trunk, and turning round again, looked 
 as if he were quite disappointed to see him so much like other boys, 
 and said he should hardly have thought it. 
 
 " He is," cried Squeers. " But about these boys of yours ; you 
 wanted to speak to me ?" 
 
 " Yes," replied Snawley. " The fact is, I am not their father,^ Mr. 
 Squeers. I'm only their father-in-law." 
 
 " Oh ! Is that it ?" said the schoolmaster. " That explains it at 
 once. I was wondering what the devil you were going to send them 
 to Yorkshire for. Ha ! ha ! Oh, I understand now." 
 
 " You • see I have married the mother," pursued Snawley ; " it's 
 expensive keeping boys at home, and as she has a little money in her 
 own right, I am afraid (women are so very foolish, Mr. Squeers) that 
 she might be led to squander it on them, which would be their ruin, 
 you know." 
 
 " / see," returned Squeers, throwing himself back in his chair, and 
 waving his hand. 
 
 " And this," resumed Snawley, " has made me anxious to put them 
 to some school a good distance off, where there are no holidays — none 
 of those ill-judged comings home twice a year that unsettle children's 
 minds so— and where they may rough it a little — you comprehend?" 
 
 " The payments regular, and no questions asked," said Squeers, nod- 
 ding his head. 
 
 " That's it, exactly," rejoined the other. " Morals strictly attended 
 U^ though." 
 • " Strictly," said Squeers. 
 
 " Not too much writing home allowed, I suppose ?" said the father- 
 in-law, hesitating. 
 
 " None, except a circular at Christmas, to say that they never were 
 eo happy, and hope they may never be sent for," rejoined Squeers. 
 
LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 " Nothing could be better," said the father-in-law, rubbing his 
 hands. 
 
 " Then, as we understand each other," said Squeers, " will you 
 allow me to ask you whether you consider me a highly virtuous, 
 exemplary, and well-conducted man in private life ; and whether, as a 
 person wliose business it is to take charge of youth, you place the 
 strongest confidence in my unimpeachable integrity, liberality, religious 
 principles and ability ?" 
 
 " Certainly I do," replied the father-in-law, reciprocating the school- 
 master's grin. 
 
 " Perhaps you won't object to say that, if I make you a reference V 
 
 " Not the least in the world." 
 
 " That's your sort," said Squeers, taking up a pen ; " this is doing 
 business, and that's what I like." 
 
 Having entered Mr. Snawley's address, the schoolmaster had next to 
 perform the still more agreeable office of entering the receipt of the 
 first quarter's payment in advance, which he had scarcely completed, 
 when another voice was heard inquiring for Mr.^Squeers. 
 
 " Here he is," replied the schoolmaster ; " what is it ?" 
 
 " Only a matter of business, Sir," said Ralph Nickleby, presenting 
 himself, closely followed by Nicholas. " There w^as an advertisement 
 of yours in the papers this morning ?" 
 
 " There was. Sir. This way, if you please," said Squeers, who had by 
 this time got back to the box by the fire-place. " "Won't you be seated?" 
 
 " Why, I think I will," replied Ralph, suiting the action to the 
 word, and placing his hat on the table before him. '' This is my 
 nephew. Sir, Mr. Nicholas Nickleby." 
 
 " How do you do, Sir ?" said Squeers. 
 
 Nicholas bowed : said he was very well, and seemed very much asto- 
 nished at the outward appearance of the proprietor of Dotheboys Hall, 
 as indeed he was. 
 
 " Perhaps you recollect me ? " said Ralph, looking narrowly at the 
 schoolmaster. 
 
 " You paid me a small account at each of my half-yearly visits to 
 town, for some years, I think. Sir," replied Squeers. 
 
 *' I did," rejoined Ralph. 
 
 " For the parents of a boy named Dorker, who unfortunately — " 
 
 " — unfortunately died at Dotheboys Hall," said Ralph, finishing the 
 sentence. 
 
 " I remember very well. Sir,'' rejoined Squeers. " Ah ! Mrs. 
 Squeers, Sir, was as pjirtial to that lad as if he had been her own ; the 
 attention. Sir, that was bestowed upon tliat boy in his illness — dry 
 toast and warm tea oifered him every night and morning when he 
 couldn't swallow anything — a candle in his bed-room on the very night 
 he died — the best dictionary sent up for him to lay his head upon.— 
 I don't regret it though. It is a pleasant thing to reflect that one 
 did one's duty by him." 
 
 Ralph smiled as if he meant anything but smiling, and looked round 
 at the strangers present. 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 29 
 
 " These' are only some pupils of mine," said Wackford Squeers, 
 pointing to the little boy on the trunk and the two little boys on the 
 floor, who had been staring at each other without uttering a word, and 
 writhing their bodies into most remarkable contortions, according to the 
 custom of little boys when they first become acquainted. " This gen- 
 tleman. Sir, is a parent who is kind enough to compliment me upon 
 the course of education adopted at Dotheboys Hall, which is situated, 
 Sir, at the delightful village of Dotheboys, near Greta Bridge, in 
 Yorkshire, where youth are boarded, clothed, booked, washed, furnished 
 
 with pocket-money " 
 
 " Yes, we know all about that. Sir," interrupted Ralph, testily. 
 " It's in the advertisement." 
 
 " You are very right. Sir ; it is in the advertisement," replied 
 Squeers. 
 
 " And in the matter of fact besides," interrupted Mr. Snawley. " I 
 feel bound to assure you. Sir, and I am proud to have this opportunity 
 of assuring you, that I consider Mr. Squeers a gentleman highly virtu- 
 ous, exemplary, well-conducted, and — " 
 
 " I make no doubt of it. Sir," interrupted Ralph, checking the 
 torrent of recommendation ; " no doubt of it at all. Suppose we come 
 to business ? " 
 
 " With all my heart. Sir," rejoined Squeers. " ' Never postpone 
 business,' is the very first lesson we instil into our commercial pupils. 
 Master Belling, my dear, always remember that ; do you hear ?" 
 " Yes, Sir," repeated Master Belling. 
 " He recollects what it is, does he ?'' said Ralph. 
 " Tell the gentleman," said Squeers. 
 " ' Never,' " repeated Master Belling. 
 " Very good," said Squeers ; " go on." 
 *' Never, " repeated Master Belling again. 
 " Very good indeed," said Squeers. " Yes." 
 " P," suggested Nicholas, good-naturedly. 
 
 " Perform — business !" said Master Belling. " Never — perform — 
 business !" 
 
 " Very well. Sir," said Squeers, darting a withering look at the 
 culprit. " You and I will perform a little business on our private 
 account bye and bye." 
 
 " And just now," said Ralph, " we had better transact our own, 
 perhaps." 
 
 " If you please," said Squeers. 
 
 '' Well," resumed Ralph, " it's brief enough ; soon broached, and I 
 hope easily concluded. You have advertised for an able assistant, 
 Sir?" 
 
 " Precisely so," said Squeers. 
 " And you really want one ? " 
 " Certainly," answered Squeers. 
 
 " Here he is," said Ralph. " My nephew Nicholas, hot from 
 school, with everything he learnt there, fermenting in his head, and 
 nothing fermenting in his pocket, is just the man you want." 
 
30 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 " I am afraid," said Squeers, perplexed with such an application from 
 a youth of Nicholas's figure, " I am afraid the young man won't suit 
 me." 
 
 " Yes, he will," said Ralph ; " I know better. Don't be cast down, 
 Sir; you will be teaching all the young noblemen in Dotheboys Hall in 
 less than a week's time, unless this gentleman is more obstinate than I 
 take him to be." 
 
 " I fear. Sir," said Nicholas, addressing Mr. Squeers, " that you 
 object to my youth, and my not being a Master of Arts ?" 
 
 "• The absence of a college degree is an objection," replied Squeers, 
 looking as grave as he could, and considerably puzzled, no less by the 
 contrast between the simplicity of the nephew and the worldly manner 
 of the uncle, than by the incomprehensible allusion to the young noble- 
 men under his tuition. 
 
 " Look here. Sir," said Ralph ; " I'll put this matter in its true light 
 in two seconds." 
 
 " If you'll have the goodness," rejoined Squeers. 
 
 " This is a^boy, or a youth, or a lad, or a young man, or a hobblede- 
 hoy, or whatever you like to call him, of eighteen or nineteen, or there- 
 abouts," said Ralph. 
 
 " That I see," observed the schoolmaster. 
 
 "So do I," said Mr. Snawley, thinking it as well to back his new 
 friend occasionally. 
 
 " His father is dead, he is wholly ignorant of the world, has no xe- 
 sources whatever, and wants something to do," said Ralph. " I recom- 
 mend him to this splendid establishment of yours, as an opening which 
 will lead him to fortune, if he turns it to proper account. Do you see 
 that ? " 
 
 " Every body must see that,''' replied Squeers, half imitating the 
 sneer with which the old gentleman was regarding his unconscious relative, 
 
 " I do, of course," said Nicholas eagerly. 
 
 " He does, of course, you observe," said Ralph, in the same dry, hard 
 manner. " If any caprice of temper should induce him to cast aside 
 this golden opportunity before he has brought it to perfection, I con- 
 sider myself absolved from extending any assistance to his mother and 
 sister. Look at him, and think of the use he may be to you in half a 
 dozen ways. Now the question is, whether, for some time to come at 
 all events, he won't serve your purpose better than twenty of the kind 
 of people you would get under ordinary circumstances. Isn't that a 
 question for consideration ? " 
 
 " Yes, it is," said Squeers, answering a nod of Ralph's head with a 
 nod of his own. 
 
 " Good," rejoined Ralph. " Let me have two words with you." 
 
 The two words were had apart, and in a couple of minutes Mr. 
 Wackford Squeers announced that Mr. Nicholas Nickleby was from 
 that moment thoroughly nominated to, and installed in, the of&ce of first 
 assistant-master at Dotheboys Hall. 
 
 ' " Your uncle's recommendation has done it, Mr. Nickleby," said 
 Wackford Squeers. 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 31 
 
 Nicholas, overjoyed at his success, shook his uncle's hand warmly, and 
 could have worshipped Squeers upon the spot. 
 
 " He is an odd-looking man," thought Nicholas. " What of that ? 
 Porson was an odd-looking man, and so was Doctor Johnson ; all these 
 bookworms are." 
 
 " At eight o'clock to-morrow morning, Mr. Nickleby," said Squeers, 
 " the coach starts. You must be here at a quarter before, as we take 
 these boys with us." 
 
 " Certainly, Sir," said Nicholas. 
 
 " And your fare down, I have paid," growled Ralph. " So you'll 
 have nothing to do but keep yourself warm." 
 
 Here was another instance of his uncle's generosity. Nicholas felt 
 his unexpected kindness so much, that he could scarcely find words to 
 thank him ; indeed, he had not found half enough, when they took 
 leave of the schoolmaster and emerged from the Saracen's Head 
 gateway. 
 
 " I shall be here in the morning to see you fairly ofi^," said Ralph. 
 " No skulking !" 
 
 " Thank you. Sir," replied Nicholas ; " I never shall forget this 
 kindness." 
 
 " Take care you don't," replied his uncle. " You had better go 
 home now, and pack up what you have got to pack. Do you think 
 you could find your way to Golden Square first ?" 
 
 "^Certainly," said Nicholas, " I can easily inquire." 
 
 " Leave these papers with my clerk, then," said Ralph, producing a 
 small parcel, " and tell him to wait till I come home." 
 
 Nicholas cheerfully undertook the errand, and bidding his worthy 
 uncle an affectionate farewell, which that warm-hearted old gentleman 
 acknowledged by a growl, hastened away to execute his commission. 
 
 He found Golden Square in due course ; and Mr. Noggs, who had 
 stepped out for a minute or so to the public-house, was opening the 
 door with a latch-key as he reached the steps. 
 
 " What's that ?" inquired Noggs, pointing to the parcel. 
 
 " Papers from my uncle," replied Nicholas ; " and you're to have 
 the goodness to wait till he comes home, if you please." 
 
 " Uncle !" cried Noggs. 
 
 " Mr. Nickleby," said Nicholas in explanation. 
 
 " Come in," said Newman. 
 
 Without another word he led Nicholas into the passage, and thence 
 into the official pantry at the end of it, where he thrust him into a 
 chair, and mounting upon his high stool, sat with his arms hanging 
 straight down by his sides, gazing fixedly upon him as from a tower of 
 observation. 
 
 " There is no answer," said Nicholas, laying the parcel on a table 
 beside him. 
 
 Newman said nothing, but folding his arms, and thrusting his head 
 forward so as to obtain a nearer view of Nicholas's face, scanned his 
 features closely. 
 
32 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 " No answer," said Nicliolas, speaking very loud, under the impres- 
 sion that Ncwnian No^gs was deaf. 
 
 Newman placed his hands upon his knees, and without uttering a 
 syllable, continued the- same close scrutiny of his companion's face. 
 
 This was such a very singular proceeding on the part of an utter 
 stranger, and his appearance was so extremely peculiar, that Nicholas, 
 who had a sufficiently keen sense of the ridiculous, could not refrain 
 from breaking into a smile as he inquired whether Mr. Noggs had any 
 commands for him. 
 
 Noggs shook his head and sighed ; upon which Nicholas rose, and 
 remarking that he required no rest, bade him good morning. 
 
 It was a great exertion for Newman Noggs, and nobody knows to 
 this day how he ever came to make it, the other party being wholly 
 unknown to him, but he drew a long breath and actually said out loud, 
 without once stopping, that if the young gentleman did not object to 
 tell, he should like to know what his uncle was going to do for him. 
 
 Nicholas had not the least objection in the world, but on the 
 contrary was rather pleased to have an opportunity of talking on the 
 subject which occupied his thoughts ; so he sat down again, and (his 
 sanguine imagination warming as he spoke) entered into a fervent and 
 glowing description of all the honours and advantages to be derived 
 from his appointment at that seat of learning, Dotheboys Hall. 
 
 " But, what's the matter — are you ill?" said Nicholas, suddenly 
 breaking off, as his companion, after throwing himself into a variety of 
 uncouth attitudes, thrust his hands under the stool and cracked his 
 finger-joints as if he were snapping all the bones in his hands. 
 
 Newman Noggs made no reply, but went on shrugging his shoulders 
 and cracking his finger-joints, smiling horribly all the time, and look- 
 ing stedfastly at nothing, out of the tops of his eyes, in a most ghastly 
 manner. 
 
 At first Nicholas thought the mysterious man was in a fit, but on 
 further consideration decided that he was in liquor, under which cir- 
 cumstances he deemed it prudent to make off at once. He looked back 
 when he had got the street-door open. Newman Noggs was still 
 indulging in the same extraordinary gestures, and the cracking of his 
 fingers sounded louder than ever. 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 33 
 
 CHAPTER y. 
 
 NICHOLAS STARTS FOR YORKSHIRE. OF HIS LEAVE-TAKING AND HIS 
 
 FELLOW-TRAVELLERS, AND WHAT BEFEL THEM ON THE ROAD. 
 
 If tears dropped into a trunk were cliarms to preserve its owner from 
 sorrow and misfortune, Nicholas Nickleby would have commenced his 
 expedition under most happy auspices. , There was so much to be done, 
 and so little time to do it in, so many kind words to he spoken, and 
 such bitter pain in the hearts in which they rose to impede their utter- 
 ance, that the little preparations for his journey were made mournfully 
 indeed. A hundred things which the anxious care of his mother and 
 sister deemed indispensable for his comfort, Nicholas insisted on leaving 
 behind, as they might prove of some after use, or might be convertible 
 into money if occasion required. A hundred affectionate contests on 
 such points as these, took place on the sad night w^iich preceded his 
 departure ; and, as the tennination of every angerless dispute brought 
 them nearer and nearer to the close of their slight preparations, Kate 
 grew busier and busier, and wept more silently. 
 
 The box was packed at last, and then there came supper, with some 
 little delicacy provided for the occasion, and as a set-off against the 
 expense of which, Kate and her mother had feigned to dine when 
 Nicholas was out. The poor lad nearly choked himself by attempting 
 to partake of it, and almost suffocated himself in affecting a jest or two, 
 and forcing a melancholy laugh. Thus they lingered on till the hour 
 of separating for the night was long past : and then they found that they 
 might as well have given vent to their real feelings before, for they could 
 not suppress them, do what they would. So they let them have their 
 way, and even that was a relief. 
 
 Nicholas slept well till six next morning ; dreamed of home, or of 
 what was home once — no matter which, for things that are changed or 
 gone will come back as they used to be, thank God, in sleep — and rose 
 quite brisk and gay. He wrote a few lines in pencil to say the good 
 bye which he was afraid to pronounce himself, and laying them with 
 half his scanty stock of money at his sister's door, shouldered his box and 
 crept softly down stairs. 
 
 " Is that you, Hannah ?" cried a voice from Miss La Creevy's sitting- 
 room, whence shone the light of a feeble candle. 
 
 " It is I, Miss La Creevy," said Nicholas, putting down the box and 
 looking in. 
 
 " Bless us !" exclaimed Miss La Creevy, starting and putting her 
 hand to her curl-papers ; " You're up very early, Mr. Nickleby." 
 
 " So are you," replied Nicholas. 
 
 " It's the fine arts that bring me out of bed, Mr. Nickleby," returned 
 the lady. " I'm waiting for the light to carry out an idea." 
 
 D 
 
34 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 Miss La Creevy had got np early to put a fancy nose into a miniature 
 of an ugly little boy, destined for his grandmother in the country, who 
 was expected to bequeath him property if he was like the family. 
 
 " To carry out an idea," repeated Miss La Creevy ; " and that's the 
 great convenience of living in a thoroughfare like the Strand. When I 
 want a nose or an eye for any particular sitter, I have only to look out 
 of window and wait till I get one." 
 
 " Does it take long to get a nose, now?" inquired Nicholas, smiling. 
 
 " Why, that depends in a great measure on the pattern," replied Miss 
 La Creevy. " Snubs and romans are plentiful enough, and there are 
 flats of all sorts and sizes when there's a meeting at Exeter Hall ; but 
 perfect aquilines, I am sorry to say, are scarce, and we generally use 
 them for uniforms or public characters." 
 
 "Indeed!" said Nicholas. " If I should meet with any in my 
 travels, I'll endeavour to sketch them for you." 
 
 " You don't mean to say that you are really going all the way down 
 into Yorkshire this cold winter's weather, Mr. Nickleby ? " said Miss La 
 Creevy. " I heard something of it last night." 
 
 " I do, indeed," replied Nicholas. " Needs must, you know, when 
 somebody drives. Necessity is my driver, and that is only another 
 name for the same gentleman." 
 
 " Well, I am very sorry for it, that's all I can say," said Miss La 
 Creevy ; " as much on your mother's and sister's account as on yours. 
 Your sister is a very pretty young lady, Mr. Nickleby, and that is an 
 additional reason why she should have somebody to protect her. I 
 persuaded her to give me a sitting or two, for the street-door case. Ah ! 
 she'll make a sweet miniature." As Miss La Creevy spoke, she held up 
 an ivory countenance intersected with very perceptible sky-blue veins, 
 and regarded it with so much cbmplacencjy, that Nicholas quite envied 
 her. 
 
 " If you ever have an opportunity of showing Kate some little kind- 
 ness," said Nicholas, presenting his hand, " I think you will." 
 
 " Depend upon that," said the good-natured miniature painter ; " and 
 God bless you, Mr. Nickleby ; and I wish you well." 
 
 It was very little that Nicholas knew of the world, but he guessed 
 enough about its ways to think, that if he gave Miss La Creevy one little 
 kiss, perhaps she might not be the less kindly disposed towards those 
 he was leaving behind. So he gave her three or four with a kind of 
 jocose gallantry, and Miss La Creevy evinced no greater symptoms of 
 displeasure than declaring, as she adjusted her yellow turban, that she 
 had never heard of such a thing, and couldn't have believed it possible. 
 Having tenninated the unexpected interview in this satisfactory 
 manner, Nicholas hastily withdrew himself from the house. By the 
 time he had found a man to carry his box it was only seven o'clock, so 
 he walked slowly on, a little in advance of the porter, and very proba- 
 bly with not half as light a licart in his breast as the man had, although 
 he had no waistcoat to cover it with, and had evidently, from the 
 appearance of his other garments, been spending the night in a stable, 
 and taking his breakfast at a pimip. 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 35 
 
 Regarding with no small curiosity and interest all the busy prepara- 
 tions for the coming day which every street and almost every house 
 displayed ; and thinking now and then that it seemed rather hard that 
 so many people of all ranks and stations could earn a livelihood in 
 London, and that he should be compelled to journey so far in search of 
 one, Nicholas speedily arrived at the Saracen's Head, Snow Hill. Hav- 
 ing dismissed his attendant, and seen the box safely deposited in the 
 coach-office, he looked into the coffi;e-room in search of Mr. Squeers. 
 
 He found that learned gentleman sitting at breakfast, with the three 
 little boys before noticed, and two others who had turned up by some 
 lucky chance since the interview of the previous day, ranged in a row 
 on the opposite seat. Mr. Squeers had before him a small measure of 
 coffee, a plate of hot toast, and a cold round of beef ; but he was at 
 that moment intent on preparing breakfast for the little boys. 
 
 " This is twopenn'orth of milk is it, waiter ? " said Mr. Squeers, 
 looking down into a large blue mug, and slanting it gently so as to get 
 an accurate view of the quantity of liquid contained in it. 
 
 " That's twopenn'orth. Sir," replied the waiter. 
 
 " What a rare article ipilk is, to be sure, in London ! " said Mr. 
 Squeers with a sigh. " Just fill that mug up with lukewarm water, 
 William, will you ? " 
 
 " To the wery top. Sir ? " inquired the waiter. " Why, the milk 
 will be drownded." 
 
 " Never you mind that," replied Mr. Squeers. " Serve it right for 
 being so dear. You ordered that thick bread and butter for three, 
 did you ? " 
 
 " Coming directly. Sir." 
 
 " You needn't hurry yourself," said Squeers ; " there's plenty of 
 time. Conquer your passions, boys, and don't be eager after vittles." 
 As he uttered this moral precept, Mr. Squeers took a large bite out of 
 the cold beef, and recognised Nicholas. 
 
 " Sit down, Mr. Nickleby," said Squeers. " Here we are, a break- 
 fasting you see." 
 
 Nicholas did not see that anybody was breakfasting except Mr. 
 Squeers; but he bowed with all becoming reverence, and looked as 
 cheerful as he could. 
 
 "Oh! that's the milk and water, is it, William?" said Squeers. 
 " Very good ; don't forget the bread and butter presently." 
 
 At this fresh mention of the bread and butter, the five little boys 
 looked very eager, and followed the waiter out with their eyes ; mean- 
 while Mr. Squeers tasted the milk and water. 
 
 "Ah!" said that gentleman, smacking his lips, "here's richness! 
 Think of the many beggars and orphans in the streets that would be 
 glad of this, little boys. A shocking thing hunger is, isn't it, Mr. 
 Nickleby?" 
 
 " Very shocking. Sir," said Nicholas. 
 
 " When I say number one," pursued Mr. Squeers, putting the mug 
 before the children, " the boy on the left hand nearest the window may 
 tsfcke a drink ; and when I say number two the boy next him will go in, 
 
 D 2 
 
36 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 and so till we come to number five, which is tho last boy. Are you 
 ready?" 
 
 " Yes, Sir," cried all the little boys with great eagerness. 
 
 " That's right," said Squeers, calmly getting on with his breakfast ; 
 '•'- keep ready till I tell you to begin. Subdue your appetites, my dears, 
 and you've conquered human natur. This is the way we inculcate 
 Streng-th of mind, Mr. Nickleby," said the schoolmaster, turning to 
 Nicholas, and speaking with his mouth, very full of beef and toast. 
 
 Nicholas murmured something — he knew not what — in reply, and 
 the little boys dividing their gaze between the mug, the bread and but- 
 ter (which had by this time arrived), and every morsel which Mr. 
 Squeers took into his mouth, remained with strained eyes in torments of 
 expectation. 
 
 " Thank God for a good breakfast," said Squeers when he had finished. 
 " Number one may take a drink." 
 
 Number one seized the mug ravenously, and had just drunk enough 
 to make him wish for more, when Mr. Squeers gave the signal for 
 number two, who gave up at the same interesting moment to number 
 three, and the process was repeated till the milk and water terminated 
 with number five. 
 
 " And now," said the schoolmaster, dividing the bread and butter 
 for three into as many portions as there were children, " you had 
 better look sharp with your breakfast, for the horn will blow in a 
 minute or two, and then every boy leaves ofi"." 
 
 Permission being thus given to fall to, the boys began to eat vora- 
 ciously, and in desperate haste, while the schoolmaster (who was in 
 high good humour after his meal) picked his teeth with a fork and 
 looked smilingly on. In a very short time the horn was heard. 
 
 " I thought it wouldn't be long," said Squeers, jumping up and pro- 
 ducing a little basket from under the seat ; " put what you haven't 
 had time to eat, in here, boys ! You'll want it on the road !" 
 
 Nicholas was considerably startled by these very economical arrange- 
 ments, but he had no time to reflect upon them, for the little boys had 
 to be got up to the top of the coach, and their boxes had to be brought 
 out and put in, and Mr. Squecrs's luggage was to be seen carefully 
 deposited in the boot, and all these offices were in his department. He 
 was in the full heat and bustle of concluding these operations, when his 
 uncle, Mr. Ralph Nickleby, accosted him. 
 
 " Oh ! here you are. Sir ?" said Ralph. " Here are your mother and 
 sister. Sir." 
 
 " Where !" cried Nicholas, looking hastily round. 
 
 " Here !" replied his vmcle. " Having too much money and nothing 
 at all to do with it, they were paying a hackney coach as I came 
 np. Sir." 
 
 " We were afraid of being too late to see him before he went away 
 from us," said Mrs. Nickleby, embracing lier son, heedless of the un- 
 concerned lookers-on in the coach-yard. 
 
 " Very good, ma'am," returned Ralph, " you're the best judge of 
 course. I merely said that you were paying a hackney coach. / never 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 37 
 
 pay a hackney coach, ma'am, I never hire one. I hav'n't been in a 
 hackney coach of my own hiring for thirty years, and I hope I shan't 
 be for thirty more, if I Kve as long." 
 
 " I should never have forgiven myself if I had not seen him," said 
 Mrs. Nickleby. " Poor dear boy — going away without his breakfast 
 too, because he feared to distress us." 
 
 " Mighty fine certainly," said Ralph, with great testiness. " When 
 I first went to business, ma'am, I took a penny loaf and a ha'porth of 
 milk for my breakfast as I walked to the city every morning ; what 
 do you say to that, ma'am ? Breakfast ! Pshaw !" 
 
 " Now, Nickleby," said Squeers, coming up at the moment button- 
 ing his great-coat ; " I think you'd better get up behind. I'm afraid 
 of one of them boys falling ofi^", and then there's twenty pound a year 
 gone." 
 
 " Dear Nicholas," whispered Kate, touching her brother's arm, 
 " who is that vulgar man ?" 
 
 " Eh !" growled Ralph, whose quick ears had caught the inquiry. 
 " Do you wish to be introduced to Mr. Squeers, my dear ?"' 
 
 "That the schoolmaster! No, uncle. Oh, nol" replied Kate, 
 shrinking back. 
 
 " I'm sure I heard you say as much, my dear," retorted Ralph in 
 his cold sarcastic manner. " Mr. Squeers, here's my niece, Nicholas's 
 sister ?" 
 
 " Very glad to make your acquaintance. Miss," said Squeers, raising* 
 his hat an inch or two. " I wish Mrs. Squeers took gals, and we had 
 you for a teacher. I don't know though whether she mightn't grow 
 jealous if we had. Ha ! Ha ! Ha !" 
 
 If the proprietor of Dotheboys Hall could have known what was 
 passing in his assistant's breast at that moment, he would have disco- 
 vered with some surprise, that he was as near being soundly pummelled 
 as he had ever been in his life. Kate Nickleby having a quicker per- 
 ception of her brother's emotions led him gently aside, and thus pre- 
 vented Mr. Squeers from being impressed with the fact in a peculiarly- 
 disagreeable manner. 
 
 " My dear Nicholas," said the young lady, " who is this man T 
 What kind of place can it be that you arc going to ?" 
 
 " I hardly know, Kate," replied Nicholas, pressing his sister's hand.. 
 " I suppose the Yorkshire folks are rather rough and uncultivated, 
 that's all." 
 
 " But this person," urged Kate. 
 
 " Is my employer, or master, or whatever the proper name may be,'* 
 replied Nicholas quickly, " and I was an ass to take his coarseness ill. 
 They are looking this way, and it is time I was in my place. Bless 
 you love, and good bye. Mother ; look forward to our meeting again 
 some day. Uncle, farewell ! Thank you heartily for all you have done 
 and all you mean to do. Quite ready, Sir." 
 
 With these hasty adieux, Nicholas mounted nimbly to his seat, and 
 waved his hand as gallantly as if his heart went with it. 
 
 At this moment, when the coachman and guard were comparing 
 
38 
 
 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 notes for the last time before starting, on the subject of the way-bill ; 
 when porters were screwing out the last reluctant sixpences, itinerant 
 newsmen making the last offer of a morning paper, and the horses giv- 
 ing the last impatient rattle to their harness, Nicholas felt somebody 
 pulling softly at his leg. He looked down, and there stood Newman 
 Noggs, who pushed up into his hand a dirty letter. 
 
 " What's this ?" inquired Nicholas. 
 
 " Hush \" rejoined Noggs, pointing to Mr. Ralph Nickleby, who 
 was saying a few earnest words to Squeers a short distance off. " Take 
 it. Read it. Nobody knows. That's all." 
 
 " Stop !" cried Nicholas. 
 
 " No," replied Noggs. 
 
 Nicholas cried stop, again, but Newman Noggs was gone. 
 
 A minute's bustle, a banging of the coach doors, a swaying of the 
 vehicle to one side, as the heavy coachman, and still heavier guard, 
 climbed into their seats ; a cry of all right, a few notes from the horn, 
 a hasty glance of two sorrowful faces below and the hard features of 
 Mr. Ralph Nickleby — and the coach was gone too, and rattling over 
 the stones of Smith field. 
 
 The little boys' legs being too short to admit of their feet resting 
 upon anything as they sat, and the little boys' bodies being conse- 
 quently in imminent hazard of being jerked off the coach, Nicholas had 
 enough to do to hold them on : and between the manual exertion and 
 the mental anxiety attendant upon this task, he was not a little relieved 
 when the coach stopped at the Peacock at Islington. He was still 
 more relieved when a hearty-looking gentleman, with a very good- 
 humoured face, and a very fresh colour, got up behind and proposed to 
 take the other corner of the seat. 
 
 " If we put some of these youngsters in the middle," said the new 
 comer, " they'll be safer in case of their going to sleep ; eh ? " 
 
 "If you'll have the goodness. Sir," replied Squeers, "that'll be the 
 very thing. Mr. Nickleby, take three of them boys between you and 
 the gentleman. Belling and the youngest Snawley can sit between me 
 and the guard. Three children," said Squeers, explaining to the stranger, 
 " books as two." 
 
 "I have not the least objection I am sure," said the fresh-coloured 
 gentleman ; " I have a brother who wouldn't object to book his six 
 children as two at any butcher's or baker's in the kingdom, I dare say. 
 Far from it." 
 
 " Six children, Sir ! " exclaimed Squeers. 
 
 " Yes, and all boys," replied the stranger. 
 
 " Mr. Nickleby," said Squeers, in great haste, " catcli hold of that 
 basket. Let me give you a card. Sir, of an establishment where tliose 
 six boys can be brought up in an enlightened, lil)eral, and moral 
 manner, with no mistake at all about it, for twenty guineas a year 
 each — twenty guineas. Sir ; or I'd take all the boys together upon a 
 average right through, and say a hundred pound a year for the lot." 
 
 " Oh !" said tlic gentleman, glancing at the card, " You are the Mr, 
 Squeers mentioned here, I presume ? " 
 

.» 
 
 • • 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 39 
 
 "Yes I am, Sir," replied the worthy pedagogTie ; "Mr. Wackford 
 Squeers is my name, and I'm very far from being ashamed of it. 
 These are some of my boys, Sir ; that's one of my assistants, Sir — Mr. 
 Nickleby, a gentleman's son, and a good scholar, mathematical, 
 classical, and commercial. We don't do things by halves at our shop. 
 All manner of learning my boys take dovi^n. Sir ; the expense is never 
 thought of, and they get paternal treatment and washing in." 
 
 " Upon my word," said the gentleman, glancing at Nicholas with a 
 half smile, and a more than half expression of surprise, " these are 
 advantages indeed." 
 
 " You may say that. Sir," rejoined Squeers, thrusting his hands into 
 his great-coat pockets. " The most unexceptionable references are 
 given and required. I wouldn't take a reference with any boy that 
 was not responsible for the payment of five pound five a quarter, no, 
 not if you went down on your knees, and asked me with the tears 
 running down your face to do it." 
 
 " Highly considerate," said the passenger. 
 
 " It's my great aim and end to be considerate. Sir," rejoined Squeers. 
 '' Snawley, junior, if you don't leave off chattering your teeth, and 
 shaking with the cold, I'll warm you with a severe thrashing in about 
 half a minute's time." 
 
 " Sit fast here, genelmen," said the guard as he clambered up. 
 
 " All right behind there, Dick ? " cried the coachman. 
 
 " All right," was the reply. " Off she goes." And off she did go, 
 — if coaches be feminine — amidst a loud flourish from the g-uard's horn, 
 and the calm approval of all the judges of coaches and coach-horses 
 congregated at the Peacock, but more especially of the helpers, who 
 stood with the cloths over their arms, watching the coach till it dis- 
 appeared, and then lounged admiringly stablewards, bestowing various 
 gTuff encomiums on the beauty of the turn-out. 
 
 When the guard (who was a stout old Yorkshireman) had blown 
 himself quite out of breath, he put the horn into a little tunnel of a 
 basket fastened to the coach-side for the purpose, and giving himself a 
 plentiful shower of blows on the chest and shoulders, observed it was 
 uncommon cold, after which he demanded of every person separately 
 whether he was going right through, and if not where he was going. 
 Satisfactory replies being made to these queries, he surmised that the 
 roads were pretty heavy arter tliat fall last night, and took the liberty 
 of asking whether any of them gentlemen carried a snuff-box. It hap- 
 pening that nobody did, he remarked with a mysterious air that he 
 had heard a medical gentleman as went down to Grantham last week 
 say how that snuff-taking was bad for the eyes ; but for his part he 
 had never found it so, and what he said was, that every body should 
 speak as they found. Nobody attempting to controvert this position, 
 he took a small brown paper parcel out of his hat, and pvitting on a 
 pair of horn spectacles (the writing being crabbed) read the direction 
 half a dozen times over, having done which he consigned the parcel 
 to its old place, put up his spectacles again, and stared at every 
 body in turn. After this, he took another blow at the hom by way 
 
40 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 of refreshment, and having now exhausted his usual topics of con- 
 versation folded his arms as well as he could in so many coats, and 
 falling into a solemn silence, looked carelessly at tlic familiar objects 
 which met his eye on every side as the coach rolled on ; the only 
 things he seemed to care for, being horses and droves of cattle, which 
 he scrutinised with a critical air as they were passed upon the 
 road. 
 
 The weather was intensely and bitterly cold ; a great deal of snow 
 fell from time to time, and the wind was intolerably keen. Mr. Squeers 
 got down at almost every stage — to stretch his legs as he said, and as 
 he always came back from such excursions with a very red nose, and 
 composed himself to sleep directly, there is reason to suppose that he 
 derived great benefit from the process. The little pupils having been 
 stimulated with the remains of their breakfast, and further invigorated 
 by sundry small sups of a curious cordial carried by Mr. Squeers, 
 which tasted very like toast and water put into a brandy bottle by 
 mistake, went to sleep, woke, shivered, and cried, as their feelings 
 prompted, Nicholas and the good-tempered man found so many things 
 to talk about, that between conversing together, and cheering up the 
 boys, the time passed with them as rapidly as it could, under such 
 adverse circumstances. 
 
 So the day wore on. At Eton Slocomb there was a good coach 
 dinner, of which the box, the four front outsides, the one inside, Nicholas, 
 the good-tempered man, and Mr. Squeers, partook; while the five 
 little boys were put to thaw by the fire, and regaled with sand- 
 wiches. A stage or two further on, the lamps were lighted, and a great 
 to-do occasioned by the taking up at a road-side inn of a very fastidious 
 lady with an infinite variety of cloaks and small parcels, who loudly la- 
 mented for the behoof of the outsides the non-arrival of her own carriage 
 which was to have taken her on, and made the guard solemnly promise 
 to stop every gTeen chariot he saw coming ; which, as it was a dark 
 night and he was sitting with his face the other way, that officer under- 
 took, with many fervent asseverations, to do. Lastly, the fastidious 
 lady, finding there was a solitary gentleman inside, had a small lamp 
 lighted which she carried in her reticule; and being after much 
 trouble shut in, the horses were put into a brisk canter and the coach 
 was once more in rapid motion. 
 
 The night and the snow came on together, and dismal enough they 
 were. Tliere was no sound to be heard but the howling of the wind ; 
 for the noise of the wheels and the tread of the horses' feet were ren- 
 dered inaudible by the thick coating of snow which covered the earth, 
 and was fast increasing every moment. The streets of Stamford were 
 deserted as they passed through the town, and its old churches rose 
 frowning and dark from the whitened ground. Twenty miles further 
 on, two of the front outside passengers wisely availing themselves of 
 their arrival at one of the best inns in England, turned in for the night 
 at the George at Grantham. The remainder wrapped themselves more 
 closely in their coats and cloaks, and leaving the light and warmth of 
 the town behind them, pillowed themselves against the luggage and pre- 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY, 41 
 
 pared, with many half-suppressed moans, again to encounter the piercing 
 blast which swept across the open country. 
 
 They were little more than a stage out of Grantham, or about half 
 way between it and Newark, when Nicholas, who had been asleep for 
 a short time, was suddenly roused by a violent jerk which nearly threw 
 him from his seat. Grasping the rail, he found that the coach had 
 sunk greatly on one side, though it was still dragged forward by the 
 horses ; and while — confused by their plunging and the loud screams of 
 the lady inside — he hesitated for an instant whether to jump off or 
 not, the vehicle turned easily over, and relieved him from all further 
 uncertainty by flinging him into the road. 
 
 : CHAPTER VI. 
 
 IN WHICH THE OCCURRENCE OF THE ACCIDENT MENTIONED IN THE 
 LAST CHAPTER, AFFORDS AN OPPORTUNITY TO A COUPLE OF GEN- 
 TLEMEN TO TELL STORIES AGAINST EACH OTHER. 
 
 " Wo ho !" cried the guard, on his legs in a minute, and running to 
 the leaders* heads. " Is there ony genelmen there, as can len a hand 
 here? Keep quiet, dang ye. Wo ho !" 
 
 " What's the matter?" demanded Nicholas, looking sleepily up. 
 
 " Matther mun, matther eneaf for one neight," replied the guard ; 
 " dang the wall-eyed bay, he's gane mad wi' glory I think, carse 
 t'coorch is over. Here, can't ye len a bond ? Dom it, I'd ha' dean it 
 if all my boans were brokken." 
 
 " Here !" cried Nicholas, staggering to his feet, " I'm ready. I'm 
 only a little abroad, that's all." 
 
 " Hoold 'em toight," cried the guard, " while ar coot treaces. 
 Hang on tiv 'em sumhoo. Weel deame, my lad. That's it. Let 'em 
 goa noo. Dang 'em, they'll gang whoam fast eneaf." 
 
 In truth, the animals were no sooner released than they trotted back 
 with much deliberation to the stable they had just left, which was dis- 
 tant not a mile behind. 
 
 " Can you bio' a ham ?" asked the guard, disengaging one of the 
 coach-lamps. 
 
 " I dare say I can," replied Nicholas. 
 
 " Then just bio' away into that 'un as lies on the grund, fit to 
 wakken the deead, will'ee," said the man, " while I stop sum o' this here 
 squealing inside. Cumin', cumin ; dean't make that noise, wooman." 
 
 As the man spoke he proceeded to wrench open the uppermost door of 
 the coach, while Nicholas seizing the horn, awoke the echoes far and wide 
 with one of the most extraordinary performances on that instrument ever 
 heard by mortal ears. It had its effect however, not only in rousing 
 such of the passengers as were recovering from the stunning effects of 
 
42 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 their fall, but in summoning assistance to their relief, for lights gleamed 
 in the distance, and the people were already astir. 
 
 In fact, a man on horseback galloped down before the passengers 
 were well collected together, and a careful investigation being instituted 
 it appeared that the lady inside had broken her lamp, and the gentle- 
 man his head ; that the two front outsides had escaped with black 
 eyes, the box with a bloody nose, the coachman with a contusion on the 
 temple, Mr. Squeers with a portmanteau bruise on his back, and the 
 remaining passengers without any injury at all — thanks to the soft- 
 ness of the snow-drift in which they had been overturned. These facts 
 were no sooner thoroughly ascertained than the lady gave several indi- 
 cations of fainting, but being forewarned that if she did, she must be 
 carried on some gentleman's shoulders to the nearest public-house, she 
 prudently thought better of it, and walked back with the rest. 
 
 They found on reaching it, that it was a lonely place with no very 
 great accommodation in the way of apartments — that portion of its 
 resources being all comprised in one public room with a sanded floor, 
 and a chair or tw^o. However, a large faggot and a plentiful supply of 
 coals being heaped upon the fire, the appearance of things was not long 
 in mending, and by the time they had washed off all effaceable marks 
 of the late accident, the room was warm and light, which was a most 
 agreeable exchange for the cold and darkness out of doors. 
 
 " Well, Mr. Nickleby," said Squeers, insinuating himself into the 
 warmest comer, " you did very right to catch hold of them horses. 
 I should have done it myself if I had come to in time, but I am very 
 glad you did it. You did it very well ; very well." 
 
 " So well," said the merry-faced gentleman, who did not seem to 
 approve very much of the patronising tone adopted by Squeers, " that 
 if they had not been firmly checked when they w^ere, you would most 
 probably have had no brains left to teach with." 
 
 This remark called up a discourse relative to the promptitude Nicho- 
 las had displayed, and he was overwhelmed with compliments and 
 commendations. 
 
 " I am very glad to have escaped, of course," observed Squeers; 
 " every man is glad when he escapes from danger, but if any one of 
 my charges had been hurt — if I had been prevented from restoring 
 any one of these little boys to his parents whole and sound as I received 
 him — what would have been my feelings ? Why the wheel a-top of 
 my head would have been far preferable to it." 
 
 " Are they all brothers. Sir ? " inquired the lady who had carried the 
 " Davy" or safety-lamp. 
 
 " In one sense they are, ma'am," replied Squeers, diving into his 
 gTeat-coat pocket for cards. " They are all under the same parental 
 and affectionate treatment. Mrs. Squeers and myself are a mother and 
 father to every one of 'em. Mr. Nickleby, liand the lady them cards, 
 and offer these to the gentlemen. Perhaps they might know of some 
 parents that would be glad to avail themselves of the establishment." 
 
 Expressing himself to this effect, Mr. Squwrs, who lost no oppor- 
 tunity of advertising gratuitously, placed his hands upon his knees and 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 43 
 
 looked at the pupils with as much benignity as he could possibly affect, 
 while Nicholas, blushing with shame, handed round the cards as 
 directed. 
 
 " I hope you suffer no inconvenience from the overturn, ma'am ?" said 
 the merry-faced gentleman addressing the fastidious lady, as though he 
 Vfere charitably desirous to change the subject. 
 
 " No bodily inconvenience," replied the lady. 
 
 " No mental inconvenience, I hope ?" 
 
 " The subject is a very painful one to my feelings, Sir," replied the 
 lady with strong emotion ; " and I beg you, as a gentleman, not to 
 refer to it." 
 
 " Dear me," said the merry-faced gentleman, looking merrier still, " I 
 merely intended to inquire " 
 
 " I hope no inquiries will be made," said the lady, " or I shall be 
 compelled to throw myself on the protection of the other gentlemen. 
 Landlord, f^ray direct a boy to keep watch outside the door — and if a 
 gTeen chariot passes in the direction of Grantham, to stop it instantly." 
 
 The people of the house were evidently overcome by this request, and 
 when the lady charged the boy to remember, as a means of identifying 
 the expected green chariot, that it would have a coachman with a gold- 
 laced hat on the box, and a footman most probably in silk stockings 
 behind, the attentions of the good woman of the inn were redoubled. 
 Even the box-passenger caught the infection, and growing wonderfully 
 deferential, immediately inquired whether there was not very good 
 society in that neighbourhood, to which tlie lady replied yes, there was, 
 in a manner which sufficiently implied that she moved at the very tip- 
 top and summit of it all. 
 
 "' As the gaiard has gone on horseback to Grantham to get another 
 coach," said the good-tempered gentleman when they had been all sitting- 
 round the fire ibr some time in silence, " and as he must be gone a 
 couple of hours at the very least, I propose a bowl of hot punch. 
 What say you, Sir ? " 
 
 This question was addressed to the broken-headed inside, who was a 
 man of very genteel appearance, dressed in mourning. He was not 
 past the middle age, but his hair was grey ; it seemed to have been 
 prematurely turned by care or sorrow. He readily acceded to the 
 proposal, and appeared to be prepossessed by the frank good-nature of 
 the individual from whom it emanated. 
 
 This latter personage took upon himself the office of tapster when the 
 punch was. ready, and after dispensing it all round, led the conversation 
 to the antiquities of York, with which both he and the grey-haired gen- 
 tleman appeared well acquainted. When this topic flagged, he turned 
 with a smile to the gTey-headed gentleman and asked if he could sing. 
 
 " I camiot indeed," replied the gentleman, smiHng in his turn. 
 
 " That's a pity," said the owner of the good-humoured countenance. 
 " Is there nobody here who can sing a song to lighten the time ?" 
 
 The passengers one and all protested that they could not ; that tliey 
 wished they could, that they couldn't remember the words of anything 
 without the book, and so forth. 
 
44 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 " Perhaps the lady would not object," said the president with great 
 respect, and a merry twinkle in his eye. " Some little Italian thing out 
 of the last opera brought out in town, would be most acceptable I am 
 sure." 
 
 As the lady condescended to make no reply, but tossed her head con- 
 temptuously, and murmured some further expression of surprise re- 
 garding the absence of the green chariot, one or two voices urged upon 
 the president himself the propriety of making an attempt for the general 
 benefit. 
 
 " I would if I could," said he of the good-tempered face ; " for I 
 hold that in this, as in all other cases where people who are strangers to 
 each other are thrown unexpectedly together, they should endeavour to 
 render themselves as pleasant for the joint sake of the little community 
 as possible." 
 
 " I wish the maxim were more generally acted on in all cases," said 
 the grey-headed gentleman. 
 
 " I'm glad to hear it," returned the other. " Perhaps, as you can't 
 sing, you'll tell us a story ? " 
 
 " Nay. I should ask you." 
 
 " After you, I will, with pleasure." 
 
 " Indeed ! " said the grey-haired gentleman, smiling. " Well, let it 
 be so. I fear the turn of my thoughts is not calculated to lighten the 
 time you must pass here ; but you have brought this upon yourselves, 
 and shall judge. We were speaking of York Minster just now. My 
 story shall have some reference to it. Let us call it 
 
 THE FIVE SISTERS OF YORK. 
 
 After a murmur of approbation from the other passengers, during 
 which the fastidious lady drank a glass of punch unobserved, the grey- 
 headed gentleman thus went on : — 
 
 " A great many years ago — for the fifteenth century was scarce two 
 years old at the time, and King Henry the Fourth sat upon the throne 
 of England — there dwelt in the ancient city of York, five maiden sisters, 
 the subjects of my tale. 
 
 " These five sisters were all of surpassing beauty. The eldest was in 
 her twenty-third year, the second a year younger, the third a year 
 younger than the second, and the fourth a year younger than the third. 
 They were tall stately figures, with dark flashing eyes and hair of jet ; 
 dignity and grace were in their every movement, and the fame of their 
 great beauty had spread through all the country round. 
 
 " But if the four elder sisters were lovely, how beautiful was the 
 youngest, a fair creature of sixteen ! The blushing tints in the soft 
 bloom on the fruit, or the delicate painting on the flower, are not more 
 exquisite than was the blending of the rose and lily in her gentle face, 
 or the deep blue of her eye. The vine in all its elegant luxuriance is 
 not more graceful, than were the clusters of rich brown hair that sported 
 around her brow. 
 

 e 
 
 
 
y/,, . '//, /- \/,'i/r-f,/ // • "(/'■'^ 
 
 ¥ . 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 45 
 
 ": " If we all had hearts like those which beat so lightly in the bosoms 
 of the young and beautiful, what a heaven this earth would be ! If, 
 while our bodies grew old and withered, our hearts could but retain their 
 early youth and freshness, of what avail would be our sorrows and 
 sufferings ! But the faint image of Eden which is stamped upon them 
 in childhood, chafes and rubs in our rough struggles with the world, and 
 soon wears away : too often to leave nothing but a mournful blank 
 remaining 
 
 " The heart of this fair girl bounded with joy and gladness. Devoted 
 attachment to her sisters, and a fervent love of all beautiful things in 
 nature, were its pure affections. Iler gleesome voice and merry laugh 
 were the sweetest music of their home. She was its very light and 
 life. The brightest flowers in the garden were reared by her; the 
 caged birds sang when they heard her voice, and pined when they 
 missed its sweetness. Alice, dear Alice ; what living thing within the 
 sphere of her gentle witchery, could fail to love her ! 
 
 " You may seek in vain, now, for the spot on which these sisters 
 lived, for their very names have passed away, and dusty antiquaries 
 tell of them as of a fable. But they dwelt in an old wooden house — 
 old even in those days — with overhanging gables and balconies of 
 rudely-carved oak, which stood within a pleasant orchard, and was 
 surrounded by a rough stone wall, whence a stout archer might have 
 winged an arrow to Saint Mary's abbey. The old abbey flourished 
 then, and the five sisters living on its fair domains, paid yearly dues to 
 the black monks of Saint Benedict, to which fraternity it belonged. 
 
 " It was a bright and sunny morning in the pleasant time of summer 
 when one of these black monks emerged from the abbey portal, and 
 bent his steps towards the house of the fair sisters. Heaven above was 
 blue, and earth beneath was green ; the river glistened like a path of 
 diamonds in the sun, the birds poured forth their songs from the 
 shady trees, the lark soared high above the waving com, and the deep 
 buzz of insects filled the air. Everything looked gay and smiling; 
 but the holy man walked gloomily on, with his eyes bent upon the 
 ground. The beauty of the earth is but a breath, and man is but a 
 shadow. What sympathy should a holy preacher have with either ? 
 
 " With eyes bent upon tlie ground, then, or only raised enough to 
 prevent his stumbling over such obstacles as lay in his way, the 
 religious man moved slowly forward until he reached a small postern in 
 the wall of the sisters' orchard, through which he passed, closing it 
 behind him. The noise of soft voices in conversation and of merry 
 laughter fell upon his ear ere he had advanced many paces ; and 
 raising his eyes higher than was his humble wont, he descried, at no 
 great distance, the five sisters seated on the grass, with Alice in the 
 centre, all busily plying their customary task of embroidering. 
 
 " ' Save you, fair daughters,' said the friar ; and fair in truth they 
 were. Even a monk might have loved them as choice master-pieces of 
 his Maker's hand. 
 
 " The sisters saluted the holy man with becoming reverence, and the 
 eldest motioned him to a mossy seat beside them. But the good friar 
 
46 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 fehook his head, and bumped himself down on a very hard stone, — at 
 which, no doubt, approving angels were gratified. 
 
 " ' Ye were merry daughters,' said the monk. 
 
 " ' You know how light of lieart sweet Alice is,' replied the eldest 
 sister, passing her fingers through the tresses of the smiling girl. 
 
 " ' And what joy and cheerfulness it wakes up within us, to see all 
 nature beaming in brightness and sunshine, father,' added Alice, blush- 
 ing beneath the stern look of the recluse. 
 
 " The monk answered not, save by a grave inclination of the head, 
 and the sisters pursued their task in silence. 
 
 " ' Still wasting the precious hours,' said the monk at length, turning 
 to the eldest sister as he spoke, ' still wasting the precious hours on 
 this vain trifling. Alas, alas ! that the few bubbles on the surface of 
 eternity — all that Heaven wills we should see of that dark deep stream 
 — should be so lightly scattered ! ' 
 
 " ' Father,' urged the maiden, pausing, as did each of the others, in 
 her busy task, ' we have prayed at matins, our daily alms have been 
 distributed at the gate, the sick peasants have been tended, — all our 
 morning tasks have been performed. I hope our occupation is a 
 blameless one ? ' 
 
 " ' See here,' said the friar, taking the frame from her hand, ' an 
 intricate winding of gaudy colours without purpose or object, unless it 
 be that one day it is destined for some vain ornament, to minister to 
 the pride of your frail and giddy sex. Day after day has been 
 employed upon this senseless task, and yet it is not half accomplished. 
 The shade of each departed day falls upon our graves, and the worm 
 exults as he beholds it, to know that we are hastening thither. 
 Daughters, is there no better way to pass the fleeting hours ? ' 
 
 " The four elder sisters cast down their eyes as if abashed by the 
 holy man's reproof, but Alice raised hers, and bent them mildly on 
 the friar. 
 
 " ' Our dear mother,' said the maiden ; ' Heaven rest her soul.' 
 
 " ' Amen !' cried the Friar in a deep voice. 
 
 "'Our dear mother!' faltered the fair Alice, 'was living when, 
 these long tasks began, and bade us, when she should be no more, 
 ply them in all discretion and cheerfulness in our leisure hours : she 
 said that if in harmless mirth and maidenly pursuits we passed those 
 hours together, they would prove the happiest and most peaceful of 
 our lives, and that if in later times we went forth into the world, and 
 mingled with its cares and trials — if, allured by its temptations and 
 dazzled by its glitter, we ever forgot that love and duty which should 
 bind in holy ties the children of one loved parent — a glance at the old 
 work of our common girlhood would awaken good thoughts of by-gone 
 days, and soften our hearts to aflection and love.' 
 
 " ' Alice speaks truly, father,' said the elder sister, somewhat proudly. 
 And so saying she resumed her work, as did the otliers. 
 
 " It was a kind of sampler of large size, that each sister had be- 
 fore her ; the device was of a complex and intricate description, and 
 the pattern and colours of all five were the same. The sisters bent 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 47 
 
 gracefully over their work, and tlie monk resting his chin upon his 
 hands, looked from one to the other in silence. 
 
 " ' How much better,' he said at length, ' to shun all such thoughts 
 and chances, and in the peaceful shelter of the church devote your lives 
 to Heaven ! Infancy, childhood, the prime of life, and old age, wither 
 as rapidly as they crowd upon each other. Think how human dust 
 rolls onward to the tomb, and turning your faces steadily towards that 
 goal, avoid the cloud which takes its rise among the pleasures of the 
 world and cheats the senses of their votaries. The veil, daughters, the 
 veil !' 
 
 " ' Never, sisters,' cried Alice. ' Barter not the light and air of 
 heaven, and the freshness of earth and all the beautiful things which 
 breathe upon it, for the cold cloister and the cell. Nature's own 
 blessings are the proper goods of life, and we may share them sinlessly 
 together. To die is our heavy portion, but, oh, let us die with life about 
 us ; when our cold hearts cease to beat, let warm hearts be beating near ; 
 let our last look be upon the bounds which God has set to his own 
 bright skies, and not on stone walls and bars of iron. Dear sisters, let 
 us live and die, if you list, in this green garden's compass ; only shun 
 the gloom and sadness of a cloister, and we shall be happy.' 
 
 " The tears fell fast from the maiden's eyes as she closed her impas- 
 sioned appeal, and hid her face in the bosom of her sister. 
 
 " ' Take comfort, Alice,' said the eldest, kissing her fair forehead. 
 ' The veil shall never cast its shadow on thy young brow. How say 
 you, sisters ? For yourselves you speak, and not for Alice, or for me.' 
 
 " The sisters, as with one accord, cried that their lot was cast 
 togetlier, and that there were dwellings for peace and virtue beyond 
 the convent's walls. 
 
 " ' Father,' said the eldest lady, rising with dignity, ' you hear 
 our final resolve. The same pious care which enriched the abbey of 
 Saint Mary, and left us, orphans, to its holy guardianship, directed 
 that no constraint should be imposed upon our inclinations, but that 
 we, should be free to live according to our choice. Let us hear no 
 more of this, we pray you. Sisters, it is nearly noon. Let us take 
 shelter until evening !' With a reverence to the Friar, the lady rose 
 and walked towards the house hand in hand with Alice; and the 
 other sisters followed. 
 
 " The holy man, who had often urged the same point before, but 
 had never met with so direct a repulse, walked some little distance be- 
 hind, with his eyes bent upon tlie earth, and his lips moving as if in 
 prayer. As the sisters reached the porch, he quickened his pace and 
 called upon them to stop. 
 
 " ' Stay,' said the monk, raising his right hand in the air, and direct- 
 ing an angry glance by turns at Alice and the eldest sister, ' Stay, and 
 hear from me what these recollections are, which you would cherish 
 above eternity, and awaken — if in mercy they slumbered — by means of 
 idle toys. The memory of earthly things is charged in after life with 
 bitter disappointment, affliction, and death ; with dreary change and 
 wasting sorrow. The time will one day come when a glance at^those 
 
48 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 unmeaning baubles shall tear open deep wounds in the hearts of some 
 among you, and strike to your inmost souls. When that hour arrives — 
 and, mark me, come it will — turn from the world to which you clung, 
 to the refuge which you spurned. Find me the cell which shall be 
 colder than the fire of mortals grows when dimmed by calamity and 
 trial, and there w(3ep for the dreams of youth. These things are Hea- 
 ven s will, not mine,' said the friar, subduing his voice as he looked 
 round upon the shrinking girls. ' The Virgin s blessing be upon you, 
 daughters ! ' 
 
 " With these words he disappeared through the postern, and the 
 sisters hastening into the house were seen no more that day. 
 
 " But nature will smile though priests may frown, and next day 
 the sun shone brightly, and on the next, and the next again. And in 
 the morning's glare and the evening s soft repose, the five sisters still 
 walked, or worked, or beguiled the time by cheerful conversation in 
 their quiet orchard. 
 
 " Time passed away as a tale that is told ; faster indeed than 
 many tales that are told, of which number I fear this may be one. 
 The house of the five sisters stood where it did, and the same trees cast 
 their pleasant shade upon the orchard grass. The sisters too were there, 
 and lovely as at first, but a change had come over their dwelling. 
 Sometimes there was the clash of armour, and the gleaming of the 
 moon on caps of steel, and at others jaded coursers were spurred up to 
 the gate, and a female form glided hurriedly forth as if eager to demand 
 tidings of the weary messenger. A goodly train of knights and ladies 
 lodged one night within the abbey walls, and next day rode away with 
 two of the fair sisters among them. Then horsemen began to come 
 less frequently, and seemed to bring bad tidings when they did, and at 
 length they ceased to come at all, and foot-sore peasants slunk to the 
 gate after sunset and did their errand there by stealth. Once a vassal 
 was despatched in haste to the abbey at dead of night, and when 
 morning came there were sounds of woe and wailing in the sisters' 
 house; and after this a mournful silence fell upon it, and knight or 
 lady, horse or armour, was seen about it no more. 
 
 " There was a sullen darkness in the sky, and the sun had gone 
 angrily down, tinting the dull clouds with the last traces of his WTath, 
 when the same black monk walked slowly on with folded arms, within 
 a stone's-throw of the abbey. A blight had fallen on the trees and 
 shrubs ; and the wind at length beginning to break the unnatural still- 
 ness that had prevailed all day, sighed heavily from time to time, as 
 though foretelling in grief the ravages of the coming storm. The bat 
 skimmed in fantastic flights through the heavy air, and the ground was 
 alive with crawling things, whose instinct brought them forth to swell 
 and fatten in the rain. 
 
 " No longer were the friar's eyes directed to the earth ; they were 
 cast abroad, and roamed from point to point, as if the gloom and deso - 
 lation of the scene found a quick response in his own bosom. Again he 
 paused near the sisters' house, and again ho entered by the postern. 
 
 " But not again did his ear encounter the sound of laughter, or his 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 49 
 
 eyes rest upon the beautiful figures of the five sisters. All was silent 
 and deserted. The boughs of the trees were bent and broken, and the 
 grass had grown long and rank. No light feet had pressed it for many, 
 many, a day. 
 
 " With the indifference or abstraction of one well accustomed to the 
 change, the monk glided into the house, and entered a low, dark room. 
 Four sisters sat there. Their black garments made their pale faces 
 whiter still, and time and sorrow had worked deep ravages. They were 
 stately yet ; but the flush and pride of beauty were gone. 
 
 " And Alice — where was she ? In heaven. 
 
 " The monk — even the monk — could bear with some grief here ; for it 
 was long since these sisters had met, and there were furrows in their 
 blanched faces which years could never plough. He took his seat in 
 silence, and motioned them to continue their speech. 
 
 " ' They are here, sisters,' said the elder lady in a trembling voice. 
 ' I have never borne to look upon them since, and now I blame myself 
 for my weakness. What is there in her memory that we should dread ? 
 To call up our old days shall be a solemn pleasure yet.' 
 
 " She glanced at the monk as she spoke, and, opening a cabinet, 
 brought forth the five frames of work, completed long before. Her 
 step was firm, but her hand trembled as she produced the last one ; and 
 when the feelings of the other sisters gushed forth at sight of it, her 
 pent-up tears made way, and she sobbed ' God bless her !' 
 
 " The monk rose and advanced towards them. ' It was almost the 
 last thing she touched in health,' he said in a low voice. 
 
 " ' It was,' cried the elder lady, weeping bitterly. 
 
 " The monk turned to the second sister. 
 
 " ' The gallant youth who looked into thine eyes, and hung upon thy 
 Tery breath when first he saw thee intent upon this pastime, lies buried 
 on a plain whereof the turf is red with blood. Rusty fragments of 
 armour once brightly burnished, lie rotting on the ground, and are as 
 little distinguishable for his, as are the bones that crumble in the 
 mould !' 
 
 " The lady groaned and wrung her hands. 
 
 " ' The policy _ of courts,' he continued, turning to the two other 
 sisters, ' drew ye from your peaceful home to scenes of revelry and 
 splendour. The same policy, and the restless ambition of proud and 
 fiery men, have sent ye back, widowed maidens, and humbled out- 
 casts. Do I speak truly V 
 
 " The sobs of the two sisters were their only reply. 
 
 " * There is little need,' said the monk, with a meaning look, ' to 
 fritter away the time in gewgaws which shall raise up the pale ghosts 
 of hopes of early years. Bury them, heap penance and mortification 
 on their heads, keep them down, and let the convent be their grave !' 
 
 " The sisters asked for three days to deliberate, and felt that night 
 as though the veil were indeed the fitting shroud for their dead joys. 
 But morning came again, and though the boughs of the orchard trees 
 drooped and ran wild upon the ground, it was the same orchard still. 
 The grass was coarse and high, but there was yet the spot on which 
 
 E 
 
50 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 they had so often sat together when change and sorrow were but names. 
 There was every walk and nook which Alice had made glad, and in the 
 minster nave was one fliit stone beneath which she slept in peace. 
 
 " And could they, remembering how her young heart had sickened 
 at the thought of cloistered walls, look upon her grave in garl>8 which 
 would chill the very ashes within it ? Could they lx)w down in prayer, 
 and when all Heaven turned to hear them bring the dark shade of 
 sadness on one angel's face ? No. 
 
 " They sent abroad to artists of great celebrity in those times, and 
 having obtained the church's sanction to their work of piety, caused to 
 be executed in five large compartments of richly stained glass a faithful 
 copy of their old embroidery work. These were fitted into a large win- 
 dow until that time bare of ornament, and when the sun shone brightly, 
 as she had so well loved to see it, the familiar patterns were reflected in 
 their original colours, and throwing a stream of brilliant light upon the 
 pavement, fell warmly on the name of ^lice. 
 
 " For many hours in every day the sisters paced slowly up and 
 down the nave, or knelt by the side of the flat broad stone. Only 
 three were seen in the customary place after many years, then but 
 two, and for a long time afterwards, but one solitary female bent with 
 age. At length she came no more, and the stone bore five plain 
 Christian names. 
 
 '' That stone has worn away and been replaced by others, and many 
 generations have come and gone since then. Time has softened down 
 the colours, but the same stream of light still falls upon the forgotten 
 tomb, of which no trace remains ; and to this day the stranger is shown 
 in York cathedral an old window called The Five Sisters." 
 
 " That's a melancholy tale," said the merry-faced gentleman, empty- 
 ing his glass. 
 
 "It is a tale of life, and life is made up of such sorrows," returned 
 the other, courteously, but in a grave and sad tone of voice. 
 
 " There are shades in all good pictures, but there are lights too, if we 
 choose to contemplate them,'' said the gentleman with the meny face. 
 '' The youngest sister in your tale was always light-hearted." 
 
 " And died early," said the other, gently. 
 
 " She would have died earlier, perhaps, had she been less happy," 
 said the first speaker, with much feeling. " Do you think the sisters 
 who loved her so well, would have grieved the less if her life had been 
 one of gloom and sadness ? If anything could soothe the first sharp 
 pain of a heavy loss, it would be — with me — the reflection, that those 
 I mourned, by being innocently happy here, and loving all about them, 
 had prepared themselves for a purer and happier world. The sun does 
 not shine upon this fair earth to meet frowning eyes, depend upon it." 
 
 " I believe you are right," said the gentleman who had told the story. 
 
 " Believe!" retorted the other, " can anybody doubt it? Take any 
 subject of sorrowful regret, and see with how much of pleasure it is 
 associated. The recollection of past pleasure may become pain " 
 
 " It does," interposed the other. 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. Si 
 
 *' Well ; it does. To remember happiness which cannot be restored 
 is pain, but of a softened kind. Our recollections are unfortunately 
 mingled with much that we deplore, and with many actions which we 
 bitterly repent ; still in the most chequered life I firmly think there 
 are so many little rays of sunshine to look back upon, that I do not 
 believe any mortal (unless he had put himself without the pale of hope) 
 would deliberately drain a goblet of the waters of Lethe, if he had it in 
 his power." 
 
 " Possibly you are correct in that belief," said the grey-haired gen- 
 tleman after a short reflection. " I am inclined to think you are." 
 
 " Why, then," replied the other, " the good in this state of exist- 
 ence preponderates over the bad, let miscalled philosophers tell us what 
 they will. If our aftections be tried, our affections are our consolation 
 and comfort ; and memory, however sad, is the best and purest link 
 between this world and a better. 
 
 " But come ; I'll tell you a story of another kind." 
 
 After a very brief silence the merry-faced gentleman sent round the 
 punch, and glancing slily at the fastidious lady, w^ho seemed despe- 
 rately apprehensive that he was going to relate something improper, 
 began 
 
 THE BARON OF GROGZWIG. 
 
 *' The Baron Yon Koeldwethout, of Grogzwig in Germany, was as 
 likely a young baron as you would wish to see. I needn't say that he 
 lived in a castle, because that's of course ; neither need I say that he 
 lived in an old castle, for what German baron ever lived in a new 
 one ? There were many strange circumstances connected with this 
 venerable building, among which not the least startling and mysterious 
 were, that when the wind blew, it rumbled in the chimneys, or even 
 howled among the trees in the neighbouring forest ; and that when the 
 moon shone, she found her way through certain small loopholes in the 
 wall, and actually made some parts of the wide halls and galleries 
 quite light, while she left others in gloomy shadow. I believe that one 
 of the baron s ancestors, being short of money, had inserted a dagger in 
 a gentleman who called one night to ask his way, and it was supposed 
 that these miraculous occurrences took place in consequence. And yet 
 I hardly know how that could have been, either, because the baron s 
 ancestor, who was an amiable man, felt very sorry afterwards for 
 having been so rash, and laying violent liands upon a quantity of stone 
 and timber which belonged to a weaker baron, built a chapel as an 
 apology, and so took a receipt from Heaven in full of all demands. 
 
 " Talking of the baron s ancestor puts me in mind of the baron s gTeat 
 claims to respect on the score of his pedigree. I am afraid to say, I am 
 sure, how many ancestors the baron had ; but I know that he had a great 
 many more than any other man of his time, and I only wish that he 
 had lived in these latter days that he might have had more. It is a 
 very hard thing upon the great men of past centuries, that they should 
 have come into the world so soon, because a man who was bom three 
 
 e2 
 
52 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 or four hundred years ago, cannot reasonably be expected to have had 
 as many relations before him as a man who is bom now. The last 
 man, whoever he is — and he may be a cobbler or some low vulgar dog 
 for aught we know — will have a longer pedigree than the greatest 
 nobleman now alive : and I contend that this is not fair. 
 
 " Well, but the Baron Von Koeldwethout of Grogzwig — he was a 
 fine swarthy fellow, with dark hair and large mustachios, who rode 
 a-hunting in clothes of Lincoln green, with russet boots on his feet, and 
 a bugle slung over his shoulder like the guard of a long stage. 
 When he blew this bugle, four-and-twenty other gentlemen of inferior 
 rank, in Lincoln green a little coarser, and russet boots with a little 
 thicker soles, turned out directly, and away galloped the whole train, 
 with spears in their hands like lackered area railings, to hunt down 
 the boars, or perhaps encounter a bear, in which latter case the baron 
 killed him first and greased his whiskers with him afterwards. 
 
 " This was a merry life for the Baron of Grogzwig, and a merrier 
 still for the baron's retainers, who drank Rhine wine every night till 
 they fell under the table, and then had the bottles on the floor, and 
 called for pipes. Never were such jolly, roystering, rollicking, merry- 
 making blades, as the jovial crew of Grogzwig. 
 
 " But the pleasures of the table, or the pleasures of under the table, 
 require a little variety; especially when the same five-and-twenty 
 people sit daily down to the same board, to discuss the same subjects, 
 and tell the same stories. The baron grew weary, and wanted excite- 
 ment. He took to quarrelling with his gentlemen, and tried kicking 
 two or three of them every day after dinner. This was a pleasant change 
 at first ; but it became monotonous after a week or so, and the baron fell 
 quite out of sorts, and cast about in despair for some new amusement. 
 
 " One night, after a day's sport in which he had outdone Nimrod or 
 Gillingwater, and slaughtered ' another fine bear ' and brought him 
 home in triumph, the Baron Von Koeldwethout sat moodily at the head 
 of his table, eyeing the smoky roof of the hall with a discontented aspect. 
 He swallowed huge bumpers of wine, but the more he swallowed, the 
 more he frowned ; the gentlemen who had been honoured with the 
 dangerous distinction of sitting on his right and left, imitated him to a 
 miracle in the drinking, and frowned at each other. 
 
 " ' I will !' cried the baron suddenly, smiting the table with his right 
 hand, and twirling his moustache with his left. ' Fill to the Lady of 
 Grogzwig.' 
 
 " The four-and-twenty Lincoln greens turned pale, with the excep- 
 tion of their four-and-twenty noses, which were unchangeable. 
 
 " ' I said to the Lady of Grogzwig,' repeated the baron, looking 
 round the board. 
 
 " ' To the Lady of Grogzwig!' shouted the Lincoln greens; and 
 down their four-and-twenty throats went four-and-twenty imperial 
 pints of such rare old hock, tliat they smacked their eight-and-forty 
 lips, and winked again. 
 
 " ' The fair daughter of the Baron Von Swillenhausen,' said Koeld- 
 wethout, condescending to explain. ' We will demand her in marriage 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLE^Y. 53 
 
 of her father, ere the sun goes dowTi to-morrow. If he refuse our suit, 
 we will cut off his nose/ 
 
 " A hoarse murmur arose from the company, and every man touched, 
 first the hilt of his sword, and then the tip of his nose, with appalling 
 significance. 
 
 " What a pleasant thing filial piety is to contemplate ! If the 
 daughter of the Baron Von Swillenhausen had pleaded a pre-occupied 
 heart, or fallen at her father's feet and corned them in tears, or only 
 fainted away, and complimented the old gentleman in frantic ejacula- 
 tions, the odds are a hundred to one, hut Swillenhausen castle would 
 have been turned out at window, or rather the baron turned out at 
 window, and the castle demolished. The damsel held her peace how- 
 ever when an early messenger bore the request of Yon Koeldwethout 
 next morning, and modestly retired to her chamber, from the casement 
 of which she watched the coming of the suitor and his retinue. She 
 was no sooner assured that the horseman with the large moustachios 
 was her proffered husband, than she hastened to her father's presence, 
 and expressed her readiness to sacrifice herself to secure his peace. The 
 venerable baron caught his child to his arms, and shed a wink of joy. 
 
 " There was great feasting at the castle that day. The four-and- 
 twenty Lincoln greens of Yon Koeldwethout exchanged vows of etenial 
 friendship with twelve Lincoln greens of Yon Swillenhausen, and pro- 
 mised the old baron that they would drink his wine ' Till all was blue' 
 — meaning probably until their whole countenances had acquired the 
 same tint as their noses. Everybody slapped everybody else's back when 
 the time for parting came ; and the Baron Yon Koeldw^ethout and his 
 followers rode gaily homo. 
 
 " For six mortal weeks the bears and boars had a holiday. The 
 houses of Koeldwethout and Swillenhausen were united; the spears 
 rusted, and the baron's bugle grew hoarse for lack of blowing. 
 
 " These were great times for the four-and-twenty ; but, alas ! their 
 high and palmy days had taken boots to themselves, and were already 
 walking off*. 
 
 " ' My dear,' said the baroness. 
 
 " ' My love,' said the baron. 
 
 " ' Those coarse, noisy men — ' 
 
 " ' Which, ma'am?' said the baron starting. 
 
 " The baroness pointed from the window at which they stood, to 
 the court-yard beneath, where the unconscious Lincoln greens were 
 taking a copious stirrup-cup preparatory to issuing forth after a boar 
 or two. 
 
 " ' My hunting train, ma'am,' said the baron. 
 
 " ' Disband them, love,' murmured the baroness. 
 
 " ' Disband them !' cried the baron, in amazement. 
 
 " ' To please me love,' replied the baroness. 
 
 " ' To please the devil ma'am,' answered the baron. 
 
 " Whereupon the baroness uttered a great cry, and swooned away at 
 the baron's feet. 
 
 " What could the baron do ? He called for the lady's maid, and 
 
54 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 roared for tlie doctor ; and then rushing into the yard, kicked the two 
 Lincoln greens who were the most used to it, and cursing the others all 
 
 round, bade them go to but never mind where. I don't know the 
 
 German for it, or I would put it delicately that way. 
 
 " It is not for me to say by what means or by what degrees, some 
 wives manage to keep down some husbands as they do, although I may 
 have my private opinion on the subject, and may think that no Member 
 of Parliament ought to be married, inasmuch as three married members 
 out of every four, must vote according to their wives' consciences (if 
 there be such things), and not according to their own. All I need say 
 just now is, that the Baroness Yon Koeldwethout somehow or other ac- 
 quired great control over the Baron Von Koeldwethout, and that little 
 by little, and bit by bit, and day by day, and year by year, the baron 
 got the worst of some disputed question, or was slily unhorsed from some 
 old hobby; and that by the time he was a fat hearty fellow of forty- 
 eight or thereabouts, he had no feasting, no revelry, no hunting train, 
 and no hunting — nothing in short that he liked, or used to have ; and 
 that although he was as fierce as a lion and as bold as brass, he was de- 
 cidedly snubbed and put down by his own lady, in his own castle of 
 Grogzwig. 
 
 " Nor was this the whole extent of the baron's misfortunes. About 
 a year after his nuptials there came into the world a lusty young 
 baron, in whose honour a great many fireworks were let off, and a great 
 many dozens of wine drunk ; but next year there came a young baroness, 
 and next year another young baron, and so on every year either a baron 
 or baroness (and one year both together), until the baron found himself 
 the father of a small family of twelve. Upon every one of these 
 anniversaries the venerable Baroness Von Swillenhausen was ner- 
 vously sensitive for the well-being of her child the Baroness Von 
 Koeldwethout, and although it was not found that the good lady 
 ever did anything material towards contributing to her child's 
 recovery, still she made it a point of duty to be as nervous as possible 
 at the castle of Grogzwig, and to divide her time between moral observa- 
 tions on the baron's housekeeping, and bewailing the hard lot of her 
 unhappy daughter. And if the Baron of Grogzwig, a little hurt and 
 irritated at this, took heart and ventured to suggest that his wife was at 
 least no w^orse off than the wives of other barons, the Baroness Von 
 Swillenhausen begged all persons to take notice, that nobody but she 
 sympathised with her dear daughter's sufferings ; upon which her rela- 
 tions and friends remarked, that to be sure she did cry a great deal 
 more than her son-in-law, and that if there was a hard-hearted brute 
 alive, it was that Baron of Grogzwig. 
 
 " The poor baron bore it all as long as he could, and when he could 
 bear it no longer lost his appetite and his spirits, and sat himself 
 gloomily and dejectedly down. But there were worse troubles yet 
 in store for him, and as they came on, his melancholy and sadness 
 increased. Times changed. He got into debt. The Grogzwig coffers 
 ran low, though the Swillenhausen family had looked upon them as 
 inexhaustible, and just when the baroness was on the point of mak- 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 55 
 
 ing a thirteenth addition to the family pedigree, Yon Koeldwethout 
 discovered that he had no means of replenishing them. 
 
 '' ' I don't see what is to be done,' said the Baron. ' I think I'll 
 kill myself.' 
 
 " This was a bright idea. The baron took an old hunting-knife 
 from a cupboard hard by, and having sharpened it on his boot, made 
 what boys call ' an offer ' at his throat. 
 
 " ' Hem !' said the Baron, stopping short. 'Perhaps it's not sharp 
 enough.' 
 
 " The baron sharpened it again, and made another offer, when his 
 hand was arrested by a loud screaming among the young barons and 
 baronesses, who had a nursery in an up-stairs tower with iron bars 
 outside the window, to prevent their tumbling out into the moat. 
 
 " ' If I had been a bachelor,' said the baron sighing ; ' I might have 
 done it fifty times over, without being interrupted. Hallo. Put a 
 flask of wine and the largest pipe in the little vaulted room behind the 
 hall.' 
 
 " One of the domestics in a very kind manner executed the baron's 
 order in the course of half an hour or so, and Von Koeldwethout 
 being apprised thereof, strode to the vaulted room, the walls of which 
 being of dark shining wood gleamed in the light of the blazing logs 
 which were piled upon the hearth. The bottle and pipe were ready, 
 and upon the whole the place looked very comfortable. 
 
 " ' Leave the lamp,' said the baron. 
 
 " ' Anything else, my lord ?' inquired the domestic. 
 
 " ' The room,' replied the baron. The domestic obeyed, and the 
 baron locked the door. 
 
 " ' I'll smoke a last pipe,' said the baron, ' and then I'll be off.' So, 
 putting the knife upon the table till he wanted it, and tossing off a 
 goodly measure of wine, the Lord of Grogzwig threw himself back 
 in his chair, stretched his legs out before the fire, and puffed away. 
 
 " He thought about a great many things — about his present troubles 
 and past days of bachelorship, and about the Lincoln greens long since 
 dispersed up and down the country no one knew whither, with the 
 exception of two who had been unfortunately beheaded, and four who 
 had killed themselves with drinking. His mind was running upon 
 bears and boars, when in the process of draining his glass to the bottom 
 he raised his eyes, and saw for the first time and with unbounded asto- 
 nishment, that he was not alone. 
 
 " No, he was not ; for on the opposite side of the fire there sat with 
 folded arms a wrinkled hideous figure, with deeply sunk and bloodshot 
 eyes, and an immensely long cadaverous face, shadowed by jagged and 
 matted locks of coarse black hair. He wore a kind of tunic of a dull 
 blueish colour, which the baron observed on regarding it attentively, 
 was clasped or ornamented down the front with coffin handles. His 
 legs too, were encased in coffin plates as though in armour, and over his 
 left shoulder he wore a short dusky cloak, which seemed made of a 
 remnant of some pall. He took no notice of the baron, but was in- 
 tently eyeing the fire. 
 
56 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 s " ' Halloa !' said tlie baron, stamping his foot to attract attention. 
 
 " ' Halloa !' replied the stranger, moving his eyes towards the baron, 
 but not his face or himself. ' What now ?' 
 
 " ' What now !' replied the baron, nothing daunted by his hollow 
 voice and lustreless eyes, ' / should ask that question. How did you 
 get here V 
 
 " ' Through the door,' replied the figure. 
 
 " ' What are you ?' says the baron. 
 
 " ' A man,' replied the figure. 
 
 " ' I don't believe it,' says the baron. 
 
 " ' Disbelieve it then,' says the figure. 
 
 " ' I will,' rejoined the baron. 
 
 " The figure looked at the bold Baron of Grogzwig for some time, 
 and then said familiarly, 
 
 " ' There's no coming over you, I see. I'm not a man !' 
 
 " ' What are you then ?' asked the baron. 
 
 " ' A genius,' replied the figure. 
 
 " ' You don't look much like one,' returned the Baron scornfully. 
 
 " ' I am the Genius of Despair and Suicide,' said the apparition. 
 ' Now you know me.' 
 
 " With these words the apparition turned towards the baron as if 
 composing himself for a talk — and what was very remarkable was, 
 that he threw his cloak aside, and displaying a stake tw^hich was run 
 through the centre of his body, pulled it out with a jerk, and laid it on 
 the table as composedly as if it had been his walking-stick. 
 
 " ' Now,' said the fioure, olancinp- at the huntino- knife, ' are you 
 ready lor me f 
 
 " ' Not quite/ rejoined the baron ; ' I must finish this pipe first.' 
 
 " ' Look sharp then,' said the' figure. 
 
 " ' You seem in a hurry,' said the baron. 
 
 " ' Why, yes, I am,' answered the figure ; ' they're doing a pretty 
 brisk business in my way over in England and France just now, and 
 my time is a good deal taken up.' 
 
 " ' Do you drink ? ' said the baron, touching the bottle with the 
 bowl of his pipe. 
 
 " ' Nine times out of ten, and then very hard,' rejoined the figure, drily. 
 
 " ' Never in moderation ? ' asked the baron. 
 
 " ' Never,' replied the figure, with a shudder, 'that breeds cheerfulness.' 
 
 " The baron took another look at his new friend, whom he thought 
 an uncommonly queer customer, and at length enquired whether he 
 took any active part in such little proceedings as that which he had in 
 contemplation. 
 
 " ' No,' replied tlie figure, evasively ; ' but I am always present.' 
 
 " ' Just to see fair, I suppose,' said the baron. 
 
 " ' Just tliat,* replied the figure, playing with his stake, and ex- 
 amining the ferrule. ' Be as quick as you can, will you, for there's 
 a young gentleman who is afflicted with too much money and leisure 
 wanting me now, I find.' 
 
 Going to kill himself because he has too much money ! * ex - 
 
 U i 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 57 
 
 claimed the baron, quite tickled ; ' Ha ! ha ! that's a good one/ (This 
 was the first time the baron had laughed for many a long day.) 
 
 " ' I say,' expostulated the figure, looking very much scared ; ' don't 
 do that again/ 
 
 " ' Why not ?' demanded the baron. 
 
 " ' Because it gives me a pain all over,' replied the figure. ' Sigh as 
 much as you please ; that does me good.' 
 
 " The baron sighed mechanically at the mention of the word, and 
 the figure brightening up again, handed him the hunting-knife with 
 most winning politeness. 
 
 " ' It's not a bad idea though,' said the baron, feeling the edge of 
 the weapon ; ' a man killing himself because he has too much money.' 
 
 " ' Pooh ! ' said the apparition, petulantly, ' no better than a man's 
 killing himself because he has got none or little.' 
 
 " Whether the genius unintentionally committed himself in saying 
 this, or whether he thought the baron's mind was so thoroughly made 
 up that it didn't matter what he said, I have no means of knowing. 
 I only know that the baron stopped his hand all of a sudden, opened 
 his eyes wide, and looked as if quite a new light had come upon him 
 for the first time. 
 
 " ' Why, certainly,' said Yon Koeldwethout, ' nothing is too bad to 
 be retrieved.' 
 
 " ' Except empty coffers,' cried the genius. 
 
 " ' Well ; but they may be one day filled again,' said the baron. > 
 
 " ' Scolding wives,' snarled the genius. 
 
 " ' Oh ! They may be made quiet,' said the baron. 
 
 " ' Thirteen children,' shouted the genius. 
 
 " ' Can't all go wrong, surely,' said the baron. 
 
 " The genius was evidently growing very savage with the baron for 
 holding these opinions all at once, but he tried to laugh it off, and said 
 if he would let him know when he had left off joking he should feel 
 obliged to him. 
 
 " ' But I am not joking ; I was never farther from it,' remonstrated 
 the baron. 
 
 " ' Well, I am glad to hear that,' said the genius, looking very grim, 
 'because a joke, without any figure of speech, is the death of me. 
 Come. Quit this dreary world at once.' 
 
 " ' I don't know,' said the baron, playing with the knife ; ' it's a 
 dreary one certainly, but I don't think yours is much better, for you have 
 not the appearance of being particularly comfortable. That puts me in 
 mind — what security have I that I shall be any the better for going out 
 of the world after all ! ' he cried, starting up ; ' I never thought of that/ 
 
 " ' Dispatch,' cried the figure, gnashing its teeth. 
 
 " ' Keep off,' said the baron. ' I'll brood over miseries no longer, but 
 put a good face on the matter, and try the fresh air and the bears again ; 
 and if that don't do, I'll talk to the baroness soundly, and cut the Yon 
 Swillenhausens dead.' With this, the baron fell into his chair and 
 laughed so loud and boisterously, that the room rang with it. 
 
 " The fig-ure fell back a pace or two, regarding the baron meanwhile 
 
So LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 with a look of intense terror, and when he had ceased, caught up the 
 stake, plunged it violently into its body, uttered a frightful howl, and 
 disappeared. 
 
 " Von Koeldwethout never saw it again. Having once made up his 
 mind to action, he soon brought the baroness and the Von Swillenhau- 
 sens to reason, and died many years afterv/ards, not a rich man that I 
 am aware of, but certainly a happy one : leaving behind him a numerous 
 family, who had been carefully educated in bear and boar-hunting under 
 his own personal eye. And my advice to all men is, tliat if ever they 
 become hipped and melancholy from similar causes (as very many men 
 do), they look at both sides of the question, applying a magnifying 
 glass to the best one ; and if they still feel tempted to retire without 
 leave, that they smoke a large pipe and drink a full bottle first, and 
 profit by the laudable example of the Baron of Grogzwig." 
 
 " The fresh coach is ready, ladies and gentlemen, if you please," said 
 a new driver, looking in. 
 
 This intelligence caused the punch to be finished in a great hurry, 
 and prevented any discussion relative to the last story. Mr. Squeers 
 was observed to draw the grey-headed gentleman on one side and to 
 ask a question with great apparent interest ; it bore reference to the 
 Five Sisters of York, and was in fact an enquiry whether he could in- 
 form him how much per aimum the Yorkshire convents got in those 
 days with their boarders. 
 
 The journey was then resumed. Nicholas fell asleep towards morn- 
 ing, and when he awoke found, with great regret, that during his nap 
 both the Baron of Grog»wig and the grey-haired gentleman had got 
 down and were gone. The day dragged on uncomfortably enough, and 
 about six o'clock that night he ' and Mr. Squeers, and the little boys, 
 and their united luggage, were all put down together at the George and 
 New Inn, Greta Bridge. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 MR. AND MRS. SQUEERS AT HOME. 
 
 9^ Mr. Squeers being safely landed, left Nicholas and the boys standing 
 ■with the luggage in the road, to amuse themselves by looking at the 
 coach as it changed horses, while he ran into the tavern and went 
 through the leg-stretching process at the bar. After some minutes he 
 returned with his legs thoroughly stretched, if the liue of his nose and a 
 short hiccup afforded any criterion, and at the same time there came out 
 of the yard a rusty pony-chaise and a cart, driven by two labouring men. 
 
 " Put the boys and the boxes into the cart," said Squeers, rubbing his 
 hands ; *' and this young man and me will go on in the chaise. Get in, 
 Nickleby." 
 
 Nicholas obeyed, and Mr. Squeers with some difficulty inducing the 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLBBY. 59 
 
 pony to obey also, they started off, leaving the cart-load of infant misery 
 to follow at leisure. 
 
 "Are you cold, Nickleby?" inquired Squeers, after they had tra- 
 velled some distance in silence. 
 
 " Rather, Sir, I must say." 
 
 " Well, I don't find fault with that," said Squeers ; " it's a long 
 journey this weather." 
 
 " Is it much further to Dotheboys Hall, Sir ?" asked Nicholas. 
 
 " About three mile from here," replied Squeers. " But you needn't 
 call it a Hall down here." 
 
 Nicholas coughed, as if he would like to know why. 
 
 " The fact is, it ain't a Hall," observed Squeers drily. 
 
 " Oh, indeed !" said Nicholas, whom this piece of intelligence much 
 astonished. 
 
 " No," replied Squeers. " We call it a Hall up in London, because it 
 sounds better, but they don't know it by that name in these parts. A 
 man may call his house an island if he likes ; there's no act of Parlia- 
 ment against that, I believe." 
 
 " I believe not. Sir," rejoined Nicholas. 
 
 Squeers eyed his companion slily at the conclusion of this little dia- 
 logue, and finding that lie had grown thoughtful and appeared in no- 
 wise disposed to volunteer any observations, contented himself with 
 lashing the pony until they reached their journey's end. 
 
 " Jump out," said Squeers. " Hallo there ! come and put this horse 
 up. Be quick, will you." 
 
 While the schoolmaster was uttering these and other impatient cries, 
 Nicholas had time to observe that the school was a long cold-looking 
 house, one story high, with a few straggling outbuildings behind, and 
 a bam and stable adjoining. After the lapse of a minute or two, the 
 noise of somebody unlocking the yard gate was heard, and presently a 
 tall lean boy, with a lantern in his hand, issued forth. 
 
 " Is that you, Smike ? " cried Squeers. 
 
 " Yes, Sir," replied the boy. 
 
 " Then why the devil didn't you come before ? " 
 
 " Please, Sir, I fell asleep over the fire," answered Smike, with 
 humility. 
 
 " Fire ! what fire ? Where's there a fire ? " demanded the school- 
 master, sharply. 
 
 " Only in the kitchen. Sir," replied the boy. " Missus said as I was 
 sitting up, I might go in there, for a w^arm." 
 
 " Your missus is a fool," retorted Squeers. " You'd have been a 
 deuced deal more wakeful in the cold, I'll engage." 
 
 By this time Mr. Squeers had dismounted ; and after ordering the 
 boy to see to the pony, and to take care that he hadn't any more com 
 that night, he told Nicholas to wait at the front door a minute while 
 he went round and let him in. 
 
 A host of unpleasant misgivings, which had been crowding upon 
 Nicholas during the whole journey, thronged into his mind with re- 
 doubled force when he was left alone. His great distance from home 
 
60 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 and the impossibility of reaching it, except on foot, should he feel 
 ever so anxious to return, presented itself to him in most alarmino- 
 colours ; and as he looked up at the dreary house and dark windows, 
 and upon the wild country round covered with snow, he felt a depres- 
 sion of heart and spirit which he had never experienced before. 
 
 " Now then," cried Squeers, poking his head out at the front door. 
 " Where are you, Nickleby ? " 
 
 " Here, Sir ?" replied Nicholas. 
 
 " Come in then," said Squeers, " the wind blows in at this door fit 
 to knock a man off his legs." 
 
 Nicholas sighed and hurried in. Mr. Squeers having bolted the 
 door to keep it shut, ushered him into a small parlour scantily furnished 
 with a few chairs, a yellow map hung against the wall, and a couple 
 of tables, one of which bore some preparations for supper ; while on 
 the other, a tutor's assistant, a Murray's grammar, half a dozen cards of 
 terms, and a worn letter directed to Wackford Squeers, Esquire, were 
 arranged in picturesque confusion. 
 
 They had not been in this apartment a couple of minutes when a 
 female bounced into the room, and seizing Mr. Squeers by the throat 
 gave him two loud kisses, one close after the other, like a postman's 
 knock. The lady, who was of a large raw-boned figure, was about 
 half a head taller than Mr. Squeers, and was dressed in a dimity night 
 jacket with her hair in papers ; she had also a dirty night-cap on, re- 
 lieved by a yellow cotton handkerchief which tied it under the chin. 
 
 " How is my Squeery ?" said this lady in a playful manner, and a 
 very hoarse voice. 
 
 " Quite well, my love," replied Squeers. " How are the cows ?" 
 
 " All right, every one of 'em," answered the lady. 
 
 " And the pigs ?" said Squeefrs. 
 
 " As well as they were when you went away." 
 
 " Come ; that's a blessing," said Squeers, pulling off his great-coat. 
 "The boys are all as they were, I suppose ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes, they're well enough," replied Mrs. Squeers, snappishly. 
 *' That young Pitcher's had a fever." 
 
 " No ! " exclaimed Squeers. " Damn that boy, he's always at some- 
 thing of that sort." 
 
 *' Never was such a boy, I do believe," said Mrs. Squeers ; " what- 
 ever he has, is always catching too. I say it's obstinacy, and nothing 
 shall ever convince me that it isn't. I'd beat it out of him, and I 
 told you that six months ago." 
 
 " So you did, my love," rejoined Squeers. " We'll try what can 
 be done." 
 
 Pending these little endearments, Nicholas had stood awkwardly 
 enough in the middle of the room, not very well knowing whether he 
 was expected to retire into the passage, or to remain where he was. 
 He was now relieved from his perplexity by Mr. Squeers. 
 
 " This is the new young man, my dear," said that gentleman. 
 
 " Oh," replied Mrs. Squeers, nodding her head at Nicholas, and 
 eyeing him coldly from top to toe. 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 61 
 
 " He 11 take a meal with us to-night," said Squeers, " and go among 
 the boys to-morrow morning. You can give him a shake-down here 
 to-night, can t you ? " 
 
 "We must manage it somehow," replied the lady. " You don't 
 much mind how you sleep, I suppose. Sir ?" 
 
 " No, indeed," replied Nicholas, " I am not particular." 
 
 " That's lucky," said Mrs. Squeers. And as the lady's humour was 
 considered to lie chiefly in retort, Mr. Squeers laughed heartily, and 
 seemed to expect that Nicholas should do the same. 
 
 After some further conversation between the master and mistress 
 relative to the success of Mr. Squeers's trip, and the people who had 
 paid, and the people who had made default in payment, a young 
 servant girl brought in a Yorkshire pie and some cold beef, which 
 being set upon the table, the boy Smike appeared with a jug of ale. 
 
 Mr. Squeers was emptying his great-coat pockets of letters to 
 different boys, and other small documents, which he had brought down 
 in them. The boy glanced with an anxious and timid expression at 
 the papers, as if with a sickly hope that one among them might relate 
 to him. The look was a very painful one, and went to Nicholas's 
 heart at once, for it told a long and very sad history. 
 
 It induced him to consider the boy more attentively, and he was 
 surprised to observe the extraordinary mixture of garments which 
 formed his dress. Although he could not have been less than eighteen 
 or nineteen years old, and was tall for that age, he wore a skeleton 
 suit, such as is usually put upon very little boys, and which, though 
 most absurdly short in the arms and legs, was quite wide enough for 
 his attenuated frame. In order that the lower part of his legs might 
 be in perfect keeping with this singular dress, he had a very large 
 pair of boots originally made for tops, which might have been once 
 worn by some stout farmer, but were now too patched and tattered for 
 a beggar. God knows how long he had been there, but he still wore 
 the same linen which he had first taken down ; for round his neck 
 was a tattered child's frill, only half concealed by a coarse man's 
 neckerchief. He was lame ; and as he feigned to be busy in arranging 
 the table, glanced at the letters with a look so keen, and yet so dispirited 
 and hopeless, that Nicholas could hardly bear to watch him. 
 
 " What are you bothering about there, Smike ?" cried Mrs. Squeers; 
 " let the things alone, can't you." 
 
 " Eh !" said Squeers, looking up. " Oh ! it's you, is it ?" 
 
 " Yes, Sir," replied the youth, pressing his hands together, as though 
 to control by force the nervous wandering of his fingers ; " Is there — '* 
 
 " Well !" said Squeers. 
 
 " Have you — did anybody — has nothing been heard — about me?" ]q 
 
 " Devil a bit," replied Squeers testily. 
 
 The lad withdrew his eyes, and putting his hand to his face moved 
 towards the door. 
 
 " Not a word," resumed Squeers, " and never will be. Now, this is 
 a pretty sort of thing, isn't it, that you should have been left here all 
 these years and no money paid after the first six — nor no notice taken. 
 
9m LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 nor no clue to be got who you belong to ? It's a pretty sort of thing 
 that I should have to feed a great fellow like you, and never hope 
 to get one penny for it, isn't it ? " 
 
 The boy put his hand to his head as if he were making an effort to 
 recollect something, and then looking vacantly at his questioner, gra- 
 dually broke into a smile and limped away. 
 
 " I'll tell you what, Squeers," remarked his wife as the door closed, 
 " I think that young chap's turning silly." 
 
 " I hope not," said the schoolmaster ; " for he's a handy fellow out of 
 doors, and worth his meat and drink any way. I should think he'd have 
 wit enough for us though, if he was. But come ; let's have supper, 
 for I am hungry and tired, and want to get to bed." 
 
 This reminder brought in an exclusive steak for Mr. Squeers, who 
 speedily proceeded to do it ample justice. Nicholas drew up his chair, 
 but his appetite was effectually taken away. 
 
 " How's the steak, Squeers ?" said Mrs. S. 
 
 " Tender as a lamb," replied Squeers. " Have a bit." 
 
 " I couldn't eat a morsel," replied his wife. " What'll the young 
 man take, my dear ? " 
 
 " Whatever he likes that's present," rejoined Squeers, in a most un- 
 usual burst of generosity. 
 
 " What do you say, Mr. Knuckleboy ?" inquired Mrs. Squeers. 
 
 " I'll take a little of the pie, if you please," replied Nicholas. " A 
 very little, for I'm not hungry." 
 
 " Well, it's a pity to cut the pie if you're not hungry, isn't it ?" said 
 Mrs. Squeers. " Will you try a piece of the beef?" 
 
 " Whatever you please," replied Nicholas abstractedly ; " it's all the 
 same to me." 
 
 Mrs. Squeers looked vastly' gracious on receiving this reply ; and 
 nodding to Squeers, as much as to say that she was glad to find the 
 young man knew his station, assisted Nicholas to a slice of meat with 
 her own fair hands. 
 
 " Ale, Squeery?" inquired the lady, winking and frowning to give 
 him to understand that the question propounded was, whether Nicholas 
 should have ale, and not whether he (Squeers) would take any. 
 
 " Certainly," said Squeers, re-telegraphing in the same manner. " A 
 glassful." 
 
 So Nicholas had a glassful, and being occupied with his own reflec- 
 tions, drank it in happy innocence of all the foregone proceedings. 
 
 " Uncommon juicy steak that," said Squeers as he laid down his 
 knife and fork, after plying it in silence for some time. 
 
 " It's prime meat," rejoined his lady. " I bought a good large piece 
 of it myself on purpose for " 
 
 " For what !" exclaimed Squeers hastily. " Not for the " 
 
 " No, no ; not for them," rejoined Mrs. Squeers ; " on purpose for you 
 against you came home. Lor ! you didn't think I could have made 
 such a mistake as that." 
 
 ' Upon my word, my dear, I didn't know what you were going to 
 say," said Squeers, who had turned very pale. 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 63 
 
 " You needn't make yourself uncomfortable," remarked his wife, 
 laughing heartily. " To think that I should be such a noddy ! Well !" 
 
 This part of the conversation was rather unintelligible ; but popular 
 rumour in the neighbourhood asserted that Mr. Squeers, being amiably 
 opposed to cruelty to animals, not unfrequently purchased for boy con- 
 sumption the bodies of homed cattle who had died a natural death, and 
 possibly he was apprehensive of having unintentionally devoured some 
 choice morsel intended for the young gentlemen. 
 
 Supper being over, and removed by a small servant girl with a 
 hungry eye, Mrs. Squeers retired to lock it up, and also to take into 
 safe custody the clothes of the five boys who had just arrived, and who 
 were half way up the troublesome flight of steps which leads to death's 
 door, in consequence of exposure to the cold. They were then regaled 
 with a light supper of porridge, and stowed away side by side in a 
 small bedstead, to warm each other and dream of a substantial meal 
 with something hot after it if their fancies set that way, which it is 
 not at all improbable they did. 
 
 Mr. Squeers treated himself to a stijBF tumbler of brandy and water, 
 made on the liberal half and half principle, allowing for the dissolution 
 of the sugar ; and his amiable helpmate mixed Nicholas the ghost of a 
 small glassfuU of the same compound. This done, Mr. and Mrs. Squeers 
 drew close up to the fire, and sitting with their feet on the fender 
 talked confidentially in whispers ; while Nicholas, taking up the tutor's 
 assistant, read the interesting legends in the miscellaneous questions, 
 and all the figures into the bargain, with as much thought or con- 
 sciousness of what he was doing, as if he had been in a magnetic 
 slumber. 
 
 At length Mr. Squeers yawned fearfully, and opined that it was 
 high time to go to bed ; upon which signal Mrs. Squeers and the girl 
 dragged in a small straw mattress and a couple of blankets, and 
 arranged them into a couch for Nicholas. 
 
 " We'll put you into your regular bed-room to-morrow, Nickleby," 
 said Squeers. " Let me see, who sleeps in Brooks's bed, my dear ?" 
 
 " In Brooks's," said Mrs. Squeers, pondering. " There's Jennings, 
 little Bolder, Graymarsh, and what's his name." 
 
 " So there are," rejoined Squeers. " Yes ! Brooks is full." 
 
 " Full !" thought Nicholas, " I should think he was." 
 
 " There's a place somewhere I know," said Squeers ; " but I can't 
 at this moment call to mind where it is. However, we'll have that all 
 settled to-morrow. Good night, Nickleby. Seven o'clock in the morn- 
 ing, mind." 
 
 " I shall be ready, Sir," replied Nicholas. " Good night." 
 
 " I'll come in myself and show you where the well is," said Squeers. 
 " You'll always find a little bit of soap in the kitchen window ; that 
 belongs to you." 
 
 Nicholas opened his eyes, but not his mouth ; and Squeers was again 
 going away, when he once more turned back. 
 
 " I don't know, I am sure," he said, " whose towel to put you on ; 
 but if you'll make shift with something to-morrow morning, Mrs. 
 
64 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 Squeers will arrange that, in the course of the day. My dear, don't 
 forget." 
 
 " I'll take care," replied Mrs. Squeers ; " and mind you take care, 
 young man, and get first wash. The teacher ought always to have it ; 
 but they get the better of him if they can." 
 
 Mr. Squeers then nudged Mrs. Squeers to bring away the brandy 
 bottle, lest Nicholas should help himself in the night ; and the lady 
 having seized it with great precipitation, they retired together. 
 
 Nicholas being left alone, took half a dozen turns up and down the 
 room in a condition of much agitation and excitement, but growing 
 gradually calmer, sat himself down in a chair and mentally resolved 
 that, come what come might, he would endeavour for a time to bear 
 whatever wretchedness might be in store for him, and that remembering 
 the helplessness of his mother and sister, he would give his uncle no 
 plea for deserting them in their need. Good resolutions seldom fail of 
 producing some good effects in the mind from which they spring. He 
 grew less desponding, and — so sanguine and buoyant is youth— even 
 hoped that affairs at Dotheboys Hall might yet prove better than they 
 promised. 
 
 He was preparing for bed with something like renewed cheerfulness, 
 when a sealed letter fell from his coat pocket. In the hurry of leaving 
 London it had escaped his attention and had not occurred to him since, 
 but it at once brought back to him the recollection of the mysterious 
 behaviour of Newman Noggs. 
 ^ " Dear me ! " said Nicholas ; " what an extraordinary hand ! " 
 
 It was directed to himself, was written upon very dirty paper, 
 and in such cramped and crippled writing as to be almost illegible. 
 After great difficulty and much puzzling, he contrived to read as 
 follows : — 
 
 " My dear young Man. 
 
 " I know the world. Your father did not, or he would not 
 have done me a kindness when there was no hope of return. You do 
 not, or you would not be bound on such a journey. 
 
 " If ever you want a shelter in London, (don't be angry at this, / 
 once thought I never should), they know where I live at the sign of the 
 Crown, in Silver Street, Golden Square. It is at the comer of Silver 
 Street and James Street, with a bar door both ways. You can come 
 at night. Once nobody was ashamed — never mind that. It's all over. 
 
 " Excuse errors. I should forget how to wear a whole coat now. I 
 have forgotten all my old ways. My spelling may have gone with 
 them. " Newman Noggs. 
 
 " P.S. If you should go near Barnard Castle, there is good ale at the 
 King's Head. Say you know me, and I am sure they will not charge 
 you for it. You may say Mr, Noggs there, for I was a gentleman 
 then. I was indeed." 
 
 It may be a very undignified circumstance to record, but after he had 
 folded this letter and placed it in his pocket-book, Nicholas Nickleby's 
 eyes were dimmed with a moisture that might have been taken for tears. 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLBBY. 65 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 OP THE INTERNAL ECONOMY OP DOTHEBOYS HALL. 
 
 A RIDE of two hundred and odd miles in severe weather, is one of the 
 best softeners of a hard bed that ingenuity can devise. Perhaps it is 
 even a sweetener of dreams, for those which hovered over the rough couch 
 of Nicholas, and whispered their airy nothings in his ear, were of an 
 agreeable and happy kind. He was making his fortune very fast in- 
 deed, when the faint glimmer of an expiring candle shone before his eyes, 
 and a voice he had no difficulty in recog-nising as part and parcel of Mr, 
 Squeers, admonished him that it was time to rise. 
 
 " Past seven, Nickleby," said Mr. Squeers. 
 
 " Has morning come already ?" asked Nicholas, sitting up in bed. 
 
 " Ah ! that has it," replied Squeers, " and ready iced too. Now, 
 Nickleby, come; tumble up, will you?" 
 
 Nicholas needed no further admonition, but " tumbled up " at once, 
 and proceeded to dress himself by the light of the taper which Mr. 
 Squeers carried in his hand. 
 
 " Here's a pretty go," said that gentleman ; " the pump's froze." 
 
 " Indeed !" said Nicholas, not much interested in the intelligence. 
 
 " Yes," replied Squeers. " You can't wash yourself this morning." 
 
 " Not wash myself!" exclaimed Nicholas. 
 
 " No, not a bit of it," rejoined Squeers tartly. " So you must be 
 content with giving yourself a dry polish till we break the ice in the 
 well, and can get a bucketful out for the boys. Don't stand staring at 
 me, but do look sharp, will you?" 
 
 Offering no further observation, Nicholas huddled on his clothes, and 
 Squeers meanwhile opened the shutters and blew the candle out, when 
 the voice of his amiable consort was heard in the passage, demanding 
 admittance. 
 
 " Come in, my love," said Squeers. 
 
 Mrs. Squeers came in, still hal)ited in the primitive night-jacket which 
 had displayed the symmetry of her figure on the previous night, and 
 further ornamented with a beaver bonnet of some antiquity, which she 
 wore with much ease and lightness upon the top of the nightcap before 
 mentioned. 
 
 " Drat the things," said the lady, opening the cupboard ; " I can't 
 find the school spoon anywhere." 
 
 " Never mind it, my dear," observed Squeers in a soothing manner ; 
 " it's of no consequence." 
 
 " No consequence, w^iy how you talk !" retorted Mrs. Squeers 
 sharply ; " isn't it brimstone morning ?" 
 
 " I forgot, my dear," rejoined Squeers ; " yes, it certainly is. We 
 purify the boys' bloods now and then, Nickleby." 
 
 " Purify fiddlesticks' ends," said his lady. " Don't think, young 
 man, that we go to the expense of flower of brimstone and molasses just 
 
 F 
 
66 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 to purify them ; because if you think we cany on the business in that 
 way, you'll find yourself mistaken, and so I tell you plainly." 
 
 " My dear," said Squeers frowning. " Hem !" 
 
 " Oh ! nonsense," rejoined Mrs. Squeers. " If the young man comes 
 to be a teacher here, let him understand at once that we don't want any 
 foolery about the boys. They have the brimstone and treacle, partly 
 because if they hadn't something or other in the way of medicine they'd 
 be always ailing and giving a world of trouble, and partly because it 
 spoils their appetites and comes cheaper than breakfast and dinner. So 
 it does them good and us good at the same time, and that's fair enough 
 I'm sure." 
 
 Having given this explanation, ]\Irs. Squeers put her head into the 
 closet and instituted a stricter search after the spoon, in which Mr. 
 Squeers assisted. A few words passed between them while they were 
 thus engaged, but as their voices were partially stifled by the cupboard 
 all that Nicholas could distinguish was, that Mr. Squeers said what 
 Mrs. Squeers had said was injudicious, and that Mrs, Squeers said what 
 Mr. Squeers said was '' stuff." 
 
 A vast deal of searching and rummaging succet/ded, and it proving 
 fruitless, Smike was called in, and pushed by Mrs. Squeers and boxed 
 by Mr. Squeers, which course of treatment brightening his intellects, 
 enabled him to suggest that possibly Mrs. Sqjieers might have the spoon 
 in her pocket, as indeed turned out to be the case. As Mrs. Squeers 
 had previously protested, however, that she was quite certain she had 
 not got it, Smike received another box on the ear for presuming to con- 
 tradict his mistress, together with a promise of a sound threshing if he 
 were not more respectful in future ; so that he took nothing very advan- 
 tageous by his motion. 
 
 " A most invaluable woman, that, Nickleby," said Squeers when his 
 consort had hurried away, pushing the drudge before her. 
 
 " Indeed, Sir ! " observed Nicholas. 
 
 " I don't know her equal," said Squeers ; " I do not know her equal. 
 That woman, Nickleby, is always the same — always the same bustling, 
 lively, active, saving creetur that you see her now." 
 
 Nicholas sighed involuntarily at the thought of the agreeable domestic 
 prospect thus opened to him ; but Squeers was, fortunately, too much 
 occupied with his own reflections to perceive it. 
 
 " It's my way to say, when I am up in London," continued Squeers, 
 *' that to them boys she is a mother. But she is more than a mother to 
 them, ten times more. She does things for them boys, Nickleby, that 
 I don't believe half the mothers going would do for their own sons." 
 
 " I should think they would not. Sir," answered Nicholas. 
 
 Now, the fact was, that both Mr. and Mrs. Squeers viewed the boys 
 in the light of their proper and natural enemies ; or, in other words, 
 they held and considered that their business and profession was to get 
 as much from every boy as could by possibility be screwed out of him. 
 On this point they were both agreed, and behaved in unison accord- 
 ingly. The only difference between them was, that Mrs. Squeers 
 waged war against the enemy openly and fearlessly, and that Squeers 
 covered his rascality, even at home, with a spice of his habitual deceit, 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 67 
 
 as if he really had a notion of some day or other being able to take him- 
 self in, and persuade his own mind that he was a very good fellow. 
 
 " But come," said Squeers, interrupting the progress of some thoughts 
 to this effect in the mind of his usher, " let's go to the school-room ; 
 and lend me a hand with my school-coat, will you ?" 
 
 Nicholas assisted his master to put on an old fustian shooting-jacket, 
 which he took down from a peg in the passage ; and Squeers arming 
 himself with his cane, led the way across a yard to a door in the rear of 
 the house. 
 
 " There," said the schoolmaster as they stepped in together ; " this 
 is our shop, Nickleby." 
 
 It was such a crowded scene, and there were so many objects to 
 attract attention, that at first Nicholas stared about him, really without 
 seeing anything at all. By degrees, however, the place resolved itself 
 into a bare and dirty room with a couple of windows, whereof a tenth 
 part might be of glass, the remainder being stopped up with old copy- 
 books and paper. There were a couple of long old rickety desks, cut 
 and notched, and inked and damaged, in every possible way ; two or 
 three forms, a detached desk for Squeers, and another for his assistant. 
 The ceiling was supported like that of a barn, by cross beams and rafters, 
 and the walls were so stained and discoloured, that it was impossible to 
 tell whether they had ever been touched with paint or whitewash. 
 
 But the pupils — the young noblemen ! How the last faint traces of 
 hope, the remotest glimmering of any good to be derived from his efforts 
 in this den, faded from the mind of Nicholas as he looked in dismay 
 around ! Pale and haggard faces, lank and bony figures, children w^itli 
 the countenances of old men, deformities with irons upon their limbs, 
 boys of stunted growth, and others whose long meagre legs would 
 hardly bear their stooping bodies, all crowded on the view together ; 
 there were the bleared eye, the hare-lip, the crooked foot, and ^every 
 ugliness or distortion that told of unnatural aversion conceived by 
 parents for their offspring, or of young lives which, from the earliest 
 dawn of infancy, had been one horrible endurance of cruelty and neglect. 
 There were little faces which should have been handsome, darkened 
 with the scowl of sullen dogged suffering ; there was childhood with the 
 light of its eye quenched, its beauty gone, and its helplessness alone re- 
 maining ; there were vicious-faced boys brooding, with leaden eyes, like 
 malefactors in a jail ; and there were young creatures on whom the 
 sins of their frail parents had descended, weeping even for the mercenary 
 nurses they had known, and lonesome even in their loneliness. AVith 
 every kindly sympathy and affection blasted in its birth, with every 
 young and healthy feeling flogged and starved down, with every re- 
 vengeful passion that can fester in swollen hearts, eating its evil way to 
 their core in silence, what an incipient Hell was breeding there ! 
 
 And yet this scene, painful as it was, had its grotesque features, 
 which, in a less interested observer than Nicholas, might have provoked 
 a smile. Mrs. Squeers stT)od at one of the desks, presiding over an 
 immense basin of brimstone and treacle, of which delicious compound 
 she administered a large instalment to each boy in succession, using for 
 the purpose a common wooden spoon, wliich might have been originally 
 
 f2 
 
68 UPE AND ADVENTURES OP ' 
 
 manufactured for some gigantic top, and which widened every young 
 gentleman's mouth considerably, they being all obliged, under heavy 
 corporal penalties, to take in the whole of the bowl at a gasp. In an- 
 other comer, huddled together for companionship, were the little boys 
 who had arrived on the preceding night, three of them in very large 
 leather breeches, and two in old trousers, a something tighter fit than 
 drawers are usually worn ; at no great distance from them was seated 
 the juvenile son and heir of Mr. Squeers — a striking likeness of his 
 father — kicking with great vigour under the hands of Smike, who was 
 fitting upon him a pair of new boots that bore a most suspicious resem- 
 blance to those which the least of the little boys had worn on the jour- 
 ney down, as the little boy himself seemed to think, for he was regard- 
 ing the appropriation with a look of most rueful amazement. Besides 
 these, there was a long row of boys waiting, with countenances of no 
 pleasant anticipation, to be treacled, and another file who had just 
 escaped from the infliction, making a variety of wry mouths indicative 
 of any thing but satisfaction. The whole were attired in such motley, 
 ill-assorted, extraordinary garments, as would have been irresistibly 
 ridiculous, but for the foul appearance of dirt, disorder, and disease, with 
 which they were associated. 
 
 " Now," said Squeers, giving the desk a great rap with his cane, 
 which made half the little boys nearly jump out of their boots, " is 
 that physicking over ? " 
 
 *' Just over," said Mrs. Squeers, choking the last boy in her hurry, 
 and tapping the crown of his head with the wooden spoon to restore 
 him. " Here, you Smike; take away now. Look sharp." 
 
 Smike shuffled out with the basin, and Mrs. Squeers having called 
 up a little boy with a curly head, and wiped her hands upon it, hurried 
 out after him into a species of Wash-house, where there was a small fire 
 and a large kettle, together with a number of little wooden bowls which 
 were arranged upon a board. 
 
 |Into these bowls Mrs. Squeers, assisted by the hungry servant, 
 poured a brown composition which looked like diluted pincushions 
 without the covers, and was called porridge. A minute wedge of brown 
 bread was inserted in each bowl, and when they had eat their porridge 
 by means of the bread, the boys eat the bread itself, and had finished 
 their breakfast ; whereupon Mr. Squeers said, in a solemn voice, " For 
 what we have received may the Lord make us truly thankful ! " — and 
 went away to his own. 
 
 Nicholas distended his stomach with a bowl of porridge, for much 
 the same reason which induces some savages to swallow earth — lest they 
 should be inconveniently hungry when there is nothing to eat. Having 
 further disposed of a slice of bread and butter, allotted to him in virtue 
 of his oftice, he sat himself down to wait for school-time. 
 
 He could not but observe how silent and sad tlie boys all seemed to be. 
 There was none of the noise and clamour of a school-room, none of its 
 boisterous play or hearty mirth. The children sat crouching and 
 shivering together, and seemed to lack the spirit to move about. The 
 only pupil who evinced the slightest tendency towards locomotion or 
 playfulness was Master Squeers, and as his chief amusement was to 
 
M 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 69 
 
 tread upon tlie other boys' toes in his new boots, his flow of spirits was 
 rather disagreeable than otherwise. 
 
 After some half-hour's delay Mr. Squeers reappeared, and the boys 
 took their places and their books, of which latter commodity the average 
 might be about one to eight learners. A few minutes having elapsed, 
 during which Mr. Squeers looked very profound, as if he had a perfect 
 appreliension of what was inside all the books, and could say every 
 word of their contents by heart if he only chose to take the trouble, 
 that gentleman called up the first class. 
 
 Obedient to this summons there ranged themselves in front of the 
 schoolmaster's desk, half-a-dozen scarecrows, out at knees and elbows, 
 one of whom placed a torn and filthy book beneath his learned eye. 
 
 " This is the first class in English spelling and philosophy, Nickleby," 
 said Squeers, beckoning Nicholas to stand beside him. " We'll get up 
 a Latin one, and hand that over to you. Now, then, where's the first 
 boy?" ^ 
 
 " Please, Sir, he's cleaning the back parlour window," said the tem- 
 porary head of the philosophical class. 
 
 " So he is, to be sure," rejoined Squeers. " We go upon the prac- 
 tical mode of teaching, Nickleby ; the regular education system. 
 C-1-e-a-n, clean, verb active, to make bright, to scour. W-i-n, win, 
 d-e-r, der, winder, a casement. When the boy knows this out of 
 book, he goes and does it. It's just the same principle as the use of the 
 globes. Where's the second boy ? " 
 
 " Please, Sir, he's weeding the garden," replied a small voice. 
 
 " To be sure," said Squeers, by no means disconcerted. " So he is. 
 B-o-t, bot, t-i-n, tin, bottin, n-e-y, ney, bottinney, noun substantive, a 
 knowledge of plants. When he has learned that bottinney means a 
 knowledge of plants, he goes and knows 'em. That's our system, 
 Nickleby : what do you think of it ? " 
 
 " It's a very useful one, at any rate," answered Nicholas signifi- 
 cantly. 
 
 " I believe you," rejoined Squeers, not remarking the emphasis of 
 his usher. " Third boy, what's a horse ? " 
 
 " A beast. Sir," replied the boy. 
 
 " So it is," said Squeers. " Ain't it, Nickleby ? " 
 
 " I believe there is no doubt of that. Sir," answered Nicholas. 
 
 " Of course there isn't," said Squeers. " A horse is a quadruped, 
 and quadruped's Latin for beast, as every body that's gone through the 
 grammar knows, or else wdiere's the use of having grammars at all ? " 
 
 " AVhere, indeed ! " said Nicholas abstractedly. 
 
 " As you're perfect in that," resumed Squeers, turning to the boy, 
 " go and look after my horse, and rub him down well, or I'll rub you 
 down. The rest of the class go and draw water up till somebody tells 
 you to leave off", for it's washing day to-morrow, and they want the 
 coppers filled." 
 
 So saying he dismissed the first class to their experiments in practical 
 philosophy, and eyed Nicliolas with a look half cunning and half doubt- 
 ful, as if he were not altogether certain what he might think of him by 
 this time. 
 
70 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 " Tliat's the way we do it, Nickleby," he said, after a long pause. 
 
 Nicholas shrugged his shoulders in a manner that was scarcely per- 
 ceptible, and said he saw it was. 
 
 " And a very good way it is, too," said Squeers. " Now, just take 
 those fourteen little boys and hear them some reading, because you 
 know you must begin to be useful, and idling about here won't do." 
 
 Mr. Squeers said this as if it had suddenly occurred to him, either 
 that he must not say too much to his assistant, or that his assistant did 
 not say enough to him in praise of the establishment. The children 
 were arranged in a semicircle round the new master, and he was soon 
 listening to their dull, drawling, hesitating recital of those stories of 
 engrossing interest which are to be found in the more antiquated spell- 
 ing books. 
 
 In this exciting occupation the morning lagged heavily on. At one 
 o'clock, the boys having previously had their appetites thoroughly 
 taken away by stir-about and potatoes, sat down in the kitchen to some 
 hard salt beef, of which Nicholas was graciously permitted to take his 
 portion to his own solitary desk, and to eat there in peace. After this 
 there was another hour of crouching in the school-room and shivering 
 with cold, and then school beo'an ao^ain. 
 
 It was Mr. Squeers's custom to call the boys together, and make a 
 sort of report after every half-yearly visit to the metropolis regarding 
 the relations and friends he had seen, the news he had heard, the letters 
 he had brought down, the bills which had been paid, the accounts 
 which had been left unpaid, and so forth. This solemn proceeding 
 always took place in the afternoon of the day succeeding his return ; 
 perhaps because the boys acquired strength of mind from the suspense 
 of the morning, or possibly because Mr. Squeers himself acquired greater 
 sternness and inflexibility from certain warm potations in which he was 
 wont to indulge after his early dinner. Be this as it may, the boys 
 were recalled from house-window, garden, stable, and cow-yard, and 
 the school were assembled in full conclave, when Mr. Squeers, with a 
 small bundle of i)apers in his hand, and Mrs. S. following with a pair 
 of canes, entered the room and proclaimed silence. 
 
 " Let any boy speak a word without leave," said ]\Ir. Squeefs, mildly, 
 " and I'll take the skin off his back." 
 
 This special proclamation had the desired effect, and a deathlike 
 silence immediately prevailed, in the midst of which Mr. Squeers went 
 on to say — 
 
 " Boys, I've been to London, and have returned to my family and 
 you, as strong and well as ever." 
 
 According to half-yearly custom, the boys gave three feeble cheers at 
 this refreshing intelligence. Such cheers ! Sighs of extra strength with 
 the chill on. 
 
 " I have seen the parents of some boys," continued Squeers, turning 
 over his papers, " and they're so glad to hear how their sons are getting 
 on that there's no prospect at all of their going away, which of course 
 is a very pleasant thing to reflect upon for all parties." 
 
 Two or three hands went to two or three eyes when Squeers said this, 
 but the greater part of the young gentlemen having no particular 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY, 71 
 
 parents to speak of, were wholly uninterested in the thing one way 
 or other. 
 
 " I have had disappointments to contend against," said Squeers, 
 looking very grim, " Bolder s father was two pound ten short. Where 
 is Bolder ? " 
 
 " Here he is, please Sir," rejoined twenty officious voices. Boys are 
 very like men to be sure. 
 
 " Come here. Bolder," said Squeers. 
 
 An unliealthy-looking boy, with warts all over his hands, stepped 
 from his place to the master's desk, and raised his eyes imploringly to 
 Squeers's face ; his own quite white from the rapid beating of his heart. 
 
 " Bolder," said Squeers, speaking very slowly, for he was considering, 
 as the saying goes, where to have him. " Bolder, if your father thinks 
 that because — why what's this. Sir ? " 
 
 As Squeers spoke, he caught up the boy's hand by the cuff of his 
 jacket, and surveyed it with an edifying aspect of horror and disgust. 
 
 " What do you call this, Sir ? " demanded the schoolmaster, adminis- 
 tering a cut with the cane to expedite the reply. 
 
 " I can't help it, indeed. Sir," rejoined the boy, crying. " They will 
 come ; it's the dirty work I think. Sir — at least I don't know what it 
 is, Sir, but it's not my fault." 
 
 " Bolder," said Squeers, tucking up his wristbands and moistening 
 the palm of his right hand to get a good grip of the cane, " you're an 
 incorrigible young scoundrel, and as the last thrashing did you no good, 
 we must see what another will do towards beating it out of you.". 
 
 With this, and wholly disregarding a piteous cry for mercy, Mr. 
 Squeers fell upon the boy and caned him soundly : not leaving off in- 
 deed, until his arm was tired out. 
 
 " There," said Squeers, when he had quite done ; " rub away as hard 
 as you like, you won t rub that off in a hurry. Oh ! you won't hold 
 that noise, won't you ? Put him out, Smike." 
 
 The drudge knew better from long experience, than to hesitate about 
 obeying, so he bundled the victim out by a side door, and Mr. Squeers 
 perched himself again on his own stool, supported by Mrs. Squeers, who 
 occupied another at his side. 
 
 " Now let us see," said Squeers. " A letter for Cobbey. Stand up, 
 Cobbey." 
 
 Another boy stood up, and eyed the letter very hard while Squeers 
 made a mental abstract of the same. 
 
 "Oh!" said Squeers: " Cobbey's grandmother is dead, and his 
 uncle John has took to drinking, which is all the news his sister sends, 
 except eighteenpence, Avliich will just pay for that broken square of 
 glass. Mrs. Squeers, my dear, will you take the money ?" 
 
 The worthy lady pocketed the eighteenpence with a most business- 
 like air, and Squeers passed on to the next boy as coolly as possible. 
 
 " Graymarsh," said Squeers, " he's the next. Stand up, Graymarsh." 
 
 Another boy stood up, and the schoolmaster looked over the letter as 
 before. 
 
 " Graymarsli's maternal aunt," said Squeers when he had possessed 
 himself of the contents, " is very glad to hear he's so well and happy. 
 
72 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 and sends her respectful compliments to Mrs. Squeers, and thinks she 
 must be an angel. She likewise thinks Mr. Squeers is too good for this 
 world ; but hopes he may long be spared to carry on the business. 
 Would hav(; sent the two pair of stockings as desired, but is short of 
 money, so forwards a tract instead, and hopes Graymarsh will put his 
 trust in Providence. Hopes above all, that he will study in everything 
 to please Mr. and Mrs. Squeers, and look upon them as his only friends ; 
 and that he will love Master Squeers, and not object to sleeping five in 
 a bed, which no Christian should. Ah!" said Squeers, folding it up, 
 " a delightful letter. Very aft'ecting, indeed." 
 
 It was affecting in one sense, for Graymarsh's maternal aunt was 
 strongly supposed, by her more intimate friends, to be no other than his 
 maternal parent ; Squeers however, without alluding to this part of the 
 story (which would have sounded immoral before boys), proceeded with 
 the business by calling out " Mobbs," whereupon another boy rose, and 
 Graymarsh resumed his seat. 
 
 " Mobbs's mother-in-law," said Squeers, " took to her bed on hearing 
 that he would not eat fat, and has been very ill ever since. She wishes 
 to know by an early post where he expects to go to, if he quarrels with 
 his vittles ; and with what feelings he could turn up his nose at the 
 cow's liver broth, after his good master had asked a blessing on it. This 
 was told her in the London newspapers — not by Mr. Squeers, for he is 
 too kind and too good to set anybody against anybody — and it has 
 vexed her so much, Mobbs can't think. She is sorry to find he is dis- 
 contented, which is sinful and horrid, and hopes Mr. Squeers will flog 
 him into a happier state of mind ; with which view she has also stopped 
 his halfpenny a week pocket-money, and given a double-bladed knife 
 with a corkscrew in it to the Missionaries, which she had bought on 
 purpose for him." 
 
 " A sulky state of feeling," said Squeers, after a terrible pause, during 
 which he had moistened the palm of his right hand again, " won't do ; 
 cheerfulness and contentment must be kept up. Mobbs, come to me." 
 
 Mobbs moved slowly towards the desk, rubbing his eyes in anticipa- 
 tion of good cause for doing so ; and he soon afterwards retired by the 
 side door, with as good cause as a boy need have. 
 
 Mr. Squeers then proceeded to open a miscellaneous collection of 
 letters, some enclosing money, which Mrs. Squeers "took care of;" 
 and others referring to small articles of apparel, as caps and so forth, all 
 of which tlie same lady stated to be too large or too small, and calcu- 
 lated for nobody but young Squeers, who would appear indeed to have 
 liad most accommodating limbs, since everything tliat came into the 
 school fitted him to a nicety. His head, in particular, must liave 
 been singularly elastic, for liats and caps ||of all dimensions^wcrc ;'.lil<e 
 to him. 
 
 This business dcs]):itc]uMl, a, few slovenly lessons were pcTforuKMl, and 
 Squeers retired to his fireside, leaving Nicholas to take care of the boys 
 in the school-room, whicli was very cold, and wlicre a meal of bread 
 and cheese was served out shortly after dark. 
 
 There was a small stove at that corner of the room wliich was luanst 
 to the master's desk, and by it Nicholas sat down, so depressed and self- 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 73 
 
 degraded by the consciousness of liis position, that if death could have 
 come upon him at that time he would have been almost happy to meet it. 
 The cruelty of which he had been an unwilling witness, the coarse and 
 ruffianly behaviour of Squeers even in his best moods, the filthy place, 
 the sights and sounds about him, all contributed to this state of feeling; 
 but when he recollected that being there as an assistant, he actually 
 seemed — no matter what unhappy train of circumstances had led him 
 to that pass — ^to be the aider and abettor of a system which filled him 
 with honest disgust and indignation, he loathed himself, and felt for the 
 moment as though the mere consciousness of his present situation must, 
 through all time to come, prevent his raising his head in society again. 
 
 But for the present his resolve was taken, and the resolution he had 
 formed on the preceding night remained undisturbed. He had written 
 to his mother and sister, announcing the safe conclusion of his journey, 
 and saying as little about Dotheboys Hall, and saying that little as 
 cheerfully, as he possibly could. He hoped that by remaining where 
 he was, he might do some good, even there, and at all events others 
 depended too much on his uncle's favour to admit of his awakening his 
 wrath just then. 
 
 One reflection disturbed him far more than any selfish considerations 
 arising out of his own position. This was the probable destination of 
 his sister Kate. His uncle had deceived him, and might he not consign 
 her to some miserable place where her youth and beauty would prove a 
 far greater curse than ugliness and decrepitude ? To a caged man, 
 bound hand and foot, this was a terrible idea ; — but no, he thought, his 
 mother was by ; there was the portrait-painter, too — simple enough, but 
 still living in the world, and of it. He was willing to believe that 
 Ralph Nickleby had conceived a personal dislike to himself. Having 
 pretty good reason by this time to reciprocate it, he had no great diffi- 
 culty in arriving at that conclusion, and tried to persuade himself that 
 the feeling extended no farther than between them. 
 
 As he was absorbed in these meditations he all at once encountered 
 the upturned face of Smike, who was on his knees before the stove, 
 picking a few stray cinders from the hearth and planting them on the 
 fire. He had paused to steal a look at Nicholas, and when he saw that 
 he was observed, shrunk back as if expecting a blow. 
 
 " You need not fear me," said Nicholas kindly. " Are you cold V 
 
 " N-n-o." 
 
 " You are shivering." 
 
 " I am not cold," replied Smike quickly. " I am used to it." 
 
 There was such an obvious fear of giving ofi'ence in his manner, and 
 he was such a timid, broken-spirited creature, that Nicholas could not 
 help exclaiming, " Poor fellow ! " 
 
 If he had struck the drudge, he would have slunk away without a 
 word. But now he burst into tears. 
 
 " Oh dear, oh dear ! " he cried, covering his face with his cracked 
 and horny hands. " My heart will break. It will, it will." 
 
 " Hush ! " said Nicholas, laying his hand upon his shoulder. " Be 
 a man ; you are nearly one by years, God help you." 
 
 " Ry years ! " cried Smike. " Oh dear, dear, how many of them ! 
 
74 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 How many of them since I was a little child, younger than any that 
 arc here now ! Where are they all ! " 
 
 " Whom do you speak of ? " inquired Nicholas, wishing to rouse the 
 poor half-witted creature to reason. " Tell me." 
 
 " My friends," he replied, " myself — ^my — oh ! what sufferings mine 
 have been ! " 
 
 " There is always hope," said Nicholas ; he knew not what to say. 
 
 " No," rejoined the other, " no ; none for me. Do you remember the 
 boy that died here ?" 
 
 " I was not here you know," said Nicholas gently ; " but what of 
 him?" 
 
 " Why," replied the youth, drawing closer to his questioner's side, 
 *' I was with him at night, and when it was all silent he cried no more 
 for friends he wished to come and sit with him, but began to see faces 
 round his bed that came from home ; he said they smiled, and talked to 
 him, and died at last lifting his head to kiss them. Do you hear?" 
 
 " Yes, yes," rejoined Nicholas. 
 
 " What faces will smile on me when I die!" said his companion, 
 shivering. " Who will talk to me in those long nights ? They cannot 
 come from home ; they would frighten me if they did, for I don't know 
 what it is, and shouldn't know them. Pain and fear, pain and fear for 
 me, alive or dead. No hope, no hope." 
 
 The bell rang to bed, and the boy subsiding at the sound into his 
 usual listless state, crept away as if anxious to avoid notice. It was 
 with a heavy heart that Nicholas soon afterwards — no, not retired ; 
 there was no retirement there — followed — to his dirty and crowded 
 dormitory. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 OF MISS SQUEERS, MRS. SQUEERS, MASTER SQUEERS, AND MR. SQUEERS ; 
 ^^ AND VARIOUS MATTERS AND PERSONS CONNECTED NO " LESS WITH 
 THE SQUEERSES THAN WITH NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 
 
 When Mr. Squeers left the school- room for the night, he betook 
 himself, as has been before remarked, to his own fire-side, which was 
 situated — not in the room in which Nicholas had supped on the night 
 of his arrival, but in a smaller apartment in the rear of the premises, 
 where his lady wife, his amiable son, and accomplished daughter, were 
 in the full enjoyment of each other's society : Mrs. Squeers being en- 
 gaged in the matronly pursuit of stocking-darning, and the young lady 
 and gentleman occupied in the adjustment of some youthful differences 
 by means of a pugilistic contest across the table, which, on the approach 
 of their honoured parent, subsided into a noiseless exchange of kicks 
 beneath it. 
 
 And in this place it may be as well to apprise the reader, that Miss 
 Fanny Squeers was in her three-and-twentieth year. If there be any 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 75 
 
 one grace or loveliness inseparable from that particular period of life, 
 Miss Squeers may be presumed to have been possessed of it, as there is 
 no reason to suppose that she was a solitary exception to a universal 
 rule. She was not tall like her mother, but short like her father ; from 
 the former she inherited a voice of harsh quality, and from the latter a 
 remarkable expression of the right eye, something akin to having none 
 at all. 
 
 Miss Squeers had been spending a few days with a neighbouring 
 friend, and had only just returned to the parental roof. To this circum- 
 stance may be referred her having heard nothing of Nicholas, until Mr. 
 Squeers himself now made him the subject of conversation. 
 
 '^ Well, my dear," said Squeers, drawing up his chair, " what do yon 
 think of him by this time ?" 
 
 " Think of who?" inquired Mrs. Squeers; who (as she often re- 
 marked) was no grammarian, thank God. 
 
 " Of the young man — ^the new teacher — who else could I mean?" 
 
 "Oh! that Knuckleboy," said Mrs. Squeers impatiently; "I hate him." 
 
 " What do you hate him for, my dear?" asked Squeers. 
 
 " What's that to you?" retorted Mrs. Squeers. " If I hate him 
 that's enough, ain't it ?" 
 
 " Quite enough for him, my dear, and a great deal too much I dare 
 say, if he knew it," replied Squeers in^i pacific tone. " I only asked 
 from curiosity, my dear." 
 
 " Well, then, if you want to know," rejoined Mrs. Squeers, " I'll tell 
 you. Because he's a proud, haughty, consequential, turned -up-nosed 
 peacock." 
 
 Mrs. Squeers when excited was accustomed to use strong language, 
 and moreover to make use of a plurality of epithets, some of which were 
 of a figairative kind, as the word peacock, and furthermore the allusion 
 to Nicholas's nose, which was not intended to be taken in its literal 
 sense, but rather to bear a latitude of construction according to the 
 fancy of the hearers. Neither were they meant to bear reference to each 
 other, so much as to the object on whom they were bestowed, as will 
 be seen in the present case : a peacock with a turned-up-nose being a 
 novelty in ornithology, and a thing not commonly seen. 
 
 " Hem 1" said Squeers, as if in mild deprecation of this outbreak. 
 " He is cheap, my dear ; the young man is very cheap." 
 
 " Not a bit of it," retorted Mrs. Squeers. 
 
 " Five pound a year," said Squeers. 
 
 " What of that; it's dear if you don't want him, isn't it ?" replied 
 his wife. 
 
 " But we do want him," urged Squeers. 
 
 " I don't see that you want him any more than the dead," said Mrs. 
 Squeers. " Don't tell me. You can put on the cards and in the ad- 
 vertisements, ' Education by Mr. Wackford Squeers and able assistants,' 
 without having any assistants, can't you ? Isn't it done every day by 
 all the masters about ? I've no patience with you." 
 
 " Haven't you!" said Squeers, sternly. " Now I'll tell you what, 
 Mrs. Squeers. In this matter of having a teacher, I'll take my own 
 way, if you please. A slave driver in the West Indies is allowed a man 
 
76 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 under him, to see that his blacks don't run away, or get up a rebellion ; 
 and I'll have a man under me to do the same with our blacks, till such 
 time as little Wackford is able to take charge of the school." 
 
 " Am I to take care of the school when I grow up a man, father ? " 
 said Wackford junior, suspending, in the excess of his delight, a vicious 
 kick which he was administering to his sister. 
 
 " You are, my son," replied Mr. Squcers, in a sentimental voice. 
 
 " Oh my eye, won't I give it to the boys !" exclaimed the interesting 
 child, grasping his father's cane. " Oh father, won't I make 'em 
 squeak again ! " 
 
 It was a proud moment in Mr. Squeers's life to witness that burst of 
 enthusiasm in liis young child's mind, and to see in it a foreshadowing 
 of his future eminence. He pressed a penny into his hand, and gave 
 vent to his feelings (as did his exemplary wife also), in a shout of 
 approving laughter. The infantine appeal to their common sympathies 
 at once restored cheerfulness to the conversation, and hannony to the 
 company. 
 
 " He's a nasty stuck-up monkey, that's what I consider him," said 
 Mrs. Squecrs, reverting to Nicholas. 
 
 " Supposing he is," said Squeers, " he is as well stuck up in our 
 school-room as anywhere else, isn't he ? — especially as he don't like it." 
 
 " Well," observed Mrs. Sque«rs, " there's something in that. I hope 
 it'll bring his pride down, and it shall be no fault of mine if it don't." 
 
 Now, a proud usher in a Yorkshire school was such a very extraor- 
 dinary and unaccountable thing to hear of, — any usher at all being a 
 novelty, but a proud one a being of whose existence the wildest imagi- 
 nation could never have dreamt — ^that Miss Squeers, who seldom 
 troubled herself with scholastic matters, inquired with much curiosity 
 who this Knuckleboy was that gave himself such airs. 
 
 " Nickleby," said Squeers, spelling the name according to some 
 eccentric system which prevailed in his own mind, " your mother 
 always calls things and people by their wrong names." 
 
 " No matter for that," said Mrs. Squeers, " I see them with right 
 eyes, and that's quite enough for me. I watched him when you were 
 laying on to little Bolder this afternoon. He looked as black as thun- 
 der all the while, and one time started up as if he had more than got 
 it in his mind to make a rush at you ; / saw him, though he thought 
 I didn't." 
 
 " Never mind that, father," said Miss Squeers, as the head of the 
 family was about to reply. " Who is the man ? " 
 
 '' Why, your father has get some nonsense in his head that he's the 
 son of a poor gentleman that died the other day," said Mrs. Squeers. 
 
 " The son of a gentleman ! " 
 
 ••' Yes ; but I don't believe a word of it. If he's a gentleman's son 
 at all ht^'s a fondling, that's my opinion." 
 
 Mrs. Squeers intended to say " foundling," but, as she frequently 
 remarked when she made any such mistake, it would be all the same a 
 hundred years hence ; with which axiom of philosophy indeed she was 
 in the constant habit of consoling the boys when tliey laboured under 
 more than ordinary ill usage. 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 77 
 
 " He's nothing of the kind," said Squeers in answer to the above 
 remark, " for his father was married to his mother, years before he was 
 born, and she is alive now. If he was it would be no business of ours, 
 for we make a very good friend by having him here, and if he likes to 
 learn the boys anything besides minding them, I have no objection I 
 am sure." 
 
 " I say again I hate him worse than poison," said Mrs. Squeers 
 vehemently. 
 
 " If you dislike him, my dear," returned Squeers, " I don't know 
 anybody who can show dislike better than you, and of course there's 
 no occasion, with him, to take the trouble to hide it." 
 
 " I don't intend to, I assure you," interposed Mrs. S. 
 
 " That's right," said Squeers ; " and if he lias a touch of pride about 
 him, as I think he has, I don't believe there's a woman in all England 
 that can bring anybody's spirit down as quick as you can, my love." 
 
 Mrs. Squeers chuckled vastly on the receipt of these flattering 
 compliments, and said, she hoped she had tamed a high spirit or two 
 in her day. It is but due to her character to say, that in conjunction 
 with her estimable husband, she had broken many and many a one. 
 
 Miss Fanny Squeers carefully treasured up this and much more 
 conversation on the same subject until she retired for the night, when 
 she questioned the hungry servant minutely regarding the outward 
 appearance and demeanour of Nicholas; to which queries the girl 
 returned such enthusiastic replies, coupled with so many laudatory 
 remarks touching his beautiful dark eyes, and his sweet smile, and his 
 straight legs — upon which last-named articles she laid particular stress, 
 the general run of legs at Dotheboys Hall being crooked — tliat Miss 
 Squeers was not long in arriving at the conclusion that the new usher 
 must be a very remarkable person, or as she herself significantly 
 phrased it, " something quite out of the common." And so Miss 
 Squeers made up her mind that she would take a personal observation 
 of Nicholas the very next day. 
 
 In pursuance of this design, the young lady watched the opportunity 
 of her mother being engaged and her father absent, and went acci- 
 dentally into the school-room to get a pen mended, where, seeing 
 nobody but Nicholas presiding over the boys, she blushed very deeply, 
 and exhibited great confusion. 
 
 " I beg your pardon," faltered Miss Squeers ; " I thought my father 
 was — or might be — dear me, how very awkward !" 
 
 " Mr. Squeers is out," said Nicholas, by no means overcome by the 
 apparition, unexpected though it was. 
 
 " Do you know will he be long. Sir ? " asked Miss Squeers, with 
 bashful hesitation. 
 
 " He said about an hour," replied Nicholas — politely of course, but 
 without any indication of being stricken to the heart by Miss Squeers's 
 charms. 
 
 " I never knew any thing happen so cross," exclaimed the young 
 lady. " Thank you ; I am very sorry I intruded I am sure. If 1 
 hadn't thought my father was here, I wouldn't upon any account have 
 — it is very provoking — must look so very strange," murmured Miss 
 
78 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 Squeers, blushing once more, and glancing from the pen in her hand, to 
 Nicholas at his desk, and back again. 
 
 " If that is all you want," said Nicholas, pointing to the pen, and 
 smiling, in spite of himself, at the affected embarrassment of the school- 
 master's daughter, " perhaps I can supply his place." 
 
 Miss Squeers glanced at the door as if dubious of the propriety of 
 advancing any nearer to an utter stranger, then round the school room 
 as though in some measure reassured by the presence of forty boys, 
 and finally sidled up to Nicholas, and delivered the pen into his hand 
 with a most winning mixture of reserve and condescension. 
 
 " Shall it be a hard or a soft nib ? " inquired Nicholas, smiling to 
 prevent himself from laughing outright. 
 
 " He Jias a beautiful smile," thought Miss Squeers. 
 
 " Which did you say ? " asked Nicholas. 
 
 " Dear me, I was thinking of something else for the moment, I 
 declare," replied Miss Squeers — " Oh ! as soft as possible, if you 
 please." With which w^ords Miss Squeers sighed ; it might be to 
 give Nicholas to understand that her heart was soft, and that the pen 
 was wanted to match. 
 
 Upon these instructions Nicholas made the pen ; when he gave it 
 to Miss Squeers, Miss Squeers dropped it, and when he stooped to 
 pick it up, Miss Squeers stooped also, and they knocked their heads 
 together, whereat five-and-twenty little boys laughed aloud, being 
 positively for the first and only time that half year. 
 
 " Very awkward of me," said Nicholas, opening the door for the 
 young lady's retreat. 
 
 _ " Not at all. Sir," replied Miss Squeers ; " it was my fault. It was 
 all my foolish — a — a — good morning." 
 
 " Good bye," said Nicholas. " The next I make for you, I hope 
 will be made less clumsily. Take care, you are biting the nib 
 off now." 
 
 " Really," said Miss Squeers ; " so embarrassing that I scarcely 
 know what I — very sorry to give you so much trouble." 
 
 " Not the least trouble in the world," replied Nicholas, closing the 
 school-room door. 
 
 " I never saw such legs in the whole course of my life \ " said Miss 
 Squeers, as she walked away. 
 
 In fact. Miss Squeers was in love with Nicholas Nickleby. 
 
 To account for the rapidity with which this young lady had con- 
 ceived a passion for Nicholas, it may be necessary to state that the friend 
 from whom she had so recently returned was a miller's daughter of 
 only eighteen, who had contracted herself imto the son of a small corn- 
 factor resident in the nearest market town. Miss Squeers and the mil- 
 ler's daughter being fast friends, had covenanted together some two 
 years before, according to a custom prevalent among young ladies, that 
 whoever was first engaged to be married should straightway confide the 
 mighty secret to the bosom of the other, before communicating it to 
 any living soul, and bespeak her as bridesmaid without loss of time ; in 
 fulfilment of which pledge the miller's daughter, when her engagement 
 was formed, came out express at eleven o'clock at night as the com- 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 79 
 
 factor s son made an offer of his hand and heart at twenty-five minntes 
 past ten by the Dutch clock in the kitchen, and rushed into Miss 
 Squeers's bed-room with the gratifying intelligence. Now, Miss Squeers 
 being five years older, and out of her teens (which is also a great mat- 
 ter), had since been more than commonly anxious to return the compli- 
 ment, and possess her friend with a similar secret ; bvit either in conse- 
 quence of finding it hard to please herself, or harder still to please any 
 body else, had never had an opportunity so to do, inasmuch as she had 
 no such secret to disclose. The little interview with Nicholas had no 
 sooner passed as above described, however, than Miss Squeers, putting 
 on her bonnet, made her way with great precipitation to her friend's 
 house, and upon a solemn renewal of divers old vows of secrecy, revealed 
 how that she was — not exactly engaged, but going to be — to a gen- 
 tleman's son — (none of your corn-factors, but a gentleman's son of 
 high descent) — who had come down as teacher to Dotheboys Hall 
 under most mysterious and remarkable circumstances — indeed, as 
 Miss Squeers more than once hinted she had good reason to believe — 
 induced by the fame of her many charms to seek her out, and woo and 
 win her. 
 
 " Isn't it an extraordinary thing ? " said Miss Squeers, emphasising 
 the adjective strongly. 
 
 " Most extraordinary," replied the friend. " But what has he said 
 to you ? " 
 
 " Don't ask me what he said, my dear," rejoined Miss Squeers. *' If 
 you had only seen his looks and smiles ! I never was so overcome in 
 all my life." 
 
 " Did he look in this way ? " inquired the miller's daughter, counter- 
 feiting as nearly as she could a favourite leer of the com- factor. 
 
 " Very like that — only more genteel," replied Miss Squeers. 
 
 " Ah ! " said the friend, " then he means something depend on it." 
 
 Miss Squeers, having slight misgivings on the subject, was by no 
 means ill pleased to be confirmed by a competent authority; and dis- 
 covering, on further conversation and comparison of notes, a great many 
 points of resemblance between the behaviour of Nicholas and^that of the 
 corn-factor, grew so exceedingly confidential, that she intrusted her 
 friend with a vast number of things Nicholas had not said, which were 
 all so very complimentary as to be quite conclusive. Then she dilated 
 on the fearful hardship of having a father and mother strenuously opposed 
 to her intended husband, on which unhappy circumstance she dwelt at 
 great length ; for the friend's father and mother were quite agreeable to 
 her being married, and the whole courtship was in consequence as flat 
 and common-place an affair as it w^as possible to imagine. 
 
 " How I should like to see him ! " exclaimed the friend. 
 
 " So you shall, 'Tilda," replied Miss Squeers. " I should consider 
 myself one of the most ungrateful creatures alive, if I denied you. I 
 think mother's going away for two days to fetch some boys, and when 
 she does, I'll ask you and John up to tea, and have him to meet you." 
 
 This was a charming idea, and having fully discussed it, the friends 
 
 It so fell out that Mrs. Squeers's journey to some distance, to fetch 
 
80 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 three new boys, and dun the relations of two old ones for the balance 
 of a small account, was fixed that very afternoon for the next day but 
 one ; and on the next day but one Mrs. Squeers got up outside the 
 coach as it stopped to change at Greta Bridge, taking with her a small 
 bundle containing something in a bottle and some sandwiches, and 
 carrying besides a large white top coat to wear in the night-time ; 
 with which baggage she went her way. 
 
 Whenever such opportunities as these occurred, it was Squeerss 
 custom to drive over to the market town every evening on pretence of 
 urgent business, and stop till ten or eleven o'clock at a tavern he much 
 affected. As the party was not in his way therefore, but rather af- 
 forded a means of compromise with Miss Squeers, he readily yielded 
 his full assent thereunto, and willingly communicated to Nicholas 
 that he was expected to take his tea in the parlour that evening at five 
 o'clock. 
 
 To be sure Miss Squeers was in a desperate flutter as the time 
 approached, and to be sure she was dressed out to the best advantage : 
 with her hair — it had more than a tinge of red, and she wore it in a 
 crop — curled in five distinct rows up to the very top of her head, and 
 arranged dexterously over the doubtful eye ; to say nothing of the 
 blue sash which floated down her back, or the worked apron, or the 
 long gloves, or the green gauze scarf worn over one shoulder and under 
 the other, or any of the numerous devices which were to be as so many 
 arrows to the heart of Nicholas. She had scarcely completed these 
 arrangements to her entire satisfixction when the friend arrived with a 
 whitey-brown parcel — flat and three-cornered — containing smidry small 
 adornments which were to be put on up stairs, and which the friend 
 put on, talking incessantly. When Miss Squeers had '' done" the friend's 
 hair, the friend " did" Miss Squeers's hair, throwing in some striking 
 improvements in the way of ringlets down the neck ; and then, when 
 they were both touched up to their entire satisfaction, they went down 
 stairs in full state with the long gloves on, all ready for company. 
 
 " Where's John, 'Tilda ? " said Miss Squeers. 
 
 " Only gone home to clean himself," replied the friend. " He will 
 be here by the time the tea's drawn." 
 
 " I do so palpitate," observed Miss Squeers. 
 
 " Ah ! I know what it is," replied the friend. 
 
 " I have not been used to it, you know, 'Tilda," said Miss Squeers, 
 applying her hand to the left side of her sash. 
 
 " You'll soon get the better of it, dear," rejoined the friend. While 
 they were talking thus the hungry servant brought in the tea thingfs, 
 and soon afterwards somebody tapped at the room door. 
 
 '^ There he is ! " cried Miss Squeers. " Oh 'Tilda ! " 
 
 " Hush ! " said 'Tilda. " Hem ! Say, come in." 
 
 " Come in," cried Miss Squeers faintly. And in walked Nicholas. 
 
 " Good evening," said that young gentleman, all unconscious of his 
 conquest. " I understood from Mr. Squeers that" 
 
 " Oh yes ; it's all right," interposed Miss Squeers. " Fatlier don't 
 tea with us, but you won't muid that I dare say." (This was said 
 archly.) 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 81 
 
 Nicholas opened his eyes at this, but he turned the matter off very 
 coolly — not caring particularly about any thing just then — and went 
 through the ceremony of introduction to the miller s daughter with 
 so much grace, that that young lady was lost in admiration. 
 
 " We are only waiting for one more gentleman," said Miss Squeers, 
 taking off the tea-pot lid^ and looking in, to sec how the tea was 
 getting on. 
 
 It was matter of equal moment to Nicholas whether they were 
 waiting for one gentleman or twenty, so he received the intelligence 
 with perfect unconcern ; and being out of spirits, and not seeing any 
 especial reason why he should make himself agreeable, looked out of the 
 window and sighed involuntarily. 
 
 As luck would have it. Miss Squeers's friend was of a playful turn, 
 and hearing Nicholas sigh, she took it into her head to rally the lovers 
 on their lowness of spirits. 
 
 " But if it's caused by my being here," said the young lady, " don't 
 mind me a bit, for I'm quite as bad. You may go on just as you would 
 if you were alone." 
 
 " 'Tilda," said Miss Squeers, colouring up to the top row of curls, " I 
 am ashamed of you ;" and here the two friends burst into a variety of 
 giggles, and glanced from time to time over the tops of their pocket- 
 handkerchiefs at Nicholas, who, from a state of immixed astonishment, 
 gradually fell into one of irrepressible laughter — occasioned partly by 
 the bare notion of his being in love with Miss Squeers, and partly by 
 the preposterous appearance and behaviour of the two girls ; the two 
 causes of merriment taken together, struck him as being so keenly ridi- 
 culous, that despite his miserable condition, he laughed till he was 
 thoroughly exhausted. 
 
 " Well," thought Nicholas, " as I am here, and seem expected for 
 some reason or other to be amiable, it's of no use looking like a goose. 
 I may as well accommodate myself to the company." 
 
 We blush to tell it, but his youthful spirits and vivacity getting for 
 a time the better of his sad thoughts, he no sooner formed this resolution 
 than he saluted Miss Squeers and the friend with great gallantry, and 
 drawing a chair to the tea-table, began to make himself more at home 
 than in all probability an usher has ever done in his employer's house 
 since ushers were first invented. 
 
 The ladies were in the full delight of this altered behaviour on the part 
 of Mr. Nickleby, when the expected swain arrived with his hair very 
 damp from recent washing ; and a clean shirt, whereof the collar might 
 have belonged to some giant ancestor, forming, together with a white 
 waistcoat of similar dimensions, the chief ornament of his person. 
 
 " Well, John," said Miss Matilda Price (which, by-the-bye, was 
 the name of the miller's daughter). 
 
 " Weel," said John, with a grin that even the collar could not con- 
 ceal. 
 
 " I beg your pardon," interposed Miss Squeers, hastening to do the 
 honours, " Mr. Nickleby — Mr. John Browdie." 
 
 " Servant, Sir," said John, who was something over six feet high, 
 with a face and body rather above the due proportion than below it. 
 
82 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 " Yours to command, Sir," replied Nicholas, making fearful ravages 
 on the bread and butter. 
 
 Mr. Browdie was not a gentleman of great conversational powers, 
 so he grinned twice more, and Iiaving now bestowed his customary- 
 mark of recognition on every person in company, grinned at nothing 
 particular and helped himself to food. 
 
 " Old wooman awa,' beant she?" said Mr. Browdie, with his mouth full. 
 
 Miss Squeers nodded assent. 
 
 Mr. Browdie gave a grin of special width, as if he thought that 
 really was something to laugh at, and went to work at the bread and 
 butter with increased vigour. It was quite a sight to behold how he 
 and Nicholas emptied the plate between them. 
 
 " Ye weant get bread and butther ev'ry neight I expect, mun," said 
 Mr. Browdie, after he had sat staring at Nicholas a long time over the 
 empty plate. 
 
 Nicholas bit his lip and coloured, but affected not to hear the remark. 
 
 " Ecod," said Mr. Browdie, laughing boisterously, " they dean't put 
 too much intiv 'em. Ye'll be nowt but skeen and boans if you stop 
 here long eneaf. Ho ! ho ! ho ! " 
 
 " You are facetious. Sir," said Nicholas, scornfully. 
 
 " Na ; I deant know," replied Mr. Browdie, " but t'oother teacher, 
 'cod he wur a learn 'un, he wur." The recollection of the last teacher's 
 leanness seemed to afford Mr. Browdie the most exquisite delight, for he 
 laughed until he found it necessary to apply his coat-cuffs to his eyes. 
 
 " I don't know whether your perceptions are quite keen enough, Mr. 
 Browdie, to enable you to understand that your remarks are very offen- 
 sive," said Nicholas in a towering passion, " but if they are, have the 
 goodness to " 
 
 " If you say another word, John," shrieked Miss Price, stopping 
 her admirer's mouth as he was about to interrupt, " only half a word, 
 I'll never forgive you, or speak to you again." 
 
 " Weel, my lass, I deant care aboot 'un," said the corn-factor, be- 
 stowing a hearty kiss on Miss Matilda; " let 'un gang on, let 'un gang on." 
 
 It now became Miss Squeers's turn to intercede with Nicholas, which 
 she did with many symptoms of alarm and horror; the effect of 
 the double intercession was that he and Jolin Browdie shook hands 
 across the table witli much gravity, and such was the imposing nature 
 of the ceremonial, that Miss Squeers w^as overcome and shed tears. 
 
 " What's the matter, Fanny ? " said Miss Price. 
 
 " Nothing, 'Tilda," replied Miss Squeers, sobbing. 
 
 " There never was any danger," said Miss Price, " was there, Mr. 
 Nickleby?" 
 
 " None at all," replied Nicholas. " Absurd." 
 
 " That's right," whispered Miss Price, " say something kind to her, 
 and she'll soon come round. Here, shall John and J go into the little 
 kitchen, and come back presently?" 
 
 " Not on any account," rejoined Nicholas, quite alarmed at the pro- 
 position. " What on earth should you do that for?" 
 
 " Well," said Miss Price, beckoning him aside, and speaking with 
 some degree of contempt—" you are a one to keep company." 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 83 
 
 " What do you 'mean?" said Nicholas; " I am not one to keep 
 company at all — here at all events. I can't make this out." 
 
 " No, nor I neither," rejoined Miss Price ; " but men are always 
 fickle, and always were, and always will be; that I can make out, 
 very easily." 
 
 "Fickle!" cried Nicholas; "what do you suppose? You don't 
 mean to say that you think " 
 
 " Oh no, I think nothing at all," retorted Miss Price pettishly. " Look 
 at her, dressed so beautiful and looking so well — really almost handsome. 
 I am ashamed at you." 
 
 " My dear girl, what have I got to do with her dressing beautifully 
 or looking well ? " inquired Nicholas. 
 
 " Come, don't call me a dear girl," said Miss Price — smiling a little 
 though, for she was pretty, and a coquette too in her small way, and 
 Nicholas was good-looking, and she supposed him the property of some- 
 body else, which were all reasons why she should be gratified to think she 
 had made an impression on him, " or Fanny will be saying it's my fault. 
 Come ; we're going to have a game at cards." Pronouncing these last 
 words aloud, she tripped away and rejoined the big Yorkshireman. 
 
 This was wholly unintelligible to Nicholas, who had no other distinct 
 im]3ression on his mind at the moment, than that Miss Squeers was an 
 ordinary-looking girl, and her friend Miss Price a pretty one ; but he had 
 not time to enlighten himself by reflection, for the hearth being by this 
 time swept up, and the candle snuffed, they sat down to play speculation. 
 
 " There are only four of us, 'Tilda," said Miss Squeers, looking slyly 
 at Nicholas ; " so we had better go partners, two against two." 
 
 " What do you say, Mr. Nickleby?" inquired Miss Price. 
 
 " With all the pleasure in life," replied Nicholas. And so saying, 
 quite unconscious of his heinous offence, he amalgamated into one 
 common heap those portions of a Dotheboys Hall card of terms, which 
 represented his own counters, and those allotted to Miss Price, re- 
 spectively. 
 
 " Mr. Browdie," said Miss Squeers hysterically, " shall we make a 
 bank against them ?" 
 
 The Yorkshireman assented — apparently quite overwhelmed by the 
 new usher's impudence — and Miss Squeers darted a spiteful look at 
 her friend, and giggled convulsively. 
 
 The deal fell to Nicholas, and the hand prospered. 
 
 " We intend to win every thing," said he. 
 
 " 'Tilda has won something she didn't expect I think, haven't you, 
 dear ? " said Miss Squeers, maliciously. 
 
 " Only a dozen and eight, love," replied Miss Price, affbcting to take 
 the question in a literal sense. 
 
 " How dull you are to-night ! " sneered Miss Squeers. 
 
 " No, indeed," replied Miss Price, "I am in excellent spirits. I was 
 thinking you seemed out of sorts." 
 
 " Me V cried Miss Squeers, biting her lips, and trembling with Yery 
 jealousy; " Oh no !" 
 
 " That's well," remarked Miss Price. " Your hair's coming out of 
 curl, dear." 
 
 G 2 
 
84 
 
 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 "Never mind me," tittered Miss Squeers; " you had better attend to 
 your partner." 
 
 " Thank you for reminding her," said Nicholas. " So she had." 
 The Yorkshireman flattened his nose once or twice with his, clenched 
 fist, as if to keep his hand in, till he had an opportunity of exercising 
 it upon the features of some other gentleman ; and Miss Squeers tossed 
 her head with such indignation, that the gust of wind raised by the 
 multitudinous curls in motion, nearly blew the candle out. 
 
 " I never had such luck, really," exclaimed coquettish Miss Price, 
 after another hand or two. " It's all along of you, Mr. Nickleby, I 
 think. I should like to have you for a partner always." 
 
 " I wish you had." 
 
 " You'll have a bad wife, though, if you always win at cards," said 
 Miss Price. 
 
 " Not if your wish is gratified," replied Nicholas. " I am sure I 
 shall have a good one in that case." 
 
 To see how Miss Squeers tossed her head, and the corn-factor flattened 
 his nose, while this conversation was carrying on ! It would have been 
 worth a small annuity to have beheld that ; let alone Miss Price's 
 evident joy at making them jealous, and Nicholas Nickleby's happy 
 unconsciousness of making anybody uncomfortable. 
 
 " We have all the talking to ourselves, it seems," said Nicholas, 
 looking good-humouredly round the table as he took up the cards for a 
 fresh deal. 
 
 " You do it so well," tittered Miss Squeers, " that it would be a pity 
 to interrupt, wouldn't it, Mr. Browdie ? He ! he ! he !" 
 
 " Nay," said Nicholas, " we do it in default of having anybody else 
 to talk to." 
 
 " We'll talk to you, you know, if you'll say anything," said Miss 
 Price. 
 
 " Thank you, 'Tilda, dear," retorted Miss Squeers, majestically. 
 
 " Or you can talk to each other, if you don't choose to talk to us," 
 said Miss Price, rallying her dear friend. " John, why don't you say 
 something ? " 
 
 " Say summat ? " repeated the Yorkshireman. 
 
 *' Ay, and not sit there so silent and glum." 
 
 " Weel, then ! " said the Yorkshireman, striking the table heavily 
 with his fist, " what I say's this — Dang my boans and boddy, if I 
 stan' this ony longer. Do ye gang whoam wi' me ; and do yon loight 
 an* toight young whipster, look sharp out for a brokken head next 
 time he cums under my bond." 
 
 " Mercy on us, what's all this ? " cried Miss Price, in aff*ected 
 astonishment. 
 
 " Cum whoam, tell'e, cum whoam," replied the Yorkshireman, 
 sternly. And as he delivered the reply Miss Squeers burst into a 
 shower of tears ; arising in part from desperate vexation, and in part 
 from an impotent desire to lacerate somebody's countenance with her 
 fair finger-nails. 
 
 This state of things had been brought about by divers means and 
 workings. Miss Squeers had brought it about by aspiring to the high 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 85 
 
 state and condition of being matrimonially engaged without good 
 grounds for so doing ; Miss Price had brought it about by indulging 
 in three motives of action ; first, a desire to punish her friend for 
 laying claim to a rivalship in dignity, having no good title ; secondly, 
 the gratification of her own vanity in receiving the compliments of 
 a smart young man ; and thirdly, a wish to convince the corn-factor 
 of the great danger he ran, in deferring the celebration of their expected 
 nuptials : while Nicholas had brought it about by half an hour s gaiety 
 and thoughtlessness, and a very sincere desire to avoid the imputation 
 of inclining at all to Miss Squeers. So, that the means employed, and 
 the end produced, were alike the most natural in the world : for young 
 ladies will look forward to being married, and will jostle each other in 
 the race to the altar, and will avail themselves of all opportunities of 
 displaying their own attractions to the best advantage, down to the 
 very end of time as they have done from its beginning. 
 
 " Why, and here's Fanny in tears now ! " exclaimed Miss Price, as 
 if in fresh amazement. " What can be the matter ? " 
 
 " Oh ! you don't know. Miss, of course you don't know. Pray 
 don't trouble yourself to inquire," said Miss Squeers, producing that 
 change of countenance which children call making a face. 
 
 " Well, I'm sure," exclaimed Miss Price. 
 
 *' And who cares whether you are sure or not, ma'am ? " retorted 
 Miss Squeers, making another face. 
 
 " You are monstrous polite, ma'am," said Miss Price. 
 
 " I shall not come to you to take lessons in the art, ma'am," 
 retorted Miss Squeers. 
 
 " You needn't take the trouble to make yourself plainer than you 
 are, ma'am, however," rejoined Miss Price, " because that's quite im- 
 necessary." 
 
 Miss Squeers in reply turned very red, and thanked God that she 
 hadn't got the bold faces of some people, and Miss Price in rejoinder 
 congratulated herself upon not being possessed of the envious feeling of 
 other people; whereupon Miss Squeers made some general remark 
 touching the danger of associating with low persons, in which Miss 
 Price entirely coincided, observing that it was very true indeed, and 
 she had thought so a long time. 
 
 " 'Tilda," exclaimed Miss Squeers with dignity, " I hate you." 
 
 " Ah ! There's no love lost between us I assure you," said Miss 
 Price, tying her bonnet strings with a jerk. " You'll cry your eyes 
 out when I'm gone, you know you will." 
 
 " I scorn your words. Minx," said Miss Squeers. 
 
 " You pay me a great compliment when you say so," answered the 
 miller's daughter, curtseying very low. " Wish you a very good night, 
 ma'am, and pleasant dreams attend your sleep." 
 
 With this parting benediction Miss Price swept from the room, followed 
 by the, huge Yorkshireman, who exchanged with Nicholas at parting, 
 that peculiarly expressive scowl with which the cut-and-thrust counts 
 in melo-dramatic performances inform each other they will meet again, 
 
 They were no sooner gone than Miss Squeers fulfilled the prediction 
 of her quondam friend by giving vent to a most copious burst of tears. 
 
86 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 and uttering various dismal lamentations and incoherent words. Ni- 
 cholas stood looking on for a few seconds, rather doubtful what to do, 
 but feeling uncertain whether the fit would end in his being embraced 
 or scratched, and considering that either infliction would be equally 
 agreeable, he walked off very quietly while Miss Squeers was moaning 
 in her pocket-handkerchief. 
 
 " This is one consequence," thought Nicholas, when he had groped 
 his way to tlie dark sleeping-room, " of my cursed readiness to adapt 
 myself to any society into which chance carries me. If I had sat mute 
 and motionless, as I might have done, this would not have happened." 
 
 He listened for a few minutes, but all was quiet. 
 
 " I was glad," he murmured, " to grasp at any relief from the sight 
 of this dreadful place, or the presence of its vile master. I have set 
 these people by the ears and made two new enemies, where, Heaven 
 knows, I needed none. Well, it is a just punishment for having for- 
 gotten, even for an hour, what is around me now." 
 
 So saying, he felt his way among the throng of weary-hearted 
 sleepers, and crept into his poor bed. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 HOW MR. RALPH NICKLEBY PROVIDED FOR HIS NIECE AND SISTER- 
 IN-LAW. 
 
 On the second morning after the departure of Nicholas for Yorkshire, 
 Kate Nickleby sat in a very faded chair raised upon a very dusty 
 throne in Miss La Creevy's room, giving that lady a sitting for the 
 portrait upon which she was engaged ; and towards the full perfection 
 of which, Miss La Creevy had had the street-door case brought up 
 stairs, in order that she might be the better able to infuse into the 
 counterfeit countenance of Miss Nickleby a bright salmon flesh-tint 
 which she had originally hit upon while executing the miniature of a 
 young officer therein contained, and which bright salmon flesh-tint was 
 considered by Miss La' Creevy's chief friends and patrons, to be quite a 
 novelty in art : as indeed it was. 
 
 " I think I have caught it now," said Miss La Creevy. " The very 
 shade. This will be the sweetest portrait I liave ever done, certainly." 
 
 " It will be your genius that makes it so, then, I am sure," replied 
 Kate, smiling. 
 
 " No, no, I won t allow that, my dear," rejoined Miss La Creevy. 
 " It's a very nice subject — a very nice subject, indeed — ^though of 
 course, something depends upon the mode of treatment." 
 
 " And not a little," observed Kate. 
 
 " Why, my dear, you are right there," said Miss La Creevy, " in 
 the main you are right there ; though I don't allow that it is of such 
 very great importance in the present case. Ah ! The difficulties of art 
 my dear, are great." 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 87 
 
 " Tbey must be, I have no doubt," said Kate, humouring her good- 
 natured little friend. 
 
 " They are beyond anything you can form the faintest conception of," 
 replied Miss La Creevy. " What with bringing out eyes with all one's 
 power, and keeping down noses with all one's force, and adding to 
 heads, and taking away teeth altogether, you have no idea of the 
 trouble one little miniature is." 
 
 " The remuneration can scarcely repay you," said Kate. 
 
 " Why, it does not, and that's the truth," answered Miss La Creevy ; 
 " and then people are so dissatisfied and unreasonable, that nine times 
 out of ten there's no pleasure in painting them. Sometimes they say, 
 ' Oh, how very serious you have made me look. Miss La Creevy !' and 
 at others, 'La, Miss La Creevy, how very smirking!' when the very 
 essence of a good portrait is, that it must be either serious or smirking, 
 or it's no portrait at all." 
 
 " Indeed !" said Kate, laughing. 
 
 " Certainly, my dear ; because the sitters are always either the one 
 or the other," replied Miss La Creevy. " Look at the Royal Academy. 
 All those beautiful shiny portraits of gentlemen in black velvet waist- 
 coats, with their fists doubled up on round tables or marble slabs, are 
 serious, you know; and all the ladies who are playing with little 
 parasols, or little dogs, or little children — it's the same rule in art, only 
 varying the objects — are smirking. In fact," said Miss La Creevy, sinking 
 her voice to a confidential whisper, " there are only two styles of por- 
 trait painting, the serious and the smirk; and we always use the serious 
 for professional people (except actors sometimes), and the smirk for pri- 
 vate ladies and gentlemen who don't care so much about looking clever." 
 
 Kate seemed highly amused by this infonnation, and Miss La Creevy 
 went on painting and talking with immovable complacency. 
 
 " What a number of officers you seem to paint !" said Kate, availing 
 herself of a pause in the discourse, and glancing round the room. 
 
 " Number of what, child?" inquired Miss La Creevy, looking up 
 from her work. " Character portraits, oh yes — they're not real military 
 men, you know." 
 
 "No!" 
 
 " Bless your heart, of course not ; only clerks and that, who hire a 
 uniform coat to be painted in and send it here in a carpet bag. Some 
 artists," said Miss La Creevy, " keep a red coat, and charge seven-and- 
 sixpence extra for hire and carmine ; but I don't do that myself, for I 
 don't consider it legitimate." 
 
 Drawing herself up as though she plumed herself greatly upon not 
 resorting to these lures to catch sitters, Miss La Creevy applied herself 
 more intently to her task, only raising her head occasionally to look with 
 unspeakable satisfaction at some touch she had just put in, and now 
 and then giving Miss Nickleby to understand what particular feature 
 she was at work upon at the moment ; " not," she expressly observed, 
 " that you should make it up for painting, my dear, but because it's 
 our custom sometimes, to tell sitters what part we are upon, in order 
 that if there's any particular expression they want introduced, they 
 may throw it in at the time, you know." 
 
88 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 " And when," said Miss La Creevy, after a long silence, to wit, an 
 interval of full a minute and a half, " when do you expect to see your 
 uncle again ? " 
 
 " I scarcely know ; I had expected to have seen him before now," 
 replied Kate. " Soon I hope, for this state of uncertainty is worse 
 than anything." 
 
 " I suppose he has money, hasn't he ? " inquired 3Iiss La Creevy. 
 
 " He is very rich I have heard," rejoined Kate. " I don't know tha;t 
 he is, but I believe so." 
 
 " Ah, you may depend upon it he is, or he wouldn't be so surly," 
 remarked Miss La Creevy, who was an odd little mixture of shrewdness 
 and simplicity. " When a man's a bear he is generally pretty inde- 
 pendent." 
 
 " His maimer is rough," said Kate. 
 
 " Rough ! " cried Miss La Creevy, " a porcupine's a feather-bed to 
 him. I never met with such a cross-grained old savage." 
 
 " It is only his manner, I believe," observed Kate, timidly, " he was 
 disappointed in early life I think I have heard, or has had his temper 
 soured by some calamity. I should be sorry to think ill of him until 
 I knew he deserved it." 
 
 " Well ; that's very right and proper," observed the miniature 
 painter, " and Heaven forbid that I should be the cause of your doing 
 so. But now mightn't he, without feeling it himself, make you and 
 your mama some nice little allowance that would keep 'you both 
 comfortable until you were well married, and be a little fortune 
 to her afterwards ? What would a hundred a year, for instance, be to 
 him ? " 
 
 " I don't know what it would be to him," said Kate, with great 
 energy, " but it would be that ^o me I would rather die than take." 
 
 " Heyday ! " cried Miss La Creevy. 
 
 " A dependence upon him," said Kate, " would embitter my whole 
 life. I should feel begging a far less degradation." 
 
 " Well ! " exclaimed Miss La Creevy. " This of a relation whom 
 you w^ill not hear an indifferent person speak ill of, my dear, sounds 
 oddly enough, I confess." 
 
 " I dare say it does," replied Kate, speaking more gently, " indeed 
 I am sure it must. I — I — only mean that with the feelings and recol- 
 lection of better times upon me, I could not bear to live on anybody's 
 bounty — ^not his particularly, but anybody's." 
 
 Miss La Creevy looked slyly at her companion, as if she doubted 
 whether Ralph himself were not the subject of dislike, but seeing that 
 her young friend was distressed, made no remark. 
 
 " I only ask of him," continued Kate, whose tears fell while she 
 spoke, " that he will move so little out of his way in my behalf, as to 
 enable mc by his recommendation — only by his recommendation — to 
 earn, literally, my bread and remain with my mother. Whether wc 
 shall ever taste happiness again, depends upon tlie fortunes of my dear 
 brother ; but if he will do this, and Nicholas only tells us that ho is 
 well and cheerful, I shall be contented." 
 
 As she ceased to speak there was a rustling behind the screen which 
 
V///. - ///// 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 89 
 
 stood between her and the door, and some person knocked at the 
 wainscot. 
 
 " Come in whoever it is," cried Miss La Creevy. 
 
 The person complied, and coming forward at once, gave to view the 
 form and features of no less an individual than Mr. Ralph Nickleby 
 himself. 
 
 " Your servant, ladies," said Ralph, looking sharply at them by 
 turns. " You were talking so loud that I was unable to make you hear." 
 
 When the man of business had a more than commonly vicious snarl 
 lurking at his heart, he had a trick of almost concealing his eyes under 
 their thick and protruding brows for an instant, and then displaying 
 them in their full keenness. As he did so now, and tried to keep down 
 the smile which parted his thin compressed lips, and puckered up the 
 bad lines about his mouth, they both felt certain that some part, if not 
 the whole, of their recent conversation had been overheard. 
 
 " I called in on my way up stairs, more than half expecting to find 
 you here," said Ralph, addressing his niece, and looking contemptuously 
 at the portrait. " Is that my niece's portrait, ma'am ? " 
 
 " Yes it is, Mr. Nickleby," said Miss La Creevy, with a very 
 sprightly air, " and between you and me and the post. Sir, it will be a 
 very nice portrait too, though I say it who am the painter." 
 
 " Don't trouble yourself to show it to me, ma'am," cried Ralph, 
 moving away, " I have no eye for likenesses. Is it nearly finished ? " 
 
 " Why, yes," replied Miss La Creevy, considering with the pencil- 
 end of her brush in her mouth. " Two sittings more will " 
 
 " Have them at once, ma'am," said Ralph. " She'll have no time 
 to idle over fooleries after to-morrow. Work, ma'am, work ; we must 
 all work. Have you let your lodgings, ma'am ? " 
 
 " I have not put a bill up yet. Sir." 
 
 " Put it up at once, ma'am ; they won't want the rooms after this 
 week, or if they do, can't pay for them. Now, my dear, if you're ready, 
 we'll lose no more time." 
 
 With an assumption of kindness which sat worse upon him, even 
 than his usual manner, Mr. Ralph Nickleby motioned to the young- 
 lady to precede him, and bowing gravely to Miss La Creevy, closed the 
 door and followed up stairs, where Mrs. Nickleby received him with 
 many expressions of regard. Stopping them somewhat abruptly, Ralph 
 waved his hand with an impatient gesture, and proceeded to the object 
 of his visit. 
 
 " I have found a situation for your daughter, ma'am," said Ralph. 
 
 " Well," replied Mrs. Nickleby. " Now, I will say that that is 
 only just what I have expected of you. ' Depend upon it,' I said to 
 Kate only yesterday morning at breakfast, ' that after your uncle has 
 provided in that most ready manner for Nicholas, he will not leave us 
 until he has done at least the same for you.' These w^ere my very 
 words as near as I remember. Kate, my dear, why don't you thank 
 your" 
 
 '• Let me proceed, ma'am, pray," said Ralph, interrupting his sister- 
 in-law in the full torrent of her discourse. 
 
 " Kate, my love, let your uncle proceed," said Mrs. Nickleby. 
 
90 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 " I am most anxious that he should, mama," rejoined Kate. 
 
 " Well, my dear, if you are anxious that he should, you had better 
 allow your uncle to say what he has to say, without interruption," 
 observed Mrs. Nickleby, with many small nods and frowns. " Your 
 uncle's time is very valuable, my dear ; and however desirous you may 
 be — and naturally desirous, as I am sure any affectionate relations who 
 have seen so little of your uncle as we have, must naturally be — to 
 protract the pleasure of having him among us, still we are bound not 
 to be selfish, but to take into consideration the important nature of his 
 occupations in the city." 
 
 " I am very much obliged to you, ma'am," said Ralph with a scarcely 
 perceptible sneer. " An absence of business habits in this family leads 
 apparently to a great waste of words before business — when it does 
 come under consideration — is arrived at, at all." 
 
 " I fear it is so indeed," replied Mrs. Nickleby with a sigh. " Your 
 poor brother — " 
 
 " My poor brother, ma'am," interposed Ealph tartly, " had no idea 
 what business was — was unacquainted, I verily believe, with the very 
 meaning of the word." 
 
 " I fear he was," said Mrs. Nickleby, with her handkerchief to her 
 eyes. " If it hadn't been for me, I don't know what would have 
 become of him." 
 
 What strange creatures we are ! The slight bait so skilfully thrown 
 out by Ralph on their first interview was dangling on the hook yet. 
 At every small deprivation or discomfort which presented itself in the 
 course of the four-and-twenty hours to remind her of her straitened and 
 altered circumstances, peevish visions of her dower of one thousand 
 pounds had arisen before Mrs. Nickleby's mind, until at last she had 
 come to persuade herself that of all her late husband's creditors she was 
 the worst used and the most to be pitied. And yet she had loved him 
 dearly for many years, and had no greater share of selfishness than 
 is the usual lot of mortals. Such is the irritability of sudden poverty. 
 A decent annuity would have restored her thoughts to their old train 
 at once. 
 
 " Repining is of no use, ma'am," said Ralph. " Of all fruitless 
 errands, sending a tear to look after a day that is gone is the most fruit- 
 less." 
 
 " So it is," sobbed Mrs. Nickleby. " So it is." 
 
 " As you feel so keenly in your own purse and person the conse- 
 quences of inattention to business, ma'am," said Ralph, " I am sure 
 you will impress upon your children the necessity of attaching them- 
 selves to it early in life." 
 
 " Of course I must see that," rejoined Mrs. Nickleby. " Sad expe- 
 rience, you know, brother-in-law — . Kate, my dear, put that down in 
 the next letter to Nicholas, or remind me to do it if I write." 
 
 Ralph paused for a few moments, and seeing that he had now made 
 pretty sure of the mother in case the daughter objected to his proposi- 
 tion, went on to say — 
 
 " The situation tliat I have made interest to procure, ma'am, is with 
 —with a milliner and dress-maker, in short." 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 91 
 
 " A milliner ! " cried Mrs. Nickleby. 
 
 " A milliner and dress-maker, ma'am," replied Ralph. " Dress- 
 makers in London, as I need not remind you, ma'am, who are so well 
 acquainted with all matters in the ordinary routine of life, make large 
 fortunes, keep equipages, and become persons of great wealth and fortune." 
 
 Now, the first ideas called up" in Mrs. Nickleby s mind by the words 
 milliner and dress-maker were connected with certain wicker baskets 
 lined with black oilskin, which she remembered to have seen carried 
 to and fro in the streets, but as Ralph proceeded these disappeared, and 
 were replaced by visions of large houses at the West End, neat private 
 carriages, and a banker's book, all of which images succeeded each other 
 with such rapidity, that he had no sooner finished speaking than she 
 nodded her head and said, " Very true," with great appearance of 
 satisfaction. 
 
 " What your uncle says is very true, Kate, my dear," said Mrs. 
 Nickleby. " I recollect when your poor papa and I came to town 
 after we were married, that a young lady brought me home a chip 
 cottage bonnet, with white and green trimming, and green persian 
 lining, in her own carriage, which drove up to the door full gallop ; — 
 at least, I am not quite certain whether it was her own carriage or a 
 hackney chariot, but I remember very well that the horse dropped 
 down dead as he was turning round, and that your poor papa said he 
 hadn't liad any com for a fortnight." 
 
 This anecdote, so strikingly illustrative of the opulence of milliners, 
 was not received with any great demonstration of feeling, inasmuch as 
 Kate hung down her head while it was relating, and Ralph manifested 
 very intelligible symptoms of extreme impatience. 
 
 " The lady's name," said Ralph, hastily striking in, " is Mantalini — 
 Madame Mantalini. I know her. She lives near Cavendish Square. 
 If your daughter is disposed to try after the situation, I'll take her 
 there directly." 
 
 " Have you nothing to say to your uncle, my love ? " inquired Mrs. 
 Nickleby. 
 
 " A great deal," replied Kate ; " but not now. I would rather 
 speak to him when we are alone ; — it will save his time if I thank him 
 and say what I wish to say to him as we walk along." 
 
 With these words Kate hurried away, to hide the traces of emotion 
 that were stealing down her face, and to prepare herself for the walk, 
 while Mrs. Nickleby amused her brother-in-law by giving him, with 
 many tears, a detailed account of the dimensions of a rosewood cabinet 
 piano they had possessed in their days of affluence, together with a 
 minute description of eight drawing-room chairs with turned legs and 
 green chintz squabs to match the curtains, which had cost two pounds 
 fifteen shillings a-piece, and went at the sale for a mere nothing. 
 
 These reminiscences were at length cut short by Kate's return in 
 her walking dress, when Ralph, who had been fretting and fuming 
 during the whole time of her absence, lost no time, and used very 
 little ceremony, in descending into the street. 
 
 " Now," he said, taking her arm, " walk as fast as you can, and 
 you'll get into the step that you'll have to walk to business with every 
 
92 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 morning." So saying, he led Kate off at a good round pace towards 
 Cavendish Square. 
 
 " I am very much obliged to you, uncle," said the young lady, after 
 they had hurried on in silence for some time ; " very." 
 
 " I'm glad to hear it," said Ralph. " I hope you'll do your duty." 
 
 *' I will try to please, uncle," replied Kate; " indeed I — " 
 
 " Don't begin to cry," growled Ralph; " I hate crying." 
 
 " It's very foolish, I know, uncle," began poor Kate. 
 
 " It is," replied Ralph, stopping her short, " and very affected 
 besides. Let me see no more of it." 
 
 Perhaps this was not the best way to dry the tears of a young and 
 sensitive female about to make her first entry on an entirely new scene 
 of life, among cold and uninterested strangers; but it had its effect 
 notwithstanding. Kate coloured deeply, breathed quickly for a few 
 moments, and then walked on with a firmer and more determined step. 
 
 It was a curious contrast to see how the timid country girl shrunk 
 through the crowd that hurried up and down the streets, giving way 
 to the press of people, and clinging closely to Ralph as tliough she 
 feared to lose him in the throng ; and how the stem and hard-featured 
 man of business went doggedly on, elbowing the passengers aside, and 
 now and then exchanging a gruff* salutation with some passing 
 acquaintance, who turned to look back upon his pretty charge with 
 looks expressive of surprise, and seemed to wonder at the ill-assorted 
 companionship. But it would have been a stranger contrast still, to 
 have read the hearts that were beating side by side ; to have had laid 
 bare the gentle innocence of the one, and the rugged villany of the 
 other ; to have hung upon the guileless thoughts of the affectionate 
 girl, and been amazed that among all the wily plots and calculations 
 of the old man, there should not be one word or figure denoting 
 thought of death or of the grave. But so it was ; and stranger still 
 — ^though this is a thing of every day — the warm young heart palpi- 
 tated with a thousand anxieties and apprehensions, while that of the 
 old worldly man lay rusting in its cell, beating only as a piece of 
 cunning mechanism, and yielding no one throb of hope, or fear, or love, 
 or care, for any living thing. 
 
 " Uncle," said Kate, when she judged they must be near their 
 destination, " I must ask one question of you. I am to live at home?" 
 
 " At home ! " replied Ralph ; " where's that ? " 
 
 " I mean with my mother — the widow" said Kate, emphatically. 
 
 " You will live, to all intents and purposes, here," rejoined Ralph ; 
 " for here you will take your meals, and here you will be from 
 morning till night ; occasionally perhaps till morning again." 
 
 " But at night, I mean," said Kate ; "I cannot leave her, uncle. 
 I must have some place that I can call a home ; it will be wherever 
 she is, you know, and may be a very humble one." 
 
 *' May be ! " said Ralph, walking faster in the impatience provoked 
 by the remark, " must be, you mean. May be a humble one ! Is the 
 girl mad ? " 
 
 "The word slipped from my lips, I did not mean it indeed," 
 urged Kate. 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 93 
 
 " I hope not," said Ralph. 
 
 " But my question, uncle ; you have not answered it." 
 " Why, I anticipated something of the kind," said Ralph ; " and 
 — though I object very strongly, mind — have provided against it. I 
 spoke of you as an out-of-door worker ; so you will go to this home 
 that may be humble, every night." 
 
 There was comfort in this. Kate poured forth many thanks for 
 her uncle's consideration, which Ralph received as if he had deserved 
 them all, and they arrived without any further conversation at the 
 dress-maker's door, which displayed a very large plate, with Madame 
 Mantalini's name and occupation, and was approached by a handsome 
 flight of steps. There was a shop to the house, but it was let off to 
 an importer of otto of roses. Madame Mantalini's show-rooms were 
 on the first floor, a fact which was notified to the nobility and gentry 
 by the casual exhibition near the handsomely curtained windows of 
 two Or three elegant bonnets of the newest fashion, and some costly 
 garments in the most approved taste. 
 
 A liveried footman opened the door, and in reply to Ralph's inquiry 
 whether Madame Mantalini was at home, ushered them through a 
 handsome hall, and up a spacious staircase, into the show saloon, 
 which comprised two spacious drawing-rooms, and exhibited an 
 immense variety of superb dresses and materials for dresses, some 
 arranged on stands, others laid carelessly on sofas, and others again 
 scattered over the carpet, hanging upon the cheval glasses, or mingling 
 in some other way with the rich furniture of various descriptions, 
 which was profusely displayed. 
 
 They waited here a much longer time than was agreeable to Mr. 
 Ralph Nickleby, who eyed the gaudy frippery about him with very 
 little concern, and was at length about to pull the bell, when a 
 gentleman suddenly popped his head into the room, and seeing some- 
 body there as suddenly popped it out again. 
 
 " Here. Hollo ! " cried Ralph . " Who's that ? " 
 
 At the sound of Ralph's voice the head reappeared, and the moutli 
 displaying a very long row of very white teeth, uttered in a mincing 
 tone the words, " Demmit. What, Nickleby ! oh, demmit ! " Having 
 uttered which ejaculations, the gentleman advanced, and shook hands 
 with Ralph with great warmth. He was dressed in a gorgeous morn- 
 ing gown, with a waistcoat and Turkish trousers of the same pattern, 
 a pink silk neckerchief, and bright green slippers, and had a very copious 
 watch-chain wound round his body. Moreover, he had whiskers and a 
 moustache, both dyed black and gracefully curled. 
 
 " Demmit, you don't mean to say you want me, do you, demmit ?" 
 said this gentleman, smiting Ralph on the shoulder. 
 
 " Not yet," said Ralph, sarcastically. 
 
 '' Ha ! ha ! demmit," cried the gentleman ; when wheeling round to 
 laugh with greater elegance, he encountered Kate Nickleby, who was 
 standing near. 
 
 " My niece," said Ralph. 
 
 " T remember," said the gentleman, striking his nose with the knuckle 
 
94 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 of his forefinger as a chastening for his forgetfuhiess. " Demmit, I 
 remember what you come for. Step this way, Nickleby ; my dear, will 
 you follow me ? Ha ! ha ! They all follow me, Nickleby ; always 
 did, demmit, always." 
 
 Giving loose to the playfulness of his imagination after this fashion, 
 the gentleman led the way to a private sitting-room on the second floor 
 scarcely less elegantly furnished than the apartment below, where the 
 presence of a silver coflFee-pot, an egg-shell, and sloppy china for one, 
 seemed to show that he had just breakfasted. 
 
 " Sit down, my dear," said the gentleman : first staring Miss 
 Nickleby out of countenance, and then grinning in delight at the 
 achievement. " This cursed high room takes one's breath away. These 
 infernal sky parlours — I'm afraid I must move, Nickleby." 
 
 " I would, by all means," replied Ralph, looking bitterly round. 
 " What a demd rum fellow you are, Nickleby," said the gentleman, 
 " the demdest, longest-headed, queerest-tempered old coiner of gold and 
 silver ever was — demmit." 
 
 Having complimented Ralph to this efiect, the gentleman rang the 
 bell, and stared at Miss Nickleby till it was answered, when he left off 
 to bid the man desire his mistress to come directly ; after which he 
 began again, and left off no more till Madame Mantalini appeared. 
 
 The dress-maker was a buxom person, handsomely dressed and rather 
 good-looking, but much older than the gentleman in the Turkish 
 trousers, whom she had wedded some six months before. His name 
 was originally Muntle ; but it had been converted, by an easy transi- 
 tion, into Mantalini : the lady rightly considering that an English 
 appellation would be of serious injury to the business. He had married 
 on his whiskers, upon which property he had previously subsisted in a 
 genteel manner for some years, and which he had recently improved 
 after patient cultivation by the addition of a moustache, which promised 
 to secure him an easy independence : his share in the labours of the 
 business being at present confined to spending the money, and occa- 
 sionally when that ran short, driving to Mr. Ralph Nickleby to procure 
 discount — at a per centage — for the customers' bills. 
 
 " My life," said Mr. Mantalini, " what a demd devil, of a time you 
 have been !," J 
 
 " I didn't even know Mr. Nickleby was here, my love," said Madame 
 Mantalini. 
 
 " Then what a doubly demd infernal rascal that footman must be, my 
 soul," remonstrated Mr. Mantalini. 
 
 " My dear," said Madame, " that is entirely your fault." 
 ' My fault, my heart's joy ?" 
 
 " Certainly," returned the lady ; " what can you expect, dearest, if 
 you will not correct the man ? " 
 
 " Correct the man, my soul's delight !" 
 
 " Yes ; I am sure he wants speaking to, badly enough," said Madame, 
 pouting. 
 
 " Then do not vex itself," said Mr. Mantalini ; " he shall be horse- 
 whipped till he cries out demnebly." With this promise Mr. Manta- 
 lini kissed Madame Mantalini, and after that performance Madame 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 93 
 
 Mantalini pulled Mr. Mantalini playfully by the ear, which done they 
 descended to business. 
 
 " Now, ma'am," said Ralph, who had looked on at all this, with 
 such scorn as few men can express in looks, " this is my niece." 
 
 " Just so, Mr. Nickleby," replied Madame Mantalini, surveying Kate 
 from head to foot and back again. " Can you speak French, child?" 
 
 " Yes, ma'am," replied Kate, not daring to look up ; for she felt that 
 the eyes of the odious man in the dressing-gown were directed towards 
 her. 
 
 " Like a demd native?" asked the husband. 
 
 Miss Nickleby offered no reply to this inquiry, but turned her back 
 upon the questioner, as if addressing herself to make answer to what his 
 wife might demand. 
 
 " We keep twenty young women constantly employed in the esta- 
 blishment," said Madame. 
 
 " Indeed, ma'am !" replied Kate, timidly. 
 
 " Yes ; and some of 'em demd handsome, too," said the master. 
 
 " Mantalini !" exclaimed his wife, in an awful voice. 
 
 " My senses' idol ! " said Mantalini. 
 
 " Do you wish to break my heart ? " 
 
 " Not for twenty thousand hemispheres populated with — with — 
 with little ballet-dancers," replied Mantalini in a poetical strain. 
 
 " Then you will, if you persevere in that mode of speaking," said his 
 wife. " What can Mr. Nickleby think when he hears you ? " 
 
 " Oh ! Nothing, ma'am, nothing," replied Ralph. " I know his 
 amiable nature, and yours, — ^mere little remarks that give a zest to 
 your daily intercourse; lovers' quarrels that add sweetness to those 
 domestic joys which promise to last so long — that's all ; that's all." 
 
 If an iron door could be supposed to quarrel with its hinges, and to 
 make a firm resolution to open with slow obstinacy, and grind them to 
 powder in the process, it would emit a pleasanter sound in so doing, 
 than did these words in the rough and bitter voice in which they were 
 uttered by Ralph. Even Mr. Mantalini felt their influence, and turning 
 afirighted round, exclaimed — " What a demd horrid croaking ! " 
 
 " You will pay no attention, if you please, to what Mr. Mantalini 
 says," observed his wife, addressing Miss Nickleby. 
 
 " I do not, ma'am," said Kate, with quiet contempt. 
 
 " Mr. Mantalini knows nothing whatever about any of the young 
 women," continued Madame, looking at her husband, and speaking 
 to Kate. " If he has seen any of them, he must have seen them in 
 the street going to, or returning from, their work, and not here. He 
 was never even in the room. I do not allow it. What hours of work 
 have you been accustomed to ? " 
 
 " I have never yet been accustomed to work at all, ma'am," replied 
 Kate, in a low voice. 
 
 "For which reason she'll work all the better now," said Ralph, 
 putting in a word, lest this confession should injure the negotiation. 
 
 "I hope so," returned Madame Mantalini; "our hours are from 
 nine to nine, with extra work when we're very full of business, for 
 which I allow pajTnent as over-time." 
 
96 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 Kate bowed her head to intimate that she heard, and was satisfied. 
 
 " Your meals," continued Madame Mantalini, " that is, dinner and 
 tea, you will take here. I should think your wages would average 
 from five to seven shillings a -week ; but I can t give you any certain 
 information on that point until I see what you can do." 
 
 Kate bowed her head again. 
 
 " If you're ready to come," said Madame Mantalini, " you had 
 better begin on Monday morning at nine exactly, and Miss Knag 
 the forewoman shall then have directions to try you with some easy 
 work at first. Is there anytliing more, Mr. Nickleby ? " 
 
 " Nothing more, ma'am," replied Ralph, rising. 
 
 " Then I believe that's all," said the lady. Having arrived at this 
 natural conclusion, she looked at the door, as if she wished to be gone, 
 but hesitated notwithstanding, as though unwilling to leave to Mr. Man- 
 talini the sole honour of showing them down stairs. Ralph relieved her 
 from her perplexity by taking his departure without delay : Madame 
 Mantalini making many gracious inquiries why he never came to see 
 them, and Mr. Mantalini anathematizing the stairs with great volu- 
 bility as he followed them down, in the hope of inducing Kate to look 
 round, — a hope, however, which was destined to remain ungratified. 
 
 " There !" said Ralph when they got into the street ; " now you're 
 provided for." 
 
 Kate was about to thank him again, but he stopped her. 
 
 " I had some idea," he said, " of providing for your mother in a plea- 
 sant part of the country — (he had a presentation to some alms-houses 
 on the borders of Cornwall, which had occurred to him more than once) 
 — but as you want to be together, I must do something else for her. 
 She has a little money ? " 
 
 " A very little," replied Kate. 
 
 " A little will go a long way if it's used sparingly," said Ralph. 
 " She must see how long she can make it last, living rent free. You 
 leave your lodgings on Saturday ?" 
 
 " You told us to do so, uncle." 
 
 " Yes ; there is a house empty that belongs to me, which I can put 
 you into till it is let, and then, if nothing else turns up, perhaps I shall 
 have another. You must live there." 
 
 " Is it far from here. Sir ? " inquired Kate. 
 
 " Pretty well," said Ralph ; " in another quarter of the toAvn — at the 
 East end ; but I'll send my clerk down to you at five o'clock on Satur- 
 day to take you there. Good bye. You know your way ? Straight on." 
 
 Coldly shaking his niece's hand, Ralph left her at the top of Regent 
 Street, and turned down a bye thoroughfare, intent on schemes of money- 
 getting. Kate walked sadly back to their lodgings in the Strand. 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 97 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 MR. NEWMAN NOGGS INDUCTS MRS. AND MISS NICKLEBY INTO THEIR 
 NEW DWELLING IN THE CITY. 
 
 Miss Nickleby's reflections as she wended her way homewards, were 
 of that desponding nature which the occurrences of the morning had 
 been sufficiently calculated to awaken. Her uncle's was not a manner 
 likely to dispel any doubts or apprehensions she might have formed in 
 the outset, neither was the glimpse she had had of Madame Mantalini's 
 establishment by any means encouraging. It was with many gloomy 
 forebodings and misgivings, therefore, that she looked forward with a 
 heavy heart to the opening of her new career. 
 
 If her mother's consolations could have restored her to a pleasanter 
 and more enviable state of mind, there were abundance of them to pro- 
 duce the effect. By the time Kate reached home, the good lady had 
 called to mind two authentic cases of milliners who had been possessed 
 of considerable property, though whether they had acquired it all in 
 business, or had had a capital to start with, or had been lucky and 
 married to advantage, she could not exactly remember. However, as 
 she very logically remarked, there must have been some young person in 
 that way of business who had made a fortune without having anything 
 to begin with, and that being taken for granted, why should not Kate 
 do the same ? Miss La Creevy, who was a member of the little council, 
 ventured to insinuate some doubts relative to the probability of Miss 
 Nickleby's arriving at this happy consummation in the compass of an 
 ordinary lifetime ; but the good lady set that question entirely at rest, 
 by informing them that she had a presentiment on the subject — a species 
 of second-sight with which she had been in the habit of clenching every 
 argument with the deceased Mr. Nickleby, and in nine cases and three- 
 quarters out of every ten, determining it the wrong way. 
 
 " 1 am afraid it is an unhealthy occupation," said Miss La Creevy. 
 " I recollect getting three young milliners to sit to me when I first began 
 to paint, and I remember that they were all very pale and sickly." 
 
 " Oh ! that's not a general rule, by any means," observed Mrs. 
 Nickleby ; "for I remember as well as if it was only yesterday, em- 
 ploying one that I was particularly recommended to, to make me a 
 scarlet cloak at the time when scarlet cloaks were fashionable, and she 
 had a very red face — a very red face, indeed." 
 
 " Perhaps she drank," suggested Miss La Creevy. 
 
 " I don't know how that may have been," returned Mrs. Nickleby ; 
 " but I know she had a very red face, so your argument goes for nothing." 
 
 In this manner, and with like powerful reasoning, did the worthy 
 matron meet every little objection that presented itself to the new 
 scheme of the morning. Happy Mrs. Nickleby ! A project had but to 
 be new, and it came home to her mind brightly varnished and gilded as 
 a glittering toy. 
 
 H 
 
98 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 This question disposed of, Kate communicated her uncle's desire about 
 the empty house, to which Mrs. Nickleby assented with equal readiness, 
 characteristically remarking, that on the fine evenings it would be a 
 pleasant amusement for her to walk to the west-end to fetch her daughter 
 home; and no less characteristically forgetting, that there were such 
 things as wet nights and bad weather to be encountered in almost every 
 week of the year. 
 
 " I shall be sorry — truly sorry to leave you, my kind friend," said 
 Kate, on whom the good feeling of the poor miniature-painter had made 
 a deep impression. 
 
 " You shall not shake me off, for all that," replied Miss La Creevy, 
 with as much sprightliness as she could assume. " I shall see you very 
 often, and come and hear how you get on ; and if in all London, or all 
 the wide world besides, there is no other heart that takes an interest in 
 your welfare, there will be one little lonely woman that prays for it 
 night and day," 
 
 With this the poor soul, who had a heart big enough for Gog, the 
 guardian genius of London, and enough to spare for Magog to boot, after 
 making a great many extraordinary faces which would have secured her 
 an ample fortune, could she have transferred them to ivory or canvass, 
 sat down in a corner, and had what she termed " a real good cry." 
 
 But no crying, or talking, or hoping, or fearing, could keep off the 
 dreaded Saturday afternoon, or Newman Noggs either ; who, punctual 
 to his time, limped up to the door and breatlied a whiff of cordial gin 
 through the keyhole, exactly as such of the church clocks in the neigh- 
 bourhood as agreed among themselves about the time, struck five. 
 Newman waited for the last stroke, and then knocked. 
 
 " From Mr. Ralph Nickleby," said Newman, announcing his errand 
 when he got up stairs with all possible brevity. 
 
 " We shall be ready directly," said Kate. " We have not much to 
 carry, but I fear we must have a coach." 
 
 " I'll get one," replied Newman. 
 
 " Indeed you shall not trouble yourself," said Mrs. Nickleby. 
 
 " I will," said Newman. 
 
 " I can't suffer you to think of such a thing," said Mrs. Nickleby. 
 
 " You can't help it," said Newman. 
 ■ " Not help it !" 
 
 " No. I thought of it as I came along ; but didn't get one, thinking 
 you mightn't be ready. I think of a great many things. Nobody can 
 prevent that." 
 
 " Oh yes, I understand you, Mr. Noggs," said Mrs. Nickleby. " Our 
 thoughts arc free, of course. Everybody's thoughts arc their own, 
 clearly." 
 
 " They wouldn't be if some people had their way," muttered NewTuan. 
 
 " Well, no more they would, Mr. Noggs, and that's very tru(\" 
 rejoined Mrs. Nickleby. " Some people, to be sure, are such — how's 
 your master ?" 
 
 Newman darted a meaning glance at Kate, and replied with a strong 
 emphasis on the last word of his answer, that Mr. Ralph Nickleby was 
 well, and sent his — love. 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 99 
 
 " I am sure we are very much obliged to him," observed Mrs. 
 Nickleby. 
 
 " Very," said Newman. " I'll tell him so." 
 
 It was no very easy matter to mistake Newman Noggs after having 
 once seen him, and as Kate, attracted by the singularity of his manner 
 (in which on this occasion, however, there was something respectful and 
 even delicate, notwithstanding the abruptness of his speech), looked at 
 him more closely, she recollected having caught a passing glimpse of 
 that strange figure before. 
 
 " Excuse my curiosity," she said, " but did I not see you in the 
 coach-yard on the morning my brother went away to Yorkshire ?" 
 
 Newman cast a wistful glance on Mrs. Nickleby, and said " No," 
 most unblushingly. 
 
 " No 1" exclaimed Kate, " I should have said so anywhere." 
 
 " You'd have said wrong," rejoined Newman. " It's the first time 
 I've been out for three weeks. I've had the gout." 
 
 Newman was very, very far from having the appearance of a gouty 
 subject, and so Kate could not help thinking ; but the conference was 
 cut short by Mrs. Nickleby's insisting on having the door shut lest Mr. 
 Noggs should take cold, and further persisting in sending the servant 
 girl for a coach, for fear he should bring on another attack of his disorder. 
 To both conditions Newman was compelled to yield. Presently the 
 coach came ; and, after many sorrowful farewells, and a great deal of 
 running backwards and forwards across the pavement on the part of 
 Miss La Creevy, in the course of which the yellow turban came into 
 violent contact with sundry foot passengers, it (that is to say the coach, 
 not the turban) went away again with the two ladies and their luggage 
 inside ; and Newman — despite all Mrs. Nickleby's assurances that it 
 would be his death — on the box beside the driver. 
 
 They went into the City, turning down by the river side ; and after 
 a long and very slow drive, the streets being crowded at that hour with 
 vehicles of every kind, stopped in front of a large old dingy house in 
 Thames Street, the door and windows of which were so bespattered with 
 mud, that it would have appeared to have been uninhabited for years. 
 
 The door of this deserted mansion Newman opened with a key which 
 he took out of his hat — in which, by-the-bye, in consequence of the 
 dilapidated state of his pockets he deposited everything, and would most 
 likely have carried his money if he had had any — and the coach being 
 discharged, he led the way into the interior of the mansion. 
 
 Old and gloomy and black in truth it was, and sullen and dark were 
 the rooms once so bustling with life and enterprise. There was a wharf 
 behind, opening on the Thames. An empty dog-kennel, some bones of 
 animals, fragments of iron hoops and staves of old casks, lay strevm 
 about, but no life was stirring there. It was a picture of cold, silent decay. 
 
 " This house depresses and chills one," said Kate, " and seems as 
 if some blight had fallen on it. If I were superstitious, I should 
 be almost inclined to believe that some dreadful crime had been per- 
 petrated within these old walls, and that the place had never prospered 
 since. How frowning and dark it looks ! " 
 
 h2 
 
100 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 " Lord, my dear," replied Mrs. Nickleby, " don't talk in that way, 
 or you'll frighten me to death." 
 
 " It is only my foolish fancy, mama," said Kate, forcing a smile. 
 
 " Well, then, my love, I wish you would keep your foolish fancy to 
 yourself, and not wake up my foolish fancy to keep it company," retorted 
 Mrs. Nickleby. " Why didn't you think of all this before — you are so 
 careless — we might have asked Miss La Creevy to keep us company, or 
 borrowed a dog, or a thousand things — but it always was the way, and 
 was just the same with your poor dear father. Unless I thought of 
 
 everything " This was Mrs. Nickleby's usual commencement of a 
 
 general lamentation, running through a dozen or so of complicated sen- 
 tences addressed to nobody in particular, and into which she now launched 
 until her breath was exhausted. 
 
 Newman appeared not to hear these remarks, but preceded them to a 
 couple of rooms on the first floor, which some kind of attempt had been 
 made to render habitable. In one were a few chairs, a table, an old 
 hearth-rug, and some faded baize ; and a fire was ready laid in the grate. 
 In the other stood an old tent bedstead, and a few scanty articles of 
 chamber furniture. 
 
 *' Well, my dear," said Mrs. Nickleby, trying to be pleased, " now 
 isn't this thoughtful and considerate of your uncle ? Why, we should 
 not have had anything but the bed we bought yesterday to lie down 
 upon, if it hadn't been for his thoughtfulness." 
 
 " Very kind, indeed," replied Kate, looking round. 
 
 Newman Noggs did not say that he had hunted up the old furniture 
 they saw, from attic or cellar ; or that he had taken in the halfpenny- 
 Avorth of milk for tea that stood upon a shelf, or filled the rusty kettle 
 on the hob, or collected the wood-chips from the wharf, or begged the 
 coals. But the notion of Ralph Nickleby having directed it to be done 
 tickled his fancy so much, that he could not refrain from cracking all 
 his ten fingers in succession, at which performance Mrs. Nickleby was 
 rather startled at first, but supposing it to be in some remote manner 
 connected with the gout, did not remark upon. 
 
 "• We need detain you no longer, I think," said Kate. 
 
 " Is there nothing I can do?" asked Newman. 
 
 *' Nothing, thank you," rejoined Miss Nickleby. 
 
 " Perhaps my dear, Mr. Noggs would like to drink our healths," said 
 Mrs. Nickleby, fumbling in her reticule for some small coin. 
 
 " I think, mama," said Kate hesitating, and remarking Newman's 
 averted face, " you would liurt his feelings if you offered it." 
 
 Newman Noggs, bowing to the young lady more like a gentleman 
 than the miserable wretch he sticmed, placed his hand upon his breast, 
 and, pausing for a moment, with the air of a man who struggles to 
 speak but is uncertain what to say, quitted the room. 
 
 As the jarring echoes of the heavy house-door closing on its latch 
 reverberated dismally through the building, Kate felt half tempted to 
 call him back, and beg him to remain a little while; but she was 
 ashamed to own her fears, and Newman Noggs was on his road 
 homewards. 
 
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NICHOLAS NICKLBBY. 101 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 WHEREBY THE READER WILL BE ENABLED TO TRACE THE FURTHER 
 COURSE OF MISS FANNY SQUEERS's LOVE, AND TO ASCERTAIN 
 WHETHER IT RAN SMOOTHLY OR OTHERWISE. 
 
 It was a fortunate circumstance for Miss Fanny Squeers, that when 
 her worthy papa returned home on the night of the small tea- party, he 
 was what the initiated term " too far gone " to observe the numerous 
 tokens of extreme vexation of spirit which were plainly visible in her 
 countenance. Being, however, of a rather violent and quarrelsome 
 mood in his cups, it is not impossible that he might have fallen out 
 with her, either on this or some imaginary topic, if the young lady had 
 not, with a foresight and prudence highly commendable, kept a boy up 
 on purpose to bear the first brunt of the good gentleman's anger ; which 
 having vented itself in a variety of kicks and cuffs, subsided sufftciently 
 to admit of his being persuaded to go to bed ; which he did with his 
 boots on, and an umbrella under his arm. 
 
 The hungry servant attended Miss Squeers in her own room according 
 to custom, to curl her hair, perform the other little offices of her toilet, 
 and administer as much flattery as she could get up for the purpose ; for 
 Miss Squeers was quite lazy enough (and sufficiently vain and frivolous 
 withal) to have been a fine lady, and it was only the arbitrary distinc- 
 tions of rank and station which prevented her from being one. 
 
 "How lovely your hair do curl to-night. Miss!" said the hand- 
 maiden. " I declare if it isn't a pity and a shame to brush it out !" 
 
 " Hold your tongue," replied Miss Squeers wrathfully. 
 
 Some considerable experience prevented the girl from being at all 
 surprised at any outbreak of ill-temper on tlie part of Miss Squeers. 
 Having a half perception of what had occurred in the course of the 
 evening, she changed her mode of making herself agreeable, and pro- 
 ceeded on the indirect tack. 
 
 " Well, I couldn't help saying, miss, if you was to kill me for it," 
 said the attendant, " that I never see anybody look so vulgar as Miss 
 Price this night." 
 
 Miss Squeers sighed, and composed herself to listen. 
 
 *' I know it's very wrong in me to say so, miss," continued the girl, 
 delighted to see the impression she was making, " Miss Price being a 
 friend of yours and all ; but she do dress herself out so, and go in such 
 a manner to get noticed, that — oh — well, if people only saw themselves." 
 
 " What do you mean, Phib?" asked Miss Squeers, looking in her 
 own little glass, where, like m^ost of us, she saw — not herself, but the 
 reflection of some pleasant image in her own brain. " How you talk ! " 
 
 " Talk, miss ! It's enough to make a Tom cat talk French grammar, 
 only to see how she tosses her head," replied the handmaid. 
 
 " She does toss her head," observed Miss Squeers, with an air of 
 abstraction. 
 
102 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 " So vain, and so very — very plain," said the girl. 
 
 " Poor 'Tilda ! " sighed Miss Squeers, compassionately. 
 
 " And always laying herself out so to get to be admired," pursued 
 the servant. " Oh dear ! It's positive indelicate." 
 
 " I can't allow you to talk in that way, Phib," said Miss Squeers. 
 " 'Tilda's friends are low people, and if she don't know any better, it's 
 their fault, and not hers." 
 
 " Well, but you know, miss," said Phoebe, for which name " Phib " 
 was used as a patronising abbreviation, " if she was only to take copy 
 by a friend — oh ! if she only knew how wrong she was, and would but 
 set herself right by you, what a nice young woman she might be in time*" 
 
 " Phib," rejoined Miss Squeers, with a stately air, " it's not proper 
 for me to hear these comparisons drawn ; they make 'Tilda look a coarse 
 improper sort of person, and it seems unfriendly in me to listen to them. 
 I would rather you dropped the subject, Phib ; at the same time I must 
 say, that if 'Tilda Price would take pattern by somebody — ^not me 
 particularly " 
 
 " Oh yes ; you miss," interposed Phib. 
 
 " Well, me Phib, if you will have it so," said Miss Squeers. " I 
 must say that if she would, she would be all the better for it." 
 
 " So somebody else thinks, or I am much mistaken," said the girl 
 mysteriously. 
 
 " What do you mean?" demanded Miss Squeers. 
 
 " Never mind, miss," replied the girl ; " / know what I know, 
 that's all." 
 
 " Phib," said Miss Squeers dramatically, " I insist upon your 
 explaining yourself. What is this dark mystery ? Speak." 
 
 " Why, if you will have it, miss, it's this," said the servant girl. 
 " Mr. John Browdie thinks as you think ; and if he wasn't too far 
 gone to do it creditable, he'd be very glad to be off with Miss Price, 
 and on with Miss Squeers." 
 
 " Gracious Heavens !" exclaimed Miss Squeers, clasping her hands 
 with great dignity. " What is this?" 
 
 " Truth, ma'am, and nothing but truth," replied the artful Phib. 
 
 " What a situation!" cried Miss Squeers ; " on the brink. of uncon- 
 sciously destroying the peace and happiness of my own 'Tilda. What 
 is the reason that men Ml in love with me, w^hetlier I like it or not, and 
 desert their chosen intendeds for my sake !" 
 
 " Because they can't help it, miss," replied the girl ; " the reason's 
 plain." (If Miss Squeers were the reason, it was very plain.) 
 
 " Never let me hear of it again," retorted Miss Squeers. " Never; 
 do you hear ? 'Tilda Price has faults — many faults — but I wish her 
 well, and above all I wish her married ; for I think it highly desirable 
 — most desirable from the very nature of her failings — that she should 
 be married as soon as possible. No, Phib. Let her have Mr. Browdie. 
 I may pity him^ poor fellow ; but I have a great regard for 'Tilda, and 
 only hope she may make a better wife than 1 think she will." 
 
 With this effusion of feeling Miss Squeers went to bed. 
 
 Spite is a little word ; but it represents as strange a jumble of feelings 
 and compound of discords, as any polysyllable in the language. Miss 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 103 
 
 Squeers knew as well in her heart of hearts, that what the miserable 
 serving girl had said was sheer coarse lying flattery, as did the girl 
 herself ; yet the mere opportunity of venting a little ill-nature against 
 the offending Miss Price, and affecting to compassionate her weaknesses 
 and foibles, though only in the presence of a solitary dependant, was 
 almost as great a relief to her spleen as if the whole had been gospel 
 truth. Nay more. We have such extraordinary powers of persuasion 
 when they are excited over ourselves, that Miss Squeers felt quite high- 
 minded and great after her noble renunciation of John Browdie's hand, 
 and looked down upon her rival with a kind of holy calmness and 
 tranquillity, that had a mighty effect in soothing her ruffled feelings. 
 
 This happy state of mind had some influence in bringing about a 
 reconciliation ; for when a knock came at the front door next day, and 
 the miller's daughter was announced. Miss Squeers betook herself to the 
 parlour in a Christian frame of spirit perfectly beautiful to behold. 
 
 " Well, Fanny," said the miller's daughter, " you see I have come to 
 see you, although we had some words last night." 
 
 " I pity your bad passions, 'Tilda," replied Miss Squeers ; " but I 
 bear no malice. I am above it." 
 
 " Don't be cross, Fanny," said Miss Price. " I have come to tell 
 you something that I know will please you." 
 
 " Whiit may that be, 'Tilda ?" demanded Miss Squeers ; screwing up 
 her lips, and looking as if nothing in earth, air, fire, or water, could 
 afford her the slightest gleam of satisfaction. 
 
 " This," rejoined Miss Price. " After we left here last night, John 
 and I had a dreadful quarrel." 
 
 " That doesn't please me," said Miss Squeers — relaxing into a smile 
 though. 
 
 " Lor ! I wouldn't think so bad of you as to suppose it did," rejoined 
 her companion. " That's not it." 
 
 " Oh !" said Miss Squeers, relapsing into melancholy. " Go on." 
 " After a great deal of wrangling and saying we would never see 
 each other any more," continued Miss Price, " we made it up, and 
 this morning John went and wrote our names down to be put up for 
 the first time next Sunday, so we shall be married in three weeks, and 
 I give you notice to get your frock made." 
 
 There was mingled gall and honey in this intelligence. The pros- 
 pect of the friend's being married so soon was the gall, and the cer- 
 tainty of her not entertaining serious designs upon Nicholas was the 
 honey. Upon the whole, the sweet greatly preponderated over the 
 bitter, so Miss Squeers said she would get the frock made, and that 
 she hoped 'Tilda might be happy, though at the same time she didn't 
 know, and would not have her build too much upon it, for men were 
 strange creatures, and a great many married women were very miser- 
 able, and wished themselves single again with all their hearts ; to 
 which condolences Miss Squeers added others equally calculated to 
 raise her friend's spirits and promote her cheerfulness of mind. 
 
 " But come now, Fanny," said Miss Price, " I want to have a word 
 or two with you about young Mr. Nickleby."' 
 
104 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 " He is nothing to me," interrupted Miss Squeers, with hysterical 
 symptoms. " I despise him too much !" 
 
 " Oh, you don't mean that, I am sure ?" replied her friend. " Con- 
 fess, Fanny ; don't you like him now ?" 
 
 Without returning any direct reply Miss Squeers all at once fell 
 into a paroxysm of spiteful tears, and exclaimed that she was a 
 wretched, neglected, miserable, castaway. 
 
 " I hate everybody," said Miss Squeers, "and I wish that every- 
 body was dead — that I do." 
 
 " Dear, dear !" said Miss Price, quite moved by this avowal of mis- 
 anthropical sentiments. " You are not serious, I am sure." 
 
 *' Yes, I am," rejoined Miss Squeers, tying tight knots in her 
 pocket-handkerchief and clenching her teeth. " And I wish I was 
 dead too. There." 
 
 " Oh ! you'll think very differently in another five minutes," said 
 Matilda. "How much better to take him into favour again, than to 
 hurt yourself by going on in that way ; wouldn't it be much nicer now 
 to haye him all to yourself on good terms, in a company-keeping, love- 
 making, pleasant sort of manner V 
 
 " I don't know but what it would," sobbed Miss Squeers. " Oh ! 
 'Tilda, how could you have acted so mean and dishonourable! I 
 wouldn't have believed it of you if anybody had told me." 
 
 " Heyday !" exclaimed Miss Price, giggling. " One would suppose I 
 had been murdering somebody at least." 
 
 " Very nigh as bad," said Miss Squeers passionately. 
 
 " And all tliis because I happen to have enough of good looks to 
 make people civil to me," cried Miss Price. " Persons don't make 
 their own faces, and it's no more my fault if mine is a good one than 
 it is other people's fault if theirs is^ a bad one." 
 
 " Hold your tongue," slirieked Miss Squeers, in her shrillest tone ; " or 
 you'll make me slap you, 'Tilda, and afterwards I should be sorry for it." 
 
 It is needless to say that by this time the temper of each young lady 
 was in some sliglit degree affected by the tone of the conversation, and 
 that a dash of personality was infused into the altercation in conse- 
 quence. Indeed the quarrel, from slight beginnings, rose to a con- 
 siderable height, and was assuming a very violent complexion, when 
 both parties, falling into a great passion of tears, exclaimed simultane • 
 ously, that they had never thought of being spoken to in that way, 
 which exclamation, leading to a remonstrance, gradually brought on 
 an explanation, and the upshot was that tliey fell into each other's 
 arms and vowed eternal friendship ; the occasion in question, making 
 the fifty-second time of repeating the same impressive ceremony within 
 a twelvemonth. 
 
 Perfect amicability being thus restored, a dialogue naturally ensued 
 upon the number and nature of the garments which would be indis- 
 pensable for Miss Price's entrance into the holy state of matrimony, 
 when Miss Squeers clearly showed that a great many more than the 
 miller could, or would, afford were absolutely necessary, and could not 
 decently be dispensed with. The young lady then, by an easy digres- 
 sion, led the discourse to her own wardrobe, and after recounting its 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 105 
 
 principal beauties at some length, took her friend up stairs to make 
 inspection thereof. The treasures of two drawers and a closet having 
 been displayed, and all the smaller articles tried on, it was time for 
 Miss Price to return home, and as she had been in raptures with all 
 the frocks, and had been stricken quite dumb with admiration of a new 
 pink scarf. Miss Squeers said in high good humour, that she would 
 walk part of the way with her for the pleasure of her company ; and 
 off they went together. Miss Squeers dilating, as they walked along, 
 upon her father's accomplishments, and multiplying his income by ten, 
 to give her friend some faint notion of the vast importance and ^pe- 
 riority of her family. 
 
 It happened that that particular time, comprising the short daily 
 interval which was suffered to elapse between what was pleasantly 
 called the dinner of Mr. Squeers's pupils and their return to tlie pur- 
 suit of useful knowledge, was precisely the hour when Nicholas was 
 accustomed to issue forth for a melancholy walk, and to brood, as he 
 sauntered listlessly through the village, upon his miserable lot. Miss 
 Squeers knew this perfectly well, but had perhaps forgotten it, for 
 when she caught sight of that young gentleman advancing towards 
 them, she evinced many symptoms of surprise and consternation, and 
 assured her friend that she " felt fit to drop into the earth." 
 
 " Shall we turn back, or run into a cottage?" asked Miss Price. 
 " He don't see us yet." 
 
 " No, 'Tilda," replied Miss Squeers, " it is my duty to go through 
 with it, and I will." 
 
 As Miss Squeers said this in the tone of one who has made a high 
 moral resolution, and was besides taken with one or two chokes and 
 catchings of breath, indicative of feelings at a high pressure, her friend 
 made no farther remark, and they bore straight down upon Nicholas, 
 who, walking with his eyes bent upon the ground, was not aware 
 of their approach until they were close upon him ; otherwise he might 
 perhaps have taken shelter himself. 
 
 " Good morning," said Nicholas, bowing and passing by. 
 
 " He is going," murmured Miss Squeers. " I shall choke, 'Tilda." 
 
 " Come back, Mr. Nickleby, do," cried Miss Price, affecting alarm at 
 her friend's threat, but really actuated by a malicious wish to hear 
 what Nicholas would say ; " come back, Mr. Nickleby." 
 
 Mr. Nickleby came back, and looked as confused as might be, as he 
 inquired whether the ladies had any commands for him. 
 
 "' Don't stop to talk," urged Miss Price, hastily ; " but support her 
 on the other side. How do you feel now, dear ? " 
 
 *' Better," sighed Miss Squeers, laying a beaver bonnet of reddish 
 brown with a green veil attached, on Mr. Nickleby's shoulder. " This 
 foolish faintness !" 
 
 " Don't call it foolish, dear," said Miss Price, her bright eye dancing 
 with merriment as she saw the perplexity of Nicholas ; " you have no 
 reason to be ashamed of it. It's those who are too proud to come 
 round again without all this to-do, that ought to be ashamed." 
 
 " You are resolved to fix it upon me, I see," said Nicholas, smiling, 
 " although I told you last night it was not my fault." 
 
]0G LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 " There ; he says it was not liis fault, my dear," remarked the 
 wicked Miss Price. "Perhaps you were too jealous or too hasty with 
 him? He says it was not his fault, you hear; I think that's apology 
 enough." 
 
 " You will not understand me," said Nicholas. " Pray dispense 
 with this jesting, for I have no time, and really no inclination, to be the 
 subject or promoter of mirth just now." 
 
 " What do you mean ? " asked Miss Price, affecting amazement. 
 " Don't ask him, 'Tilda," cried Miss Squeers ; " I forgive him." 
 " Dear me," said Nicholas, as the brown bonnet went down on his 
 shoulder again, " this is more serious than I supposed ; allow me. 
 Will you have the goodness to hear me speak ? " 
 
 Here he raised up the brown bonnet, and regarding with most 
 unfeigned astonishment a look of tender reproach from Miss Squeers, 
 shrunk back a few paces to be out of the reach of the fair burden, and 
 went on to say — 
 
 " I am very sorry — ^truly and sincerely sorry — for having been the 
 cause of any difference among you last night. I reproach myself most 
 bitterly for having been so unfortunate as to cause the dissension that 
 occurred, although I did so, I assure you, most unwittingly and heed- 
 lessly." 
 
 " Well ; that's not all you have got to say surely," exclaimed Miss 
 Price as Nicholas paused. 
 
 " I fear there is something more," stammered Nicholas with a half 
 smile, and looking towards Miss Squeers, " it is a most awkward thing 
 to say — but — the very mention of such a supposition makes one look 
 like a puppy — still — may I ask if that lady supposes that I entertain 
 any — in short does she think that I am in love with her ? " 
 
 " Delightful embarrassment," thought Miss Squeers, " I have brought 
 him to it at last. Answer for me, dear," she whispered to her friend. 
 " Does she think so ? " rejoined Miss Price ; " of course she does." 
 " She does ! " exclaimed Nicholas with such energy of utterance as 
 might have been for the moment mistaken for rapture. 
 " Certainly," replied Miss Price. 
 
 " If Mr. Nickleby has doubted that, 'Tilda," said the blushing Miss 
 Squeers in soft accents, " he may set his mind at rest. His sentiments 
 are rccipro — " 
 
 " Stop," cried Nicholas hurriedly ; " pray hear me. This is the 
 grossest and wildest delusion, the completest and most signal mistake, 
 that ever human being laboured under or committed. I have scarcely 
 seen the young lady half a dozen times, but if I had seen her sixty 
 times, or am destined to sec her sixty thousand, it woidd be and will 
 be precisely the same. I have not one thought, wish, or hope, con- 
 nected with her unless it be — and I say this, not to hurt her feeling's, 
 but to impress her with the real state of my own — unless it be the one 
 object dear to my heart as life itself, of being one day able to turn my 
 back upon this accursed place, never to set foot in it again or to think of 
 it — even think of it — but with loatliing and disgust." 
 
 With this particularly plain and straight-forward declaration, which 
 he made with all the vehemence tliat his indignant and excited feelings 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLBBY. 107 
 
 could bring to bear upon itj Nicholas slightly bowed, and waiting to 
 hear no more, retreated. 
 
 But poor Miss Squeers ! Her anger, rage, and vexation ; the rapid 
 succession of bitter and passionate feelings that whirled through her 
 mind, are not to be described. Refused ! refused by a teacher picked 
 up by advertisement at an annual salary of five pounds payable at 
 indefinite periods, and " found " in food and lodging like the very boys 
 themselves ; and this too in the presence of a little chit of a miller s 
 daughter of eighteen, who was going to be married in three weeks' time 
 to a man who had gone down on his very knees to ask her ! She 
 could have choked in right good earnest at the thought of being so 
 humbled. 
 
 But there was one thing clear in the midst of her mortification, and 
 that was that she hated and detested Nicholas with all the narrowness 
 of mind and littleness of purpose worthy a descendant of the house of 
 Squeers. And there was one comfort too ; and that was, that every 
 hour in every day she could wound his pride and goad him with the 
 infliction of some slight, or insult, or deprivation, which could not but 
 have some effect on the most insensible person, and must be acutely felt 
 by one so sensitive as Nicholas. With these two reflections uppermost 
 in her mind. Miss Squeers made the best of the matter to her friend by 
 observing, that Mr. Nickleby Was such an odd creature, and of such a 
 violent temper, that she feared she should be obliged to give him up ; 
 and parted from her. 
 
 And here it may be remarked, that Miss Squeers having bestowed 
 her affections (or whatever it might be that in the absence of anything 
 better represented them) on Nicholas Nickleby, had never once 
 seriously contemplated the possibility of his being of a different opinion 
 from herself in the business. Miss Squeers reasoned that she was 
 prepossessing and beautiful, and that her father was master and 
 Nicholas man, and that her father had saved money and Nicholas had 
 none, all of which seemed to her conclusive- arguments why the young 
 man should feel only too much honoured by her preference. She had 
 
 not failed to recollect, either, how much more aoreeable she could 
 1.... .. ® 
 
 render his situation if she were his friend, and how much more disagree- 
 able if she were his enemy ; and doubtless, many less scrupulous young 
 gentlemen than Nicholas would have encouraged her extravagance had 
 it been only for this very obvious and intelligible reason. However, 
 he had thought proper to do otherwise, and Miss Squeers was out- 
 rageous. 
 
 " Let him see," said the irritated young lady when she had regained 
 her own room, and eased her mind by committing an assault on Phib, 
 '•'if I don't set mother against him a little more when she comes 
 back." 
 
 It was scarcely necessary to do this, but Miss Squeers was as good 
 as her word ; and poor Nicholas, in addition to bad food, dirty lodge- 
 ment, and the being compelled to witness one dull unvarying round of 
 squalid misery, was treated with every special indignity that malice 
 could suggest, or the most grasping cupidity put upon him. 
 
 Nor was this all. There was anotlier and deeper system of annoy- 
 
106 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 ance which made his heart sink, and nearly drove him wild by its 
 injustice and cruelty. 
 
 The wretched creature, Smike, since the night Nicholas had spoken 
 kindly to him in the school-room, had followed him to and fro with an 
 ever restless desire to serve or help him, anticipating such little wants 
 as his humble ability could supply, and content only to be near him. 
 He would sit beside him for hours looking patiently into his face, and 
 a. word would brighten up his care-worn visage, and call into it a 
 passing gleam even of happiness. He was an altered being ; he had an 
 object now, and that object was to show his attachment to the only 
 person — that person a stranger — who had treated him, not to say with 
 kindness, but like a human creature. 
 
 Upon this poor being all the spleen and ill-humour that could not 
 be vented on Nicholas were unceasingly bestowed. Drudgery would 
 have been nothing — he was well used to that. BufFetings inflicted 
 without cause would have been equally a matter of course, for to them 
 also he had served a long and weary apprenticeship ; but it was no 
 sooner observed that he had become attached to Nicholas, than stripes 
 and blows, stripes and blows, morning, noon, and night, were his only 
 portion. Squeers was jealous of the influence which his man had so 
 soon acquired, and his family hated him, and Smike paid for both. 
 Nicholas saw it, and ground his teeth at every repetition of the savage 
 and cowardly attack. 
 
 He had arranged a few regular lessons for the boys, and one night as 
 he paced up and down the dismal school-room, his swoln heart almost 
 bursting to think that his protection and countenance should have 
 increased the misery of the wretched being whose peculiar destitution 
 had awakened his pity, he paused mechanically in a dark comer where 
 sat the object of his thoughts. 
 
 The poor soul was poring hard over a tattered book with the traces 
 of recent tears still upon his face, vainly endeavouring to master some 
 task which a child of nine years old, possessed of ordinary powers, 
 could have conquered with ease, but which to the addled brain of the 
 crushed boy of nineteen was a sealed and hopeless mystery. Yet 
 there he sat, patiently conning the page again and again,. stimulated 
 by no boyish ambition, for he was the common jest and scoff" even 
 of the uncouth objects that congregated about him, but inspired by 
 the one eager desire to please his solitary friend. 
 
 Nicholas laid his hand upon his shoulder. 
 
 " I can't do it," said the dejected creature, looking up with bitter 
 disappointment in every feature. " No, no." 
 
 " Do not try," replied Nicholas. 
 
 The boy shook his head, and closing the book with a sigh, looked va- 
 cantly round, and laid his head upon his arm. He was weeping. 
 
 " Do not for God's sake," said Nicholas, in an agitated voice ; " I 
 cannot bear to see you." 
 
 " They are more hard with me than ever," sobbed the boy. 
 
 " I know it," rejoined Nicholas. " They are." 
 
 " But for you," said the outcast, " I should die. They would kill 
 me ; they would, I know they would." 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 109 
 
 " You will do better, poor fellow," replied Nicholas, shaking his 
 head mournfully, " when I am gone." 
 
 *' Gone !" cried the other, looking intently in his face. 
 
 " Softly !" rejoined Nicholas. " Yes." 
 
 " Are you going V demanded the boy, in an earnest whisper. 
 
 " I cannot say," replied Nicholas, " I was speaking more to my own 
 thoughts than to you." 
 
 " Tell me," said the boy imploringly. " Oh do tell me, will you 
 go — will you ?" 
 
 " I shall be driven to that at last ! " said Nicholas. " The world is 
 before me, after all." 
 
 " Tell me," urged Smike, " is the world as bad and dismal as this 
 place V 
 
 " Heaven forbid," replied Nicholas, pursuing the train of his own 
 thoughts, " its hardest, coarsest toil, were happiness to this." 
 
 " Should I ever meet you there ?" demanded the boy, speaking with 
 unusual wildness and volubility. 
 
 " Yes," repHed Nicholas, willing to soothe him. 
 
 " No, no !" said the other, clasping him by the hand. " Should I — 
 should I — tell me that again. Say I should be sure to find you." 
 
 " You would," replied Nicholas, with the same humane intention, 
 " and I would help and aid you, and not bring fresh sorrow on you as 
 I have done here." 
 
 The boy caught both the young man's hands passionately in his, 
 and hugging them to his breast, uttered a few broken sounds which 
 were unintelligible. Squeers entered at the moment, and he shrunk 
 back into his old comer. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 NICHOLAS VARIES THE MONOTONY OF DOTHEBOYS HALL BY A MOST 
 VIGOROUS AND REMARKABLE PROCEEDING, WHICH LEADS TO CON- 
 SEQUENCES OF SOME IMPORTANCE. 
 
 The cold feeble dawn of a January morning was stealing in at the 
 windows of the common sleeping-room, when Nicholas, raising himself 
 upon his arm, looked among the prostrate forms which on every side 
 surrounded him, as though in search of some particular object. 
 
 It needed a quick eye to detect from among the huddled mass of 
 sleepers, the form of any given individual. As they lay closely packed 
 together, covered, for warmth's sake, with their patched and ragged 
 clothes, little could be distinguished but the sharp outlines of pale 
 faces, over which the sombre light shed the same dull heavy colour, 
 with here and there a gaunt arm thrust forth : its thinness hidden 
 by no covering, but fully exposed to view in all its shrunken ugli- 
 ness. There were some who, lying on their backs with upturned faces 
 and clenched hands, just visible in the leaden light, bore m9re the 
 
110 LIFE ABTD ADVENTURES OP 
 
 aspect of dead bodies than of living creatures, and there were others 
 coiled up into strange and fantastic postures, such as might have been 
 taken for the uneasy efforts of pain to gain some temporary relief, 
 rather than the freaks of slumber. A few — and these were among the 
 youngest of the children — slept peacefully on with smiles upon their 
 faces, dreaming perhaps of home ; but ever and again a deep and 
 heavy sigh, breaking the stillness of the room, announced that some 
 new sleeper had awakened to the misery of another day, and, as morn- 
 ing took the place of night, the smiles gradually faded away with the 
 friendly darkness which had given them birth. 
 
 Dreams are the bright creatures of poem and legend, who sport on 
 earth in the night season, and melt away in the first beam of the sun, 
 which lights grim care and stern reality on their daily pilgrimage 
 through the world. 
 
 Nicholas looked upon the sleepers, at first with the air of one who 
 gazes upon a scene which, though familiar to him, has lost none of its 
 sorrowful effect in consequence, and afterwards, with a more intense 
 and searching scrutiny, as a man would who missed something his 
 eye was accustomed to meet, and had expected to rest upon. He was 
 still occupied in this search, and had half risen from his bed in the 
 eagerness of his quest, when the voice of Squeers was heard calling 
 from the bottom of the stairs. 
 
 " Now then," cried that gentleman, " are you going to sleep all day, 
 up there — " 
 
 " You lazy hounds ?" added Mrs. Squeers, finishing the sentence, 
 and producing at the same time a sharp sound like that which is wjca- 
 sioned by the lacing of stays. 
 
 " We shall be down directly. Sir," l-eplied Nicholas. 
 
 " Down directly !" said Squeers. " Ah ! you had better be down 
 directly, or I'll be down upon some of you in less. Where's that 
 Smike ? " 
 
 Nicholas looked hurriedly round again, but made no answer. 
 
 " Smike !" shouted Squeers. 
 
 '"' Do you ymxA your head broke in a fresh place, Smike ?" demanded 
 his amiable lady in the same key. 
 
 Still there was no reply, and still Nicholas stared about him, as did 
 the greater part of the boys who were by this time roused. 
 
 " Confound his impudence," muttered Squeers, rapping the stair-rail 
 impatiently with his cane. " Nickleby." 
 
 " Well, Sir." 
 
 " Send that obstinate scoundrel down ; don't you hear me calling ?" 
 
 " He is not here. Sir," replied Nicholas. 
 
 " Don't tell me a lie," retorted the schoolmaster. " He is." 
 
 " He is not," retorted Nicholas angrily, " don't tell me one." 
 
 " We shall soon see that," said Mr. Squeers, nishing up stairs. " I'll 
 find him I warrant you." 
 
 With which assurance Mr. Squeers bounced into the dormitory, and 
 swinging his cane in the air ready for a blow, darted into the comer 
 where the lean body of the drudge was usually stretched at night. Tlic 
 cane descended harmlessly upon the ground. There was nobody there. 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. Ill 
 
 " What does this mean ?" said Squeers, turning round with a very- 
 pale face. " Where have you hid him ? " 
 
 " I have seen nothing of him since last night," replied Nicholas. 
 " Come," said Squeers, evidently frightened, though he endeavoured 
 to look otherwise, " you won't save him this way. Where is he ? " 
 
 " At the bottom of the nearest pond for aught I know," rejoined 
 Nicholas in a low voice, and fixing his eyes full on the master's face. 
 
 '' D — ^n you, what do you mean by that ? " retorted Squeers in great 
 perturbation. And without waiting for a reply, he inquired of the 
 boys whether any one among them knew anything of their missing 
 schoolmate. 
 
 There was a general hum of anxious denial, in the midst of which 
 one shrill voice was heard to say (as, indeed, everybody thought) — 
 *' Please, Sir, I think Smike's run away, Sir." 
 *' Ha ! " cried Squeers, turning sharp round ; " Who said that ? " 
 " Tomkins, please Sir," rejoined a chorus of voices. Mr. Squeers 
 made a plunge into the crowd, and at one dive caught a very little boy 
 habited still in his night gear, and the perplexed expression of whose 
 countenance as he was brought forward, seemed to intimate that he 
 was as yet uncertain whether he was about to be punished or rewarded 
 for the suggestion. He was not long in doubt. 
 
 " You think he has run away, do you, Sir ? " demanded ^queers. 
 " Yes, please Sir," replied the little boy. 
 
 " And what. Sir," said Squeers, catching the little boy suddenly by 
 the arms and whisking up his drapery in a most dexterous manner, 
 *' what reason have you to suppose that any boy would want to run 
 away from this establishment ? Eh, Sir ? " 
 
 The child raised a dismal cry by way of answer, and Mr. Squeers, 
 throwing himself into the most favourable attitude for exercising his 
 strength, beat him till the little urchin in his writhings actually rolled 
 out of his hands, when he mercifully allowed him to roll away as he 
 best could. 
 
 " There," said Squeers. " Now if any other boy thinks Smike has 
 run away, I shall be glad to have a talk with him." 
 
 There was of course a profound silence, during which, Nicholas 
 showed his disgiist as plainly as looks could show it. 
 
 " Well, Nickleby," said Squeers, eyeing him maliciously. " You 
 think he has run away, I suppose ? " 
 
 " I think it extremely likely," replied Nicholas, in a very quiet manner. 
 " Oh, you do, do you ?" sneered Squeers. " Maybe you know he 
 has?" 
 
 " I know nothing of the kind." 
 
 " He did'nt tell you he was going, I suppose, did he ? " sneered 
 Squeers. 
 
 " He did not," replied Nicholas ; " I am very glad he did not, for it 
 would then have been my duty to have warned you in time." 
 
 " Which no doubt you would have been devilish sorry to do," said 
 Squeers in a taunting fashion. 
 
 " I should, indeed," replied Nicholas. " You interpret my feelings 
 with great accuracy." 
 
112 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 Mrs. Squeers had listened to this conversation from the bottom of 
 the stairs, but now losing all patience, she hastily assumed her night- 
 jacket and made her way to the scene of action. 
 
 " What's all this here to do ?" said the lady, as the boys fell off 
 right and left to save her the trouble of clearing a passage with 
 her brawny arms. " What jon earth are you a talking to him for, 
 Squeery ! " 
 
 " Why, my dear," said Squeers, " the fact is, that Smike is not to 
 be found." 
 
 " Well, I know that," said the lady, " and where's the wonder ? If 
 you get a parcel of proud-stomached teachers that set the young dogs 
 a rebelling, what else can you look for ? Now, young man, you just 
 have the kindness to take yourself off to the school-room, and take the 
 boys off with you, and don't you stir out of there 'till you have leave 
 given you, or you and I may fall out in a way that'll spoil your beauty, 
 handsome as you think yourself, and sp I tell you." 
 " Indeed ! " said Nicholas, smiling. 
 
 " Yes ; and indeed and indeed again. Mister Jackanapes," said the 
 excited lady ; " and I wouldn't keep such as you in the house another 
 hour if I had my way." 
 
 " Nor would you, if I had mine," replied Nicholas. " Now, boys." 
 
 " Ah ! Now boys," said Mrs. Squeers, mimicking, as nearly as she 
 could, the voice and manner of the usher. " Follow your leader, boys, 
 and take pattern by Smike if you dare. See what he'll get for himself 
 when he is brought back, and mind I tell you that you shall have as 
 bad, and twice as bad, if you so much as open your mouths about him." 
 
 " If I catch him," said Squeers, " I'll only stop short of flaying him 
 alive, I give you notice, boys." 
 
 " If you catch him," retorted Mrs. Squeers contemptuously, " you 
 are sure to ; you can't help it, if you go the right way to work. Come, 
 away with you !" 
 
 With these words, Mrs. Squeers dismissed the boys, and after a 
 little light skirmishing with those in the rear who were pressing forward 
 to get out of the way, bift were detained for a few moments by the 
 throng in front, succeeded in clearing the room, when she confronted 
 her spouse alone. 
 
 " He is off," said Mrs. Squeers. " The cow-house and stable are 
 locked up, so he can't be there ; and he's not down stairs anywhere, for 
 the girl has looked. He must have gone York way, and by a public 
 road too." 
 
 " Why must he ? " inquired Squeers. 
 
 " Stupid !" said Mrs. Squeers angrily. " He hadn't any money, 
 had he ? " 
 
 " Never had a penny of his own in his whole life, that I know of," 
 replied Squeers. 
 
 " To be sure," rejoined Mrs. Squeers, " and he didn t take anything 
 to eat with him, that I'll answer for. Ha ! ha ! ha ! " 
 
 " Ha ! ha ! ha ! " cried Squeers. 
 
 " Then of course," said Mrs. S., " he must beg his way, and he 
 could do that nowhere but on the public road." 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 113 
 
 , *' Tliat's true," exclaimed Squeers, clapping his hands. 
 
 '-'■ True ! Yes ; but you would never have thought of it for all that, 
 if I hadn't said so," replied his wife. " Now, if you take the chaise 
 and go one road, and I borrow Swallows's chaise, and go the other, what 
 with keeping our eyes open and asking questions, one or other of us is 
 pretty certain to lay hold of him." 
 
 The worthy lady's plan was adopted and put in execution without 
 a moment's delay. After a very hasty breakfast, and the prosecution 
 of some inquiries in the village, the result of which seemed to show 
 that he was on the right track, Squeers started forth in the pony- 
 chaise, intent upon discovery and vengeance. Shortly afterwards Mrs. 
 Squeers, arrayed in the white top-coat, and tied up in various shawls 
 and handkerchiefs, issued forth in another chaise and another direction, 
 taking with her a good-sized bludgeon, several odd pieces of strong- 
 cord, and a stout labouring man : all provided and carried upon the 
 expedition with the sole object of assisting in the capture, and (once 
 caught) ensuring the safe custody of the unfortunate Smike. 
 
 Nicholas remained behind in a tumult of feeling, sensible that what- 
 ever might be the upshot of the boy's flight, nothing but painful and 
 deplorable consequences were likely to ensue from it. Death from 
 want and exposure to the w€!atlier was the best that could be ex- 
 pected from the protracted wandering of so poor and helpless a crea- 
 ture, alone and unfriended, through a country of which he was wholly 
 ignorant. There was little, perhaps, to choose between this fate and 
 a return to the tender mercies of the Yorkshire school, but the unhappy 
 being had established a hold upon his sympathy and compassion, 
 which made his heart ache at the prospect of the suffering he was 
 destined to undergo. He lingered on in restless anxiety, picturing a 
 thousand possibilities, until the evening of next day, when Squeers 
 returned alone and unsuccessful. 
 
 " No news of the scamp," said the schoolmaster, who had evidently 
 been stretching his legs, on the old principle, not a few times during 
 the journey. "• I'll have consolation for this out of somebody, Nickleby, 
 if Mrs. Squeers don't hunt him down, so I give you warning." 
 
 " It is not In my power to console you, Sir," said Nicholas. " It 
 is nothing to me." 
 
 "Isn't it?" said Squeers in a threatening manner. "We shall 
 see ! " 
 
 " We shall," rejoined Nicholas. 
 
 " Here's the pony run right off his legs, and me obliged to come 
 home with a hack cob, that'll cost fifteen shillings besides other ex- 
 penses," said Squeers ; " who's to pay for that, do you hear V 
 
 Nicholas shrugged his shoulders and remained silent. 
 
 " I'll have it out of somebody I tell you," said Squeers, his usual 
 harsh crafty manner changed to open bullying. " None of your whining 
 vapourlngs here, Mr. Puppy, but be off to your kennel, for It's past your 
 bed-time. Come. Get out." 
 
 Nicholas bit his lip and knit his hands involuntarily, for his finger- 
 ends tingled to avenge the insult, but remembering that the man was 
 drunk, and that it could come to little but a noisy brawl, he contented 
 
 I 
 
114 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 himself with darting a contemptuous look at the tyrant, and waited 
 as majestically as he could uj) stairs, not a little nettled however to 
 observe that Miss 8queers and Master Squeers, and the servant girl, 
 were enjoying the scene from a snug corner ; the two former indulging 
 in many edifying remarks about the presumption of poor upstarts ; 
 which occasioned a vast deal of laughter, in which even the most 
 miserable of all miserable servant girls joined, while Nicholas, stung 
 to the quick, drew over his head such bedclothes as he had, and 
 sternly resolved that the out-standing account between himself and 
 Mr. Squeers should be settled rather more speedily than the latter 
 anticipated. 
 
 Another day came, and Nicholas was scarcely awake when he heard 
 the wheels of a chaise approaching the house. It stopped. The voice 
 of Mrs. Squeers was heard, and in exultation, ordering a glass of spirits 
 for somebody, which was in itself a sufficient sign that something 
 extraordinary had happened. Nicholas hardly dared to look out of 
 the window, but he did so, and the very first object that met his eyes 
 was the wretched Smike ; so bedabbled with mud and rain, so haggard 
 and worn, and wild, that, but for his garments being such as no scare- 
 crow was ever seen to wear, he might have been doubtful, even then, 
 of his identity. 
 
 " Lift him out," said Squeers, after he had literally feasted his eyes in 
 silence upon the culprit. " Bring him in ; bring him in." 
 
 " Take care," cried Mrs. Squeers, as her husband proffered his assist- 
 ance. " We tied his legs under the apron and made 'em fast to the 
 chaise, to prevent his giving us the slip again." 
 
 With hands trembling with delight, Squeers unloosened the cord, "and 
 Smike, to all appearance more dead than alive, was brought into the 
 house and securely locked up in a cellar, until such time as Mr. Squeers 
 should deem it expedient to operate upon him in presence of the 
 assembled school. 
 
 Upon a hasty consideration of the circumstances, it may be matter of 
 surprise to some persons, that Mr. and Mrs. Squeers should have taken 
 so much trouble to repossess themselves of an incumbrance of which it 
 was their wont to complain so loudly ; but their surprise will cease 
 when they are informed that the manifold services of the ' drudge, if 
 performed by anybody else, would have cost the establishment some ten 
 or twelve shillings per week in the shape of wages ; and furthermore, 
 that all runaways were, as a matter of policy, made severe examples of 
 at Dotheboys Ilall, inasmuch as in consequence of the limited extent of 
 its attractions there was but little inducement, beyond the powerful 
 impulse of fear, for any pupil provided with the usual number of legs 
 and the power of using them, to remain. 
 
 The news that Smike had been caught and brought back in triumph, 
 ran like wild-fire through the hungry community, and expectation was 
 on tiptoe all the morning. On tiptoe it was destined to remain, how- 
 ever, until afternoon ; when Squeers, having refreshed himself with his 
 dinner, and further strengthened himself by an extra libation or so, made 
 his appearance (accompanied by his amiable partner) with a countenance 
 of portentous import, and a fearful instrument of flagellation, strong. 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBT. 115 
 
 supple, wax-ended, and new — in short, purchased that morning expressly 
 for the occasion. 
 
 " Is every boy here ?" asked Squeers, in a tremendous voice. 
 
 Every boy was there, but every boy was afraid to speak ; so Squeers 
 glared along the lines to assure himself, and every eye drooped and 
 every head cowered down as he did so. 
 
 " Each boy keep his place," said Squeers, administering his favourite 
 blow to the desk, and regarding with gloomy satisfaction tlie universal 
 start which it never failed to occasion. " Nickleby, to your desk. Sir." 
 
 It was remarked by more than one small observer, that there was a 
 very curious and unusual expression in the usher s face, but he took his 
 seat without opening his lips in reply ; and Squeers casting a triumphant 
 glance at his assistant and a look of most comprehensive despotism on 
 the boys, left the room, and shortly afterwards returned dragging Smike 
 by the collar — or rather by that fragment of his jacket which was 
 nearest the place where his collar would have been, had he boasted 
 such a decoration. 
 
 In any other place the appearance of the wretched, jaded, spiritless 
 object would have occasioned a murmur of compassion and remonstrance. 
 It had some effect even there ; for the lookers-on moved uneasily in 
 their seats, and a few of the boldest ventured to steal looks at each 
 other, expressive of indignation and pity. 
 
 They were lost on Squeers, however, whose gaze was fastened on 
 the luckless Smike as he inquired, according to custom in such cases, 
 whether he had anything to say for himself. 
 
 " Nothing, I suppose?" said Squeers, with a diabolical grin. 
 
 Smike glanced round, and his eye rested for an instant on Nicholas, 
 as if he had expected him to intercede ; but his look was riveted on his 
 desk. 
 
 " Have you anything to say?" demanded Squeers again : giving his 
 right arm two or three flourishes to try its power and suppleness. 
 " Stand a little out of the way, Mrs. Squeers, my dear ; I've hardly got 
 room enough." 
 
 " Spare me. Sir," cried Smike. 
 
 " Oh ! that's all, is it?" said Squeers. " Yes, I'll flog you within 
 an inch of your life, and spare you that." 
 
 " Ha, ha, ha," laughed Mrs. Squeers, " that's a good 'un." 
 
 " I was driven to do it," said Smike faintly ; and casting another 
 imploring look about him. 
 
 " Driven to do it, were you ?" said Squeers. " Oh ! it wasn't your 
 fault ; it was mine, I suppose — eh ?" 
 
 " A nasty, ungrateful, pig-headed, brutish, obstinate, sneaking dog," 
 exclaimed Mrs. Squeers, taking Smike's head under her arm, and 
 administering a cuff at every epithet ; " what does he mean by that ?" 
 
 " Stand aside, my dear," replied Squeers. " We'll try and find 
 out." 
 
 Mrs. Squeers being out of breath with her exertions, complied. 
 Squeers caught the boy firmly in his grip ; one desperate cut had fallen 
 on his body — he was wincing from the lash and uttering a scream of 
 pain — it was raised again, and again about to faU — when Nicholas 
 
 1-2 
 
116 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 Nickleby suddenly starting up, cried " Stop !" in a voice that made the 
 rafters ring. 
 
 " Who cried stop ? " said Squeers, turning savagely round. 
 
 " I," said Nicholas, stepping forward. " This must not go on." 
 
 " Must not go on !" cried Squeers, almost in a shriek. 
 
 " No !" thundered Nicholas. 
 
 Aghast and stupified by the boldness of the interference, Squeers 
 released his hold of Smike, and falling back a pace or two, gazed upon 
 Nicholas with looks that were positively frightful. 
 
 " I say must not," repeated Nicholas, nothing daunted ; " shall not. 
 I will prevent it." 
 
 Squeers continued to gaze upon him, with his eyes starting out of his 
 head ; but astonishment had actually for the moment bereft him of 
 speech. 
 
 " You have disregarded all my quiet interference in the miserable 
 lad's behalf," said Nicholas ; " returned no answer to the letter in 
 which I begged forgiveness for him, and offered to be responsible that 
 he would remain quietly here. Don't blame me for this public inter- 
 ference. You have brought it upon yourself; not I." 
 
 " Sit down, beggar !" screamed Squeers, almost beside himself with 
 rage, and seizing Smike as he spoke. 
 
 " AVretch," rejoined Nicholas, fiercely, " touch him at your peril ! I 
 will not stand by and see it done ; my blood is up, and I have the 
 strength of ten such men as you. Look to yourself, for by Heaven I 
 will not spare you, if you drive me on." 
 
 " Stand back," cried Squeers, brandishing his weapon. 
 
 " I have a long series of insults to avenge," said Nicholas, flushed 
 w^ith passion ; " and my indignation is aggravated by the dastardly 
 cruelties practised on helpless infancy in this foul den. Have a care ; 
 for if you do raise the devil within me, the consequences shall fall 
 heavily upon your own head." 
 
 He had scarcely spoken when Squeers, in a violent outbreak of wrath 
 and with a cry like the howl of a wild beast, spat upon him, and 
 struck him a blow across the face w^ith his instrument of torture, which 
 raised up a bar of livid flesh as it was inflicted. Smarting with tlie 
 agony of the blow, and concentrating into that one moment all his feelings 
 of rage, scorn, and indignation, Nicholas sprang upon him, wrested the 
 weapon from his hand, and, pinning him by tlie throat, beat the ruffian 
 till he roared for mercy. 
 
 The boys — with the exception of Master Squeers, who, coming to his 
 father's assistance, harassed the enemy in the rear — moved not hand or 
 foot ; but Mrs. Squeers, with many slirieks for aid, hung on to the tail 
 of her partner's coat and endeavoured to drag him from his infuriated 
 adversary ; while Miss Squeers, who had been peeping tlirough tlie key- 
 hole in expectation of a very different scene, darted in at tlie very 
 beginning of the attack, and after launching a shower of inkstands at 
 the usher's head, beat Nicholas to her heart's content, animating herself 
 at every blow with the recollection of his havuig refused her proffered 
 love, and thus imparting additional strength to an arm which (as she 
 took after her mother in this respect) was at no time one of the weakest. 
 

 r # 
 

 
 4. • 
 
 -**♦• 
 
 ^ 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 117 
 
 Nicholas, in the full torrent of his violence, felt the blows no more 
 than if they had been dealt with feathers ; but becoming tired of the 
 noise and uproar, and feeling that his arm grew weak besides, he threw 
 all his remaining strengih into half-a-dozen finishing cuts, and flung 
 Squeers from him with all the force he could muster. The violence of 
 his fall precipitated Mrs. Squeers completely over an adjacent form, and 
 Squeers, striking his head against it in his descent, lay at his full length 
 on the ground, stunned and motionless. 
 
 Having brought affairs to this happy termination, and ascertained to 
 his thorough satisfaction that Squeers was only stunned, and not dead 
 (upon which point he had had some unpleasant doubts at first), 
 Nicholas left his family to restore him, and retired to consider what 
 course he had better adopt. He looked anxiously round for Smike as 
 he left the room, but he was nowhere to be seen. 
 
 After a brief consideration he packed up a few clothes in a small 
 leathern valise, and finding that nobody offered to oppose his pro- 
 gress, marched boldly out by the front-door, and shortly afterwards 
 struck into the road which led to Greta Bridge. 
 
 When he had cooled sufficiently to be enabled to give his present 
 circumstances some little reflection, they did not appear in a very 
 encouraging light, for he had only four shillings and a few pence in his 
 pocket, and was something more than two hundred and fifty miles 
 from London, whither he resolved to direct his steps, that he might 
 ascertain, among other things, what account of the morning's pro- 
 ceedings Mr. Squeers transmitted to his most affectionate uncle. 
 
 Lifting up his eyes, as he arrived at the conclusion that there was 
 no remedy for this unfortunate state of things, he beheld a horseman 
 coming towards him, whom, on his nearer approach, he discovered, to 
 his infinite chagrin, to be no other than Mr. John Browdie, who, clad 
 in cords and leather leggings, was urging his animal forward by means 
 of a thick ash stick, which seemed to have been recently cut from some 
 stout sapling. 
 
 " I am in no mood for more noise and riot," thought Nicholas, " and 
 yet, do what I will, I shall have an altercation with this honest block- 
 head, and perhaps a blow or two from yonder staff'." 
 
 In truth there appeared some reason to expect that such a result 
 would follow from the encounter, for John Browdie no sooner saw 
 Nicholas advancing, than he reined in his horse by the footpath, and 
 waited until such time as he should come up ; looking meanwhile very 
 sternly between the horse's ears at Nicholas, as he came on at his leisure. 
 
 " Servant, young genelman," said John. 
 
 " Yours," said Nicholas. 
 
 " Weel ; we ha' met at last," observed John, making the stirrup ring 
 under a smart touch of the ash stick. 
 
 " Yes," replied Nicholas, hesitating. " Come," he said, frankly, after 
 a moment's pause, " we parted on no very good terms the last time we 
 met ; it was my fault, I believe ; but I had no intention of offending 
 you, and no idea that I was doing so. I was very sorry for it after- 
 wards. Will you shake hands ? " 
 
 *' Shake bonds ! " cried the good-humoured Yorkshireman I " ah ! 
 
118 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 that I weel ; " at tlie same time he bent down from the saddle, and 
 gave Nicholas's fist a huge wrench ; " but wa'at be the matther wi' thy 
 feace, mim ? it be all brokkcn loike." 
 
 " It is a cut," said Nicholas, turning scarlet as he spoke, — " a blow ; 
 but I returned it to the giver, and with good interest too." 
 
 " Noa, did 'ee though ? " exclaimed John Browdie. " Weel deane, 
 I loike 'un for thot." 
 
 " The fact is," said Nicholas, not very well knowing how to make 
 the avowal, " the fact is, that I have been ill-treated." 
 
 " Noa ! " interposed John Browdie, in a tone of compassion ; for he 
 was a giant in strength and stature, and Nicholas very likely in his 
 eyes seemed a mere dwarf ; " dean't say thot." 
 
 " Yes, I have," replied Nicholas, " by that man Squeers, and I have 
 beaten him soundly, and am leaving this place in consequence." 
 
 " What ! " cried John Browdie, with such an ecstatic shout, that the 
 horse quite shyed at it. " Beatten the sclioolmeasther ! Ho ! ho ! ho ! 
 Beatten the sclioolmeasther ! who ever heard o' the loike o' that noo ! 
 Giv' us thee bond agean, yoongster. Beatten a sclioolmeasther ! Dang 
 it, I loove thee fort." 
 
 With these expressions of delight, John Browdie laughed and laughed 
 again — so loud that the echoes far and wide sent back nothing but 
 jovial peals of merriment — and shook Nicholas by the hand meanwhile 
 no less heartily. When his mirth had subsided, he inquired what 
 Nicholas meant to do ; on his informing him, to go straight to London, 
 he shook his head doi\btfully, and inquired if he knew how much the 
 coaches charged to carry passengers so far. 
 
 " No, I do not," said Nicholas ; " but it is of no great consequence 
 to me, for I intend walking." 
 
 " Gang awa' to Lunnun afoot ! " cried John, in amazement. 
 
 " Every step of the way," replied Nicholas. " I should be many 
 steps further on by this time, and so good bye." 
 
 " Nay noo," rc^plied the honest countryman, reining in his impatient 
 horse, " stan still, tellee. Hoo much cash hast thee gotten ? " 
 
 " Not much," said Nicholas, colouring, " but I can make it enough. 
 Where there's a will there's a way, you know." 
 
 John Browdie made no verbal answer to this remark, but putting 
 his hand in his pockqt, pulled out an old purse of soiled leather, and 
 insisted that Nicholas should borrow from him whatever he required 
 for his present necessities. 
 
 " Dean't be afcard, mun," he said ; " tak' eneaf to carry thee whoam. 
 Thee'lt pay me yan day, a' warrant. " 
 
 Nicliolas could by no means be prevailed upon to borrow more than 
 a sovereign, with which loan Mr. Browdie, after many entreaties that 
 he would accept of more (observing, with a touch of Yorkshire caution, 
 that if he didn't spend it all he could put the surplus by, till he had au 
 opportunity of remitting it carriage free), was fain to content himself. 
 
 " Tak' that bit o' timber to help thee on wi', mun," he added, press- 
 ing his stick on Nicholas, and giving his hand another squeeze ; '• keep 
 a good hart, arid bless thee, lieatten a schoolmeasthcr ! 'Cod its the 
 best thing a've heerd this twenty year ! " 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 119 
 
 So saying, and indulging, with more delicacy than could have been 
 expected from him, in another series of loud laughs, for the purpose of 
 avoiding the thanks which Nicholas poured forth, John Browdie set 
 spurs to his horse, and went off at a smart canter, looking back from 
 time to time as Nicholas stood gazing after him ; and waving his hand 
 cheerily, as if to encourage him on his way. Nicholas watched the 
 horse and rider until they disappeared over the brow of a distant hill, 
 and then set forward on his journey. 
 
 He did not travel far that afternoon, for by this time it was nearly 
 dark, and there had been a heavy fall of snow, which not only rendered 
 the way toilsome, but the track uncertain and difficult to find after 
 daylight, save by experienced wayfarers. lie lay that night at a 
 cottage, where beds were let at a cheap rate to the more humble class 
 of travellers, and rising betimes next morning, made his way before 
 night to Boroughbridge. Passing through that town in search of some 
 cheap resting-place, he stumbled upon an empty barn within a couple 
 of hundred yards of the road side ; in a warm corner of which liQ 
 stretched his weary limbs, and soon fell asleep. 
 
 When he awoke next morning, and tried to recollect his dreams, 
 which had been all connected with his recent sojourn at Dotheboys 
 Hall, he sat up, rubbed his eyes, and stared — not with the most com- 
 posed countenance possible — at some motionless object which seemed to 
 be stationed within a few yards in front of him. 
 
 " Strange ! " cried Nicholas ; " can this be some lingering creation of 
 the visions that have scarcely left me ! It cannot be real — and yet I — 
 I am awake. Smike ? " 
 
 The form moved, rose, advanced, and dropped upon its knees at his 
 feet. It was Smike indeed. 
 
 " Why do you kneel to me ? " said Nicholas, hastily raising him. 
 
 " To go with you — anywhere — everywhere — to the world's end — to 
 the churchyard grave," replied Smike, clinging to his hand. " Let me, oh 
 do let me. You are my home — my kind friend — take me with you, pray." 
 
 " I am a friend who can do little for you," said Nicholas, kindly. 
 " How came you here ? " 
 
 He had followed him, it seemed ; had never lost sight of him all the 
 way ; had watched while he slept, and when he halted for refreshment ; 
 and had feared to appear before, lest he sliould be sent back. He had 
 not intended to appear now, but Nicholas had awakened more suddenly 
 than he looked for, and he had no time to conceal himself. 
 
 " Poor fellow ! " said Nicholas, " your hard fate denies you any 
 friend but one, and he is nearly as poor and helpless as yourself." 
 
 " May I — may I go with you ? " asked Smike, timidly. " I will 
 be your faithful hard-working servant, I will, indeed. I want no 
 clothes," added the poor creature, drawing liis rags together ; " these 
 will do very well. I only want to be near you." 
 
 " And you shall," cried Nicholas. " And the world shall deal by you 
 as it does by me, till one or both of us shall quit it for a better. Come." 
 
 With these words he strapped his burden on his shoulders, and 
 taking his stick in one hand, extended the other to his delighted charge, 
 and so they passed out of the old bam together. 
 
120 LIFE AND ADYENTUBES OP 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 HAVING THE MISFORTUNE TO TREAT OF NONE BL'T COMMON PEOPLE, IS 
 NECESSARILY OF A MEAN AND VULGAR CHARACTER. * 
 
 In that quarter of London in which G olden Square is situated, there 
 is a by-gone, faded, tumble -down street, with two irregular rows 
 of tall meagre houses, which seem to have stared each other out of 
 countenance years ago. The very chimneys appear to have grown 
 dismal and melancholy, from having had nothing better to look at than 
 the chimneys over the way. Their tops are battered, and broken, 
 and blackened with smoke ; and here and there some taller stack than 
 the rest, inclining heavily to one side, and toppling over the roof, 
 seems to meditate taking revenge for half a century's neglect, by 
 crushing the inhabitants of the garrets beneath. 
 
 The fowls who peck about the kennels, jerking their bodies hither 
 and thither with a gait which none but town fowls are ever seen to 
 adopt, and which any country cock or hen would be puzzled to under- 
 stand, are perfectly in keeping with the crazy habitations of theii* 
 owners. Dingy, ill-plumed, drowsy flutterers, sent, like many of the 
 neighbouring children, to get a livelihood in the streets, they hop 
 from stone to stone in forlorn search of some hidden eatable in the mud, 
 and can scarcely raise a crow among them. The only one with any- 
 thing approaching to a voice is an aged bantam at the baker's, and 
 even he is hoarse in consequence of bad living in his last place. 
 
 To judge from the size of the houses, they have been at one time 
 tenanted by persons of better condition than their present occupants, 
 but they are now let off by the week in floors or rooms, and every 
 door has almost as many plates or bell-handles as there are apart- 
 ments within. The windows are for the same reason sufiiciently 
 diversified in appearance, being ornamented with every variety of 
 common blind and curtain that can easily be imagined, while every 
 doorway is blocked up and rendered nearly impassable by " a motley 
 collection of children and porter pots of all sizes, from the baby in 
 arms and the half-pint pot, to the full-grown girl and half-gallon can. 
 
 In the parlour of one of these houses, which was perhaps a thought 
 dirtier than any of its neighbours ; which exhibited more bell-handles, 
 children, and porter pots, and caught in all its freshness the first gust 
 of the thick black smoke that poured forth night and day from a large 
 brewery hard by, hung a bill announcing that there was yet one room 
 to let within its walls, although on what story the vacant room could 
 be — regard being had to the outward tokens of many lodgers which 
 the whole front disi)layed, from the mangle in the kitchen- window to 
 the flower-pots on the parapet — it would have been beyond the power 
 of a calculating boy to discover. 
 
 The common stairs of tliis mansion were bare and carjietless ; but a 
 curious visitor who had to climb his way to the top, might have 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 121 
 
 observed that there were not wanting indications of the progressive 
 poverty of the inmates, although their rooms were shut. Thus the 
 first-floor lodgers, being flush of furniture, kept an old mahogany table 
 — real mahogany — on the landing-place outside, which was only taken 
 in when occasion required. On the second story the spare furniture 
 dwindled down to a couple of old deal chairs, of which one, belonging 
 to the back room, was shorn of a leg and bottomless. The story above 
 boasted no greater excess than a worm-eaten wash-tub : and the 
 garret landing-place displayed no costlier articles than two crippled 
 pitchers, and some broken blacking-bottles. 
 
 It was on this garret landing-place that a hard-featured square-faced 
 man, elderly and shabby, stopped to unlock the door of the front attic, 
 into which, having surmounted the task of turning the rusty key in 
 its still more rusty wards, he walked with the air of its legal owner. 
 
 This person wore a wig of short, coarse, red hair, which he took off 
 with his hat, and hung upon a nail. Having adopted in its place a 
 dirty cotton nightcap, and groped about in the dark till he found a 
 remnant of candle, he knocked at the partition which divided the two 
 garrets, and inquired in a loud voice whether Mr. Noggs had got a light. 
 The sounds that came back were stifled by the lath and plaster, and 
 it seemed moreover as though the speaker had uttered them from the 
 interior of a mug or other drinking vessel ; but they were in the voice 
 of Newman, and conveyed a reply in the affirmative. 
 
 " A nasty night, Mr. Noggs," said the man in the night-cap, 
 stepping in to light his candle. 
 " Does it rain?" asked Newman. 
 
 " Does it?" replied the other pettishly. " I am wet through." 
 " It doesn't take much to wet you and me through, Mr. Crowl," 
 said Newman, laying his hand upon the lappel of his threadbare coat. 
 " Well ; and that makes it the more vexatious," observed Mr. 
 Crowl, in the same pettish tone. 
 
 Uttering a low querulous growl, the speaker, whose harsh counte- 
 nance was the very epitome of selfishness, raked the scanty fire nearly 
 out of the grate, and, emptying the glass which Noggs had pushed 
 towards him, inquired where he kept his coals. 
 
 Newman Noggs pointed to the bottom of a cupboard, and Mr. Crowl, 
 seizing the shovel, threw on half the stock, which Noggs very deli- 
 berately took ofi" again without saying a word. 
 
 " You have not turned saving at this time of day, I hope?" said 
 Crowl. 
 
 NcAvman pointed to the empty glass, as though it were a sufficient 
 refutation of the charge, and briefly said that he was going down stairs 
 to supper. 
 
 " To the Kenwigses?" asked Crowl. 
 Newman nodded assent. 
 
 " Think of that now !" said Crowl. " If I didn't — thinking that you 
 
 were certain not to go, because you said you wouldn't — tell Kenwigs 
 
 I couldn't come, and make up my mind to spend the evening with you." 
 
 " I was obliged to go," said Newman. " They would have me." 
 
 " Well ; but what's to become of me ?" urged the selfish man, who 
 
122 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 never thought of anybody else. " It's all your fault. I'll tell you 
 what — I'll sit by your fire till you come back again." 
 
 Newman cast a despairing glance at his small store of fuel, but not 
 having the courage to say no, a word which in all his life he never 
 could say at the right time, either to himself or any one else, gave way 
 to the proposed arrangement, and Mr. Crowl immediately went about 
 making himself as comfortable with Newman Noggs's means, as circum- 
 stances would admit of his being. 
 
 The lodgers to whom Crowl had made allusion under the designation 
 of " the Kenwigses," were the wife and olive branches of one Mr. 
 Kenwigs, a turner in ivory, who was looked upon as a person of some 
 consideration on the premises, inasmuch as he occupied the whole of the 
 first floor, comprising a suite of two rooms. Mrs. Kenwigs, too, was 
 quite a lady in her manners, and of a very genteel family, having an 
 uncle who collected a water-rate ; besides which distinction, the two 
 eldest of her little girls went twice a week to a dancing school in the 
 neighbourhood, and had flaxen hair tied with blue ribands hanging in 
 luxuriant pigtails down their backs, and wore little white trousers with 
 frills round the ancles — for all of which reasons and many more, equally 
 valid but too numerous to mention, Mrs. Kenwigs was considered a very 
 desirable person to know, and was the constant theme of all the gossips 
 in the street, and even three or four doors round the comer at both ends. 
 
 It was the anniversary of that happy day on which the church of 
 England as by law established, had bestowed Mrs. Kenwigs upon Mr. 
 Kenwigs, and in gTateful commemoration of the same, Mrs. Kenwigs 
 had invited a few select friends to cards and supper in the first floor, 
 and put on a new gown to receive them in, which gown, being of a 
 flaming colour and made upon a juvenile principle, was so successful 
 that Mr. Kenwigs said the eight years of matrimony and the five 
 children seemed all a dream, and Mrs. Kenwigs younger and more 
 blooming than the very first Sunday he kept company with her. 
 
 Beautiful as Mrs. Kenwigs looked when she was dressed though, 
 and so stately that you would have supposed she had a cook and 
 housemaid at least, and nothing to do but order them about, she had 
 had a world of trouble with the preparations ; more indeed than she, 
 being of a delicate and genteel constitution, could have sustained, had 
 not the pride of housewifery upheld her. At last, however, all the 
 things that had to be got together were got together, and all the 
 tilings that had to be got out of the way were got out of the way, and 
 everything was ready, and the collector himself having promised to 
 come, fortune smiled upon the occasion. 
 
 The party was admirably selected. There were first of all Mr. 
 Kenwigs and Mrs. Kenwigs, and four olive Kenwigses who sat up 
 to supper, firstly, because it was but right that they should have a 
 treat on such a day ; and secondly, because their going to bed in 
 presence of the company, would have been inconvenient, not to say 
 improper. Then there was the young lady who had made Mrs. Ken- 
 wigs's dress, and who — it was the most convenient thing in the world — 
 living in the two-pair back, gave up her bed to the baby, and got a 
 little girl to watch it. Then, to match this young lady, was a young 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 123 
 
 man, who h<ad known Mr. Kenwigs when he was a bachelor, and was 
 much esteemed by the ladies, as bearing the reputation of a rake. 
 To these were added a newly-married couple, who had visited Mr. and 
 Mrs. Kenwigs in their courtship, and a sister of Mrs. Kenwigs's, who 
 was quite a beauty ; besides whom, there was another young man sup- 
 posed to entertain honourable designs upon the lady last mentioned, 
 and Mr. Noggs, who was a genteel person to ask, because he had been 
 a gentleman once. There were also an elderly lady from the back 
 parlour, and one more young lady, who, next to the collector, perhaps 
 was the great lion of the party, being the daughter of a theatrical 
 fireman, who " went on" in the pantomime, and had the greatest 
 turn for the stage that was ever known, being able to sing and recite in a 
 manner that brought the tears into Mrs. Kenwigs's eyes. There was only 
 one drawback upon the pleasure of seeing such friends, and that was, 
 that the lady in the back parlour, who was very fat, and turned of 
 sixty, came in a low book -muslin dress and short kid gloves, which so 
 exasperated Mrs. Kenwigs, that that lady assured her sister in private, 
 that if it hadn't happened that the supper was cooking at the back- 
 parlour grate at that moment, she certainly would have requested its 
 representative to withdraw. 
 
 " My dear," said Mr. Kenwigs, " wouldn't it be better to begin a 
 round game ? " 
 
 " Kenwigs, my dear," returned his wife, " I am surprised at you. 
 Would you begin without my uncle ? " 
 
 " I forgot the collector," said Kenwigs ; " oh no, that would 
 never do." 
 
 " He's so particular," said Mrs. Kenwigs, turning to the other 
 married lady, '' that if we began without him, I should be out of his 
 will for ever." 
 
 " Dear ! " cried the married lady. 
 
 " You've no idea what he is," replied Mrs. Kenwigs ; " and yet as 
 good a creature as ever breathed." 
 
 " The kindest-hearted man that ever was," said Kenwigs. 
 
 " It goes to his heart, I believe, to be forced to cut the water off 
 when the people don't pay," observed the bachelor friend, intending a 
 joke. 
 
 " George," said Mr. Kenwigs, solemnly, " none of that, if you 
 please." 
 
 " It was only my joke," said the friend, abashed. 
 
 " George," rejoined Mr. Kenwigs, " a joke is a wery good thing — a 
 •wery good thing — but when that joke is made at the expense of 
 Mrs. Kenwigs's feelings, I set my face against it. A man in pubhc 
 life expects to be sneered at — it is the fault of his elewated sitiwation, 
 not of himself. Mrs. Kenwigs's relation is a public man, and that he 
 knows, George, and that he can bear ; but putting Mrs. Kenwigs out 
 of the question (if I could put Mrs. Kenwigs out of the question on 
 such an occasion as this), I have the honour to be connected with the 
 collector by marriage ; and I cannot allow these remarks in my — " 
 Mr. Kenwigs was going to say " house," but he rounded the sentence 
 with " apartments." 
 
124 LIFE AND ADVENTURBS OP 
 
 At the conclusion of these observations, which drew forth evidences 
 of acute feeling from Mrs. Kenwigs, and had the intended effect of 
 impressing the company with a deep sense of the collector s dignity, a 
 ring was heard at the bell. 
 
 " That's him," whispered Mr. Kenwigs, greatly excited, " Morleena, 
 my dear, run down and let your uncle in, and kiss him directly you get 
 the door open. Hem ! Let's be talking." 
 
 Adopting Mr. Kenwigs's suggestion, the company spoke very loudly, 
 to look easy and unembarrassed ; and almost as soon as they had begun 
 to do so, a short old gentleman, in drabs and gaiters, with a face that 
 might have been carved out of lignum vitw^ for anything that appeared 
 to the contrary, was led playfully in by Miss Morleena Kenwigs, 
 regarding wliose uncommon Christian name it may be here remarked 
 that it was invented and composed by Mrs. Kenwigs previous to her 
 first lying-in, for the special distinction of her eldest child, in case it 
 should prove a daughter. 
 
 " Oh uncle, I am so glad to see you," said Mrs. Kenwigs, kissing the 
 collector affectionately on both cheeks. " So glad." 
 
 " Many happy returns of the day, my dear," replied the collector, 
 returning the compliment. 
 
 Now this was an interesting thing. Here was a collector of "water- 
 rates without his book, w^ithout his pen and ink, without his double 
 knock, without his intimidation, kissing — actually kissing — an agTce- 
 able female, and leavipg taxes, summonses, notices that he had called, 
 or announcements that he would never call again for two quarters' due, 
 wholly out of the question. It was pleasant to see how the company 
 looked on, quite absorbed in the sight, and to behold the nods and 
 winks with which they expressed their gratification at finding so much 
 humanity in a tax-gatherer. 
 
 " Where will you sit, uncle ? " said Mrs. Kenwigs, in the full glow 
 of family pride, which the appearance of her distinguished relation 
 occasioned. 
 
 " Anywheres, my dear," said the collector, " I am not particular." 
 
 Not particular ! What a meek collector. If he had been an author, 
 who knew his place, he couldn't have been more humble. 
 
 " Mr. Lillyvick," said Kenwigs, addressing the collector; " some 
 friends here, sir, are very anxious for the honour of — thank you — Mr. 
 and Mrs. Cutler, Mr. Lillyvick." 
 
 " Proud to know you, Sir," said Mr. Cutler, " I've heerd of you 
 very often." These were not mere words of ceremony; for Mr. Cutler, 
 having kept house in Mr. Lillyvick's parish, had heard of him very 
 often indeed. His attention in calling had been quite extraordinary. 
 
 " George, you know, I think, Mr. Lillyvick," said Kenwigs ; " lady 
 from down stairs — *Mr. Lillyvick, Mr. Snewkes — Mr. Lillyvick. Miss 
 Green — Mr. Lillyvick. Mr. Lillyvick. Miss Petowker of the Theatre 
 Royal Drury Lane. Very glad to make two public characters 
 acquainted. Mrs. Kenwigs, my dear, will you sort the counters ?" 
 
 Mrs. Kenwigs, with the assistance of Newman Noggs, (who, a.s he 
 performed sundry little acts of kindness for the children at all times 
 and seasons, was humoured in his request to be taken no notice of, and 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. " 125 
 
 was merely spoken about in a whisper as the decayed gentleman), did 
 as he was desired, and the greater part of the guests sat down to 
 speculation, while Newman himself, Mrs. Kenwigs, and Miss Petowker 
 of the Theatre Royal Drury Lane, looked after the 'supper-table. 
 
 While the ladies were thus busying themselves, Mr. Lillyvick was 
 intent upon the game in progress, and as all should be fish that comes 
 to a water-collector's net, the dear old gentleman was by no means 
 scrupulous in appropriating to himself the property of his neigh- 
 bours, which, on the contrary, he abstracted whenever an opportunity 
 presented itself, smiling good-humouredly all the while, and making so 
 many condescending speeches to the owners, that they were delighted 
 with his amiability, and thought in their hearts that he deserved to be 
 Chancellor of the Exchequer at least. 
 
 After a great deal of trouble, and the administration of many slaps 
 on the head to the infant Kenwigses, whereof two of the most rebellious 
 were summarily banished, the cloth was laid with great elegance, and 
 a pair of boiled fowls, a large piece of pork, apple-pie, potatoes and 
 greens, were served ; at sight of which the worthy Mr. Lillyvick vented 
 a great many witticisms, and plucked up amazingly, to the immense 
 delight and satisfaction of the whole body of admirers. 
 
 Very well and very fast the supper went off ; no more serious diffi- 
 culties occuri'ing than those which arose from the incessant demand for 
 clean knives and forks, which made poor Mrs. Kenwigs wish more 
 than once that private society adopted the principle of schools, and 
 required that every guest should bring his own knife, fork, and spoon, 
 which doubtless would be a great accommodation in many cases, and 
 to no one more so than to the lady and gentleman of the house, espe- 
 cially if the school principle were carried out to the full extent, and 
 the articles were expected, as a matter of delicacy, not to be taken away 
 again. 
 
 Everybody having eaten everything, the table was cleared in a most 
 alarming hurry, and with great noise ; and the spirits, whereat the eyes 
 of Newman Noggs glistened, being arranged in order with water both 
 hot and cold, the party composed themselves for conviviality, Mr. Lilly- 
 vick being stationed in a large arm-chair by the fire-side, and the four 
 little Kenwigses disposed on a small form in front of the company with 
 their flaxen tails towards them, and their faces to the fire ; an arrange- 
 ment which was no sooner perfected than Mrs. Kenwigs was over- 
 powered by the feelings of a mother, and fell upon the left shoulder 
 of Mr. Kenwigs dissolved in tears. 
 
 " They are so beautiful," said Mrs. Kenwigs, sobbing. 
 
 " Oh, dear," said all the ladies, " so they are, it's very natural you 
 should feel proud of that ; but don't give way, don't." 
 
 "I can — not help it, and it don't signify," sobbed Mrs. Kenwigs; 
 ** oh ! they're too beautiful to live, much too beautiful/' 
 
 On hearing this alarming presentiment of tlieir being doomed to an 
 early death in the flower of their infancy, all four little girls raised a 
 hideous cry, and, burying tlieir heads in their mother's lap simulta- 
 neously, screamed until the eight flaxen tails vibrated again : Mrs. 
 Kenwigs meanwhile clasping them alternately to her bosom with atti- 
 
126 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 tudes expressive of distraction, which Miss Petowker herself might 
 have copied. 
 
 At lenoih the anxious mother permitted herself to be soothed into 
 a more tranquil state, and the little Kenwigses being also composed, 
 were distributed among tlie company, to prevent the possibility of 
 Mrs. Kenwigs being again overcome by the blaze of their combined 
 beauty. Which done, the ladies and gentlemen united in prophesying 
 that they would live for many, many years, and that there was no 
 occasion at all for Mrs. Kenwigs to distress herself : which in good 
 truth there did not appear to be, the loveliness of the children by no 
 means justifying her apprehensions. 
 
 " This day eight year," said Mr. Kenwigs, after a pause. " Dear 
 me — ah ! " 
 
 This reflection was echoed by all present, who said "Ah!" first, and 
 " dear me " afterwards. 
 
 " I was younger then," tittered Mrs. Kenwigs. 
 
 " No," said the collector. 
 
 " Certainly not," added everybody. 
 
 " I remember my niece," said Mr. Lillj^-vick, surveying his audience 
 with a grave air ; " I remember her, on that very afternoon^ when she 
 first acknowledged to her mother a partiality for Kenwigs. ' Mother,' 
 she says, ' I love him.' " 
 
 " ' Adore him,' I said, uncle," interposed Mrs. Kenwigs. 
 
 " ' Love him,' I think, my dear," said the collector, firmly. 
 
 " Perliaps you are right, uncle," replied Mrs. Kenwigs, submissively. 
 " I thought it was ' adore.' " 
 
 " ' Love,' my dear," retorted Mr. Lilly vick. " ' Mother, 'she says, 
 ' I love him.' ' What do I hear ? ' cries her mother; and instantly falls 
 into strong convulsions." 
 
 A general exclamation of astonishment burst from the company. 
 
 " Into strong convulsions," repeated Mr. Lillyvick, regarding them 
 with a rigid look. " Kenwigs will excuse my saying, in the presence 
 of friends, that there was a very great objection to him, on the ground 
 that he was beneath the family, and would disgrace it. You remember 
 that, Kenwios ? " 
 
 "Certainly," replied that gentleman, in no way displeased at the 
 reminiscence, inasmuch as it proved beyond all doubt what a high 
 family Mrs. Kenwigs came of. 
 
 " I shared in that feeling," said Mr. Lillyvick : " perhaps it was 
 natural ; perhaps it wasn't." 
 
 A gentle murmur seemed to say, that in one of Mr. Lilly\'ick's 
 station the objection was not only natural, but highly praiseworthy. 
 
 " I came round to him in time," said Mr. Lillyvick. " After they 
 were married, and there was no help for it, I was one of the first to 
 say that Kenwigs must be taken notice of. The family did take 
 notice of him in consequence, and on my representation ; and I am 
 bound to say — and proud to say — that I have always found him a 
 very honest, well-behaved, upright, respectable sort of man. Kenwigs, 
 shake hands." 
 
 " I am proud to do it, Sir," said Mr. Kenwigs. 
 
NICHOLAS NlCKLEBY. 12? 
 
 " So am I, Ken wigs," rejoined Mr. Lilly vick. 
 
 " A very happy life I have led with your niece, Sir," said Kenwigs. 
 
 " It would have been your own fault if you had not, Sir," remarked 
 Mr. Lillyvick. 
 
 " Morleena Kenwigs," cried her mother, at this crisis, much affected, 
 *' kiss your dear uncle." 
 
 The young lady did as she w^as requested, and the three other little 
 girls were successively hoisted up to the collector s countenance, and 
 subjected to the same process, which was afterwards repeated by the 
 majority of those present. 
 
 " Oh dear, Mrs. Kenwigs," said Miss Petowker, " while Mr. Noggs 
 is making that punch to drink happy returns in, do let Morleena go 
 through that figure dance before Mr. Lillyvick." 
 
 " No, no, my dear," replied Mrs. Kenwigs, " it will only worry my 
 uncle." 
 
 " It can't worry him, I am sure," said Miss Petow^ker. " You will 
 be very much pleased, won't you. Sir ? " 
 
 "That I am sure I shall," replied the collector, glancing at the 
 punch mixer. 
 
 " Well then, I'll tell you wdiat,'' said Mrs. Kenwigs, " Morleena 
 shall do the steps, if uncle can persuade Miss Petowker to recite us the 
 Blood-Drinker's Burial afterwards." 
 
 There was a great clapping of hands and stamping of feet at this 
 proposition, the subject whereof gently inclined her head several times, 
 in acknowledgment of the reception. 
 
 " You know," said Miss Petowker, reproachfully, " that I dislike 
 doing anything professional in private parties." 
 
 " Oh, but not here ? " said Mrs. Kenwigs. " We are all so very 
 friendly and pleasant, that you might as well be going through it in 
 your own room ; besides, the occasion " 
 
 " I can't resist that," interrupted Miss Petowker, " anything in my 
 humble power I shall be delighted to do." 
 
 Mrs. Kenwigs and Miss Petowker had arranged a small programme 
 of the entertainments betw^een them, of which this w^as the prescribed 
 order, but they had settled to have a little pressing on both sides, 
 because it looked more natural. The company being all ready. Miss 
 Petowker hummed a tune, and Morleena danced a dance, having pre- 
 viously had the soles of her shoes chalked with as much care as if she 
 were going on the tight-rope. It was a very beautiful figure, com- 
 prising a great deal of work for the arms, and was received with 
 unbounded applause. 
 
 " If I was blessed with a — a child — " said Miss Petowker, blushing, 
 " of such genius as that, I w^ould have her out at the Opera instantly." 
 
 Mrs. Kenwigs sighed and looked at Mr. Kenwigs, who shook his 
 head, and observed that he was doubtful about it. 
 " Kenwigs is afraid," said Mrs. K. 
 
 " What of ? " enquired Miss Petowker, " not of her failing ? " 
 " Oh no," replied Mrs. Kenwigs, " but if she gTew up what she is 
 now, — only think of the young dukes and marquises." 
 " Very right," said the collector. 
 
128 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 " Still," submitted Miss Petowker, " if she has a proper pride in 
 herself, you know — " 
 
 " There's a good deal in that," observed Mrs. Kenwigs, looking at 
 lier husband. 
 
 " I only know — " faltered Miss Petowker, — " it may be no rule 
 to be sure — ^but / have never found any inconvenience or unpleasantness 
 of that sort." 
 
 ' Mr. Kenwigs, with becoming gallantry, said that settled the question 
 at once, and that he would take the subject into his serious considera- 
 tion : this being resolved upon. Miss Petowker was entreated to begin 
 the Blood- Drinker s Burial, to which end, that young lady let down 
 her back hair, and taking up her position at the other end of the room, 
 with the bachelor friend posted in a corner, to rush out at the cue " in 
 death expire," and catch her in his arms when she died raving mad, 
 went through the performance with extraordinary spirit, and to the 
 great terror of the little Kenwigses, who were all but frightened 
 into fits. 
 
 The ecstacies consequent upon the effort had not yet subsided, and 
 Newman (who had not been thoroughly sober at so late an hour for a 
 long long time,) had not yet been able to put in a word of announce- 
 ment that the punch was ready, when a hasty knock was heard at the 
 room-door, which elicited a shriek from Mrs. Kenwigs, who imme- 
 diately divined that the baby had fallen out of l)ed. 
 
 " "Who is that ? " demanded Mr. Kenwigs, sharply. 
 
 *' Don't be alaraied, it's only me," said Crowl, looking in, in his 
 nightcap. " The baby is very comfortable, for I peeped into the room 
 as I came down, and it 's fast asleep, and so is the girl ; and I don't 
 think the candle will set fire to the bed-curtain, unless a draught gets 
 into the room — it 's Mr. Noggs, that's wanted." 
 
 " Me ! " cried Newman, much astonished. 
 
 " Why it is a queer hour, isn't it ? " replied Crowl, who Avas not 
 best pleased at the prospect of losing his fire ; " and they are queer- 
 looking people, too, all covered with rain and mud. Shall I tell them 
 to go away ? " 
 
 " No," said Newman, rising. " People ? How many ? " 
 . " Two," rejoined Crowl. 
 
 " Want me ? By name ? " asked Newman. 
 
 " By name," replied Crowl. " Mr. Newman Noggs, as pat as 
 need be." 
 
 Newman reflected for a few seconds, and then hurried away, mut- 
 tering that he would be back directly. He was as good as his word ; 
 for in an exceedingly short time he burst into the room, and seizing, 
 without a word of apology or explanation, a lighted candle and tumbler 
 of hot punch from the table, darted away like a madman. 
 
 " What the deuce is the matter with him ! " exclaimed Crowl, 
 throwing the door open. " Hark ! Is there any noise above ? " 
 
 The guests rose in great confusion, and, looking in each other's faces 
 with much perplexity and some fear, stretched their necks forwai'd, and 
 listened attentively. 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 129 
 
 CHAPTER XY. 
 
 ACQUAINTS THE READER WITH THE CAUSE AND ORIGIN OF THE INTER- 
 RUPTION DESCRIBED IN THE LAST CHAPTER, AND WITH SOME OTHER 
 MATTERS NECESSARY TO BE KNOWN. 
 
 Newman Noggs scrambled in violent haste up stairs with the steam- 
 ing beverage, which he had so unceremoniously snatched from the table 
 of Mr. Kenwigs, and indeed from the very grasp of the water-rate 
 collector, who was eyeing the contents of the tumbler at the moment of 
 its unexpected abstraction, with lively marks of pleasure visible in his 
 countenance, and bore his prize straight to his own back garret, where, 
 footsore and nearly shoeless, wet, dirty, jaded, and disfigured with every 
 mark of fatiguing travel, sat Nicholas, and Smike, at once the cause and 
 partner of his toil: both perfectly worn out by their unwonted and 
 protracted exertion. 
 
 Newman's first act was to compel Nicholas, with gentle force, to 
 swallow half of the punch at a breath, nearly boiling as it was, and his 
 next to pour the remainder down the throat of Smike, who, never 
 having tasted anything stronger than aperient medicine in his whole 
 life, exhibited various odd manifestations of surprise and delight, during 
 the passage of the liquor down his throat, and turned up his eyes most 
 emphatically when it was all gone. 
 
 " You are wet through," said Newman, passing his hand hastily 
 over the coat which Nicholas had thrown off ; " and I — I — haven't 
 even a change," he added, with a wistful glance at the shabby clothes 
 he wore himself. 
 
 "I have dry clothes, or at least such as will serve my turn well, in 
 my bundle," replied Nicholas. " If you look so distressed to see me, 
 you will add to the pain I feel already, at being compelled for one night 
 to cast myself upon your slender means for aid and shelter." ^ 
 
 Newman did not look the less distressed to hear Nicholas talking in 
 this strain; but upon his young friend grasping him heartily by 
 the hand, and assuring him that nothing but implicit confidence in the 
 sincerity of his professions, and kindness of feeling towards himself, 
 would have induced him, on any consideration, even to have made him 
 acquainted with his arrival in London, Mr. Noggs brightened up again, 
 and went about making such arrangements as were in his power for 
 the comfort of his visitors, with extreme alacrity. 
 
 These were simple enough, poor Newman's means halting at a very 
 considerable distance short of his inclinations ; but, sliglit as they were, 
 they were not made without much bustling and running about. As 
 Nicholas had husbanded his scanty stock of money so well that it was 
 not yet quite expended, a supper of bread and cheese, with some 
 cold beef from the cook's shop, was soon placed upon the table ; and 
 these viands being flanked by a bottle of spirits and a pot of porter, 
 
130 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 there was no ground for apprehension on the score of hunger and thirst, 
 at all events. Such preparations as Newman had it in his power 
 to make, for the accommodation of his guests during the night, occu- 
 pied no very great time in completing ; and as he had insisted, as an 
 express preliminary, that Nicholas should change his clothes, and that 
 Smike should invest himself in his solitary coat (which no entreaties 
 would dissuade him from stripping off for the purpose), the travellers 
 partook of their frugal fare, with more satisfaction than one of them at 
 least had derived from many a better meal. 
 
 They then drew near the fire, which Newman Noggs had made up 
 as well as he could, after the inroads of Crowl upon the fuel ; and 
 Nicholas, who had hitherto been restrained by the extreme anxiety of 
 his friend that he should refresh himself after his journey, now pressed 
 him with earnest questions concerning his mother and sister. 
 
 " Well ;" replied Newman, with his accustomed taciturnity ; " both 
 well." 
 
 " They are living in the city still ?" inquired Nicholas. 
 
 " They are," said Newman. 
 
 " And my sister" — added Nicholas. " Is she still engaged in the 
 business which she wrote to tell me she thought she should like so 
 much?" 
 
 Newman opened his eyes rather wider than usual, but merely replied 
 by a gasp, which, according to the action of the head that accompanied 
 it, was interpreted by his friends as meaning yes or no. In the present 
 instance, the pantomime consisted of a nod, and not a shake, so 
 Nicholas took the answer as a favourable one. 
 
 " Now listen to me," said Nicholas, laying his hand on Newman's 
 shoulder. " Before I would make an effort to see them, I deemed it 
 expedient to come to you, lest, by gTatifying my own selfish desire, I 
 should inflict an injury upon them which I can never repair. What 
 has my uncle heard from Yorkshire ? " 
 
 Newman opened and shut his mouth several times, as though he 
 were trying his utmost to speak, but could make nothing of it, and 
 finally fixed his eyes on Nicholas with a grim and ghastly stare. 
 
 " What has he heard?" urged Nicholas, colouring. " You see 
 that I am prepared to hear the very worst that malice can have 
 suggested. Why should you conceal it from me ? I must know it 
 sooner or later ; and what purpose can be gained by trifling with the 
 matter for a few minutes, when half the time would put me in posses- 
 sion of all that has occurred ? Tell me at once, pray." 
 
 " To-morrow morning," said Newman ; " hear it to-morrow." 
 
 " What purpose would that answer ? " urged Nicholas. 
 
 " You would sleep the better," replied Newman. 
 
 " I should sleep the worse," answered Nicholas, impatiently. "Sleep! 
 Exhausted as I am, and standing in no common need of rest, I caimot 
 hope to close my eyes all night, unless you tell me everything." 
 
 " And if I should tell you everything," said Newman, hesitating. 
 
 " Why, then you may rouse my indignation or wound my pride," 
 rejoined Nicholas ; " but you will not break my rest ; for if the scene 
 were acted over again, I could take no other part than I have taken ; 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 131 
 
 and whatever consequences may accrue to myself from it, I shall never 
 regret doing as I have — never, if J. starve or beg in consequence. What 
 is a little poverty or suffering, to the disgrace of the basest and most 
 inhuman cowardice ! I tell you, if I had stood by, tamely and passively, 
 I should have hated myself, and merited the contempt of every man in 
 existence. The black-hearted scoundrel !" 
 
 With this gentle allusion to the absent Mr. Squeers, Nicholas 
 repressed his rising \vrath, and relating to Newman exactly what had 
 passed at Dotheboys Hall, entreated him to speak out without further 
 pressing. Thus adjured, Mr. Noggs took from an old trunk a sheet of 
 paper, which appeared to have been scrawled over in great haste ; and 
 after sundry extraordinary demonstrations of reluctance, delivered him- 
 self in the following terms. 
 
 " My dear young man, you mustn't give way to — this sort of tiling 
 will never do, you know — as to getting on in the world, if you take 
 everybody's part that 's ill-treated — Damn it, I am proud to hear of it ; 
 and would have done it myself ! " 
 
 Newman accompanied this very unusual outbreak with a violent blow 
 upon the table, as if, in the heat of the moment, he had mistaken it for 
 the chest or ribs of Mr. Wackford Squeers ; and having, by this open 
 declaration of his feelings, quite precluded himself from offering 
 Nicholas any cautious worldly advice (which had been his first 
 intention), Mr. Noggs went straight to the point. 
 
 " The day before yesterday," said Newman, " your uncle received 
 this letter. I took a hasty copy of it while he was out. Shall I 
 read it ? " 
 
 " If you please," replied Nicholas. Newman Noggs accordingly read 
 as follows : — 
 
 " Dothehoys Hall, 
 
 ** Thursday Morning. 
 
 " Sir, 
 
 " My pa requests me to write to you. The doctors considering it 
 doubtful whether he will ever recuvvt* the use of his legs which pre- 
 vents his holding a pen. 
 
 " We are in a state of mind beyond everything, and my pa is one- 
 mask of brooses both blue and green likewise two forms are steepled 
 in his Goar. We were kimpelled to have him carried down into the 
 kitchen where he now lays. You will judge from this that he has 
 been brought very low. 
 
 " When your nevew that you recommended for a teacher had done 
 this to my pa and jumped upon his body with his feet and also lang- 
 wedge which I will not pollewt my pen with describing, he assaulted 
 my ma with dreadful violence, dashed her to the earth, and drove her 
 back comb several inches into her head. A very little more and it must 
 have entered her skull. We have a medical certifiket that if it had, the 
 tortershell would have affected the brain. 
 
 " Me and my brother were then the victims of his feury since 
 which we have suffered very much which leads us to the arrowing 
 belief that we have received some injury in our iusides, especially as no 
 marks of violence are visible externally. I am screaming out loud all 
 
 K 2 
 
132 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 the time I write and so is my brother wliich takes off my attention 
 rather, and I hope will excuse mistakes. 
 
 " The monster having satiated his thirst for blood ran away, taking 
 with him a boy of desperate caracter that he had excited to rebellyon, 
 and a garnet ring belonging to my ma, and not having been apprehended 
 by the constables is supposed to have been took up by some stage- 
 coach. My pa begs that if he comes to you the ring may be returned, 
 and that you will let the thief and assassin go, as if we prosecuted him 
 he would only be transported, and if he is let go he is sure to be hung 
 before long, which will save us trouble, and be much more satisfactory. 
 Hoping to hear from you when convenient 
 
 " I remain 
 
 *' Yours and cetrer 
 " Fanny Squeers. 
 
 " P.S. I pity his ignorance and despise him." 
 
 A profound silence succeeded to the reading of this choice epistle, 
 during which Newman Noggs, as he folded it up, gazed with a kind of 
 grotesque pity at the boy of desperate character therein referred to ; 
 who, having no more distinct perception of the matter in hand, than 
 that he had been the unfortunate cause of heaping trouble and falsehood 
 upon Nicholas, sat mute and dispirited, with a most woe-begone and 
 heart-stricken look. 
 
 " Mr. Noggs," said Nicholas, after a few moments' reflection, " I must 
 go out at once." 
 
 " Go out !" cried Nevirman. 
 
 " Yes," said Nicholas, " to Golden Square. Nobody who knows 
 me would believe this story of the ring ; but it may suit the purpose, or 
 gratify the hatred, of Mr. Ralph Nickleby to feign to attach credence 
 to it. It is due — not to him, biut to myself — that I should state the 
 truth ; and moreover, I have a word or two to exchange with him, 
 which will not keep cool." 
 
 " They must," said Newman. 
 
 " They must not, indeed," rejoined Nicholas firmly, as he prepared 
 to leave the house. 
 
 " Hear me speak," said Newman, planting himself before his impe- 
 tuous young friend. " He is not there. He is away from town. He 
 will not be back for three days ; and I know that letter will not be 
 answered before he returns." 
 
 " Are you sure of this ?" asked Nicholas, chafing violently, and pacing 
 the narrow room with rapid strides. 
 
 " Quite," rejoined Newman. " He had hardly read it when he was 
 called away. Its conf?jnts are known to nobody but himself and us." 
 
 " Are you certain?" demanded Nicholas, precipitately; "not even 
 to my mother or sister ? If I thought that they — I will go there — I 
 must see them. Which is the way ? Where is it?" 
 
 " Now be advised by me," said Newman, speaking for the moment, 
 in his earnestness, like any other man — " make no effort to see even 
 them, till he comes home. I know the man. Do not seem to have 
 been tampering with anybody. When he returns, go straight to him, 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 133 
 
 and speak as boldly as you like. Guessing at the real truth, he knows 
 it as well as you or I. Trust him for that." 
 
 " You mean w^ell to me, and should know him better than I can," 
 replied Nicholas, after some further thought. " Well ; let it be so." 
 
 Newman, who had stood during the foregoing conversation with his 
 back planted against the door ready to oppose any egress from the 
 apartment by force, if necessary, resumed his seat with much satisfaction ; 
 and as the water in the kettle was by this time boiling, made a glass- 
 full of spirits and water for Nicholas, and a cracked mug-full for the 
 joint accommodation of himself and Smike, of which the two partook 
 in great harmony, while Nicholas, leaning his head upon his hand, 
 remained buried in melancholy meditation. 
 
 Meanwhile the company below stairs, after listening attentively and 
 not hearing any noise which would justify them in interfering for the 
 gratification of their curiosity, returned to the chamber of the Kenwigses, 
 and employed themselves in hazarding a great variety of conjectures 
 relative to the cause of Mr. Noggs's sudden disappearance and detention. 
 
 " Lor, I'll tell you what ;" said Mrs. Kenwigs. " Suppose it should 
 be an express sent up to say that his property has all come back again !"" 
 
 " Dear me," said Mr. Kenwigs ; " it's not impossible. Perhaps, in 
 that case, we'd better send up and ask if he won't take a little more 
 punch." 
 
 " Kenwigs," said Mr. Lillyvick, in a loud voice, " I'm surprised at 
 you." 
 
 " What's the matter. Sir?" asked Mr. Kenwigs, with becoming sub- 
 mission to the collector of water rates. 
 
 " Making such a remark as that, Sir," replied Mr. Lillyvick, angrily. 
 " He has had punch already, has he not. Sir ? I consider the way in 
 which that punch was cut off, if I may use the expression, highly 
 disrespectful to this company ; scandalous, perfectly scandalous. It 
 may be the custom to allow such things in this house, but it's not the 
 kind of behaviour that I've been used to see displayed, and so I don't 
 mind telling you, Kenwigs. A gentleman has a glass of punch before 
 him to which he is just about to set his lips, when another gentleman 
 comes and collars that glass of punch, without a ' with your leave,' or 
 ' by your leave,' and carries that glass of punch away. This may be 
 good manners — I dare say it is — ^but I don't understand it, that's all ; and 
 what's more, I don't care if I never do. It's my way to speak my mind, 
 Kenwigs, and that is my mind ; and if you don't like it, it's past my 
 regular time for going to bed, and I can find my way home without 
 m.iking it later." 
 
 Here was an untoward event. The collector had sat swelling and 
 fuming in offended dignity for some minutes, and had now fairly burst 
 out. The great man — the rich relation — the unmarried uncle — who 
 had it in his power to make Morleena an heiress, and the very baby a 
 legatee — was offended. Gracious Powers, where was this to end ! 
 
 " I am very sorry. Sir," said Mr. Kenwigs, humbly. 
 
 " Don't tell me you're sorry," retorted Mr. Lillyvick, with much 
 sharpness. " You should have prevented it, then." 
 
 The company were quite paralysed by this domestic crash. The 
 
134 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 back parlour sat with her mouth wide open, staring vacantly at the 
 collector in a stupor of dismay, and the other guests were scarcely less 
 OYerpowered by the great man's irritation. Mr. Kenwigs not beiiio- 
 skilful in such matters, only fanned the flame in attempting to extin- 
 guish it. 
 
 " I didn't think of it, I am sure, Sir," said that gentleman. " I 
 didn't suppose that such a little thing as a glass of punch would have 
 put you out of temper." 
 
 " Out of temper ! What the devil do you mean by that piece of 
 impertinence, Mr. Kenwigs?" said the collector. " Morleena, child — 
 give me my hat." 
 
 " Oh, you're not going, Mr. Lillyvick, Sir," interposed Miss Petowker, 
 with her most bewitching smile. 
 
 But still Mr. Lillyvick, regardless of the siren, cried obdurately, 
 " Morleena, my hat !" upon the fourth repetition of which demand 
 Mrs. Kenwigs sunk back in her chair, with a cry that might have 
 softened a water-butt, not to say a water collector ; while the four little 
 girls (privately instructed to that effect) clasped their uncle's corduroy 
 shorts in their arms, and prayed him in imperfect English to remain. 
 
 " Why should I stop here, my dears?" said Mr. Lillyvick ; " I'm 
 not wanted here." 
 
 " Oh, do not speak so cruelly, uncle," sobbed Mrs. Kenwigs, " unless 
 you wish to kill me." 
 
 " I shouldn't wonder if some people were to say I did," replied Mr. 
 Lillyvick, glancing angrily at Kenwigs. " Out of temper!" 
 
 " Oh ! I cannot bear to sec him look so at my husband," cried Mrs. 
 Kenwigs. " It's so dreadful in families. Oh !" 
 
 " Mr. Lillyvick," said Kenwigs, " I hope, for the sake of your niece, 
 that you won't object to be reconciled." 
 
 The collector's features relaxed, as the company added their entreaties 
 to those of his nephew- in-law. He gave up his hat and held out his 
 hand. 
 
 " There, Kenwigs," said Mr. Lillyvick ; " and let me tell you at the 
 same time, to show you how much out of temper I was, that if I had 
 gone away without another word, it would have made no difference 
 respecting that pound or two which I shall leave among your children 
 when I die." 
 
 " Morleena Kenwigs," cried her mother, in a torrent of affection. 
 " Go down upon your knees to your dear uncle, and beg him to love 
 you all his life through, for he's more a angel than a man, and I've 
 always said so." 
 
 Miss Morleena approaching ^,to do homage in compliance with this 
 injunction, was summarily caught up and kissed by Mr. Lillyvick, and 
 thereupon Mrs. Kcnwig-s darted forward and kissed the collector, and 
 an iri'epressible murmur of applause broke from tlie company who had 
 witnessed his magnanimity. 
 
 The worthy gentleman then became once more the life and soul of the 
 society, being again reinstated in his old post of lion, from which high 
 station the temporary distraction of their thoughts had for a moment 
 dispossessed him. Quadruped lions are said to be savage only wheu 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 135 
 
 they are hungry ; biped lions are rarely sulky longer than when their 
 appetite for distinction remains unappeased. Mr. Lillyvick stood higher 
 than ever, for he had shown his power, hinted at his property and testa- 
 mentary intentions ; gained great credit for disinterestedness and virtue ; 
 and in addition to all, he was finally accommodated with a much larger 
 tumbler of punch than that which Newman Noggs had so feloniously 
 made off with. 
 
 " I say, I beg everybody's pardon for intruding again," said Crowl, 
 looking in at this happy juncture ; " but what a queer business this is, 
 isn't it ? Noggs has lived in this house now going on for five years, 
 and nobody has ever been to see him before within the memory of the 
 oldest inhabitant." 
 
 " It's a strange time of night to be called away. Sir, certainly," said 
 the collector ; " and the behaviour of Mr. Noggs himself is, to say the 
 least of it, mysterious." 
 
 " Well, so it is," rejoined Crowl ; " and I'll tell you what's more — 
 I think these two geniuses, whoever they are, have run away from 
 somewhere." 
 
 " What makes you think that, Sir ? " demanded the collector, who 
 seemed by a tacit understanding to have been chosen and elected mouth- 
 piece to the company. " You have no reason to suppose that they 
 have run away from anywhere without paying the rates and taxes 
 due, I hope ?" 
 
 Mr. Crowl, with a look of some contempt, was about to enter 
 a general protest against the payment of rates or taxes, under any 
 circumstances, when he was checked by a timely whisper from Ken- 
 wigs, and several frowns and winks from Mrs. K., which providentially 
 stopped him. 
 
 " Why the fact is," said Crowl, who had been listening at Newman's 
 door, with all his might and main ; " the fact js, that they have been 
 talking so loud, that they quite disturbed me in my room, and so 
 I couldn't help catching a word here, and a word there ; and all I heard 
 certainly seemed to refer to their having bolted from some place or 
 other. I don't wish to alarm Mrs. Kenwigs ; but I hope they haven't 
 come from any jail or hospital, and brought away a fever or some 
 unpleasantness of that sort, which might be catching for the children." 
 
 Mrs. Kenwigs was so overpowered by this supposition, that it 
 needed all the tender attentions of Miss Petowker, of the Theatre 
 Royal, Dniry Lane, to restore her to anything like a state of calmness; 
 not to mention the assiduity of Mr. Kenwigs, who held a fat smelling- 
 bottle to his lady's nose, until it became matter of some doubt whether 
 the tears which coursed down her face, were the result of feelings 
 or sal volatile. 
 
 The ladies, having expressed their sympathy, singly and sepa- 
 rately, fell, according to custom, into a little chorus of soothing ex- 
 pressions, among which, such condolences as "Poor dear!" — "I should 
 feel just the same, if I was her" — " To be sure, it 's a very trying thing"— 
 and " Nobody but a mother knows what a mother's feelings is," were 
 among the most prominent and most frequently repeated. In short, the 
 opinion of the company was so clearly manifested, that Mr. Kenwigs 
 
136 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 was on the point of repairing to Mr. Noggs's room, to demand an 
 explanation ; and had indeed swallowed a preparatory glass of punch, 
 with great inflexibility and steadiness of purpose, when the attention of 
 all present was diverted by a new and terrible surprise. 
 
 This was nothing less than the sudden pouring forth of a rapid suc- 
 cession of the shrillest and most piercing screams, from an upper story; 
 and to all appearance from the very two-pair back in which the infant 
 Kenwigs was at that moment enshrined. They were no sooner 
 audible, than Mrs. Kenwigs, opining that a strange cat had come in, 
 and sucked the baby's breath while the girl was asleep, made for the 
 door, wringing her hands, and shrieking dismally ; to the great con- 
 sternation and confusion of the company. 
 
 " Mr. Kenwngs, see what it is ; make haste !" cried the sister, laying 
 violent hands upon Mrs. Kenwigs, and holding her back by force. 
 " Oh don't twist about so, dear, or I can never hold you." 
 
 " My baby, my blessed, blessed, blessed, blessed baby," screamed 
 Mrs. Kenwigs, making every blessed louder than the last. " My own 
 darling, sweet, innocent Lilly vick — Oh let me go to him. Let 
 me go-o-o-o." 
 
 Pending the utterance of these frantic cries, and the wails and lamen- 
 tations of the four little girls, Mr. Kenwigs rushed up stairs to the 
 room whence the sounds proceeded, at the door of which he encountered 
 Nicholas, with the child in his arms, who darted out with such violence, 
 that the anxious father was thrown down six stairs, and alighted on 
 the nearest landing-place, before he had found time to open his mouth 
 to ask what w^as the matter. 
 
 " Don't be alarmed," cried Nicholas, running down ; " here it is ; it's 
 all out, it 's all over; pray compose yourselves ; there's no harm done;" 
 and with these, and a thousand other assurances, he delivered the baby 
 (whom, in his hurry, he had carried upside down), to Mrs. Kenwigs, 
 and ran back to assist Mr. Kenwigs, who was rubbing his head very 
 hard, and looking much bewildered by his tumble. 
 
 Reassured by this cheering intelligence, the company in some 
 degree recovered from their fears, which had been productive of some 
 most singular instances of a total want of presence of mind ; thus the 
 bachelor friend had for a long time supported in his arms Mrs. Ken- 
 wigs's sister, instead of Mrs. Kenwigs ; and the worthy Mr. Lillyvick 
 had been actually seen, in the pertur])ation of his spirits, to kiss Miss 
 Petowker several times, behind the room door, as calmly as if nothing 
 distressing were going forward. 
 
 " It is a mere notliing," said Nicholas, returning to Mrs. Kenwigs ; 
 " the little girl, who was watching the child, being tired I suppose, fell 
 asleep, and sot her hair on fire." 
 
 " Oh you malicious little wretch !" cried Mrs. Kenwigs, impressively 
 shaking her fore-finger at the small unfortunate, who might be tliirteen 
 years old, and was looking on with a singed head and a frightened fixce. 
 
 " I heard her cries," continued Nicholas, " and ran down in time to 
 prevent her setting fire to any thing else. You may depend upon 
 it that the child is not hurt ; for I took it off the bed myself, and 
 brought it here to convince you." 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 137 
 
 This brief explanation over, the infant, who, as he was christened 
 after the collector, rejoiced in the names of Lilly vick Ken wigs, was 
 partially suffocated under the caresses of the audience, and squeezed to 
 his mother's bosom, until he roared again. The attention of the 
 company was then directed, by a natural transition, to the little girl who 
 had had the audacity to burn her hair off, and who, after receiving 
 sundry small slaps and pushes from the more energetic of the ladies, was 
 mercifully sent home ; the ninepence, with which she was to have been 
 rewarded, being escheated to the Kenwigs family. 
 
 " And whatever we are to say to you. Sir," exclaimed Mrs. Kenwigs, 
 addressing young Lilly vick's deliverer, " I am sure I don't know." 
 
 " You need say nothing at all," replied Nicholas. " I have done 
 nothing to found any very strong claim upon your eloquence, I am 
 sure." 
 
 " He might have been burnt to death, if it hadn't been for you. Sir," 
 simpered Miss Petowker. 
 
 " Not very likely, I think," replied Nicholas ; " for there was 
 abundance of assistance here, which must have reached him before he 
 had been in any danger." 
 
 " You will let us drink your health, anyvays. Sir ? " said Mr. 
 Kenwigs, motioning towards the table. 
 
 " — In my absence, by all means," rejoined Nicholas, with a smile. 
 " I have had a very fatiguing journey, and should be most indifferent 
 company — a far greater check upon your merriment, than a promoter 
 of it, even if I kept awake, which I think very doubtful. If you will 
 allow me, I'll return to my friend, Mr. Noggs, who went up stairs 
 again, when he found nothing serious had occurred. Good night." 
 
 Excusinc: himself in these terms from ioinino- in the festivities, 
 Nicholas took a most wmnmg farewell of Mrs. Kenwigs and the other 
 ladies, and retired, after making a very extraordinary impression upon 
 the company. 
 
 " What a delightful young man ! " cried Mrs. Kenwigs. 
 
 " Uncommon gentlemanly, really," said Mr. Kenwigs. " Don't you 
 think so, Mr. Lillyvick ? " 
 
 " Yes," said the collector, with a dubious shrug of his shoulders. 
 " He is gentlemanly, very gentlemanly — in appearance." 
 
 " I hope you don't see anything against him, uncle?" inquired Mrs. 
 Kenwigs. 
 
 " No, my dear," replied the collector, " no. I trust he may not turn 
 out — well — no matter — my love to you, my dear, and long life to the 
 baby." 
 
 " Your namesake," said Mrs. Kenwigs, with a sweet smile. 
 
 " And I hope a worthy namesake," observed Mr. Kenwigs, willing 
 to propitiate the collector. " I hope a baby as will never disgrace his 
 godfather, and as may be considered in arter years of a piece with the 
 Lillyvicks whose name he bears. I do say — and Mrs. Kenwigs is of 
 the same sentiment, and feels it as strong as I do — ^that I consider his 
 being called Lillyvick one of the greatest blessings and honours of my 
 existence." 
 
 " The greatest blessing, Kenwigs," murmured his lady. 
 
I3S LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 " The greatest blessing," said Mr. Kcnwigs, correcting himself. " A 
 blessing that I hope one of these days I may be able to deserve." 
 
 This was a politic stroke of the Kenwigses, because it made Mr, 
 Lillyvick the great head and fountain of the baby's importance. The 
 good gentleman felt the delicacy and dexterity of the touch, and at once 
 proposed the health of the gentleman, name unknown, who had signalised 
 himself that night by his coolness and alacrity. 
 
 " Who, I don't mind saying," observed Mr. Lillyvick, as a great 
 concession, " is a good-looking young man enough, with manners that 
 I hope his character may be equal to." 
 
 " He has a very nice face and style, really," said Mrs. Kenwigs. 
 
 " He certainly has," added Miss Petowker. " There's something in 
 his appearance quite — dear, dear, what's that word again ?" 
 
 " What word?" inquired Mr. Lillyvick. 
 
 " Why — dear me, how stupid I am," replied Miss Petowker, hesi- 
 tating. . " What do you call it when Lords break off door-knockers and 
 beat policemen, and play at coaches with other people's money, and all 
 that sort of thing ?" 
 
 " Aristocratic ?" sugge^ed the collector. 
 
 " Ah ! aristocratic," replied Miss Petowker ; " something very 
 aristocratic about him, isn't there ?" 
 
 The gentlemen held their peace and smiled at each other, as who 
 should say, " Well ! there's no accounting for tastes ;" but the ladies 
 resolved unanimously that Nicholas had an aristocratic air, and nobody 
 caring to dispute the position, it was established triumphantly. 
 
 The punch being by this time drunk out and the little Kenwigses 
 (who had for some time previously held their little eyes open with their 
 little fore-fingers) becoming fractious, and requesting rather urgently to 
 be put to bed, the collector made a move by pulling out his watch, and 
 acquainting the company that it was nigh two o'clock; whereat some of 
 the guests were surprised and others shocked, and hats and bonnets 
 being groped for under the tables, and in course of time found, their 
 owners went away, after a vast deal of shaking of hands, and many 
 remarks how they had never spent such a delightful evening, and how 
 they marvelled to find it so late, expecting to have heard that it was 
 half-past ten at the very latest, and how they wished that Mr. and Mrs. 
 Kenwigs had a wedding-day once a week, and how they wondered by 
 ■what hidden agency Mrs. Kenwigs could possibly have managed so 
 well ; and a great deal more of the same kind. To all of which flattering 
 expressions Mr. and Mrs. Kenwigs replied, by thanking every lady and 
 gentleman, seriatim^ for the favour of their company, and hoping they 
 might have enjoyed themselves only half as well as they said they had. 
 
 As to Nicholas, quite unconscious of the impression he had produced, 
 he had long since fallen asleep, leaving Mr. Newman Noggs and Smike 
 to empty the spirit bottle between them ; and this office they perfomied 
 with such extreme good will, that Newman was equally at a loss to 
 determine whether he himself was quite sober, and whether he had ever 
 seen any gentleman so heavily, di'owsily, and completely intoxicated as 
 his new acquaintance. 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. ' 139 
 
 CHAPTER XYI. 
 
 NICHOLAS SEEKS TO EMPLOY HIMSELF IN A NEW CAPACITY, AND 
 BEING UNSUCCESSFUL, ACCEPTS AN ENGAGEMENT AS TUTOR IN A 
 PRIVATE FAMILY. 
 
 The first care of Nicholas next morning was, to look after some room 
 in which, until better times dawned upon him, he could contrive to 
 exist, without trenching upon the hospitality of Newman Noggs, who 
 would have slept upon the stairs with pleasure, so that his young friend 
 was accommodated. 
 
 The vacant apartment to which the bill in the parlour window bore 
 reference, appeared on inquiry to be a small back room on the second 
 floor, reclaimed from the leads, and overlooking a soot-bespeckled 
 prospect of tiles and chimney-pots* For the letting of this portion of 
 the house from week to week, on reasonable terms, the parlour lodger 
 w^as empowered to treat, he being deputed by the landlord to dispose of 
 the rooms as they became vacant, and to keep a sharp look-out that the 
 lodgers didn't run away. As a means of securing the punctual discharge 
 of which last service he was permitted to live rent-free, lest he should 
 at any time be tempted to run away himself. 
 
 Of this chamber Nicholas became the tenant ; and having hired a few 
 common articles of furniture from a neighbouring broker, and paid the 
 first week's hire in advance, out of a small fund raised by the conversion 
 of some spare clothes into ready money, he sat himself down to ruminate 
 upon his prospects, which, like that outside his window, were sufiiciently 
 confined and dingy. As they by no means improved on better acquaint- 
 ance, and as familiarity breeds contempt, he resolved to banish them 
 from his thoughts by dint of hard walking. So, taking up his hat, and 
 leaving poor Smike to arrange and re-arrange the room with as much 
 delight as if it had been the costliest palace, he betook himself to the 
 streets, and mingled with the crowd which thronged them. 
 
 Although a man may lose a sense of his own importance when he is 
 a mere unit among a busy throng, all utterly regardless of him, it by no 
 means follows that he can dispossess himself, with equal facility, of a 
 very strong sense of the importance and magnitude of his cares. The 
 unhappy state of his own afikirs was the one idea which occupied the 
 brain of Nicholas, walk as fast as he would ; and when he tried to dis- 
 lodge it by speculating on the situation and prospects of the people who 
 surrounded him, he caught himself in a few seconds contrasting their 
 condition with his own, and gliding almost imperceptibly back into his 
 old train of thought again. 
 
 Occupied in these reflections, as he was making his way along one of 
 the great public thoroughfares of London, he chanced to raise his eyes 
 to a blue board, whereon was inscribed in characters of gold, " General 
 Agency Office ; for places and situations of all kinds inquire within." 
 It was a shop-front, fitted up with a gauze blind and an inner door ; and 
 
140 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 in the window hung a long and tempting array of written placards, an- 
 nouncing vacant places of every grade, from a secretary's to a footboy's. 
 
 Nicholas halted instinctively before this temple of promise, and ran 
 his eye over the capital-text openings in life which were so profusely 
 displayed. When he had completed his survey he walked on a little 
 "way, and then back, and then on again ; at length, after pausing irre- 
 solutely several times before the door of the General Agency Office, he 
 made up his mind and stepped in. 
 
 He found himself in a little floor-clothed room, with a high desk 
 railed off* in one corner, behind which sat a lean youth with cunning 
 eyes and a protruding chin, whose performances in capital-text darkened 
 the window. He had a thick ledger lying open before him, and with 
 the fingers of his right hand inserted between the leaves, and his eyes 
 fixed on a very fat old lady in a mob-cap — evidently the proprietress of 
 the establishment — who was airing herself at the fire, seemed to be only 
 waiting her directions to refer to some entries contained within its rusty 
 clasps. 
 
 As there was a board outside, which acquainted the public that 
 servants-of-all-work were perpetually in waiting to be hired from ten 
 till four, Nicholas knew at once that some half-dozen strong young 
 women, each with pattens and an umbrella, who were sitting upon a 
 form in one corner, were in attendance for that purpose, especially as the 
 poor things looked anxious and weary. He was not quite so certain of the 
 callings and stations of two smart young ladies who were in conversation 
 with the fat lady before the fire, until — having sat himself down in a 
 corner, and remarked that he would wait until the other customers had 
 been served — the fat lady resumed the dialogue which his entrance had 
 interrupted. 
 
 " Cook, Tom," said the fat lady, still airing herself as aforesaid. 
 
 " Cook," said Tom, turning over some leaves of the ledger. " Well." 
 
 " Read out an easy place or two," said the fat lady. 
 
 " Pick out very light ones, if you please, young man," interposed a 
 genteel female in shepherd's-plaid boots, who appeared to be the client. 
 
 " ' Mrs. Marker,'" said Tom, reading, " ' Russell Place, Russell 
 Square ; offers eighteen guineas, tea and sugar found. Two in family, 
 and see very little company. Five servants kept. No man. No 
 followers.' " 
 
 " Oh Lor!" tittered the client. " That won't do. Read another, 
 young man, will you ?" 
 
 " ' Mrs. Wrymug,' " said Tom. " ' Pleasant Place, Finsbury. Wages, 
 twelve guineas. No tea, no sugar. Serious family — ' " 
 
 " Ah ! you needn't mind reading that," interrupted the client. 
 
 " ' Three serious footmen,' " said Tom, impressively. 
 
 " Three, did you say ? " asked the client, in an altered tone. 
 
 " Three serious footmen," replied Tom. " ' Cook, housemaid, and 
 nursemaid ; each female servant required to join the Little Bethel Con- 
 gregation three times every Sunday — with a serious footman. If the 
 cook is more serious than the footman, she will be expected to improve 
 the footman ; if the footman is more serious than the cook, he will be 
 expected to improve the cook.' " 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 141 
 
 " ril take the address of that place," said the client ; " I don't know 
 but what it mightn't suit me pretty well." 
 
 " Here's another," remarked Tom, turning over the leaves; " 'Family 
 of Mr. Gallanbile, M.P. Fifteen guineas, tea and sugar, and servants 
 allowed to see male cousins, if godly. Note. Cold dinner in the kitchen 
 on the Sabbath, Mr. Gallanbile being devoted to the Observance ques- 
 tion. No victuals whatever cooked on the Lord's Day, with the 
 exception of dinner for Mr. and Mrs. Gallanbile, which, being a work 
 of piety and necessity, is exempted. Mr. Gallanbile dines late on the 
 day of rest, in order to prevent the sinfulness of the cook's dressing 
 herself.' " 
 
 " I don't think that '11 answer as well as the other," said the client, 
 after a little whispering with her friend. " I'll take the other direction, 
 if you please, young man. I can but come back again, if it don't do." 
 
 Tom made out the address, as requested, and the genteel client, having 
 satisfied the fat lady with a small fee meanwhile, went away, accompa- 
 nied by her friend. 
 
 As Nicholas opened his mouth, to request the young man to turn to 
 letter S, and let him know what secretaryships remained undisposed of, 
 there came into the ofiice an applicant, in whose favour he immediately 
 retired, and whose appearance both surprised and interested him. 
 
 This was a young lady who could be scarcely eighteen, of very slight 
 and delicate figure, but exquisitely shaped, who, walking timidly up to 
 the desk, made an inquiry, in a very low tone of voice, relative to some 
 situation as governess, or companion to a lady. She raised her veil for 
 an instant, while she preferred the inquiry, and disclosed a countenance 
 of most uncommon beauty, although shaded by a cloud of sadness, which 
 in one so young was doubly remarkable. Having received a card of 
 reference to some person on the books, she made the usual acknow- 
 ledgment, and glided away. 
 
 She was neatly, but very quietly attired ; so much so, indeed, that 
 it seemed as though her dress, if it had been worn by one who imparted 
 fewer graces of her own to it, might have looked poor and shabby. 
 Her attendant — for she had one — was a red-faced, round-eyed, slovenly 
 girl, who, from a certain roughness about the bare arms that peeped 
 from under her draggled shawl, and the half-washed-out traces of smut 
 and blacklead which tattoed her countenance, was clearly of a kin with 
 the servants-of-all-work on the form, between whom and herself there 
 had passed various grins and glances, indicative of the freemasonry of 
 the craft. 
 
 This girl followed her mistress ; and before Nicholas had recovered 
 from the first effects of his surprise and admiration, the yolmg lady was 
 gone. It is not a matter of such complete and utter improbability as 
 some sober people may think, that he would have followed them out, 
 had he not been restrained by what passed between the fat lady and 
 her book-keeper. 
 
 " When is she coming again, Tom ? " asked the fat lady. 
 
 " To-morrow morning," replied Tom, mending his pen. 
 
 " Where have you sent her to ? " asked the fat lady. 
 
 " Mrs. Clark's," replied Tom. 
 
I4£ LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 " She'll have a nice life of it, if she goes there," observed the fat lady, 
 taking a pinch of snuff" from a tin box. 
 
 Tom made no other reply than thrusting his tongue into his cheek, 
 and pointing the feather of his pen towards Nicholas — reminders which 
 elicited from the fat lady an inquiry of " Now, Sir, what can we do 
 for you ? " 
 
 Nicholas briefly replied, that he wanted to know whether there was 
 any such post as secretary or amanuensis to a gentleman to be had. 
 
 " Any such !" rejoined tlie mistress ; " a dozen such. An't there, 
 Tom ? " 
 
 " /should think so," answered that young gentleman ; and as he said 
 it, he winked towards Nicholas, with a degree of familiarity which he 
 no doubt intended for a rather flattering compliment, but with w^hich 
 Nicholas was most ungratefully disgusted. 
 
 Upon reference to the book, it appeared that the dozen secretar}^ships 
 had dwindled down to one. Mr. Gregsbtiry, the great member of par- 
 liament, of Manchester Buildings, Westminster, wanted a young man, 
 to keep his papers and correspondence in order ; and Nicholas was 
 exactly the sort of young man that Mr. Gregsbury wanted. 
 
 " I don't know what the terms are, as he said he'd settle them 
 himself with the party," observed the fat lady ; " but they must be 
 pretty good ones, because he 's a member of parliament." 
 
 Inexperienced as he was, Nicholas did not feel quite assured of the 
 force of this reasoning, or the justice of this conclusion ; but without 
 troubling himself to question it, he took down the address, and resolved 
 to wait upon Mr. Gregsbury without delay. 
 
 " I don't know what the number is," said Tom ; " but Manchester 
 Buildings isn't a large place ; and if the woi-st comes to the worst, it 
 won't take you very long to knock at all the doors on both sides of the 
 way 'till you find him out. I say, what a good-looking gal that was, 
 wasn't she ? " 
 
 " What girl, Sir," demanded Nicholas, sternly. 
 
 " Oh yes. I know — what gal, eh ? " whispered Tom, shutting one 
 eye, and cocking his chin in the air. " You didn't see her, you didn't — 
 I say, don't you wish you was me, when she comes to-morrow 
 morning ? " 
 
 Nicholas looked at the ugly clerk, as if he had a mind to reward his 
 admiration of the young lady by beating the ledger about his ears, but 
 he refrained, and strode haughtily out of the office; settnig at defiance, 
 in his indignation, those ancient laws of chivalry, M'hich not only made 
 it proper and lawful for all good knights to hear the praise of tlie ladies 
 to whom they were devoted, but rendered it incumbent upon them 
 to roam about the world, and knock at head all such matter- of-fiict and 
 nnpoetical characters, as declined to exalt, above all the earth, damsels 
 whom they had never chanced to look upon or hear of — as if that were 
 any excuse. 
 
 Thinking no longer of his own misfortunes, but wondering what 
 could be those of the beautiful girl he had seen, Nicholas, with many 
 wrong turns, and many inquiries, and almost as many misdirections, 
 bent his steps towards the place whithtT he had been directed. 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 143 
 
 Within the precincts of the ancient city of Westminster, and within 
 half a quarter of a mile of its ancient sanctuary, is a narrow and dirty 
 region, the sanctuary of the smaller members of Parliament in modem 
 days. It is all comprised in one street of gloomy lodging-houses, from 
 whose windows in vacation time there frown long melancholy rows of 
 bills, which say as plainly as did the countenances of their occupiers, 
 ranged on ministerial and opposition benches in the session which 
 slumbers with its fathers, " To Let" — " To Let." In busier periods of 
 the year these bills disappear, and the houses swarm with legislators. 
 There are legislators in the parlours, in the first floor, in the second, in 
 the third, in the garrets 7 the small apartments reek with the breath of 
 deputations and delegates. In damp weather the place is rendered close 
 by the steams of moist acts of parliament and frowzy petitions ; general 
 postmen grow faint as they enter its infected limits, and shabby figures 
 in quest of franks, flit restlessly to and fro like the troubled ghosts of 
 Complete Letter- writers departed. This is Manchester Buildings ; and 
 here, at all hours of the night, may be heard the rattling of latch-keys 
 in their respective keyholes, with now and then — when a gust of wind 
 sweeping across the water which washes the Buildings' feet, impels the 
 sound towards its entrance — the weak, shrill voice of some young 
 member practising the morrow's speech. All the live-long day there is a 
 grinding of organs and clashing and clanging of little boxes of mitsic, for 
 Manchester Buildings is an eel-pot, which has no outlet but its awkward 
 mouth — a case-bottle which has no thoroughfare, and a short and narrow 
 neck — and in this respect it may be typical of the fate of some few 
 among its more adventurous residents, who, after wriggling themselves 
 into Parliament by violent eflbrts and contortions, find that it too is no 
 thoroughfare for them ; that, like Manchester Buildings, it leads to 
 nothing beyond itself; and that they are fain at last to back out, no 
 wiser, no richer, not one whit more famous, than they went in. 
 
 Into Manchester Buildings Nicholas turned, with the address of the 
 great Mr. Gregsbury in his hand ; and as there was a stream of people 
 pouring into a shabby house not far from the entrance, he waited until 
 they had made their way in, and then making up to the servant, ven- 
 tured to inquire if he knew where Mr. Gregsbury lived. 
 
 The servant was a very pale, shabby boy, who looked as if he had 
 slept under ground from his infancy, as very likely he had. " Mr. 
 Gregsbury?" said he; " Mr. Gregsbury lodges hero. It's all right. 
 Come in." 
 
 Nicholas thought he might as well get in while he could, so in he 
 walked ; and he had no sooner done so, than the boy shut the door and 
 made ofl". 
 
 This was odd enough, but what was more embarrassing was, that 
 all along the narrow passage, and all along the narrow stairs, blocking 
 up the window, and making the dark entry darker still, was a confused 
 crowd of persons with great importance depicted in their looks ; who 
 were, to all appearance, waiting in silent expectation of some coming 
 event ; from time to time one man would whisper his neighbour, or a 
 little group would whisper together, and then the whisperers would nod 
 fiercely to each other, or give their heads a relentless shake, as if they 
 
144 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 were bent upon doing something very desperate, and were determined 
 not to be put oif, whatever happened. 
 
 As a few minutes elapsed without anything occurring to explain this 
 phenomenon, and as he felt his own position a peculiarly uncomfortable 
 one, Nicholas was on the point of seeking some information from the 
 man next him, when a sudden move was visible on the stairs, and a 
 voice was heard to cry, " Now, gentlemen, have the goodness to 
 walk up." 
 
 So far from walking up, the gentlemen on the stairs began to walk 
 down with great alacrity, and to entreat, with extraordinary politeness, 
 that the gentlemen nearest the street would go first ; the gentlemen 
 nearest the street retorted, with equal courtesy, that they couldn't think 
 of such a thing on any account ; but they did it without thinking of it, 
 inasmuch as the other gentlemen pressing some half-dozen (among whom 
 was Nicholas) forward, and closing up behind, pushed them, not merely 
 up the stairs, but into the very sitting-room of Mr. Gregsbury, which 
 they were thus compelled to enter with most unseemly precipitation, 
 and without the means of retreat ; the press behind them more than 
 filling the apartment. 
 
 " Gentlemen," said Mr. Gregsbury, " you are welcome. I am 
 rejoiced to see you." 
 
 For a gentleman who was rejoiced to see a body of visitors, Mr. 
 Gregsbury looked as uncomfortable as might be ; but perhaps this was 
 occasioned by senatorial gravity, and a statesmanlike habit of keeping 
 his feelings under control. He was a tough, burly, thick-headed 
 gentleman, with a loud voice, a pompous manner, a tolerable command 
 of sentences with no meaning in them, and in short every requisite for 
 a very good member indeed. 
 
 " Now, gentlemen," said Mr^ Gregsbury, tossing a great bundle of 
 papers into a wicker basket at his feet, and throwing himself back in 
 his chair with his arms over the elbows, " you are dissatisfied with my 
 conduct, I see by the newspapers." 
 
 " Yes, Mr. Gregsbury, we are," said a plump old gentleman in a 
 violent heat, bursting out of the throng, and planting himself in the 
 front. 
 
 " Do my eyes deceive me," said Mr. Gregsbury, looking towards 
 the speaker, " or is that my old friend Pugstyles ?" 
 
 " I am that man, and no other. Sir," replied the plump old gentleman. 
 
 " Give me your hand, my worthy friend," said Mr. Gregsbury. 
 " Pugstyles, my dear friend, I am very sorry to see you here." 
 
 " 1 am very sorry to be here. Sir," said Mr. Pugstyles ; " but your 
 conduct, Mr. Gregsbury, has rendered this deputation from your consti- 
 tuents imperatively necessary." 
 
 " My conduct, Pugstyles," said Mr. Gregsbury, looking round upon 
 the deputation with gracious magnanimity — " My conduct has been, 
 and ever will be, regulated by a sincere regard for the true and real 
 interests of this great and happy country. Whether I look at home or 
 abroad, whether I behold the peaceful industrious communities of our 
 island home, her rivers covered with steam-boats, her roads with loco- 
 motives, her streets with cabs, her skies with balloons of a power and 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 145 
 
 magnitude hitherto unknown in the history of aeronautics in this or 
 any other nation — I say, whether I look merely at home, or stretching 
 my eyes further, contemplate the boundless prospect of conquest and 
 possession — achieved by British perseverance and British valour — which 
 is outspread before me, I clasp my hands, and turning my eyes to the 
 broad expanse above my head, exclaim, ' Thank Heaven, I am a Briton!'" 
 
 The time had been when this burst of enthusiasm would have been 
 cheered to the very echo ; but now the deputation received it with 
 chilling coldness. The general impression seemed to be, that as an 
 explanation of Mr, Gregsbury's political conduct, it did not enter quite 
 enough into detail, and one gentleman in the rear did not scruple to 
 remark aloud, that for his purpose it savoured rather too much of a 
 "gammon" tendency, 
 
 " The meaning of that term — gammon," said Mr. Gregsbury, " is 
 unknown to me. If it means that I grow a little too fervid, or perhaps 
 even hyperbolical, in extolling my native land, I admit the full justice 
 of the remark, I am proud of this free and happy country. My form 
 dilates, my eye glistens, my breast heaves, my heart swells, my bosom 
 burns, when I call to mind her greatness and her glory." 
 
 " We wish, Sir," remarked Mr. Pugstyles, calmly, " to ask you a 
 few questions." 
 
 " If you please, gentlemen ; my time is yours — and my country's — 
 and my country's — " said Mr. Gregsbury. 
 
 This permission being conceded, Mr, Pugstyles put on his spectacles, 
 and referred to a written paper which he drew from his pocket, where- 
 upon nearly every other member of the deputation pulled a written 
 paper from his pocket, to check Mr. Pugstyles off, as he read the questions. 
 
 This done, Mr. Pugstyles proceeded to business. 
 
 " Question number one. — Whether, Sir, you did not give a voluntary 
 pledge previous to your election, that in the event of your being returned 
 you would immediately put down the practice of coughing and groaning 
 in the House of Commons. And whether you did not submit to be 
 coughed and groaned down in the very first debate of the session, and 
 have since made no effort to effect a reform in this respect ? Whether 
 you did not also pledge yourself to astonish the government, and make 
 them shrink in their shoes. And whether you have astonished them 
 and made them shrink in their shoes, or not ?" 
 
 " Go on to the next one, my dear Pugstyles," said Mr. Gregsbury. 
 
 " Have you any explanation to offer with reference to that question. 
 Sir?" asked Mr. Pugstyles. 
 
 " Certainly not," said Mr. Gregsbury. 
 
 The members of the deputation looked fiercely at each other, and 
 afterw^ards at the member, and " dear Pugstyles " having taken a very 
 long stare at Mr. Gregsbury over the tops of his spectacles, resumed his 
 list of inquiries. 
 
 " Question number two. — Whether, Sir, you did not likewise give a 
 voluntary pledge that you would support your colleague on every 
 occasion ; and whether you did not, the night before last, desert him and 
 vote upon the other side, because the wife of a leader on that other side 
 had invited Mrs. Gregsbury to an evening party ?" 
 
 L 
 
146 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 "Go on," said Mr. Gregsbury. 
 
 " Nothing to say on tliat, either, Sir?" asked the spokesman. 
 
 " Nothing whatever," replied Mr. Gregsbury. The deputation, -who 
 had only seen him at canvassing or election time, were struck dumb by 
 his coolness. He didn't appear like the same man ; then he was all 
 milk and honey — now he was all starch and vinegar. But men are so 
 ditFerent at different times ! 
 
 " Question number three — and last — " said Mr. Pugstyles, empha- 
 tically. " Whether, Sir, you did not state upon the hustings, that it 
 was your firm and determined intention to oppo-Be everything proposed ; 
 to divide the house upon every question, to move for returns on every 
 subject, to place a motion on the books every day, and, in short, in your 
 own memorable words, to play the devil with everything and every- 
 body ?" With this comprehensive inquiry Mr. Pugstyles folded up his 
 list of questions, as did all his backers. 
 
 Mr. Gregsbury reflected, blew his nose, threw himself further back 
 in his chair, came forward again, leaning his elbows on the table, made 
 a triangle with his two thumbs and his two forefingers, and tapping 
 his nose with the apex thereof, replied (smiling as he said it), " I deny 
 everything." 
 
 At this unexpected answer a hoarse murnmr arose from the deputa- 
 tion ; and the same gentleman who had expressed an opinion relative to 
 the gammoning nature of the introductory speech, again made a mono- 
 syllabic demonstration, by growling out " Resign ;" which growl being 
 taken up by his fellows, swelled into a very earnest and general remon- 
 strance. 
 
 " I am requested. Sir, to express a hope," said Mr. Pugstyles, with 
 a distant bow, " that on receiving a requisition to that effect from a great 
 majority of your constituents, you will not object at once to resign your 
 seat in favour of some candidate whom they think they can better trust." 
 
 To which Mr. Gregsbury read the folio Aving reply, which, antici- 
 pating the request, he had composed in the form of a letter, whereof 
 copies had been made to send round to the newspapers. 
 
 " My dear Pugstyles, 
 " Next to the welfare of our beloved island — this great and free and 
 happy country, whose powers and resources are, I sincerely believe, 
 illimitable — I value that noble independence which is an Englishman's 
 proudest boast, and which I fondly hope to bequeath to my children 
 untarnished and unsullied. Actuated by no personal motives, but 
 moved only by high and great constitutional considerations which I will 
 not attempt to explain, for they are really beneath the comprehension 
 of those who have not made themselves masters, as I have, of the intri- 
 cate and arduous study of politics, I would rather keep my seat, and 
 intend doing so. 
 
 " Will you do me the favour to present my compliments to the con- 
 stituent body, and acquaint them with this circumstance ? 
 
 " With great esteem, 
 
 " My dear Pugstyles, 
 
 " &c. &c." 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 14^ 
 
 " Then you will not resign, under any circumstances?" asked the 
 spokesman. 
 
 Mr. Gregsbury smiled, and shook his head. 
 
 " Then good morning, Sir," said Pugstyles, angrily. 
 
 " God bless you," said Mr. Gregsbury. And the deputation, with 
 many growls and scowls, filed off as quickly as the narrowness of the 
 staircase would allow of their getting down. 
 
 The last man being gone, Mr. Gregsbury rubbed his hands and 
 chuckled, as merry fellows will, when they think they have said or done 
 a more than commonly good thing ; he was so engrossed in this self- 
 congratulation, that he did not observe that Nicholas had been left 
 behind in the shadow of the window-curtains, until that young gentle- 
 man fearing he might otherwise overhear some soliloquy intended to 
 have no listeners, coughed twice or tlu^ice to attract the member s 
 notice. 
 
 " What's that?" said Mr. Gregsbury, in sharp accents. 
 
 Nicholas stepped forward and bowed. 
 
 " What do you do here. Sir ? " asked Mr. Gregsbury ; " a spy upon 
 my privacy ! A concealed voter ! You have heard my answer. Sir. 
 Pray follow the deputation." 
 
 " I should have done so if I had belonged to it, but I do not," said 
 Nicholas. 
 
 " Then how came you here. Sir?" was the natural inquiry of Mr, 
 Gregsbury, M.P. " And where the devil have you come from. Sir?" 
 was the question which followed it. 
 
 " I brought this card from the General Agency Office, Sir," said 
 Nicholas, " wishing to offer myself as your secretary, and understanding 
 that you stood in need of one." 
 
 " That 's all you have come for, is it ? " said Mr. Gregsbury, eyeing 
 him in some doubt. 
 
 Nicholas replied in the affirmative. 
 
 " You have no connexion with any of these rascally papers, have 
 you ? " said Mr. Gregsbury. " You didn t get into the room to hear 
 what was going forward, and put it in print, eh ? " 
 
 " I have no connexion, I am sorry to say, with anything at present," 
 rejoined Nicholas, — politely enough, but quite at his ease. 
 
 " Oh ! " said Mr. Gregsbury. " How did you find your way up 
 here, then ? " 
 
 Nicholas related how he had been forced up by the deputation. 
 
 " That was the way, was it ? " said Mr. Gregsbury. " Sit down." 
 
 Nicholas took a chair, and Mr. Gregsbury stared at him for a long 
 time, as if to make certain, before he asked any further questions, that 
 there were no objections to his outward appearance. 
 
 " You want to be my secretary, do you ? " he said at length. 
 
 " I wish to be employed in that capacity," replied Nicholas. 
 
 " Well, " said Mr. Gregsbury ; " Now what can you do ?" 
 
 " I suppose," replied Nicholas, smiling, " that I can do what usually 
 falls to the lot of other secretaries." 
 
 " What 's that ? " inquired Mr. Gregsbury. 
 
 " What is it ? " replied Nicholas. 
 
 l2 
 
148 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 " Ah ! What is it ? " retorted the member, looking shrewdly at him, 
 with his head on one side. 
 
 " A secretary's duties are rather difficult to define, perhaps," said 
 Nicholas, considering. " They include, I presume, correspondence." 
 
 " Good," interposed Mr. Gregsbury. 
 
 " The arrangement of papers and documents — " 
 
 " Very good." 
 
 " Occasionally, perhaps, the writing from your dictation ; and pos- 
 sibly," — said Nicholas, with a half smile, " the copying of your speech, 
 for some public journal, when you have made one of more than usual 
 importance." 
 
 " Certahily," rejoined Mr. Gregsbury. " What else ? " 
 
 " Really," said Nicholas, after a moment's reflection, " I am not 
 able, at this instant, to recapitulate any other duty of a secretary, 
 beyond the general one of making himself as agreeable and useful to his 
 employer as he can, consistently with his own respectability, and with- 
 out overstepping that line of duties which he undertakes to perform, 
 and which the designation of his office is usually understood to imply." 
 
 Mr. Gregsbury looked fixedly at Nicholas for a short time, and then 
 glancing warily round the room, said in a suppressed voice — 
 
 " This is all very well, Mr. — what is your name ? " 
 
 " Nickleby." 
 
 " This is all very well, Mr. Nickleby, and very proper, so far as it 
 goes — so far as it goes, but it doesn't go far enough. There are other 
 duties, Mr. Nickleby, which a secretary to a parliamentary gentleman 
 must never lose sight of. I should require to be crammed. Sir." 
 
 " I beg your pardon," interposed Nicholas, doubtful whether he had 
 heard aright. 
 
 " — To be crammed. Sir," repeated Mr. Gregsbury. 
 
 " May I beg your pardon again, if I inquire what you mean ?" said 
 Nicholas. 
 
 " My meaning. Sir, is perfectly plain," replied Mr. Gregsbury, with 
 a solemn aspect. " My secretary would have to make himself master 
 of the foreign policy of the world, as it is mirrored in the newspapers ; 
 to run his eye over all accounts of public meetings, all leading articles, 
 and accounts of the proceedings of public bodies; and to .make notes of 
 anything which it appeared to him might be made a point of, in any 
 little speech upon the question of some petition lying on the table, or 
 anything of that kind. Do you understand ? " 
 
 " I think I do, Sir," replied Nicholas. 
 
 " Then," said Mr. Gregsbury, " it would be necessary for him to make 
 himself acquainted from day to day with newspaper paragraphs oft 
 passing events ; such as ' JMysterious disappearance, and supposed 
 suicide of a pot-boy,' or anything of that sort, upon which I might 
 found a question to the Secretary of State for the Home Department. 
 Then he would have to copy the question, and as much as I remem- 
 bered of the answer (including a little compliment about my inde- 
 pendence and good sense) ; and to send the manuscript in a frank to the 
 local paper, with perliaps half a dozen lines of leader, to the effect, that 
 I was always to be found in my place in parliament, and never shrunk 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 149 
 
 from the discharge of my responsible and arduous duties, and so forth. 
 You see ? " 
 
 Nicholas bowed. 
 
 " Besides which," continued Mr. Gregsbury, " I should expect him 
 now and then to go through a few figures in the printed tables, and to pick 
 out a few results, so that I might come out pretty well on timber duty 
 questions, and finance questions, and so on ; and I should like him to 
 get up a few little arguments about the disastrous efiects of a return to 
 cash payments and a metallic currency, with a touch now and then 
 about the exportation of bullion, and the Emperor of Russia, and bank 
 notes, and all that kind of thing, which it 's only necessary to talk 
 fluently about, because nobody understands it. Do you take me ? " 
 
 " I think I understand," said Nicholas. 
 
 " With regard to such questions as are not political," continued Mr. 
 Gregsbury, warming ; " and which one can't be expected to care a damn 
 about, beyond the natural care of not allowing inferior people to be as 
 well off* as ourselves, else where are our privileges ? I should wish my 
 secretary to get together a few little fl^ourishing speeches, of a patriotic 
 cast. For instance, if any preposterous bill were brought forward for 
 giving poor grubbing devils of authors a right to their own property, I 
 should like to say, that I for one would never consent to opposing an insur- 
 mountable bar to the diffusion of literature among the people^ — you under- 
 stand ? that the creations of the pocket, being man's, might belong to one 
 man, or one family ; but that the creations of the brain, being God's, 
 ought as a matter of course to belong to the people at large — and if 
 I was pleasantly disposed, I should like to make a joke about posterity, 
 and say that those who wrote for posterity, should be content to be 
 rewarded by the approbation of posterity; it might take with the 
 house, and could never do me any harm, because posterity can't be 
 expected to know anything about me or my jokes either — don't you 
 see { 
 
 " I see that. Sir," replied Nicholas. 
 
 " You must always bear in mind, in such cases as this, where 
 our interests are not affected," said Mr. Gregsbury, " to put it 
 very strong about the people, because it comes out very well at 
 election-time ; and you could be as funny as you liked about the 
 authors ; because I believe the greater part of them live in lodgings, 
 and are not voters. This is a hasty outline of the chief things 
 you'd have to do, except waiting in the lobby every night, in case I 
 forgot anything, and should want fresh cramming ; and now and then, 
 during great debates, sitting in the front row of the gallery, and saying 
 to the people about — ' You see that gentleman, with his hand to his 
 face, and his arm twisted round the pillar — that 's Mr. Gregsbury — the 
 celebrated Mr. Gregsbury — ' with any other little eulogium that might 
 strike you at the moment. And for salary," said Mr. Gregsbury, 
 winding up with great rapidity ; for he was out of breath — " And for 
 salary, I don't mind saying at once in round numbers, to prevent any 
 dissatisfaction — though it 's more than I 've been accustomed to give — • 
 fifteen shillings a week, and find yourself. There." 
 
 With this handsome offer Mr. Gregsbury once more threw himself 
 
150 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 back in his chair, and looked like a man who has been most profligately- 
 liberal, but is determined not to repent of it notwithstanding. 
 " Fifteen shillings a week is not much," said Nicholas, mildly. 
 "Not much! Fifteen shillings a week not much, young man?" 
 cried Mr. Gregsbury. " Fifteen shillings a " 
 
 " Pray do not suppose that I quarrel with the sum," replied Nicholas ; 
 " for I am not ashamed to confess, that whatever it may be in itself, to 
 me it is a great deal. But the duties and responsibilities make the recom- 
 pense small, and they are so very heavy that I fear to undertake them." 
 
 " Do you decline to undertake them, Sir?" inquired Mr. Gregsbury, 
 with his hand on the bell-rope. 
 
 " I fear they are too great for my powers, however good my will 
 may be," replied Nicholas. 
 
 " That is as much as to say that you had rather not accept the place, 
 and that you consider fifteen shillings a week too little," said Mr. 
 Gregsbury, ringing. " Do you decline it, Sir?" 
 
 " I have no alternative but to do so," replied Nicholas. 
 
 " Door, Matthews," said Mr. Gregsbury, as the boy appeared. 
 
 " I am sorry I have troubled you unnecessarily. Sir," said Nicholas. 
 
 " I am sorry you have," re-joined Mr. Gregsbury, turning his back 
 upon him. " Door, Matthews." 
 
 " Good morning," said Nicholas. 
 
 " Door, Matthews," cried Mr. Gregsbury. 
 
 The boy beckoned Nicholas, and tumbling lazily down stairs before 
 him, opened the door and ushered him into the street. With a sad and 
 pensive air he retraced his steps homewards. 
 
 Smike had scraped a meal together from the remnant of last night's 
 supper, and was anxiously awaiting his return. The occurrences of the 
 morning had not improved Nicholas's appetite, and by him the dinner 
 remained untasted. He was sitting in a thoughtful attitude, with the 
 plate which the poor fellow had assiduously filled with the choicest morsels 
 untouched, by his side, when Newman Noggs looked into the room. 
 
 " Come back ?" asked Newman. 
 
 " Yes," replied Nicholas, " tired to death ; and wliat is worse, might 
 have remained at home for all the good I have done." 
 
 " Couldn't expect to do much in one morning," said Newman. 
 
 " May bo so, but I am sanguine, and did expect," said Nicholas, 
 " and am proportionately disappointed." Saying >vhicb, he gave New- 
 man an account of his proceedings. 
 
 " If I could do anything," said Nicholas, " anything however slight, 
 until Ralph Nickleby returns, and I have eased my mind by confronting 
 him, I should feel happier. I should think it no disgrace to work, 
 Heaven knows. Lying indolently herq like a half-tamed sullen beast 
 distracts me." 
 
 " I don't know," said Newman ; " small things ofirr — they would 
 pay the rent, and more — but you wouldn't like tliem ; no, you could 
 hardly be expected to undergo it — no, no." 
 
 " What could I hardly be expected to undergo?" asked Nicholas, 
 raising his eyes. " Show me, in this wide waste of London, any lionest 
 means by which I could even defray the weekly hire of this poor room. 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEEY. . 151 
 
 and see if I shrink from resorting to tliem. Undergo 1 I have under- 
 gone too much, my friend, to feel pride or squeamishness now. Except — " 
 added Nicholas hastily, after a short silence, " except such squeamish- 
 ness as is common honesty, and so much pride as constitutes self-respect. 
 I see little to choose, between the assistant to a brutal pedagogue, and the 
 toad-eater of a mean and ignorant upstart, be he member or no member." 
 " I hardly know whether I should tell you what I heard this 
 morning or not," said Newman. 
 
 " Has it reference to what you said just now ?" asked Nicholas. 
 " It has." 
 
 " Tlien in Heaven's name, my good friend, tell it me," said Nicholas. 
 " For God's sake consider my deplorable condition ; and while I promise 
 to take no step without taking counsel with you, give me, at least, a 
 vote in my own behalf." 
 
 Moved by this entreaty, Newman stammered forth a variety of most 
 unaccountable and entangled sentences, the upshot of which was, that 
 Mrs. Kenwigs had examined him at great length that morning touching 
 the origin of his acquaintance with, and the whole life, adventures, and 
 pedigree of Nicholas ; that Newman had parried these questions as long 
 as he could, but being at length hard pressed and driven into a corner, 
 had gone so far as to admit, that Nicholas was a tutor of great accom- 
 plishments, involved in some misfortunes which he was not at liberty 
 to explain, and bearing the name of Johnson. That Mrs. Kenwigs, 
 impelled by gratitude, or ambition, or maternal pride, or maternal love, 
 or all four powerful motives conjointly, had taken secret conference with 
 Mr. Kenwigs, and finally returned to propose that Mr. Johnson should 
 instruct the four Miss Kenwigses in the French language as spoken by 
 natives, at the weekly stipend of five shillings current coin of the realm, 
 being at the rate of one shilling per week per each Miss Kenwigs, and 
 one shilling over, until such time as the baby might be able to take it 
 out in grammar. 
 
 " Which, unless I am very much mistaken," observed Mrs. Kenwigs 
 in making the proposition, " will not be very long ; for such clever 
 children, Mr. Noggs, never were born into this world I do believe." 
 " There," said Newman, " that's all. It's beneath you, I know ; but 
 
 I thought that perhaps you might " 
 
 " Might !" said Nicholas, with great alacrity ; " of course I shall. I 
 accept the offer at once. Tell the worthy mother so without delay, my 
 dear fellow ; and that I am ready to begin whenever she pleases." 
 
 Newman hastened with joyful steps to inform Mrs. Kenwigs of his- 
 friend's acquiescence, and soon returning, brought back word that they 
 would be happy to see him in the first floor as soon as convenient ; that 
 Mrs. Kenwigs had upon the instant sent out to secure a second-hand 
 French grammar and dialogues, which had long been fluttering in the 
 sixpenny box at the book-stall round the corner ; and that the family, 
 highly excited at the prospect of this addition to their gentility, wished 
 the initiatory lesson to come ofi" immediately. 
 
 And here it may be observed, that Nicholas was not, in the ordinary 
 sense of the word, a young man of high spirit. He would resent an 
 affront to him.self, or interpose to redress a wrong offered to anx)ther, as 
 
152 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 boldly and freely as any knight that ever set lance in rest ; but he 
 lacked that peculiar excess of coolness and great-minded selfishness, which 
 invariably distinguish gentlemen of high spirit. In truth, for our own 
 part, we are rather disposed to look upon such gentlemen as being rather 
 incumbrances than otherwise in rising families, happening to be acquainted 
 with several whose spirit prevents their settling down to any grovelling 
 occupation, and only displays itself in a tendency to cultivate mustachios, 
 and look fierce ; and although mustachios and ferocity are both very 
 pretty things in their way, and very much to be commended, we confess 
 to a desire to see them bred at the owner s proper cost, rather than at 
 the expense of low-spirited people. 
 
 Nicholas, therefore, not being a high-spirited young man according to 
 common parlance, and deeming it a greater degradation to borrow, for 
 the supply of his necessities, from Newman Noggs, than to teach French 
 to the little Kenwigses for five shillings a week, accepted the offer with 
 the alacrity already described, and betook himself to the first floor with 
 all convenient speed. 
 
 Here he was received by Mrs. Kenwigs with a genteel air, kindly 
 intended to assure him of her protection and support ; and here too he 
 found Mr. Lillyvick and Miss Petowker : the four Miss Kenwigses on 
 their form of audience, and the baby in a dwarf porter's chair with a 
 deal tray before it, amusing himself with a toy horse without a head ; 
 the said horse being composed of a small wooden cylinder supported on 
 four crooked pegs, not unlike an Italian iron, and painted in ingenious 
 resemblance of red wafers set in blacking. 
 
 " How do you do, Mr. Johnson ?" said Mrs. Kenwigs. " Uncle- 
 Mr. Johnson." 
 
 " How do you do. Sir?" said Mr. Lillyvick — rather sharply; for he 
 had not known what Nicholas was, on the previous night, and it was 
 rather an aggravating circumstance if a tax collector had been too polite 
 to a teacher. 
 
 " Mr. Johnson is engaged as private master to the children, uncle," 
 said Mrs. Kenwigs. 
 
 " So you said just now, my dear," replied Mr. Lillyvick. 
 
 " But I hope," said Mrs. Kenwigs, drawing herself up, " that that 
 will not make them proud ; but that they will bless their own good 
 fortune, which has born them superior to common people's childi-en. Do 
 you hear, Morleena ? " 
 
 " Yes, ma," replied Miss Kenwigs. 
 
 " And when you go out in the streets, or elsewhere, I desire that you 
 don't boast of it to the other children," said Mrs. Kenwigs ; " and that 
 if you must say anything about it, you don't say no more than ' We 've 
 got a private master comes to teach us at home, but we ain't proud, 
 because ma says it 's sinful.' Do you hear, Morleena ? " 
 
 " Yes, ma," replied Miss Kenwigs again. 
 
 " Then mind you recollect, and do as I tell you," said Mrs. Kenwigs. 
 " Shall ]\Ir. Johnson begin, uncle ? " 
 
 " I am ready to hear, if Mr. Johnson is ready to commence, my 
 dear," said the collector, assuming the air of a profound critic. " What 
 eoi-t of language do you consider French, Sir ?" 
 
i 
 
 ♦ 
 
 ^m. 
 
I /r//r///. ' / ////////< // ^/. J , ////^'^ /// ^/ // '// /'K/^/&/Pfy/fA 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 153 
 
 " How do you mean ? " asked Nicholas. 
 
 " Do you consider it a good language, Sir ? " said the collector ; " a 
 pretty language, a sensible language ? " 
 
 " A pretty language, certainly," replied Nicholas ; " and as it has a 
 name for everything, and admits of elegant conversation about every- 
 thing, I presume it is a sensible one." 
 
 " I don't know," said Mr. Lillyvick, doubtfully. " Do you call it a, 
 cheerful language, now ? " 
 
 " Yes," replied Nicholas, " I should say it was, certainly." 
 
 " It's very much changed since my time, then," said the collector, 
 " very much." 
 
 " Was it a dismal one in your time V asked Nicholas, scarcely able 
 to repress a smile. 
 
 " Very," replied Mr. Lillyvick, with some vehemence of manner. 
 " It 's the war time that I speak of ; the last war. It may be a 
 cheerful language. I should be sorry to contradict anybody ; but I can 
 only say tliat I 've heard the French prisoners, who were natives, and 
 ought to know how to speak it, talking in such a dismal manner, that 
 it made one miserable to hear them. Ay, that I have, fifty times, Sir 
 — fifty times." 
 
 Mr. Lillyvick was waxing so cross, that Mrs. Kenwigs thought it 
 expedient to motion to Nicholas not to say anything ; and it was not 
 until Miss Petowker had practised several blandishments, to soften the 
 excellent old gentleman, that he deigned to break silence, by asking, 
 
 " What's the water in French, Sir ? " 
 
 " L'Eau" replied Nicholas. 
 
 "Ah ! " said Mr. Lillyvick, shaking his head mournfully, "I thought as 
 much. Lo, eh ? I don't think anything of that language — nothing at all." 
 
 " I suppose the children may begin, uncle ? " said Mrs. Kenwigs. 
 
 " Oh yes ; they may begin, my dear," replied the collector, discon- 
 tentedly. " / have no wish to prevent them." 
 
 This permission being conceded, the four Miss Kenwigses sat in a row, 
 with their tails all one way, and Morleena at the top, while Nicholas, 
 taking the book, began his preliminary explanations. Miss Petowker 
 and Mrs. Kenwigs looked on, in silent admiration, broken only by the 
 whispered assurances of the latter, that Morleena would have it all by 
 heart in no time ; and Mr. Lillyvick regarded the group with frowning 
 and attentive eyes, lying in wait for something upon which he could open 
 a fresh discussion on the lang-uage. 
 
 CHAPTER XYIL 
 
 FOLLOWS THE FORTUNES OF MISS NICKLEBY. 
 
 It was with a heavy heart, and many sad forebodings which no efibrt 
 could banish, that Kate Nickleby, on the morning appointed for the 
 commencement of her engagement with Madame Mantalini, left the city 
 when its clocks yet wanted a quarter of an hour of eight, and threaded 
 
154 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 her way alono, amid the noise and bustle of the streets, towards the 
 west end of London. 
 
 At this early hour many sickly girls, whose business, like that of the 
 poor worm, is to produce with patient toil the finery that bedecks the 
 thoughtless and luxurious, traverse our streets, making towards the 
 scene of their daily labour, and catching, as if by stealth, in their 
 hurried walk, the only gasp of wholesome air and glimpse of sunliglit 
 which cheers their monotonous existence during the long train of hours 
 that make a working day. As she drew nigh to the more fashionable 
 quarter of the town, Kate marked many of this class as they passed by, 
 hurrying like herself to their painful occupation, and saw, in their 
 unhealthy looks and feeble gait, but too clear an evidence that her mis- 
 givings were not wholly groundless. 
 
 She arrived at Madame Mantalini's some minutes before the appointed 
 hour, and after walking a few times up and down, in the hope that 
 some other female might arrive and spare her the embarrassment of 
 stating her business to the servant, knocked timidly at the door, which 
 after some delay was opened by the footman, who had been putting on 
 his striped jacket as he came up stairs, and was now intent on fastening 
 his apron. 
 
 " Is Madame Mantalini in?" faltered Kate. 
 
 " Not often out at this time. Miss," replied the man in a tone which 
 rendered ' Miss,' something more offensive than ' My dear.' 
 
 " Can I see her ? " asked Kate. 
 
 " Eh ?" replied the man, holding the door in his hand, and honouring 
 the inquirer with a stare and a broad grin, " Lord, no." 
 
 " I came by her own appointment," said Kate ; " I am — I am — to 
 be employed here." 
 
 " Oh ! you, should have rung the workers' bell," said the footman, 
 touching the handle of one in the door-post. " Let me see, tliough, I 
 forgot — Miss Nickleby, is it?" 
 
 " Yes," replied Kate. 
 
 " You're to walk up stairs then, please," said the man. " Madame 
 Mantalini wants to see you — this way — take care of these things on the 
 floor." 
 
 Cautioning her in these terms not to trip over a heterogeneous litter 
 of pastry-cook's trays, lamps, waiters full of glasses, and piles of rout 
 seats whicli were strewn about the hall, plainly bespeaking a late party 
 on the previous night, the man led the way to the second story, and 
 ushered Kate into a back room, communicating by folding-doors with 
 the apartment in which she had first seen the mistress of the establish- 
 ment. 
 
 " If you'll wait here a minute," said the man, " I'll tell her presently." 
 Having made this promise with much affability, he retired and left 
 Kate alone. 
 
 There was not much to amuse in the room ; of which the most attrac- 
 tive feature was, a half-length portrait in oil of Mr. JMantalini, whom 
 the artist had depicted scratching his head in an easy manner, and thus 
 displaying to advantage a diamond ring, the gift of Madame j\Iantalini 
 before her marriage. There was, however, the sound of voices in conver- 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 155 
 
 sation in the next room ; and as the conversation was loud and the 
 partition thin, Kate could not help discovering that they belonged to 
 Mr. and Mrs. Mantalini. 
 
 " If you v^ill be odiously, demnebly, outrageously jealous, my soul," 
 said Mr. Mantalini, " you will be very miserable — horrid miserable — 
 demnition miserable." And then there came a sound as though Mr. 
 Mantalini were sipping his coffee. 
 
 " I am miserable," returned Madame Mantalini, evidently pouting. 
 
 " Then you are an ungrateful, unworthy, demd unthankful little fairy," 
 said Mr. Mantalini. 
 
 " I am not," returned Madame, with a sob. 
 
 " Do not put itself out of humour," said Mr. Mantalini, breaking an 
 egg. " It is a pretty bewitching little demd countenance, and it should 
 not be out of humour, for it spoils its loveliness, and makes it cross and 
 gloomy like a frightful, naughty, demd hobgoblin." 
 
 " I am not to be brought round in that way, always," rejoined 
 Madame, sulkily. 
 
 " It shall be brought round in any way it likes best, and not brought 
 round at all if it likes that better," retorted Mr. Mantalini, with his Qgg-r 
 spoon in his mouth. 
 
 " It's very easy to talk," said Mrs. Mantalini. 
 
 " Not so easy when one is eating a demnition ^gg" replied Mr. Man- 
 talini ; "for the yolk runs down the waistcoat, and yolk of egg does 
 not match any waistcoat but a yellow waistcoat, demmit." 
 . " You were flirting with her during the whole night," said Madame 
 Mantalini, apparently desirous to lead the conversation back to the 
 point from which it had strayed. 
 
 " No, no, my life." 
 
 " You were," said Madame ; " I had my eye upon you all thij 
 time." 
 
 " Bless the little winking twinkling eye; was it on me all the time !" 
 cried Mantalini, in a sort of lazy rapture. " Oh, demmit !" 
 
 " And I say once more," resumed Madame, " that you ought not to 
 waltz with anybody but your own wife ; and I will not bear it, Manta- 
 lini, if I take poison first." 
 
 " She will not take poison and have horrid pains, will she?" said 
 Mantalini ; who, by the altered sound of his voice, seemed to have 
 moved his chair ajid taken up his position nearer to his wife. " She 
 will not take poison, because she had a demd fine husband who might 
 have married two countesses and a dowager " 
 
 " Two countesses," interposed Madame. " You told me one before! " 
 
 " Two ! " cried Mantalini. " Two demd fine women, real countesses 
 and splendid fortunes, demmit." 
 
 " And why didn't you ? " asked Madame, playfully. 
 
 " Why didn't I ! " replied her husband. " Had I not seen at a 
 morning concert the demdest little fascinator in all the world, and while 
 that little fascinator is my wife, may not all the countesses and dow- 
 agers in England be " 
 
 Mr. Mantalini did not ^ finish the sentence, but he gave IMadame 
 Mantalini a very loud kiss, which Madame Mantalini returned ; after 
 
156 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 which there seemed to be some more kissing mixed up with the pro- 
 gress of the breakfast. 
 
 " And wliat about the cash, my existence's jewel ? " said Mantalini, 
 when these endearments ceased. " How much have we in hand ? " 
 
 " Very Httle indeed," replied Madame. 
 
 " We must liave some more," said Mantalini ; " we must have some 
 discount out of old Nickleby to carry on the war with, demmit." 
 
 " You can't want any more just now," said Madame coaxin^ly. 
 
 " My life and soul,'' returned her husband, " there is a horse for sale 
 at Scrubbs's, which it would be a sin and crime to lose — going, my 
 senses' joy, for nothing." 
 
 " For nothing," cried Madame, " I am glad of that." 
 
 "For actually nothing," rephed Mantalini. "A hundred guineas 
 down will buy him ; mane, and crest, and legs, and tail, all of the 
 demdest beauty. I will ride him in tlie park before the very chariots 
 of the rejected countesses. The demd old dowager will faint with grief 
 and rage ; the other two will say ' He is married, he has made away 
 with himself, it is a demd thing, it is all up.' They will hate each 
 other demnebly, and wish you dead and buried. Ha ! ha ! Demmit." 
 
 Madame Mantalini's prudence, if she had any, was not proof against 
 these triumphal pictures ; after a little jingling of keys, she observed 
 that she would see what her desk contained, and rising for that purpose, 
 opened the folding-door, and walked into the room where Kate was 
 seated. 
 
 " Dear me, child ! " exclaimed Madame Mantalini, recoiling in sur- 
 prise. " How came you here ? " 
 
 " Child ! " cried Mantalini, hurrying in. " How came it — eh ! — . 
 oh — demmit, how d'ye do ? " 
 
 " I have been waiting here some time, ma'am," said Kate, address- 
 ing Madame Mantalini. " The man must have forgotten to let you 
 know that I was here, I think." 
 
 " You really must see to that man," said Madame, turning to her 
 husband. " He forgets everything." 
 
 " I will twist his demd nose off his countenance for leaving such a 
 very pretty creature all alone by herself," said her husband. 
 
 " Mantalini," cried Madame, " you forget yourself." 
 
 " I don't forget you^ my soul, and never shall, and never can," said 
 Mantalini, kissing his wife's hand, and grimacing, aside, to Miss 
 Nickleby, who turned contemptuously away. 
 
 Appeased by tliis compliment, the lady of the business took some 
 papers from her desk, which she handed over to Mr. Mantalini, who 
 received them with great delight. She then requested Kate to follow 
 her, and after several feints on the part of Mr. I\Iantalini to attract the 
 young lady's attention, they went away, leaving that gentleman ex- 
 tended at full length on the sofa, with his heels in the air and a news- 
 paper in liis hand. 
 
 Madame Mantalini led the way down a flight of stairs, and through 
 a passage, to a large room at the back of the premises, where were a 
 number of young women employed in sewing, cutting out, making up, 
 altering, and various other processes known only to those who are cuu- 
 
# 
 
 1P(^F^ 
 
 1 
 
X.XLLJL^^fe/ 
 
 ,^/u/,/:/a/m^y^l(^?i/^ ./?^^/^^UA^ ,7/y/f^/^ 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 157 
 
 ning In the arts of millinery and dress-making. It was a close room 
 with a sky-light, and as dull and quiet as a room could be. 
 
 On Madame Mantalini calling aloud for Miss Knag, a short, bust- 
 ling, over-dressed female, full of importance, presented herself, and all 
 the young ladies suspending their operations for the moment, whispered 
 to each other sundry criticisms upon the make and texture of Miss Nic- 
 kleby's dress, her complexion, cast of features, and personal appearance, 
 with as much good-breeding as could have been displayed by the very 
 best society in a crowded ball-room. 
 
 " Oh, Miss Knag," said Madame Mantalini, " this is the young per- 
 son I spoke to you about." 
 
 Miss Knag bestowed a reverential smile upon Madame Mantalini, 
 which she dexterously transformed into a gracious one for Kate, and 
 said that certainly, although it was a great deal of trouble, to have 
 young people, who were wlioUy unused to the business, still she was 
 sure the young person would try to do her best — impressed with which 
 conviction she (Miss Knag) felt an Interest in her already. 
 
 " I think that, for the present at all events, it will be better for Miss 
 NIckleby to come into the show-room with you, and try things on for 
 people," said Madame Mantalini. " She will not be able for the present 
 to be of much use in any other way ; and her appearance will — " 
 
 " Suit very well with mine, Madame Mantalini," interrupted Miss 
 Knag. " So it will ; and to be sure I might have known that you 
 would not be long in finding that out ; for you have so much taste in 
 all those matters, that really, as I often say to the young ladies, I do not 
 know how, when, or where, you possibly could have acquired all you 
 know — hem — Miss NIckleby and I are quite a pair, Madam Mantalini, 
 only I am a little darker than Miss NIckleby, and — hem — I think my 
 foot may be a little smaller. Miss NIckleby, I am sure, will not be 
 oiFended at my saying that, when she hears that our family always have 
 been celebrated for small feet ever since — hem — ever since our family 
 had any feet at all, indeed, I think. I had an uncle once, Madame 
 Mantalini, who lived in Cheltenham, and had a most excellent business 
 as a tobacconist — hem — who had such small feet, that they were no 
 bigger than those which are usually joined to wooden legs — the most 
 symmetrical feet, Madame Mantalini, that even you can imagine." 
 
 " They must have had something the appearance of club feet, Miss 
 Knag," said Madame. 
 
 " Well now, that is so like you," returned Miss Knag. " Ha ! ha ! 
 ha ! Of club feet ! Oh very good ! As I often remark to the young- 
 ladies, ' Well I must say, and I do not care who knows it, of all the 
 ready humour — hem — I ever heard anywhere' — and I have heard a good 
 deal ; for when my dear brother was alive (I kept house for him. Miss 
 NIckleby), we had to supper once a week two or three young men, 
 highly celebrated in those days for their humour, Madame Mantalini — 
 ' Of all the ready humour,' 1 say to the young ladies, ' / ever heard, 
 Madame Mantalini's is the most remarkable — hem. It is so gentle, so 
 sarcastic, and yet so good-natured (as I was observing to Miss Sim- 
 monds only this morning), that how, or when, or by what means she 
 acquired it, is to me a mystery indeed.' " 
 
158 
 
 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 Here Miss Knag paused to take breath, and while she pauses, it may 
 be observed — not that she was marvellously loquacious and marvel- 
 lously deferential to Madame Mantalini, since these are facts which 
 require no comment ; but that every now and then she was accustomed, 
 in the torrent of her discourse, to introduce a loud, shrill, clear "hem l" 
 the import and meaning of which was variously interpreted by her 
 acquaintance ; some holding that Miss Knag dealt in exaggeration, and 
 introduced the monosyllable, when any fresh invention was in course of 
 coinage in her brain ; and others, that when she wanted a word, she 
 threw it in to gain time, and prevent anybody else from striking into 
 the conversation. It may be further remarked, that Miss Knag still 
 aimed at youth, though she had shot beyond it years ago ; and that she 
 was weak and vain, and one of those people who are best described by 
 the axiom, that you may trust them as far as you can see them, and no 
 farther. 
 
 " You'll take care that Miss Nickleby understands her hours, and so 
 forth," said Madame Mantalini ; " and so I'll leave her with youi 
 You'll not forget my directions. Miss Knag ? " 
 
 Miss Knag of course replied, that to forget anything Madame Man- 
 talini had directed, was a moral impossibility ; and that lady, dispensing 
 a general good morning among her assistants, sailed away. 
 
 " Charming creature, isn't she, Miss Nickleby?" said Miss Knag, 
 rubbing her hands together. 
 
 " I have seen very little of her," said Kate. " I hardly know yet." 
 
 " Have you seen Mr. Mantalini?" inquired Miss Knag. 
 
 " Yes ; I have seen him twice. " 
 
 " Isn't he a charming creature ? " 
 
 " Indeed he does not strike me as being so, by any means," replied 
 Kate. 
 
 " No, my dear !" cried Miss Knag, elevating her hands. " Why, 
 goodness gracious mercy, where's your taste ? Such a jfine tall, full- 
 whiskered dashing gentlemanly man, with such teeth and hair, and — 
 hem — well now, you do astonish me." 
 
 " I dare say I am very foolish," replied Kate, laying aside her bonnet j 
 " but as my opinion is of very little importance to him or any one else, 
 I do not regret having formed it, and shall be slow to change it, I think." 
 
 " He is a very fine man, don't you think so ? " asked one of the young 
 ladies. 
 
 " Indeed he may be, for anything I could say to the contrary," 
 replied Kate. 
 
 " And drives very beautiful horses, doesn't he?" inquired another. 
 
 " I dare say he may, but I never saw them," answered Kate. 
 
 " Never saw them !" interposed Miss Knag. " Oh, well, there it is at 
 once you know ; how can you possibly pronounce an opinion about a 
 gentleman — hem — ^if you don't see him as he turns out altogether ?" 
 
 There was so much of the world — even of the little world of the 
 country girl — in this idea of tlie old milliner, that Kate, who was 
 anxious for every reason to change the subject, made no further remark, 
 and left Miss Knag in possession of the field. 
 
 After a short silence, during which most of the young people made^ 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 139 
 
 a closer inspection of Kate's appearance, and compared notes respecting 
 it, one of them offered to help her off with her shawl, and the offer 
 being accepted, inquired whether she did not find black very uncom- 
 fortable wear. 
 
 " I do indeed," replied Kate, with a bitter sigh. 
 " So dusty and hot," observed the same speaker, adjusting her dress 
 for her. 
 
 Kate might have said, that mourning was the coldest wear which 
 mortals can assume; that it not only chills the breasts of those it 
 clothes, but extending its influence to summer friends, freezes up their 
 sources of good-w^ill and kindness, and withering all the buds of pro- 
 mise they once so liberally put forth, leaves nothing but bared and 
 rotten hearts exposed. There are few who have lost a friend or relative 
 constituting in life their sole dependence, who have not keenly felt this 
 chilling influence of their sable garb. She had felt it acutely, and 
 feeling it at the moment, could not restrain her tears. 
 
 " 1 am very sorry to have wounded you by my thoughtless speech," 
 said her companion. " I did not think of it. You are in mourning for 
 some near relation." 
 
 " For my father," answered Kate, weeping. 
 
 " For what relation, Miss Simmonds ? " asked Miss Knag in an 
 audible voice. 
 
 " Her father," replied the other softly. 
 
 " Her father, eh ? " said Miss Knag, without the slightest depression 
 of her voice. " Ah 1 A long illness. Miss Simmonds ? " 
 " Hush — pray," replied the girl ; " I don't know." 
 " Our misfortune was very sudden," said Kate, turning away, " or I 
 might perhaps, at a time like this, be enabled to support it better." 
 
 There had existed not a little desire in the room, according to in- 
 variable custom when any new " young person " came, to know who 
 Kate was, and what she was, and all about her ; but although it might 
 have been very naturally increased by her appearance and emotion, the 
 knowledge that it pained her to be questioned, was sufficient to repress 
 even this curiosity, and Miss Knag, finding it hopeless to attempt ex- 
 tracting any further particulars just then, reluctantly commanded 
 silence, and bade the work proceed. 
 
 In silence, then, the tasks were plied until half-past one, when a 
 baked leg of mutton, with potatoes to con-espond, were served in the 
 kitchen. The meal over, and the young ladies having enjoyed the addi- 
 tional relaxation of washing their hands, the work began again, and was 
 again performed in silence, until the noise of carriages rattling through 
 the streets, and of loud double knocks at doors, gave token that the 
 day's work of the more fortunate members of society was proceeding in 
 its turn. 
 
 One of these double knocks at Madame Mantalini's door announced 
 the equipage of some great lady — or rather rich one, for there is occa- 
 sionally a wide distinction between riches and greatness — who had come 
 with her daughter to approve of some court-dresses which had been a 
 long time preparing, and upon whom Kate was deputed to wait, accom- 
 panied by Miss Knag, and officered of course by Madame Mantalini. 
 
160 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 Kate's part in the pageant was humble enough, her duties being 
 limited to holding articles of costume until Miss Knag was ready to try 
 them on, and now and then tying a string or fastening a hook-and-eye. 
 She miglit, not unreasonably, have supposed herself beneath the reach 
 of any arrogance, or bad humour ; but it happened that the rich lady 
 and the rich daughter were both out of temper that day, and the poor 
 girl came in for her share of their revilings. She was awkward — her 
 hands were cold — dirty — coarse — she could do nothing right ; they 
 wondered how Madame Mantalini could have such people about her : 
 requested they miglit see some other young woman the next time they 
 came, and so forth. 
 
 So common an occurrence would be hardly deserving of mention, but 
 for its effect. Kate shed many bitter tears when these people were 
 gone, and felt, for the first time, humbled by her occupation. She 
 had, it is true, quailed at the prospect of drudgery and hard service ; but 
 she had felt no degradation in working for her bread, until she found 
 herself exposed to insolence and the coarsest pride. Philosophy would 
 have taught her that the degradation was on the side of those who had 
 sunk so low as to display such passions habitually, and without cause ; 
 but she was too vouns: for such consolation, and her honest feelinof was 
 hurt. May not the complaint, that common people are above their 
 station, often take its rise in the fact of z^/icommon people being below 
 theirs ? 
 
 In such scenes and occupations the time wore on until nine o'clock, 
 when Kate, jaded and dispirited with the occurrences of the dayy 
 hastened from the confinement of the work-room, to join her mother at 
 the street corner, and walk home : — tlie more sadly, from having to dis- 
 guise her real feelings, and feign to participate in all the sanguine visions 
 of her companion. 
 
 " Bless my soul, Kate," said Mrs. Nickleby ; " I Ve been thinking 
 all day, what a delightful thing it would be for Madame Mantalini to 
 take you into partnership — such a likely thing too, you know. Why 
 your poor dear papa's cousin's sister-in-law — a Miss Browndock — was 
 taken into partnership by a lady that kept a school at Hammersmith, 
 and made her fortune in no time at all ; I forget, by the bye, whether 
 that Miss Browndock was the same lady that got tlie ton thousand 
 pounds prize in the lottery, but I tliink she was ; indeed, now I come 
 to think of it, I am sure she was. ' Mantalini and Nickleby,' how well 
 it would sound ! — and if Nicholas has any good fortune, you might have 
 Doctor Nickleby, the head-master of Westminster School, living in the 
 same street." 
 
 " Dear Nicholas ! " cried Kate, taking from her reticule her brother's 
 letter from Dotheboys Hall. '' In all our misfortunes, how happy it 
 makes me, mamma, to hear he is doing well, and to find him writing in 
 such good spirits. It consoles me for all we may undergo, to think that 
 he is comfortable and happy." 
 
 Poor Kate ! she little thought how weak her consolation was, and 
 how soon she would be undeceived. 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 161 
 
 CHAPTER XYIII. 
 
 MISS KNAG, AFTER BOATING ON KATE NICKLEBY FOR THREE WHOLE 
 DAYS, MAKES UP HER MIND TO HATE HER FOR EVERMORE. THE 
 CAUSES WHICH LEAD MISS KNAG TO FORM THIS RESOLUTION. 
 
 There are many lives of much pain, hardship, and suffering, which, 
 having no stirring interest for any but those who lead them, are dis- 
 regarded by persons who do not want thought or feeling, but who 
 pamper their compassion and need high stimulants to rouse it. 
 
 There are not a few among the disciples of charity who require in 
 their vocation scarcely less excitement than the votaries of pleasure in 
 theirs; and hence it is that diseased sympathy and compassion are 
 every day expended on out-of-the-way objects, when only too many 
 demands upon the legitimate exercise of the same virtues in a healthy 
 state, are constantly within the sight and hearing of the most unob- 
 servant person alive. In short, charity must have its romance, as the 
 novelist or playwright must have his. A thief in fustian is a vulgar 
 character, scarcely to be thought of by persons of refinement ; but di-ess 
 him in green velvet, with a high-crowned hat, and change the scene of 
 his operations from a thickly-peopled city to a mountain road, and 
 you shall find in him the very soul of poetry and adventure. So it is 
 with the one great cardinal virtue, which, properly nourished and 
 exercised, leads to, if it does not necessarily include, all the others. It 
 must have its romance; and the less of real hard struggling work-a- 
 day life there is in that romance, the better. 
 
 The life to which poor Kate Nickleby was devoted, in consequence 
 of the unforeseen train of circumstances already developed in this nar- 
 rative, was a hard one ; but lest the very dullness, unhealthy confine- 
 ment, and bodily fatigue, which made up its sum and substance, should 
 deprive it of any interest with the mass of the charitable and sympa- 
 thetic, I would rather keep Miss Nickleby herself in view just now, 
 than chill them in the outset by a minute and lengthened description of 
 tlie establishment presided over by Madame Mantalini. 
 
 " Well, now, indeed Madame Mantalini," said Miss Knag, as Kate 
 was taking her weary way homewards on the first night of her 
 noviciate ; '^' that Miss Nickleby is a very creditable young person — a 
 very creditable young person indeed — hem — upon my word, Madame 
 Mantalini, it does very extraordinary credit even to your discrimination 
 that you should have found such a very excellent, very well-behaved, 
 very — hem — very unassuming young woman to assist in the fitting 
 on. I have seen some young women when they had the opportunity 
 of displaying before their betters, behave in such a — oh, dear — well — 
 but you're always right, Madame Mantalini, always ; and as I very 
 often tell the young ladies, how you do contrive to be always right, 
 when so many people are so often wrong, is to me a mystery indeed." 
 
 M 
 
162 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 " Beyond putting a very excellent client out of humour, Miss 
 Nickleby has not done anything very remarkable to-day — that I am 
 aware of, at least," said Madame Mantalini in reply. 
 
 " Oh, dear !" said Miss Knag; "but you must allow a great deal 
 foi* inexperience, you know." 
 
 " And youth ?" inquired Madame. 
 
 " Oh, I say nothing about that, Madame Mantalini," replied Miss 
 Knag, reddening ; " because if youth were any excuse, you wouldn't 
 have — " 
 
 " Quite so good a forewoman as I have, I suppose," suggested 
 Madame. 
 
 " Well, I never did know anybody like you, Madame Mantalini," 
 rejoined Miss Knag most complacently, " and that's the fact, for you 
 know what one's going to say, before it has time to rise to one's lips. 
 Oh, very good ! Ha, ha, ha !" 
 
 " For myself," observed Madame Mantalini, glancing with affected 
 carelessness at her assistant, and laughing heartily in her sleeve, " I 
 consider Miss Nickleby the most awkward girl I ever saw in my life." 
 
 " Poor dear thing," said Miss Knag, " it's not her fault. If it was, 
 we might hope to cure it ; but as it's her misfortune, Madame Mantalini, 
 why really you know, as the man said about the blind horse, we ought 
 to respect it." 
 
 " Her uncle told me she had been considered pretty," remarked 
 Madame Mantalini. " I think her one of the most ordinary girls I 
 ever met with." 
 
 " Ordinary !" cried Miss Knag with a countenance beaming delight ; 
 *' and awkward ! Well, all I can say is, Madame Mantalini, that I 
 quite love the poor girl; and that if she was twice as indift'erent-look- 
 ing, and twice as awkward as she is, I should be only so much th« 
 more her friend, and that's the truth of it." 
 
 In fact. Miss Knag had conceived an incipient affection for Kate 
 Nickleby, after witnessing her ftillure that morning, and this short 
 conversation with her superior increased the favourable prepossession 
 to a most surprising extent ; which was the more remarkable, as when 
 she first scanned that young lady's face and figure, she had entertained 
 certain inward misgivings that they would never agree. 
 
 " But now," said Miss Knag, glancing at the reflection of herself in 
 a mirror at no great distance, " I love her — I quite love her — I 
 declare I do." 
 
 Of such a highly disinterested quality was this devoted friendship, 
 and so superior was it to the little weaknesses of flattery or ill-nature, 
 that the kind-hearted Miss Knag candidly informed Kate Nickleby 
 next day, that she saw she would never do for the business, but that 
 she need not give herself the slightest uneasiness on this account, for 
 that she (Miss Knag) by increased exertions on her own part, would 
 keep her as much as possible in the back ground, and that all she w ould 
 have to do would be to remain perfectly quiet before company, and to 
 shrink from attracting notice by every means in her power. This last 
 suggestion was so much in accordance with the timid girl's own feeling* 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 163 
 
 and wishes, that she readily promised implicit reliance on the excellent 
 spinster's advice : without questioning, or indeed bestowing a moment's 
 reflection upon the motives that dictated it. 
 
 " I take quite a lively interest in you, my dear soul, upon my word," 
 said Miss Knag ; " a sister's interest, actually. It's the most singular 
 circumstance I ever knew." 
 
 Undoubtedly it was singular, that if Miss Knag did feel a strong 
 interest in Kate Nickleby, it should not rather have been the interest 
 of a maiden aunt or gTandmother, that being the conclusion to which 
 the difference in their respective ages would have naturally tended. 
 But Miss Knag wore clothes of a very youthful pattern, and perhaps 
 her feelings took the same shape. 
 
 " Bless you ! " said Miss Knag, bestowing a kiss upon Kate at the 
 conclusion of the second day's work, " how very awkward you have 
 been all day." 
 
 " I fear your kind and open communication, which has rendered me 
 more painfully conscious of my own defects, has not improved me," 
 sighed Kate. 
 
 " No, no, I dare say not," rejoined Miss Knag, in a most uncommon 
 flow of good humour. " But how much better that you should know 
 it at first, and so be able to go on straight and comfortable. Which 
 way are you walking, my love ? " 
 
 " Towards the city," replied Kate. 
 
 " The city ! " cried Miss Knag, regarding herself with great favour in 
 the glass as she tied her bonnet. " Goodness gracious me ! now do you 
 really live in the city ? " 
 
 " Is it so very unusual for anybody to live there ? " asked Kate, half 
 smiling. 
 
 " I couldn't have believed it possible that any young woman could 
 have lived there under any circumstances whatever, for three days toge- 
 ther," replied Miss Knag. 
 
 " Reduced — I should say poor people," answered Kate, correcting 
 herself hastily, for she was afraid of appearing proud, ''must live 
 where they can." 
 
 " Ah ! very true, so they must ; very proper indeed ! " rejoined Miss 
 Knag with that sort of half sigh, which, accompanied by two or three 
 slight nods of the head, is pity's small change in general society ; " and 
 that's what I very often tell my brother, when our servants go away 
 ill one after another, and he thinks the back kitchen's rather too damp 
 for 'em to sleep in. These sort of people, I tell hun, are glad to sleep 
 anywhere ! Heaven suits the back to the burden. What a nice thing 
 it is to think that it should be so, isn't it ? " 
 
 " Very," replied Kate, turning away. 
 
 " I'll walk with you part of the way, my dear," said Miss Knag, " for 
 you must go very near our house; and as it's quite dark, and our last 
 servant went to the hospital a week ago, with Saint Anthony's fire in 
 her face, I shall be glad of your company." 
 
 Kate would willingly have excused herself from this flattering com- 
 panionship, but Miss Knag having adjusted her bonnet to her entire 
 
 M 2 
 
164 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 satisfaction, took her arm with an air which plainly showed how much 
 she felt the compliment she was conferring, and they were in the street 
 before she could say another word. 
 
 " I fear," said Kate, hesitating, " that mama — my mother, I mean 
 
 is waiting for me." 
 
 " You needn't make the least apology, my dear," said Miss Knag, 
 smiling sweetly as she spoke ; " I dare say she is a very respectable old 
 person, and I shall be quite — hem — quite pleased to know her." 
 
 As poor Mrs. Nickleby was cooling — not her heels alone, but her 
 limbs generally at the street corner, Kate had no alternative but to 
 make her known to Miss Knag, who, doing the last new carriage cus- 
 tomer at second-hand, acknowledged the introduction with condescending 
 politeness. The three then walked away arm in arm, with Miss Knag 
 in the middle, in a special state of amiability. 
 
 " I have taken such a fancy to your daughter, Mrs. Nickleby, you 
 can't think," said Miss Knag, after she had proceeded a little distance 
 in dignified silence. 
 
 " I am delighted to hear it," said Mrs. Nickleby; " though it is nothing 
 new to me, that even strangers should like Kate." 
 
 " Hem ! " cried Miss Knag. 
 
 " You will like her better when you know how good she is," said 
 Mrs. Nickleby. " It is a grt at blessing to me in my misfortunes to have 
 a child, who knows neither pride or vanity, and whose bringing-up 
 might very well have excused a little of both at first. You don't know 
 what it is to lose a husband, Miss Knag." 
 
 As Miss Knag had never yet known what it was to gain one, it fol- 
 lowed very nearly as a matter of course that she didn't know what it 
 was to lose one, so she said in some haste, " No, indeed I don't," and said 
 it with an air intended to signify that she should like to^catch herself 
 marrying anybody — no no, she knew better than that. 
 
 " Kate has improved even in this little time, I have no doubt," said 
 Mrs. Nickleby, glancing proudly at her daughter. 
 
 " Oh ! of course," said Miss Knag. 
 
 " And will improve still more," added Mrs. Nickleby. 
 
 " That she will, I'll be bound," replied Miss Knag, squeezing Kate's 
 arm in her own, to point the joke. 
 
 " She always w^as clever," said poor Mrs. Nickleby, brightening up, 
 " always, from a baby. I recollect when she was only two years and 
 a half old, that a gentleman who used to visit very much at our house — 
 Mr. Watkins, you know, Kate, my dear, that your poor papa went bail 
 for, who afterwards ran away to the United States, and sent us a pair 
 of snow shoes, with such an affectionate letter that it made your poor 
 dear father cry for a week. You remember the letter, in which he 
 said that he was very sorry ho couldn't repay the fifty pounds just 
 then, because his capital was all out at interest, and he was very busy 
 making his fortune, but that he didn't forget you were his god-daughter, 
 and he should take it very unkind if we didn't buy you a silver coral 
 and put it down to his old account — dear me, yes, my dear, how stupid 
 you are ! and spoke so affectionately of the old port wine that he used 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY, 165 
 
 to drink a bottle and a half of every time he came. You must re- 
 member, Kate?" 
 
 " Yes, yes, mama; what of him?" 
 
 " Why, that Mr. Watkins, my dear," said Mrs. Nickleby slowly, 
 as if she were making a tremendous effort to recollect something of 
 paramount importance ; " that Mr. Watkins — he wasn't any relation, 
 Miss Knag will understand, to the Watkins who kept the Old Boar 
 in the village ; by the by, I don't remember whether it was the Old 
 Boar or the George the Fourth, but it was one of the two, I know, 
 and it's much the same — that Mr. Watkins said, when you were only 
 two years and a half old, that you were one of the most astonishing 
 children he ever saw. He did indeed. Miss Knag, and he wasn't at 
 all fond of children, and couldn't have had the slightest motive for 
 doing it. I know it was he who said so, because I recollect, as well as 
 if it w\is only yesterday, his borrowing twenty pounds of her poor dear 
 papa the very moment afterwards." 
 
 Having quoted this extraordinary and most disinterested testimony 
 to her daughter's excellence, Mrs. Nickleby stopped to breathe ; and 
 Miss Knag, finding that the discourse was turning upon family greatness, 
 lost no time in striking in with a small reminiscence on her own account. 
 
 " Don't talk of lending money, Mrs. Nickleby," said Miss Knag, 
 " or you'll drive me crazy, perfectly crazy. My mamma — hem — was 
 the most lovely and beautiful creature, with the most striking and 
 exquisite — hem — the most exquisite nose that ever was put upon a 
 human face, I do believe, Mrs. Nickleby (here Miss Knag rubbed her 
 own nose sympathetically); the most delightful and accomplished woman, 
 perhaps, that ever was seen ; but she had that one failing of lending 
 money, and carried it to such an extent that she lent — hem — oh ! 
 thousands of pounds, all our little fortunes, and what's more, Mrs. 
 Nickleby, I don't think, if we were to live till — till — hem — till the very 
 end of time, that we should ever get them back again. I don t indeed." 
 
 After concluding this effort of invention without being interrupted, 
 Miss Knag fell into many more recollections, no less interesting than 
 true, the full tide of which Mrs. Nickleby in vain attempting to stem, 
 at length sailed smoothly down, by adding an under-current of her own 
 recollections ; and so both ladies went on talking together in perfect 
 contentment : the only difference between them being, that whereas 
 Miss Knag addressed herself to Kate, and talked very loud, Mrs. 
 Nickleby kept on in one unbroken monotonous flow, perfectly satisfied 
 to be talking, and caring very little whether anybody listened or not. 
 
 In this manner they walked on very amicably until they arrived at 
 Miss Knag's brother's, who was an ornamental stationer and small 
 circulating library keeper, in a by-street off Tottenham Court Road, 
 and who let out by the day, week, month, or year, the newest old 
 novels, whereof the titles were displayed in pen-and-ink characters on 
 a sheet of pasteboard, swinging at his door-post. As Miss Knag 
 happened at the moment to be in the middle of an account of her 
 twenty-second offer from a gentleman of large property, she insisted 
 upon their all going in to supper together ; and in they went. 
 
166 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 " Don't go away, Mortimer," said Miss Knag as they entered the 
 shop. " It's only one of our young ladies and her mother. Mrs. and 
 Miss Nickloby." 
 
 " Oh, indeed !" said Mr. Mortimer Knag. " All !" 
 
 Having given utterance to these ejaculations v^ith a very profound 
 and thoughtful air, Mr. Knag slowly snuffed two kitchen candles on 
 the counter and two more in the window, and then snuffed himself 
 from a box in his waistcoat pocket. 
 
 There was something very impressive in the ghostly air with which 
 all this was done, and as Mr. Knag was a tall lank gentleman of 
 solemn features, wearing spectacles, and garnished with much less hair 
 than a gentleman bordering on forty or thereabouts usually boasts, Mrs. 
 Nickleby whispered her daughter that she thought he must be literary. 
 
 " Past ten," said Mr. Knag, consulting his watch. '• Thomas, closa 
 the warehouse." 
 
 Thomas was a boy nearly half as tall as a shutter, and the ware- 
 house was a shop about the size of three hackney coaches. 
 
 " Ah ! " said Mr. Knag once more, heaving a deep sigh as he restored 
 to its parent shelf the book he had been reading. " Well — yes — I 
 believe supper is ready, sister." 
 
 With another sigh Mr. Knag took up the kitchen candles from the 
 counter, and preceded the ladies with mournful steps to a back parlour, 
 where a char- woman, employed in the absence of the sick servant, and 
 remunerated with certain eighteenpences to be deducted from her wages 
 due, was putting the supper out. 
 
 " Mrs. Blockson," said Miss Knag, reproachfully, " liow very often 
 I have begged you not to come into the room with your bonnet on." 
 
 " I can't help it, Miss Knag," said the char-woman, bridling up on the 
 shortest notice. " There's been a deal o' cleaning to do in this house, 
 and if you don't like it, I must trouble you to look out for somebody 
 else, for it don't hardly pay me, and that's the truth, if I was to bo 
 hung this minute." 
 
 " I don't want any remarks, if 9/ou please," said Miss Knag, with a 
 strong emphasis on the personal pronoun. " Is there any lire down 
 stairs for some hot w\ater presently ?" 
 
 " No there is not, indeed. Miss Knag," replied the substitute ; " and 
 so I won't tell you no stories about it." 
 
 " Then why isn't there?" said Miss Knag. 
 
 " Because there an't no coals left out, and if I could make coals I 
 would, but as I can't I won't, and so I make bold to tell you i\Iem,'* 
 replied Mrs. Blockson. 
 
 " Will you hold your tongue — female?" said Mr. Mortimer Knag, 
 plunging violently into this dialogue. 
 
 " By your leave, ^Tr. Knag," retorted the char- woman, turning sharp 
 round. " I'm only too glad not to speak in this house, excei)ting when 
 and where I'm spoke to, Sir ; and with regard to being a female. Sir, I 
 should wish to know what you considered yourself?" 
 
 " A miserable wretch," exclaimed ^Ir. Knag, striking his forehead. 
 " A miserable wretch." 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 167 
 
 " I'm very glad to find that you don't call yourself out of your name. 
 Sir," said Mrs. Blockson ; " and as I had two twin children the day 
 before yesterday was only seven weeks, and my little Charley fell down 
 a airy and put his elber out last Monday, I shall take it as a favior if 
 you'll send nine shillings for one week's work to my house, afore the 
 clock strikes ten to-morrow." 
 
 With these parting words, the good woman quitted the room with 
 great ease of manner, leaving the door wide open, while Mr. Knag, 
 at the same moment, flung himself into the " warehouse," and groaned 
 aloud. 
 
 " What is the matter with that gentleman, pray ?" inquired Mrs. 
 Nickleby, greatly disturbed by the sound. 
 
 " Is he ill?" inquired Kate, really alarmed. 
 
 "Hush!" replied Miss Knag ; "a most melancholy history. He 
 was once most devotedly attached to — hem — ^to Madame Mantalini." 
 
 " Bless me !" exclaimed Mrs. Nickleby. 
 
 " Yes," continued Miss Knag, " and received great encouragement 
 too, and confidently hoped to marry her. He has a most romantic 
 heart, Mrs. Nickleby, as indeed — hem — as indeed all our family have, 
 and the disappointment was a dreadful blow. He is a wonderfully 
 accomplished man — most extraordinarily accomplished — reads — hem — 
 reads every novel that comes out ; I mean every novel that — hem — 
 that has any fashion in it, of course. The fact is, that he did find so 
 much in the books he read applicable to his own misfortunes, and did 
 find himself in every respect so much like the heroes — because of course 
 he is conscious of his own superiority, as we all are, and very natu- 
 rally — that he took to scorning everything, and became a genius ; and 
 I am quite sure that he is at this very present moment writing another 
 book." 
 
 " Another book !" repeated Kate, finding that a pause was left for 
 somebody to say something. 
 
 " Yes," said Miss Knag, nodding in great triumph ; " another book, 
 in three volumes post octavo. Of course it's a great advantage to him 
 in all his little fashionable descriptions to have the benefit of my — hem 
 — of my experience, because of course few authors who write about 
 such things can have such opportunities of knowing them as I have. 
 He's so wrapped up in high life, that the least allusion to business or 
 worldly matters — like that w^oman just now for instance — quite dis- 
 tracts him ; but, as I often say, I think his disappointment a great thing 
 for him, because if he hadn't been disappointed he couldn't have written 
 about blighted hopes and all that ; and the fact is if it hadn't happened 
 as it has, I don't believe his genius would ever have come out at all." 
 
 How much more communicative Miss Knag might have become 
 under more favourable circumstances it is impossible to divine, but as 
 ihe gloomy one was within ear- shot and the fire wanted making up, 
 her disclosures stopped here. To judge from all appearances, and the 
 dif&culty of making the water warm, the last servant could not have 
 been much accustomed to any other fire than St. Anthony's ; but a 
 little brandy and water was made at last, and the guests, having beeu 
 
168 LIFE JLND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 previously regaled with cold leg of mutton and bread and cheese, soon 
 afterwards took leave ; Kate amusing herself all the way home with 
 the recollection of her last glimpse of Mr. Mortimer Knag deeply ab- 
 stracted in the shop, and Mrs. Nickleby by debating within herself 
 whether the dress -making firm would ultimately become " Mantalini, 
 Knag, and Nickleby," or " Mantalini, Nickleby, and Knag." 
 
 At this high point, Miss Knag's friendship remained for three whole 
 days, much to the wonderment of Madame MantaliHi's young ladies 
 who had never beheld such constancy in that quarter before, but on the 
 fourth it received a check no less violent than sudden, which thus 
 occurred. 
 
 It happened that an old lord of great family, who was going to marry 
 a young lady of no family in particular, came with the young lady, and 
 the young lady's sister, to witness the ceremony of trying on two nuptial 
 bonnets which had been ordered the day before ; and Madame Mantalini 
 announcing the fact in a shrill treble through the speaking-pipe, which 
 communicated with the work-room, Miss Knag darted hastily up stairs 
 with a bonnet in each hand, and presented herself in the show-room in 
 a charming state of palpitation, intended to demonstrate her enthusiasm 
 in the cause. The bonnets were no sooner fairly on, than Miss Knag 
 and Madame Mantalini fell into convulsions of admiration. 
 
 " A most elegant appearance," said Madame Mantalini. 
 
 " I never saw anything so exquisite in all my life," said Miss Knag. 
 
 Now the old lord, who was a xery old lord, said nothing, but mum- 
 bled and chuckled in a state of great delight, no less with the nuptial 
 bonnets and their wearers, than with his own address in getting such a 
 fine woman for his wife ; and the young lady, who was a very lively 
 young lady, seeing the old lord in this rapturous condition, chased the 
 old lord behind a cheval-glass, and then and there kissed him, while 
 Madame Mantalini and theother young lady looked discreetly another way. 
 
 But pending the salutation, Miss Knag, who was tinged with curiosity, 
 stepped accidentally behind the glass, and encountered the lively young 
 lady's eye just at the very moment when she kissed the old lord ; upon 
 which the young lady in a pouting manner murmured something about 
 " an old thing," and " great impertinence," and finished by darting a 
 look of displeasure at Miss Knag and smiling contemptuously. 
 
 " Madam Mantalini," said the young lady. 
 
 " Ma'am," said Madame JMantalini. 
 
 " Pray have up that pretty young creature we saw yesterday." 
 
 " Oh yes, do," said the sister. 
 
 " Of all things in the world, Madame Mantalini," said the lord's in- 
 tended, throwing herself languidly on a sofa, " I hate being waited 
 upon by frights or elderly persons. Let me always see that young 
 creature, I beg, whenever I come." 
 
 " By all means," said the old lord ; " the lovely young creature, by 
 all means." 
 
 " Everybody is talking about her," said the young lady, in the same 
 careless manner ; " and my lord, being a great admirer of beauty, must 
 positively see her." 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 169 
 
 " She is universally admired," replied Madame Mantalini. " Miss 
 Knag, send up Miss Nickleby. You needn't return." 
 
 " I beg your pardon, Madame Mantalini, what did you say last ? " 
 asked Miss Knag, trembling. 
 
 " You needn't return," repeated the superior sharply. Miss Knag 
 vanished without another word, and in all reasonable time was replaced 
 by Kate, who took off the new bonnets and put on the old ones : 
 blushing very much to find that the old lord and the two young ladies 
 were staring her out of countenance all the time. 
 
 " Why, how y'ou colour, child !" said the lord's chosen bride. 
 
 " She is not quite so accustomed to her business as she will be in a 
 week or two," interposed Madame Mantalini with a gracious smile. 
 
 " I am afraid you have been giving her some of your wicked looks, 
 my lord," said the intended. 
 
 " No, no, no," replied the old lord, " no, no, I'm going to be married 
 and lead a new life. Ha, ha, ha ! a new life, a new life ! ha, ha, ha I " 
 
 It was a satisfactory thing to hear that the old gentleman was going 
 to lead a new life, for it was pretty evident that his old one would not 
 last him much longer. The mere exertion of protracted chuckling 
 reduced him to a fearful ebb of coughing and gasping, and it was some 
 minutes before he could find breath to remark that the girl was too 
 pretty for a milliner. 
 
 " I hope you don't think good looks a disqualification for the business, 
 my lord," said Madame Mantalini, simpering. 
 
 " Not by any means," replied the old lord, " or you would have left 
 it long ago." 
 
 " You naughty creature ! " said the lively lady, poking the peer with 
 her parasol ; '*■ I won't have you talk so. How dare you ?" 
 
 This playful inquiry was accompanied with another poke and an- 
 other, and then the old lord caught the parasol, and wouldn't give it up 
 again, which induced the other lady to come to the rescue, and some 
 very pretty sportiveness ensued. 
 
 " You will see that those little alterations are made, Madame Man- 
 talini," said the lady. " Nay, my lord, you positively shall go 
 first ; I wouldn't leave you behind w^ith that pretty girl, not for half a 
 second. I know you too well. Jane, my dear, let him go first, and we 
 shall be quite sure of him." 
 
 The old lord, evidently much flattered by this suspicion, bestowed a 
 grotesque leer upon Kate as he passed, and receiving another tap with 
 the parasol for his wickedness, tottered down stairs to the door, where 
 his sprightly body w^as hoisted into the carriage by two stout footmen. 
 
 " Fob ! " said Madame Mantalini, " how he ever gets into a carriage 
 without thinking of a hearse, / can't think. There, take ^ the things 
 away, my dear, take them away." 
 
 Kate, who had remained during the whole scene with her eyes 
 modestly fixed upon the ground, was only too happy to avail herself of 
 the permission to retire, and hastened joyfully down stairs to Miss 
 Knag's dominion. 
 
 The circumstances of the little kingdom had greatly changed, how- 
 
170 LIFE AND ADVENTXTREfir OP 
 
 ever, during the short period of her absence. In place of Miss Knag 
 being stationed in her accustomed seat, preserving all the dignity and 
 greatness of Madame Mantalini's representative, that worthy- soul was 
 reposing on a large box, bathed in tears, while three or four of the 
 young ladies in close attendance upon her, together with the presence of 
 hartshorn, vinegar, and other restoratives, would have borne ample 
 testimony, even without the derangement of the head-dress and front 
 row of curls, to her having fainted desperately. 
 
 " Bless me ! " said Kate, stepping hastily forward, " What is the 
 matter ? " 
 
 This inquiry produced in Miss Knag violent symptoms of a re- 
 lapse ; and several young ladies, darting angry looks at Kate, applied 
 more vinegar and hartshorn, and said it was " a shame." 
 
 " Wliat is a shame ? " demanded Kate. " What is the matter ? 
 What has happened ? tell me." 
 
 " Matter ! " cried Miss Knag, coming all at once bolt upright, to the 
 great consternation of the assembled maidens ; " Matter ! Fie upon 
 you, you nasty creature! " 
 
 " Gracious ! " cried Kate, almost paralysed by the violence with 
 which the adjective had been jerked out from between Miss Knag'a 
 closed teeth ; " have / offended you ? " 
 
 " You offended me ! " retorted Miss Knag, " You f a chit, a child, 
 an upstart nobody ! Oh, indeed! Ha, ha! " 
 
 Now, it was evident as Miss Knag laughed, that something struck her 
 as being exceedingly funny, and as tiie young ladies took their tone 
 from Miss Knag — she being the chief — they all got up a laugh without 
 a moment's delay, and nodded their heads a little, and smiled sar- 
 castically to each other, as much as to say, how very good that was. 
 
 " Here she is," continued Miss Knag, getting off the box, and intro- 
 ducing Kate with much ceremony and many low curtseys to the de- 
 lighted throng ; " here she is — everybody is talking about her — the belle, 
 ladies — the beauty, the — oh, you bold-faced thing ! " 
 
 At this crisis Miss Knag was unable to repress a virtuous shudder, 
 which immediately communicated itself to all the young ladies, after 
 which Miss Knag laughed, and after that, cried. 
 
 " For fifteen years," exclaimed Miss Knag, sobbing in a most affecting 
 manner, " for fifteen years I have been the credit and ornament of this 
 room and the one up-stairs. Thank God," said Miss Knag, stamping ^ 
 first her right foot and then her left with remarkable energy, " I have 
 never in all that time, till now, been exposed to the arts, the vile arts 
 of a creature, who disgraces us all with her proceedings, and makes 
 proper people blush for themselves. But I feel it, I do feel it, although 
 I am disgusted." 
 
 Miss Knag here relapsed into softness, and the young ladies renewing 
 their attentions, murmured tliat she ought to bo superior to sucli things, 
 and that for their part they despised them, and considered them beneath 
 their notice; in witness whereof they called out more emphatically 
 than before that it was a shame, and tliat they felt so angry, they did, 
 they liardly knew what to do with themselves. 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 171 
 
 " Have I lived to this day to be called a fright !" cried Miss Knag, 
 suddenly becoming convulsive, and making an effort to tear her front off. 
 
 " Oh no, no," replied the chorus, " pray don't say so ; don't, now." 
 
 " Have I deserved to be called an elderly person?" screamed Miss 
 Knag, wrestling with the supernumeraries. 
 
 " Uon't think of such things, dear," answered the chorus. 
 
 " I hate her," cried Miss Knag ; " I detest and hate her. Never let 
 her speak to me again ; never let anybody who is a friend of mine 
 speak to' her ; a slut, a hussy, an impudent artful hussy 1" Having 
 denounced the object of her wrath in these terms. Miss Knag screamed 
 once, hiccuped thrice, and gurgled in her throat several times : slum- 
 bered, shivered, woke, came to, composed her head-dress, and declared 
 herself quite well again. 
 
 Poor Kate had regarded these proceedings at first in perfect bewil- 
 derment. She had then turned red and pale by turns, and once or 
 twice essayed to speak ; but as the true motives of this altered behaviour 
 developed themselves, she retired a few paces, and looked calmly on 
 without deigning a reply. But although she walked proudly to her seat, 
 and turned her back upon the group of little satellites who clustered 
 round their ruling planet in the remotest corner of the room, she gave 
 way in secret to some such bitter tears as would have gladdened Miss 
 Knag inmost soul if she could have seen them fall. 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 DESCRIPTIVE OP A DINNER AT MR. RALPH NICKLEBY S, AND OP THE 
 MANNER IN WHICH THE COMPANY ENTERTAINED THEMSELVES 
 BEFORE DINNER, AT DINNER, AND AFTER DINNER. 
 
 The bile and rancour of the worthy Miss Knag undergoing no dimi- 
 nution during the remainder of the week, but rather augmenting with 
 every successive hour ; and the honest ire of all the young ladies rising, 
 or seeming to rise, in exact proportion to the good spinster's indignation, 
 and both waxing very hot every time Miss Nickleby was called up 
 stairs, it will be readily imagined that that young lady's daily life was 
 none of the most cheerful or enviable kind. She hailed the arrival of 
 Saturday night, as a prisoner would a few delicious hours' respite from 
 slow and wearing torture, and felt, that the poor pittance for her first 
 week's labour would have been dearly and hardly earned had its amount 
 been trebled. 
 
 When she joined her mother" as usual at the street corner, she was 
 not a little surprised to find her in conversation with Mr. Ralph 
 Nickleby ; but her surprise was soon redoubled, no less by the matter 
 of their conversation, than by the smoothed and retired manner of 
 Mr. Nickleby himself. 
 
172 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 " Ah! my dear!" said Ralph; " we were at that moment talking 
 about you." t 
 
 " Indeed !" replied Kate, shrinking, though she scarce knew why, 
 from her uncle's cold glistening eye. 
 
 " That instant," said Ralph. " I was coming to call for you, 
 making sure to catch you before you left ; but your mother and I have 
 been talking over family affairs, and the time has slipped away so 
 rapidly " 
 
 " Well, now, hasn't it ? " interposed Mrs. Nickleby, quite insensible 
 to the sarcastic tone of Ralph's last remark. " Upon my word, I 
 
 couldn't have believed it possible, that such a Kate, my dear, you're 
 
 to dine with your uncle at half-past six o'clock to-morrow." 
 
 Triumphing in having been the first to communicate this extraordinary 
 intelligence, Mrs. Nickleby nodded and smiled a great many times, to 
 impress its full magnificence on Kate's wondering mind, and then flew 
 ofl^ at an acute angle, to a committee of ways and means. 
 
 " Let me see," said the good lady. " Your black silk frock will be 
 quite dress enough, my dear, with that pretty little scarf, and a plain 
 
 band in your hair, and a pair of black silk stock Dear, dear," 
 
 cried Mrs. Nickleby, flying off at another angle, " if I had but those 
 unfortunate amethysts of mine — you recollect them, Kate, my love — 
 how they used to sparkle, you know — but your papa, your poor dear papa 
 — ah! there never was anything so cruelly sacrificed as those jewels were, 
 never !" Overpowered by this agonising thought, Mrs. Nickleby shook 
 her head in a melancholy manner, and applied her handkerchief to 
 her eyes. 
 
 " I don't want them, mama, indeed," said Kate. " Forget that you 
 ever had them." 
 
 " Lord, Kate, my dear," rejoined Mrs. Nickleby, pettishly, " how 
 like a child you talk. Four -and- twenty silver tea spoons, brother-in- 
 law, two gravies, four salts, all the amethysts — necklace, brooch, and 
 ear-rings — all made away with at the same time, and I saying almost 
 on my bended knees to that poor good soul, ' Why don't you do some- 
 thing, Nicholas? Why don't you make some arrangement?' I am 
 sure that anybody who was about us at that time will do me the justice 
 to own, that if I said that once, I said it fifty times a-day. Didn't I, 
 Kate, my dear ? Did I ever lose an opportunity of impressing it on 
 your poor papa ?" 
 
 " No, no, mama, never," replied Kate. And to do Mrs. Nickleby 
 justice, she never had lost— and to do married ladies as a body justice, 
 they seldom do lose — any occasion of inculcating similar golden precepts, 
 whose only blemish is, the slight degree of vagueness and uncertainty 
 in which they are usually developed. 
 
 " Ah ! " said Mrs. Nickleby, with great fervour, " if my advice 
 had been taken at the beginning — Well, I have always done my duty, 
 and that's some comfort." 
 
 When she had arrived at this reflection, Mrs. Nickleby sighed, rubbed 
 her hands, cast up her eyes, and finally assumed a look of meek com- 
 posure, thus importing that she was a persecuted saint, but that she 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. ] 73 
 
 wouldn't trouble her hearers by mentioning a circumstance which must 
 be so obvious to everybody. 
 
 " Now," said Ralph, with a smile, which, in common with all other 
 tokens of emotion, seemed to skulk under his face, rather than play 
 boldly over it — " to return to the point from which we have strayed. 
 I have a little party of — of — gentlemen with whom I am connected in 
 business just now, at my house to-morrow ; and your mother has pro- 
 mised that you shall keep house for me. I am not much used to parties ; 
 but this is one of business, and such fooleries are an important part of 
 it sometimes. You don't mind obliging me ? " 
 
 " Mind ! " cried Mrs. Nickleby. " My dear Kate, why " 
 
 " Pray," interrupted Ralph, motioning her to be silent. " I spoke 
 to my niece." 
 
 " I shall be very glad, of course, uncle," replied Kate ; " but I am 
 afraid you will find me very awkward and embarrassed." 
 
 " Oh no," said Ralph ; " come when you like, in a hackney coach 
 — I'll pay for it. Good night — a — a — God bless you." 
 
 The blessing seemed to stick in Mr. Ralph Nickleby's throat, as if it 
 were not used to the thoroughfare, and didn't know the way out. But 
 it got out somehow, though awkwardly enough ; and having disposed 
 of it, he shook hands with his two relatives, and abruptly left them. 
 
 '' What a very strongly-marked countenance your uncle has," said 
 Mrs. Nickleby, quite struck with his parting look. " I don't see the 
 slightest resemblance to his poor brother." 
 
 " Mama ! " said Kate, reprovingly. " To think of such a thing ! " 
 
 " No," said Mrs. Nickleby, musing. " There certainly is none. But 
 it's a very honest face." 
 
 The worthy matron made this remark with great emphasis and 
 elocution, as if it comprised no small quantity of ingenuity and 
 research ; and in truth it was not unworthy of being classed among the 
 extraordinary discoveries of the age. Kate looked up hastily, and as 
 hastily looked down again. 
 
 " What has come over you, my dear, in the name of goodness ? " 
 asked Mrs. Nickleby, when they had walked on for some time in silence. 
 
 " I was only thinking, mama," answered Kate. 
 
 " Thinking ! " repeated Mrs. Nickleby. " Aye, and indeed plenty 
 to think about, too. Your uncle has taken a strong fancy to you, that's 
 quite clear ; and if some extraordinary good fortune doesn't come to you 
 after this, I shall be a little surprised, that's all." 
 
 With this, she launched out into sundry anecdotes of young ladies, 
 who had had thousand pound notes given them in reticules, by eccen- 
 tric uncles ; and of young ladies who had accidentally met amiable 
 gentlemen of enormous wealth at their uncles' houses, and married them, 
 after short but ardent courtships ; and Kate, listening first in apathy, 
 and afterwards in amusement, felt, as they walked home, something of 
 her mother's sanguine complexion gradually awakening in her own 
 bosom, and began to think that her prospects might be brightening, 
 and that better days might be dawning upon them. Such is hope. 
 Heaven's own gift to struggling mortals ; pervading, like some subtle 
 
174 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 essence from the elcies, all things, both good and bad ; as universal as 
 death, and more infectious than disease. 
 
 The feeble winter s sun — and winter s suns in the city are very feeble 
 indeed — might have brightened up as he shone through the dim win- 
 dows of the large old house, on witnessing the unusual siglit whicli 
 one half-furnished room displayed. In a gloomy comer, where for 
 years had stood a silent dusty pile of merchandise, sheltering its colony 
 of mice, and frowning a dull and lifeless mass upon the panelled room, 
 save when, responding to the roll of heavy waggons in the street without, 
 it quaked with sturdy tremblings and caused the bright eyes of its tiny 
 citizens to grow brighter still with fear, and struck them motionless, 
 with attentive ear and palpitating heart, until the alarm had passed 
 away — in this dark corner was arranged, with scrupulous care, all 
 Kate's little finery for the day ; each article of dress partaking of that 
 indescribable air of jauntiness and individuality which empty garments 
 — whether by association, or that they become moulded as it were to 
 the owner's form — will take, in eyes accustomed to, or picturing the 
 wearer's smartness. In place of a bale of musty goods, there lay the 
 black silk dress : the neatest possible figure in itself. The small shoes, 
 with toes delicately turned out, stood upon the very pressure of some 
 old iron weight ; and a pile of harsh discoloured leather had uncon- 
 sciously given place to the very same little pair of black silk stockings, 
 which had been the objects of Mrs. Nickleby's peculiar care. Rats 
 and mice, and such small gear, had long ago been starved or emi- 
 grated to better quarters ; and in their stead appeared gloves, bands, 
 scarfs, hair-pins, and many other little devices, almost as ingenious in 
 their way as rats and mice themselves, for the tantalisation of mankind. 
 About and among them all, moved Kate herself, not the least beautiful 
 or unwonted relief to the stern old gloomy building. 
 
 In good time, or in bad time, as the reader likes to take it, for Mrs. 
 Nickleby's impatience went a great deal faster than the clocks at that 
 end of the town, and Kate was dressed to the very last hair-pin a full 
 hour and a half before it was at all necessary to begin to think about it 
 — in. good time, or in bad time, the toilet was completed ; and it being 
 at length the hour agreed upon for starting, the milkman fetched a 
 coach from the nearest stand, and Kate, with many adieus to her 
 mother, and many kind messages to Miss La Creevy, who was to come 
 to tea, seated herself in it, and went away in state if ever any body 
 went away in state in a hackney coach yet. And the coach, and the 
 coachman, and the horses, rattled, and jangled, and whipped, and cursed, 
 and swore, and tumbled on together, till they came to Golden Square. 
 
 The coachman gave a tremendous double knock at the door, which 
 was opened long before he had done, as quickly as if there had been a 
 man behind it with his hand tied to the latch. Kate, who had ex- 
 pected no more uncommon appearance than Newman Noggs in a clean 
 shirt, was not a little astonished to see that the opener was a man in 
 handsome livery, and that there were two or three others in the hall. 
 There was no doubt about its being the right house , however, for there 
 was the name upon the door, so she accepted the laced coat-sleeve 
 
#. 
 
///, 
 
 ■/^^V//// / 
 
 ?/„ 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 175 
 
 which was tendered her, and entering the house, was ushered up stairs, 
 into a back drawing-room, where she was left alone. 
 
 If she had been surprised at the apparition of the footman, she was 
 perfectly absorbed in amazement at the richness and splendour of the fur- 
 niture. The softest and most elegant carpets, the most exquisite pictures, 
 the costliest mirrors ; articles of richest ornament, quite dazzling from 
 their beauty, and perplexing from the prodigality with which they were 
 scattered around, encountered her on every side. The very staircase 
 nearly down to the hall door, was crammed with beautiful and luxurious 
 things, as though the house were brim-full of riches, which, with a 
 very trifling addition, would fairly run over into the street. 
 
 Presently she heard a series of loud double knocks at the street-door, 
 and after every knock some new voice in the next room ; the tones of 
 Mr. Ralph Nickleby were easily distinguishable at first, but by degrees 
 they merged into the general buzz of conversation, and all she could 
 ascertain was, that there were several gentlemen with no very musical 
 voices, who talked very loud, laughed very heartily, and swore more 
 than she would have thought quite necessary. But this was a ques- 
 tion of taste. 
 
 At length the door opened, and Ralph himself, divested of his boots, 
 and ceremoniously embellished with black silks and shoes, presented 
 his crafty face. 
 
 " I couldn't see you before, my dear,*' he said, in a low tone, and 
 pointing as he spoke, to the next room. " I was engaged in receiving 
 them. Now — shall I take you in ? " 
 
 " Pray uncle," said Kate, a little flurried, as people much more con- 
 versant with society often are when they are about to enter a room full 
 of strangers, and have had time to think of it previously, " are there 
 any ladies here ? " 
 
 '' No," said Ralph, shortly, " I don't know any." 
 
 " Must I go in immediately ? " asked Kate, drawing back a little. 
 
 " As you please," said Ralph, shrugging his shoulders. " They are 
 all come, and dinner will be announced directly afterwards — that's all." 
 
 Kate would have entreated a few minutes' respite, but reflecting that 
 her uncle might consider the payment of the hackney-coach fare a sort 
 of bargain for her punctuality, she sufi'ered him to draw her arm through 
 his and to lead her away. 
 
 Seven or eight gentlemen were standing round the fire when they 
 went in, and as they were talking very loud were not aware of their 
 entrance until Mr. Ralph Nickleby, touching one on the coat-sleeve^ 
 said in a harsh emphatic voice, as if to attract general attention — 
 
 " Lord Frederick Verisopht, my niece. Miss Nickleby." 
 
 The gTOup dispersed as if in great surprise, and the gentleman ad- 
 dressed, turning round, exhibited a suit of clothes of the most superla- 
 tive cut, a pair of whiskers of similar quality, a moustache, a head of 
 hair, and a young face. 
 
 " Eh ! " said the gentleman. " What — the — deyvle ! " 
 
 With which broken ejaculations he fixed his glass in his eye, and 
 stared at Miss Nickleby in great surprise. 
 
176 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 " My niece, my lord," said Ralph. 
 
 " Well, then my ears did not deceive me, and it's not wa-a-x work," 
 said his lordship. " How de do ? I'm very happy." And then his 
 lordship turned to another superlative gentleman, something older, some- 
 thing stouter, something redder in the face, and something longer upon 
 town, and said in a loud whisper that the girl was " deyvlish pitty." 
 
 " Introduce me, Nickleby," said this second gentleman, who was 
 lounging with his back to the fire, and both elbows on the chimney- 
 piece. 
 
 " Sir Mulberry Hawk," said Ralph. 
 
 " Otherwise the most knowing card in the pa-ack, Miss Nickleby," 
 said Lord Frederick Yerisopht. 
 
 " Don't leave me out, Nickleby," cried a sharp-faced gentleman, who 
 was sitting on a low chair with a high back, reading the paper. 
 " Mr. Pyke," said Ralph. 
 
 " Nor me, Nickleby," cried a gentleman with a flushed face and a 
 flash air, from the elbow of Sir Mulberry Hawk. 
 
 " Mr. Pluck," said Ralph. Then wheeling about again towards a 
 gentleman with the neck of a stork and the legs of no animal in parti- 
 cular, Ralph introduced him as the Honorable Mr. Snobb ; and a 
 white-headed person at the table as Colonel Chowser. The colonel was 
 in conversation with somebody, who appeared to be a make- weight, and 
 was not introduced at all. 
 
 There were two circumstances which, in this early stage of the party, 
 struck home to Kate's bosom, and brought the blood tingling to her 
 face. One was the flippant contempt with which the guests evidently 
 regarded her uncle, and the other the easy insolence of their manner 
 towards herself. That the first symptom was very likely to lead to the 
 aggravation of the second it needed no great penetration to foresee. And 
 here Mr. Ralph Nickleby had reckoned without his host ; for however 
 fresh from the country a young lady (by nature) may be, and however 
 unacquainted with conventional behaviour, the chances are that she will 
 have quite as strong an innate sense of the decencies and proprieties of 
 life as if she had run the gauntlet of a dozen London seasons — possibly 
 a stronoer one, for such senses have been known to blunt in this im- 
 proving process. 
 
 When Ralph had completed the ceremonial of introduction, he led 
 his blushing niece to a seat, and as he did so, glanced warily round as 
 though to assure himself of the impression which her unlooked-for 
 appearance had created. 
 
 " An unexpected playsure, Nickleby," said Lord Frederick Verisopht, 
 taking his glass out of his right eye, where it had until now done duty 
 on Kate, and fixing it in his left to bring it to bear on Ralph. 
 " Designed to surprise you, Lord Frederick," said Mr. Pluck. 
 " Not a bad idea," said his lordship, " and one that would almost 
 "warrant the addition of an extra two and a half per cent." 
 
 " Nickleby," said Sir Mulberry Hawk, in a thick coarse voice, " take 
 the hint, and tack it on to the other five-and-twenty, or whatever it is, 
 and give me half for the advice." 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 177 
 
 Sir Mulberry garnished this speech with a hoarse laugh, and termi- 
 nated it with a pleasant oath regarding Mr. Nickleby's limbs, whereat 
 Messrs. Pyke and Pluck " laughed consumedly." 
 
 These gentlemen had not yet quite recovered the jest when dinner was 
 announced, and then they were thrown into fresh ecstacies by a similar 
 cause ; for Sir Mulberry Ilawk, in an excess of humour, shot dexterously 
 past Lord Frederick Yerisopht who was about to lead Kate down 
 stairs, and drew her arm through his up to the elbow. 
 
 " No, damn it, Yerisopht," said Sir Mulberry, " fair play's a jewel, 
 and Miss Nickleby and I settled the matter with our eyes, ten minutes 
 ago." 
 
 " Ha, ha, ha ! " laughed the Honourable Mr. Snobb, " very good, 
 very good." 
 
 Rendered additionally witty by this applause. Sir Mulberry Hawk 
 leered upon his friends most facetiously, and led Kate down stairs with 
 an air of familiarity, which roused in her gentle breast such disgust 
 and burning indignation, as she felt it almost impossible to repress. 
 Nor was the intensity of these feelings at all diminished, when she 
 found herself placed at the top of the table, with Sir Mulberry Hawk 
 and Lord Yerisopht on either side. 
 
 " Oh, you've found your way into our neighbourhood, have you ? **' 
 said Sir Mulberry as his lordship sat down. 
 
 " Of course," replied Lord Frederick, fixing his eyes on Miss 
 Nickleby, " how can you a-ask me ? " 
 
 " Well, you attend to your dinner," said Sir Mulberry, " and don't. 
 mind Miss Nickleby and me, for we shall prove very indifferent com- 
 pany, I dare say." 
 
 " I w^sh you'd interfere here, Nickleby," said Lord Yerisopht. 
 
 " What is the matter, my lord ? " demanded Ralph from the bottom? 
 of the table, where he was supported by Messrs. Pyke and Pluck. 
 
 "This fellow, Hawk, is monopolising your niece," said Lord 
 Frederick. 
 
 " He has a tolerable share of everything that you lay claim to, my 
 lord," said Ralph with a sneer. 
 
 " 'Gad, so he has," replied the young man ; " deyvle take me if I 
 know which is master in my house, he or I." 
 
 "/ know," muttered Ralph. 
 
 " I think I shall cut him off with a shilling," said the young noble- 
 man, jocosely. 
 
 " No, no, curse it," said Sir Mulberry. " When you come to the 
 shilling — the last shilling — I'll cut you fast enough ; but till then, I'll 
 never leave you — you may take your oath of it." 
 
 This sally (which was strictly founded on fact,) was received with 
 a general roar, above which, was plainly distinguishable the laughter 
 of Mr. Pyke and Mr. Pluck, who were evidently Sir Mulberry's toads 
 in ordinary. Indeed, it was not difficult to see, that the majority 
 of the company preyed upon the unfortunate young lord, who, weak 
 and silly as he was, appeared by far the least vicious of the party. Sir 
 Mulberry Hawk was remarkable for his tact in ruining, by himself 
 
178 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 and his creatures, young gentlemen of fortune — a genteel and elegant 
 profession, of which he had undoubtedly gained the head. With all 
 the boldness of an original genius, he had struck out an entirely new 
 course of treatment quite opposed to the usual method, his custom 
 being, when he had gained the ascendancy over those he took in hand, 
 rather to keep tluni down than to give them their own way ; and to 
 exercise his vivacity upon them openly and without reserve. Thus he 
 made them butts in a double sense, and while he emptied them with 
 great address, caused them to ring with sundry well-administered taps 
 for the diversion of society. 
 
 The dinner w^as as remarkable for the splendour and complete- 
 ness of its appointments as the mansion itself, and the company were 
 remarkable for doing it ample justice, in which respect Messrs. Pyke 
 and Pluck particularly signalised themselves ; these two gentlemen 
 eating of every dish, and drinking of every bottle, with a capacity 
 and perseverance truly astonishing. They were remarkably fresh too, 
 notwithstanding their great exertions : for, on the appearance of the 
 dessert, they broke out again, as if nothing serious had taken place 
 since breakfast. 
 
 " AVell," said Lord Frederick, sipping his first glass of port, " if 
 this is a discounting dinner, all I have to say is, deyvle take me, if it 
 w^ouldn't be a good pla-an to get discount every day." 
 
 " You'll have plenty of it in your time," returned Sir Mulberry 
 Hawk ; " Nickleby will tell you that." 
 
 " What do you say, Nickleby ? " inquired the young man ; " am I 
 to be a good customer ? " 
 
 " It depends entirely on circumstances, my lord," replied Ralph. 
 
 " On your lordship's circumstances," interposed Colonel Chouser of 
 the Militia — and the race-courses. 
 
 The gallant Colonel glanced ' at Messrs. Pyke and Pluck as if he 
 thought they ought to laugh at his joke, but those gentlemen, being 
 only engaged to laugh for Sir Mulberry Hawk, were, to his signal dis- 
 comfiture, as grave as a pair of undertakers. To add to his defeat. 
 Sir Mulberry, considering any such efforts an invasion of his peculiar 
 privilege, eyed the offender steadily through his glass as if astounded 
 at his ])resumption, and audibly stated his impression that it was an 
 " infernal liberty," which being a hint to Lord Frederick" he put up 
 his glass, and surveyed the object of censure as if he were some extra- 
 ordinary wild animal then exhibiting for the first time. As a matter 
 of course, Messrs. Pyke and Pluck stared at the individual whom 
 Sir Mulberry Hawk stared at ; so the poor Colonel, to hide his con- 
 fusion, was reduced to the necessity of holding his port before his 
 right eye and affecting to scrutinise its colour with the most lively 
 interest. 
 
 All this while Kate had sat as silently as she could, scarcely daring 
 to raise her eyes, lest they should encounter the admiring gaze of l^ord 
 Frederick Verisopht, or, what was still more embari-assing, the bold 
 looks of his friend Sir Mulberry. The latter gentleman was obliging 
 enough to direct general attention towai'ds her. 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 179 
 
 " Here is Miss Nickleby," observed Sir Mulberry, " wondering wby 
 the deuce somebody doesn't make love to her." 
 
 " No, indeed," said Kate, looking hastily up, " I " and then she 
 
 stopped, feeling it would have been better to have said nothing at all. 
 
 " I'll hold any man fifty pounds," said Sir Mulberry, *' that Miss 
 Nickleby can't look in my face, and tell me she wasn't thinking so." 
 
 " Done ! " cried the noble gull. " Within ten minutes." 
 
 " Done ! " responded Sir Mulberry. The money was produced on both 
 sides, and the Honourable Mr. Snobb was elected to the double oflice 
 of stake-holder and time-keeper. 
 
 " Pray," said Kate, in great confusion, while these preliminaries were 
 in course of completion. " Pray do not make me the subject of any 
 bets. Uncle, I cannot really -" 
 
 " Why not, my dear ? " replied Ralph, in whose grating voice, 
 however, there was an unusual huskiness, as though he spoke unwill- 
 ingly, and would rather that the proposition had not been broached. 
 " It is done in a moment ; there is nothing in it. If the gentlemen 
 insist on it " 
 
 " / don't insist on it," said Sir Mulberry, with a loud laugh. " That 
 is, I by no means insist upon Miss Nickleby's making the denial, for if 
 she does, I lose ; but I shall be glad to see her bright eyes, especially 
 as she favours the mahogany so much." 
 
 " So she does, and it's too ba-a-d of you, Miss Nickleby," said the 
 noble youth. 
 
 " Quite cruel," said Mr. Pyke. 
 
 " Horrid cruel," said Mr. Pluck. 
 
 " I don't care if I do lose," said Sir Mulberry, " for one tolerable look 
 at Miss Nickleby's eyes is worth double the money." 
 
 " More," said Mr. Pyke. 
 
 " Far more," said Mr. Pluck. 
 
 " How goes the enemy, Snobb ?" asked Sir Mulberry Hawk. 
 
 " Four minutes gone." 
 
 " Bravo !" 
 
 " Won't you ma-ake one effort for me, Miss Nickleby ?" asked Lord 
 Frederick, after a short interval. 
 
 " You needn't trouble yourself to inquire, my buck," said Sir Mul- 
 berry ; " Miss Nickleby and I understand each other ; she declares on my 
 side, and shews her taste. You haven't a chance, old fellow. Time now, 
 Snobb?" 
 
 " Eight minutes gone." 
 
 " Get the money ready," said Sir Mulberry; " you'll soon hand over." 
 
 " Ha, ha, ha ! " laughed Mr. Pyke. 
 
 Mr. Pluck, who always came second, and topped his companion if 
 he could, screamed outright. 
 
 The poor girl, who was so overwhelmed with confusion that she 
 scarcely knew what she did, had determined to remain perfectly quiet ; 
 but fearing that by so doing she might seem to countenance Sir Mul- 
 berry's boast, which had been uttered with great coarseness and vulgarity 
 of manner, raised her eyes, and looked him in the face. There was 
 
 N 2 
 
180 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 something so odious, so insolent, so repulsive in the look which met her, 
 that, without the power to stammer forth a syllable, she rose and. 
 hurried from the room. She restrained her tears by a great effort until 
 she was alone up stairs, and then gave them vent. 
 
 "Capital!" said Sir Mulberry Hawk, putting the stakes in his 
 pocket. " That's a girl of spirit, and we'll drink her health." 
 
 It is needless to say that Pyke and Co. responded with great warmth 
 of manner to this proposal, or that the toast was drunk with many 
 little insinuations from the firm, relative to the completeness of Sir 
 Mulberry's conquest. Ralph, who, while the attention of the other 
 guests was attracted to the principals in the preceding scene, had eyed 
 them like a wolf, appeared to breathe more freely now his niece was 
 gone ; and the decanters passing quickly round, leant back in his chair, 
 and turned his eyes from speaker to speaker, as they warmed with 
 wine, with looks that seemed to search their hearts and lay bare for 
 his distempered sport every idle thought within them. 
 
 Meantime Kate, left wholly to herself, had in some degree recovered 
 her composure. She had learnt from a female attendant, that her uncle- 
 wished to see her before she left, and had also gleaned the satisfactory 
 intelligence, that the gentlemen would take coffee at table. The pros- 
 pect of seeing them no more contributed greatly to calm her agitation,, 
 and, taking up a book, she composed herself to read. 
 
 She started now and then when the sudden opening of the dining- 
 room door let loose a wild shout of noisy revelry, and more than once 
 rose in great alarm, as a fancied footstep on the staircase impressed her 
 with the fear that some stray member of the party was returning 
 alone. Nothing occurring, however, to realise her apprehensions, she 
 endeavoured to fix her attention more closely on her book, in which by 
 degrees she became so much interested, that she had read on through 
 several chapters without heed of ' time or place, when she was terrified 
 by suddenly hearing her name pronounced by a man's voice close at 
 her ear. 
 
 The book fell from her hand. Lounging on an ottoman close beside 
 her, was Sir Mulberry Hawk, evidently the worse — if a man be a 
 ruffian at heart, he is never the better — for wine. 
 
 " What a delightful studiousness !" said this accomplished gentleman. 
 " Was it real, now, or only to display the eye-lashes ?" 
 
 Kate bit her lip, and looking anxiously towards the door, made na 
 reply. 
 
 " I have looked at 'em for five minutes," said Sir Mulberry. " Upon 
 my soul, they're perfect. Why did I speak, and destroy such a pretty 
 little picture !" 
 
 *' Do me the favour to be silent now. Sir," replied Kate. 
 
 " No, don't," said Sir Mulberry, folding his crusli hat to lay his 
 elbow on, and bringing himself still closer to the young lady ; " upon 
 my life, you oughtn't to. Such a devoted slave of yours. Miss Nicklcby 
 — it's an infernal thing to treat him so harshly, upon my soul it is." 
 
 " I wish you to understand. Sir," said Kate, trembling in spite of 
 herself, but speaking with great indignation, "that your behaviour 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 18 J 
 
 offends and disgusts me. If you have one spark of gentlemanly feeling 
 remaining, you will leave me instantly." 
 
 *' Now why," said Sir Mulberry, " why will you keep up this 
 appearance of excessive rigour, my sweet creature ? Now, be more 
 natural — ^my dear Miss Nickleby, be more natural — do." 
 
 Kate hastily rose ; but as she rose. Sir Mulberry caught her dress, 
 and forcibly detained her. 
 
 " Let me go, Sir," she cried, her heart swelling with anger. " Do 
 you hear ? Instantly — this moment." 
 
 " Sit down, sit down," said Sir Mulberry ; " I want to talk to you.** 
 
 " Unhand me. Sir, this instant," cried Kate. 
 
 " Not for the world," rejoined Sir Mulberry. Thus speaking, he 
 leant over, as if to replace her in her chair ; but the young lady making 
 ti violent effort to disengage herself, he lost his balance, and measured 
 his length upon the ground. As Kate sprung forward to leave the 
 room, Mr. Ralph Nickleby appeared in the door-way, and confronted 
 her. 
 
 " What is this?" said Ralph. 
 
 " It is this. Sir," replied Kate, violently agitated : " that beneath 
 the roof where I, a helpless girl, your dead brother's child, should most 
 have found protection, I have been exposed to insult which should make 
 you shrink to look upon me. Let me pass you." 
 
 Ralph did shrink, as the indignant girl fixed her kindling eye upon 
 him ; but he did not comply with her injunction, nevertlieless ; for he 
 led her to a distant seat, and returning and approaching Sir Mulberry 
 Hawk, who had by this time risen, motioned towards the door. 
 
 " Your way lies there. Sir," said Ralph, in a suppressed voice, that 
 some devil might have ow^ned with pride. 
 
 *' What do you mean by that ?" demanded his friend, fiercely. 
 
 The swoln veins stood out like sinews on Ralph's Wrinkled forehead, 
 and the nerves about his mouth worked as though some unendurable 
 torture wrung them; but he smiled disdainfully, and again pointed to 
 the door. 
 
 " Do you know me, you madman ? " asked Sir Mulberry. 
 
 " Well," said Ralph. The fashionable vagabond for the moment 
 quite quailed under the steady look of the older sinner, and walked to- 
 wards the door, muttering as he went. 
 
 " You wanted the lord, did you ? " he said, stopping short when he 
 reached the door, as if a new light had broken in upon him, and con- 
 fronting Ralph again. " Damme, I was in the way, was I ? " 
 
 Ralph smiled again, but made no answer. 
 
 '' Who brought him to you first ? " pursued Sir Mulberry ; " and how 
 without me could you ever have wound him in your net as you have ? " 
 
 " The net is a large one, and rather full," said Ralph. " Take care 
 that it chokes nobody in the meshes." 
 
 " You would sell your flesh and blood for money ; yourself, if you 
 have not already made a bargain with the devil," retorted the other. 
 '' Do you mean to tell me that your pretty niece was not brought here 
 as a decoy for the drunken boy down stairs ? " 
 
LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 Although this hurried dialogue was carried on in a suppressed tone 
 on both sides, Ralph looked involuntarily round to ascertain that Kate 
 had not moved her position so as to be within hearing. His adversary 
 saw the advantage he had gained, and followed it up. 
 
 " Do you mean to tell me," he asked again, " that it is not so ? Do 
 you mean to say that if he had found his way up here instead of me, 
 you wouldn't have be;en a little more blind, and a little more deaf, and 
 a little less flourishing than you have been ? Come, Nickleby, answer 
 me that." 
 
 " I tell you this," replied Ralph, " that if I brought her here, as a 
 
 matter of business " 
 
 " Aye, that's the word," interposed Sir Mulberry, with a laugh. 
 " You're coming to yourself again now." 
 
 " — As a matter of business," pursued Ralph, speaking slowly and 
 firmly, as a man who has made up his mind to say no more, " because 
 I thought she might make some impression on the silly youth you have 
 taken in hand and are lending good help to ruin, I knew — knowing 
 him — that it would be long before he outraged her girl's feelings, and 
 that unless he offended by mere puppyism and emptiness, he would, 
 with a little management, respect the sex and conduct even of his 
 usurer's niece. But if I thought to draw him on more gently by this 
 device, I did not think of subjecting the girl to the licentiousness and 
 brutality of so old a hand as you. And now we understand each other." 
 " Especially as there was nothing to be got by it — eh ? " sneered Sit 
 Mulberry. 
 
 " Exactly so," said Ralph. lie had turned away, and looked over 
 his shoulder to make this last reply. The eyes of the two worthies 
 met with an expression as if each rascal felt that there was no disguis- 
 ing himself from the other; and Sir Mulberry Hawk shrugged his 
 shoulders and walked slowly out. ' 
 
 His friend closed the door, and looked restlessly towards the spot 
 where his niece still remained in the attitude in which he had left her. 
 She had flung herself heavily upon the couch, and with her head 
 drooping over the cushion and her face hidden in her hands, seemed to 
 be still weeping in an agony of shame and grief. 
 
 Ralph would have walked into any poverty-stricken debtor's house, 
 and pointed him out to a bailift^", though in attendance upon a young 
 child's deathbed, without the smallest concern, because it would have 
 been a matter quite in the ordinary course of business, and the man 
 would have been an offender against his only code of morality. But 
 here was a young girl, who had done no wrong but that of coming into 
 the world alive ; who had patiently yielded to all his wishes ; who 
 had tried so hard to please him — above all, who didn't owe him 
 money — and he felt awkward and nervous. 
 
 Ralph took a chair at some distance, then another chair a little 
 nearer, then moved a little nearer still, then nearer again, and finally 
 sat himself on the same sofa, and laid his hand on Kate's arm. 
 
 " Hush, my dear ! " he said, as she drew it back, and her sobs burst 
 out afresh. " Hush, hush ! Don't mind it now ; don't think of it." 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 283 
 
 " Oil, for pity's sake, let me go home," cried Kate. " Let me leave 
 this house, and go home." 
 
 " Yes, yes," said Ralph. " You shall. But you must dry your 
 eyes first, and compose yourself. Let me raise your head. There 
 — there." 
 
 " Oh, uncle ! " exclaimed Kate, clasping her hands. " What have I 
 done — what have I done — that you should subject me to this ? If I 
 had wronged you in thought, or word, or deed, it would have been most 
 cruel to me, and the memory of one you must have loved in some old 
 
 time ; but " 
 
 " Only listen to me for a moment," interrupted Ralph, seriously 
 alarmed by the violence of her emotions. " I didn't know it would be 
 so ; it w^as impossible for me to foresee it. I did all I could. — Come, 
 let us walk about. You are faint with the closeness of the room, and 
 the heat of these lamps. You will be better now, if you make the 
 slightest eftbrt." 
 
 " I will do anything," replied Kate, " if you will only send me 
 home." 
 
 " Well, well, I will," said Ralph ; " but you must get back your own 
 looks, for those you have will frighten them, and nobody must know 
 of this but you and I. Now let us walk the other way. There. You 
 look better even now." 
 
 Witli such encouragements as these, Ralph Nickleby walked to and 
 fro, with his niece leaning on his arm ; quelled by her eye, and actually 
 trembling beneath her touch. 
 
 In the same manner, when he judged it prudent to allow her to 
 depart, he supported her down stairs, after adjusting her shawl and 
 performing such little offices, most probably for the first time in his life. 
 Across the hall, and down the steps Ralph led her too ; nor did he 
 withdraw his hand, until she was seated in the coach. 
 
 As the door of the vehicle was roughly closed, a comb fell from Kate's 
 hair, close at her uncle's feet ; and as he picked it up and returned it 
 into her hand, the light from a neighbouring lamp shone upon her face. 
 The lock of hair that had escaped and curled loosely over her brow, 
 the traces of tears yet scarcely dry, the flushed cheek, the look of 
 sorrow, all fired some dormant train of recollection in the old man's 
 breast ; and the face of his dead brother seemed present before him, 
 with the very look it wore on some occasion of boyish grief, of which 
 every minutest circumstance flashed upon his mind, with the distinctness 
 of a scene of yesterday. 
 
 Ralph Nickleby, who was proof against all appeals of blood and 
 kindred — who was steeled against every tale of sorrow and distress — 
 staggered while he looked, and reeled back into his house, as a man 
 who had seen a spirit from some world beyond the grave. 
 
184 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 WHEREIN NICHOLAS AT LENGTH ENCOUNTERS HIS UNCLE, TO WHOM 
 HE EXPRESSES HIS SENTIMENTS WITH MUCH CANDOUR. HIS RESO- 
 LUTION. 
 
 Little Miss La Creevy trotted briskly through divers streets at the 
 west end of the town early on Monday morning — the day after the 
 dinner — charged with the important commission of acquainting Madame 
 Mantalini that Miss Nickleby was too unwell to attend that day, but 
 hoped to be enabled to resume her duties on the morrow. And as 
 Miss La Creevy walked along, revolving in her mind various genteel 
 forms and elegant turns of expression, with a view to the selection of 
 the very best in which to couch her communication, she cogitated a good 
 deal upon the probable causes of her young friend's indisposition. 
 
 " I don't know what to make of it," said Miss La Creevy. " Her 
 eyes were decidedly red last night. She said she had a head-ache ; 
 head-aches don't occasion red eyes. She must have been crying." 
 
 Arriving at this conclusion, which, indeed, she had established to her 
 perfect satisfaction on the previous evening, Miss La Creevy went on to 
 consider — as she had done nearly all night — what new cause of unhap- 
 piness her young friend could possibly have had. 
 
 " I can't think of any thing," said the little portrait painter. 
 " Nothing at all, unless it was the behaviour of that old bear. Cross 
 to her, I suppose ? Unpleasant brute ! " 
 
 Relieved by this expression of opinion, albeit it was vented upon 
 empty air. Miss La Creevy hurried on to Madame Mantalini's ; and 
 being informed that the governing power was not yet out of bed, 
 requested an interview with the second in command, whereupon Miss 
 Knag appeared. 
 
 " So far as / am concerned," said Miss Knag, when the message had 
 been delivered, with many ornaments of speech ; " I could spare Miss 
 Nickleby for evermore." 
 
 " Oh, indeed, ma'am ! " rejoined Miss La Creevy, highly offended. 
 " But you see you arc not mistress of the business, and therefore it's of 
 no great consequence." 
 
 " Very good, ma'am," said Miss Knag. " Have you any further 
 commands for me ? " 
 
 " No, I have not, ma'am," rejoined Miss La Creevy. 
 
 " Then good morning, ma'am," said Miss Knag. 
 
 " Good morning to you, ma'am ; and many obligations for your 
 extreme politeness and good-breeding," rejoined Miss La Creevy. 
 
 Thus terminating the interview, during which both ladies had 
 trembled very much, and been marvellously polite — certain indications 
 that they were witliin an inch of a very desperate quarrel — Miss La 
 Creevy bounced out of the room, and into the street. 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 185 
 
 " I wonder who that is," said the queer little soul. " A nice person 
 to know, I should think ! I wish I had the painting of her : I'd do her 
 justice." So, feeling quite satisfied that she had said a very cutting 
 thing at Miss Knag's expense, Miss La Creevy had a hearty laugh, and 
 went home to breakfast, in great good humour. 
 
 Here was one of the advantages of having lived alone so long. The 
 little bustling, active, cheerful creature, existed entirely within herself, 
 talked to herself, made a confident of herself, was as sarcastic as she 
 could be, on people who offended her, by herself ; pleased herself, and 
 did no harm. If she indulged in scandal, nobody's reputation suffered ; 
 and if she enjoyed a little bit of revenge, no living soul was one atom the 
 worse. One of the many to whom, from straitened circumstances, a 
 consequent inability to form the associations they would wish, and a 
 disinclination to mix with the society they could obtain, London is as 
 complete a solitude as the plains of Syria, the humble artist had pursued 
 her lonely, but contented way for many years ; and, until the peculiar 
 misfortunes of the Nickleby family attracted her attention, had made 
 no friends, though brimfull of the friendliest feelings to all mankind. 
 There are many warm hearts in the same solitary guise as poor Miss 
 La Creevy's. 
 
 However, that's neither here nor there, just now. She went home to 
 breakfast, and had scarcely caught the full flavour of her first sip of tea, 
 when the servant announced a gentleman, whereat Miss La Creevy, at 
 once imagining a new sitter, transfixed by admiration at the street-door 
 case, was in unspeakable consternation at the presence of the tea-things. 
 
 " Here, take 'em away ; run with 'em into the bed-room ; any- 
 where," said Miss La Creevy. " Dear, dear ; to think that I should be 
 late on this particular morning, of all others, after being ready for three 
 weeks by half-past eight o'clock, and not a soul coming near the place!" 
 
 " Don't let me put you out of the way," said a voice Miss La Creevy 
 knew. " I told the servant not to mention my name, because I wished 
 to surprise you." 
 
 " Mr. Nicholas ! " cried Miss La Creevy, starting in great astonish- 
 ment. 
 
 " You have not forgotten me, I see," replied Nicholas, extending his 
 hand. 
 
 " Why I think I should even have known you if I had met you in 
 the street," said Miss La Creevy, with a smile. " Hannah, another 
 cup and saucer. Now I'll tell you what, young man ; I'll trouble you 
 not to repeat the impertinence you were guilty of on the morning you 
 went away." 
 
 " You would not be very angry, would you ? " asked Nicholas. 
 
 "Wouldn't I!" said Miss La Creevy. "You had better try; 
 that's all." 
 
 Nicholas, with becoming gallantry, immediately took Miss La Creevy 
 at her word, who uttered a faint scream and slapped his face ; but it 
 was not a very hard slap, and that's the truth. 
 
 " I never saw such a rude creature !" exclaimed Miss La Creevy. 
 ' " You told me to try," said Nicholas. 
 
186 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 " Well ; but I was speaking ironically," rejoined Miss La Creevy. 
 
 " Oh ! that's another thing," said Nicholas ; " you should have told 
 me that, too." 
 
 " I dare say you didn't know, indeed!" retorted Miss La Creevy. 
 " But now I look at you again, you seem thinner than when I saw you 
 last, and your face is haggard and pale. And how come you to hav« 
 left Yorkshire?" 
 
 She stopped here ; for there was so much heart in her altered tone 
 and manner, that Nicholas was quite moved. 
 
 " I need look somewhat changed," he said, after a short silence ; 
 " for I have undergone some suffering, both of mind and body, since I 
 left London. I have been very poor, too, and have even suft'ered from 
 want." 
 
 " Good Heaven, Mr. Nicholas !" exclaimed Miss La Creevy, *' what 
 are you telling me !" 
 
 *' Nothing which need distress you quite so much," answered 
 Nicholas, with a more sprightly air ; " neither did I come here to 
 bewail my lot, but on matter more to the purpose. I wish to meet my 
 uncle face to face. I should tell you that first." 
 
 " Then all I have to say about that is," interposed Miss La Creevy, 
 " that I don't envy you your taste ; and that sitting in the same room 
 with his very boots, would put me out of humour for a fortnight." 
 
 " In the main," said Nicholas, " there may be no great difference of 
 opinion between you and me, so far ; but you will understand, that I 
 desire to confront him ; to justify myself, and to cast his duplicity and 
 malice in his throat." 
 
 " That's quite another matter," rejoined Miss La Creevy. " God 
 forgive me ; but I shouldn't cry my eyes quite out of my head, if they 
 choked him. Well." 
 
 *' To this end I called upon him this morning," said Nicholas. " He 
 only returned to town on Saturday, and I knew nothing of his arrival 
 until late last night." 
 
 " And did you see him?" asked Miss La Creevy. 
 
 " No," replied Nicholas. " He had gone out." 
 
 " Hall !" said Miss La Creevy; " on some kind, charitable business, 
 I dare say." 
 
 " I have reason to believe," pursued Nicholas, " from what has been 
 told me by a friend of mine, who is acquainted with his movements, 
 that he intends seeing my mother and sister to-day, and giving them his 
 version of the occurrences that have befallen me. I will meet him 
 there." 
 
 " That's right," said Miss La Creevy, rubbing her hands. " And 
 yet, I don't know — " she added, " there is much to be thought of — 
 others to be considered." 
 
 " I have considered others," rejoined Nicholas ; " but as honesty and 
 honour are both at issue, nothing shall deter me." 
 
 " You should know best," said Miss l^a Creevy. 
 
 " In this case I hope so," answered Nicholas. " And all I want you 
 to do for me, is, to prepare them for my coming. They think me a 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 1B7 
 
 long way off, and if I went wholly unexpected, I should frighten them. 
 If you can spare time to tell them you have seen me, and that I shall 
 be with them a quarter of an hour afterwards, you will do me a gxeat 
 service." 
 
 " I wish I could do you, or any of you, a greater," said Miss La 
 Creevy ; " but the power to serve is as seldom joined with the will, as 
 the will with the power." 
 
 Talking on very fast and very much. Miss La Creevy finished her 
 breakfast with great expedition ; put away the tea-caddy and hid the 
 key under the fender, resumed her bonnet, and, taking Nicholas's arm, 
 sallied forth at once to the city. Nicholas left her near the door of his 
 mother s house, and promised to return within a quarter of an hour at 
 furthest. 
 
 It so chanced that Ralph Nickleby, at length seeing fit, for his own 
 purposes, to communicate the atrocities of which Nicholas had been 
 guilty, had (instead of first proceeding to another quarter of the town 
 on business, as Newman Noggs supposed he would), gone straight to 
 his sister-in-law. Hence when Miss La Creevy, admitted by a girl 
 who was cleaning the house, made her way to the sitting-room, she 
 found Mrs. Nickleby and Kate in tears, and Ralph just concluding his 
 statement of his nephew's misdemeanours. Kate beckoned her not to 
 retire, and Miss La Creevy took a seat in silence. 
 
 " You are here already, are you, my gentleman?" thought the little 
 woman. " Then he shall announce himself, and see what effect that 
 has on you." 
 
 " This is pretty," said Ralph, folding up Miss Squeers's note ; " very 
 pretty. I recommended him — against all my previous conviction, for I 
 knew he would never do any good — to a man with whom, behaving 
 himself properly, he might have remained in comfort for years. AVhat 
 is the result ? Conduct, for which he might hold up his hand at the 
 Old Bailey." 
 
 " I never will believe it," said Kate, indignantly ; " never. It is 
 some base conspiracy, which carries its own falsehood with it." 
 
 " My dear," said Ralph, " you wrong the worthy man. These are 
 not inventions. The man is assaulted, your brother is not to be found ; 
 this boy, of whom they speak, goes with him — remember, remember." 
 
 " It is impossible," said Kate. " Nicholas ! — and a thief, too ! 
 Mama, how can you sit and hear such statements ? " 
 
 Poor Mrs. Nickleby, who had at no time been remarkable for the 
 possession of a very clear understanding, and who had been reduced by 
 the late changes in her aiiairs to a most complicated state of per- 
 plexity, made no other reply to this earnest remonstrance than exclaiming 
 from behind a mass of pocket-handkerchief, that she never could have 
 believed it — thereby most ingeniously leaving her hearers to supposa 
 that she did believe it. 
 
 " It would be my duty, if he came in my way, to deliver him up to 
 justice," said Ralph, " my bounden duty ; I should have no other 
 course, as a man of the world and a man of business, to pursue. And 
 yet," said Ralph, speaking in a very marked manner, and looking 
 
188 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 furtively, but fixedly, at Kate, " and yet I would not, I would spare 
 the feelings of his — of his sister. And his mother of course," added 
 Halph, as though by an afterthought, and with far less emphasis. 
 
 Kate very well understood that this was held out as an additional 
 inducement to her, to preserve the strictest silence regarding the events 
 of the preceding night. She looked involuntarily towards Ralph as he 
 ceased to speak, but he had turned his eyes another way, and seemed 
 for the moment quite unconscious of her presence. 
 
 " Everything," said Ralph, after a long silence, broken only by Mrs. 
 Nickleby's sobs, "everything combines to prove the truth of this 
 letter, if indeed there were any possibility of disputing it. Do inno- 
 cent men steal away from the sight of honest folks, and skulk in hiding- 
 places like outlaws ? Do innocent men inveigle nameless vagabonds, 
 and prowl with them about the country as idle robbers do ? Assault, 
 riot, theft, what do you call these ? " 
 
 "A lie!" cried a. furious voice, as the door was dashed open, and 
 Nicholas burst into the centre of the room. 
 
 In the first moment of surprise, and possibly of alann, Ralph rose 
 from his seat, and fell back a few paces, quite taken off his guard by 
 this unexpected apparition. In another moment, he stood fixed and im- 
 moveable with folded arms,'^regarding his nephew with a scowl of deadly 
 hatred, while Kate and Miss La Creevy threw themselves between the 
 two to prevent the personal violence which the fierce excitement of 
 Nicholas appeared to threaten. 
 
 " Dear Nicholas," cried his sistsr, clinging to hun. " Be calm, 
 consider — " 
 
 " Consider, Kate ! " cried Nicholas, clasping her hand so tight in the 
 tumult of his anger, that she could scarcely bear the pain. " When 
 1 consider all, and tliink of what has passed, I need be made of iron 
 to stand before him." 
 
 " Or bronze," said Ralph, quietly ; " there is not hardihood enough 
 in flesh and blood to face it out." 
 
 " Oh dear, dear ! " cried Mrs. Nickleby, " that things should have 
 come to such a pass as this ! " 
 
 " Who speaks in a tone, as if I had done wrong, and brought dis- 
 grace on them ? " said Nicholas, looking round. 
 
 " Your mother. Sir," replied Ralj~)h, motioning towards her. 
 
 " Wliose ears have been poisoned by you," said Nicholas ; " by you 
 — you, who under pretence of deserving the thanks she poured upon 
 you, heaped every insult, wrong, and indignity, upon my head. You, 
 who sent me to a den where sordid cruelty, worthy of yourself, runs 
 wanton, and youthful misery stalks precocious ; where the lightness 
 of childhood shrinks into the heaviness of age, and its every pro- 
 mise blights, and withers as it grows. I call Heaven to witness," said 
 Nicholas, looking eagerlv round, " that I have seen all this, and that 
 that man knows it.' 
 
 " Refute these calumnies," said Kate, " and be more patient, so that 
 you may give them no advantage. Tell us what you really did, and 
 show that they are untrue." 
 

 
 ^ 
 
nr .» 
 
 ♦ 
 
 M 
 
 1^ 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLBBY, 189 
 
 " Of what do they — or of what does he accuse me ? " said Nicholas. 
 
 " First, of attacking your master, and being within an ace of quali- 
 fying yourself to be tried for murder," interposed Ralph. " I speak 
 plainly, young man, bluster as you will." 
 
 " I interfered," said Nicholas, " to save a miserable wretched creature 
 from the vilest and most degrading cruelty. In so doing I inflicted 
 such punishment upon a wretch as he will not readily forget, though 
 far less than he deserved from me. If the same scene were renewed 
 before me now, I would take the same part ; but I would strike harder 
 and heavier, and brand him with such marks as he should carry to his 
 grave, go to it when he would." 
 
 " You hear ? " said Ralph, turning to Mrs. Nickleby. " Penitence, 
 this !" 
 
 " Oh dear me ! " cried Mrs. Nickleby, " I don't know what to think, 
 I really don't." 
 
 " Do not speak just now, mama, I entreat you," said Kate. • " Dear 
 Nicholas, I only tell you, that you may know what wickedness can 
 prompt, but they accuse you of — a ring is missing, and they dare to 
 say that " 
 
 " The woman," said Nicholas, haughtily, " the wife of the fellow 
 from whom these charges come, dropped — as I suppose — a worthless 
 ring among some clothes of mine, early in the morning on which I left 
 the house. At least, I know that she was in the bed-room where they 
 lay, struggling with an unhappy child, and that I found it when I 
 opened my bundle on the road. I returned it at once by coach, and 
 they have it now." 
 
 " I knew, I knew," said Kate, looking towards her uncle. " About 
 this boy, love, in whose company they say you left ?" 
 
 " That boy, a silly, helpless creature, from brutality and hard usage, 
 is with me now," rejoined Nicholas. 
 
 " You hear?" said Ralph, appealing to the mother again, " every- 
 thing proved, even upon his own confession. Do you choose to restore 
 that boy. Sir?" 
 
 " No, I do not," replied Nicholas. 
 
 " You do not?" sneered Ralph. 
 
 " No," repeated Nicholas, " not to the man with whom I found 
 him. I would that I knew on whom he has the claim of birth : I 
 might wring something from his sense of shame, if he were dead to 
 every tie of nature." 
 
 " Indeed ! " said Ralph. " Now, Sir, will you hear a word or two 
 from me ? " 
 
 " You can speak when and what you please," replied Nicholas, 
 embracing his sister. " I take little heed of what you say or threaten." 
 
 " Mighty well, Sir," retorted Ralph ; " but perhaps it may concern 
 others, who may think it worth their while to listen, and consider 
 what I tell them. I will address your mother. Sir, who knows the 
 world." 
 
 " Ah ! and I only too dearly wish I didn't," sobbed Mrs. Nickleby. 
 
 There really was no necessity for the good lady to be much distressed 
 upon this particular head, the extent of her worldly knowledge being, 
 
190 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 to say the least, very questionable ; and so Ralph seemed to think, for 
 he smiled as she spoke. He then glanced steadily at her and Nicholas 
 by turns, as he delivered himself in these words : — 
 
 " Of what I have done, or what I meant to do, for you, ma'am, and 
 my niece, I say not one syllable. I held out no promise, and leave 
 you to judge for yourself. I hold out no threat now, but I say that this 
 boy, headstrong, wilful, and disorderly as he is, should not have one 
 penny of my money, or one crust of my bread, or one grasp of my hand, 
 to save him from the loftiest gallows in all Europe. I will not meet 
 him, come where he comes, or hear his name. I w^ill not help him, 
 or those who help him. With a full knowledge of what he brought 
 upon you by so doing, he has come back in his selfish sloth, to be an 
 aggravation of your wants, and a burden upon his sister s scanty wages. 
 I regret to leave you, and more to leave her, now, but I will not en- 
 courage this compound of meanness and cruelty, and, as I will not ask 
 you to renounce him, I see you no more." 
 
 If Ralph had not known and felt his power in wounding those he 
 hated, his glances at Nicholas would have shown it him in all its 
 force, as he proceeded in the above address. Innocent as the young 
 mian was of all wrong, every artful insinuation stung, every well-con- 
 sidered sarcasm cut him to the quick, and when Ralph noted his pale 
 face and quivering lip, he hugged himself to mark how well he had 
 chosen the taunts best calculated to strike deep into a young and ardent 
 spirit. 
 
 " I can t help it," cried Mrs. Nickleby, " I know you have been 
 very good to us, and meant to do a good deal for my dear daughter. 
 I am quite sure of that ; I know you did, and it was very kind of 
 you, having her at your house and all — and of course it would have 
 been a great thing for her, and for me too. But I can't, you know, 
 ])rother- in-law, I can't renounce my own son, even if he has done all 
 you say he has — it's not possible, I couldn't do it ; so wo must go to 
 rack and ruin, Kate, my dear. I can bear it, I dare say." Pouring 
 forth these, and a perfectly wonderful train of other disjointed expres- 
 sions of regret, which no mortal power but Mrs. Nickleby's could ever 
 have strung together, that lady wrung her hands, and her tears fell faster. 
 " Why do you say ' if Nicholas has done what they say he has,' 
 mama ? " asked Kate, with honest anger. " You know he has not." 
 " I don't know what to think, one way or other, my dear," said Mrs. 
 Nickleby ; " Nicholas is so violent, and your uncle has so much honest 
 composure, that I can only hear what he says, and not what Nicholas 
 does. Never mind, don't let us talk any more about it. We can go 
 to the Workhouse, or the Refuge for the Destitute, or the Magdalen 
 Hospital, I dare say ; and the sooner we go the better." With this 
 extraordinary jumble of charitable institutions, Mrs. Nickleby again 
 gave way to her tears. 
 
 " Stay," said Nicholas, as Ralph turned to go. " You need not 
 
 leave this place. Sir, for it will be relieved of my presence in one 
 
 minute, and it will be long, very long, before I darken these doors again." 
 
 " Nicholas," cried Kate, throwing herself on her brother's shoulder, 
 
 and clasping him in her arms, '' do not say so. My dear brother, you 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 191 
 
 will break my heart. Mama, speak to him. Do not mind her, 
 Nicholas ; she does not mean it, you should know her better. Uncle, 
 somebody, for God's sake speak to him." 
 
 '' I never meant, Kate," said Nicholas, tenderly, " I never meant to 
 stay among you ; think better of me than to suppose it possible. I 
 may turn my back on this town a few hours sooner than I intended, 
 but what of that ? We shall not forget each other apart, and better 
 days will come when we shall part no more. Be a woman, Kate," he 
 whispered, proudly, " and do not make me one while lie looks on." 
 
 " No, no, I will not," said Kate, eagerly, " but you will not leave 
 us. Oh ! think of all the happy days we have had together, before 
 these terrible misfortunes came upon us ; of all the comfort and hap- 
 piness of home, and the trials we have to bear now ; of our having no 
 protector under all the slights and wrongs that poverty so much favours, 
 and you cannot leave us to bear them alone, without one hand to 
 help us." 
 
 " You will be helped when I am away," replied Nicholas, hurriedly. 
 " I am no help to you, no protector ; I should bring you nothing but 
 sorrow, and want, and suffering. My own mother sees it, and her 
 fondness and fears for you point to the course that I should take. And 
 so all good angels bless you, Kate, till I can carry you to some home 
 of mine, where we may revive the happiness denied to us now,"" and 
 talk of these trials as of things gone by. Do not keep me here, but let 
 me go at once. There. Dear girl — dear girl." 
 
 The grasp which had detained him, relaxed, and Kate fainted in his 
 arms. Nicholas stooped over her for a few seconds, and placing her 
 gently in a chair, confided her to their honest friend. 
 
 " I need not entreat your sympathy," he said, wringing her hand, 
 " for I know your nature. You will never forget them." 
 
 He stepped up to Ralph, who remained in the same attitude which 
 he had preserved throughout the interview, and moved not a finger. 
 
 " Whatever step you take, Sir," he said, in a voice inaudible beyond 
 themselves, " I will keep a strict account of. I leave them to you, at 
 your desire. There will be a day of reckoning sooner or later, and it 
 will be a heavy one for you if they are wronged." 
 
 Ralph did not allow a muscle of his face to indicate that he heard 
 one word of this parting address. He hardly knew that it was con- 
 cluded, and Mrs. Nickleby had scarcely made up her mind to detain 
 her son by force if necessary, when Nicholas was gone. 
 
 As he hurried through the streets to his obscure lodging, seeking to 
 keep pace, as it were, with the rapidity of the thoughts which crowded 
 upon him, many doubts and hesitations arose in his mind and almost 
 tempted him to return. But what would they gain by this ? Sup- 
 posing he were to put Ralph Nickleby at defiance, and were even for- 
 tunate enough to obtain some small employment, his being with them 
 could only render their present condition worse, and might greatly im- 
 pair their future prospects, for his mother had spoken of some new 
 kindnesses towards Kate which she had not denied. " No," tliought 
 Nicholas, " I have acted for the best." 
 
192 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 But before he had gone five hundred yards, some other and different 
 feeling would come upon him, and then he would lag again, and pulling 
 his hat over his eyes, give way to the melancholy reflections which 
 pressed thickly upon him. To have committed no fault, and yet to be 
 80 entirely alone in the world ; to be separated from the only persons he 
 loved, and to be proscribed like a criminal, when six months ago he had 
 been surrounded by every comfort, and looked up to as the cliief hope 
 of his family — this was hard to bear. He had not deserved it either. 
 Well, there was comfort in that ; and poor Nicholas would brighten up 
 again, to be again depressed, as his quickly-shifting thoughts presented 
 every variety of light and shade before him. 
 
 Undergoing these alternations of hope and misgiving, which no one, 
 placed in a situation of even ordinary trial, can fail to have experienced, 
 Nicholas at length reached his poor room, where, no longer borne up by 
 the excitement which had hitherto sustained him, but depressed by the 
 revulsion of feeling it left behind, he threw himself on the bed, and turn- 
 ing his face to the wall, gave free vent to the emotions he had so long 
 stifled. 
 
 He had not heard anybody enter, and was unconscious of the pre- 
 sence of Smike, until, happening to raise his head, he saw him standing 
 at the upper end of the room, looking wistfully towards him. He with- 
 drew his eyes when he saw that he was observed, and affected to be 
 busied with some scanty preparations for dinner. 
 
 " Well, Smike," said Nicholas, as cheerfully as he could speak, " let 
 me hear what new acquaintances you have made this morning, or what 
 new wonder you have found out in the compass of this street and the 
 next one." 
 
 " No," said Smike, shaking his head mournfully ; " I must talk of 
 something else to-day." 
 
 "Of what you like," replied ^^icholas, good-humouredly. 
 
 " Of this ;" said Smike. " I know you are unhappy, and have got 
 into great trouble by bringing me away. I ought to have known that, 
 and stopped behind — I would, indeed, if I had thought it then. You 
 ■ — you — are not rich : you have not enough for yourself, and I should 
 not be here. You grow," said the lad, laying his hand timidly on that 
 of Nicholas, " you grow thinner every day ; your cheek is paler, and 
 your eye more sunk. Indeed I cannot bear to see you so, and think 
 how I am burdening you. I tried to go away to-day, but the thought 
 of your kind face drew me back. I could not leave you without a 
 Vv^ord." The poor fellow could get no further, for his eyes filled with 
 tears, and his voice was gone. 
 
 " The word which separates us," said Nicholas, grasping him heartily 
 by the shoulder, " shall never be said by me, for you are my only 
 comfort and stay. I would not lose you now, for all the world could 
 give. The tliought of you has upheld me through all I have en- 
 dured to-day, and shall, through fifty times such trouble. Give me 
 your hand. My heart is linked to yours. We will journey from this 
 place together, before the week is out. What, if I am steeped in 
 poverty ? You lighten it, and we will be poor together." 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 193 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 MADAME MANTALINI FINDS HERSELF IN A SITUATION OF SOME DIF- 
 FICULTY, AND MISS NICKLEBY FINDS HERSELF IN NO SITUATION 
 AT ALL. 
 
 The agitation she had undergOTie rendered Kate Nlckleby unable to 
 resume her duties at the dress-maker s for three days, at the expiration 
 of which interval she betook herself at the accustomed hour, and with 
 languid steps, to the temple of fashion where Madame Mantalini reigned 
 paramount and supreme. 
 
 The ill will of Miss Knag had lost nothing of its virulence in the 
 interval, for the young ladies still scrupulously shrank from all com- 
 panionship with their denounced associate ; and when that exemplary 
 female arrived a few minutes afterwards, she was at no pains to conceal 
 the displeasure with which she regarded Kate's return. 
 
 " Upon my word ! " said Miss Knag, as the satellites flocked round 
 to relieve her of her bonnet and shawl ; " I should have thought some 
 people would have had spirit enough to stop away altogether, when 
 they know what an incumbrance their presence is to right-minded 
 persons. But it's a queer world ; oh ! it's a queer world ! " 
 
 Miss Knag having passed this comment on the world, in the tone in 
 which most people do pass comments on the world when they are out 
 of temper, that is to say, as if they by no means belonged to it, con- 
 cluded by heaving a sigh, wherewith she seemed meekly to compas- 
 sionate the wickedness of mankind. 
 
 The attendants were not slow to echo the sigh, and Miss Knag was 
 apparently on the eve of favouring them with some further moral 
 reflections, when the voice of Madame Mantalini, conveyed through the 
 speaking-tube, ordered Miss Nickleby up stairs to assist in the arrange- 
 ment of the show-room ; a distinction which caused Miss Knag to toss 
 her head so much, and bite her lips so hard, that her powers of con- 
 versation were for the time annihilated. 
 
 " Well, Miss Nickleby, child," said Madame Mantalini, when Kate 
 presented herself; " are you quite well again?" 
 
 " A great deal better, thank you," replied Kate. 
 
 " I wish I could say the same," remarked Madame Mantalini, seating 
 herself with an air of weariness. 
 
 " Are you ill ? " asked Kate. " I am very sorry for that." 
 
 " Not exactly ill, but worried, child — worried," rejoined Madame. 
 
 " I am still more sorry to hear that," said Kate, gently. " Bodily 
 illness is more easy to bear than mental." 
 
 " Ah ! and it's much easier to talk than to bear either," said Madame, 
 rubbing her nose with much irritability of manner. " There, get to 
 your work, child, and put the things in order, do." 
 
 While Kate was wondering within herself what these symptoms of 
 
194 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 unusual vexation portended, Mr. Mantalini put the tips of his whiskers, 
 and by degrees his head, through the half-opened door, and cried in a 
 soft voice — 
 
 " Is my life and soul there ? " 
 
 " No," replied liis wife. 
 
 " How can it say so, when it is blooming in the front room like a 
 little rose in a demnition flower-pot ? " urged Mantalini. " May its 
 poppet come in and talk ? " 
 
 " Certainly not," replied Madame ; " you know I never allow you 
 here. Go along." 
 
 The poppet, however, encouraged perhaps by the relenting tone of 
 this reply, ventured to rebel, and, stealing into the room, made towards 
 Madame Mantalini on tiptoe, blowing her a kiss as he came along. 
 
 " Why will it vex itself, and twist its little face into bewitching nut- 
 crackers?" said Mantalini, putting his left arm round the waist of his 
 life and soul, and drawing her towards him with his right. 
 
 " Oh ! I can't bear you," replied his wife. 
 
 " Not — eh, not bear me!" exclaimed Mantalini. " Fibs, fibs. It 
 couldn't be. There's not a woman alive that could tell me such a thing 
 to my face — to my own face." Mr. Mantalini stroked liis chin as he 
 said this, and glanced complacently at an opposite mirror. 
 
 " Such destructive extravagance," reasoned his wife, in a low tone. 
 
 " All in its joy at having gained such a lovely creature, such a little 
 Venus, such a demd enchanting, bewitching, engrossing, captivating 
 little Venus," said Mantalini. 
 
 " See what a situation you have placed me in ! " urged Madame. 
 
 " No harm will come, no harm shall come to its own darling," 
 rejoined Mr. Mantalini. " It is all over, there will be nothing the matter ; 
 money shall be got in, and if it don't come in fast enough, old Nickleby 
 shall stump up again, or have his jugular separated if he dares to vex 
 and hurt the little " 
 
 " Hush ! " interposed Madame. " Don't you see ? " 
 
 Mr. Mantalini, who, in his eagerness to make up matters with his 
 wife, had overlooked, or feigned to overlook Miss Nickleby hitherto, 
 took the hint, and laying his finger on his lip, sunk his voice still lower. 
 There was then a great deal of whispering, during which INladame 
 Mantalini appeared to make reference more than once to eel-tain debts 
 incurred by Mr. Mantalini previous to her coverture ; and also to an 
 unexpected outlay of money in payment of the aforesaid debts ; and 
 furthermore, to certain agreeable weaknesses on tliat gentleman's part, 
 such as gaming, wasting, idling, and a tendency to horseflesli ; each of 
 which matters of accusation Mr. Mantalini disposed of by one kiss or 
 more, as its relative im])oi-tance demanded, and the upshot of it all was, 
 that Madame Mantalini was in raptures with him, and that they went 
 up stairs to breakfast. 
 
 Kate busied herself in what she had to do, and was silently arranging 
 the various articles of decoration in the best taste she could display, 
 when she started to hear a strange man's voice in tlie room ; and started 
 again to observe, on looking round, that a white hat, and a red necker- 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 195 
 
 chief, and a broad round face, and a large head, and part of a green 
 coat, were in the room too. 
 
 " Don't alarm yourself. Miss," said the proprietor of these appear- 
 ances. " I say ; this here's the mantie-making con-sarn, a'nt it ? " 
 
 " Yes," rejoined Kate, greatly astonished. " What did you want V 
 
 The stranger answered not ; but first looking back, as though to 
 beckon to some unseen person outside, came very deliberately into the 
 room and was closely followed by a little man in brown, very much 
 the worse for wear, who brought with him a mingled fumigation of 
 stale tobacco and fresh onions. The clothes of this gentleman were much 
 bespeckled with flue ; and his shoes, stockings, and nether garments, 
 from his heels to the waist buttons of his coat inclusive, were profusely 
 embroidered with splashes of mud, caught a fortnight previous — ^before 
 the setting-in of the fine weather. 
 
 Kate's very natural impression was, that these engaging individuals 
 had called with the view of possessing themselves unlawfully of any 
 portable articles that chanced to strike their fancy. She did not 
 attempt to disguise her apprehensions, and made a move towards 
 the door. 
 
 " Wait a minnit," said the man in the green coat, closing it softly, 
 and standing with his back against it. " This is a unpleasant bisness. 
 Yere's your govvernor ? " 
 
 " My what — did you say ? " asked Kate, trembling ; for she thought 
 * governor ' might be slang for watch or money. 
 
 " Mister Muntlehiney," said the man. " Wot's come of him ? Is he 
 at home ? " 
 
 " He is above stairs, I believe," replied Kate, a little reassured by 
 this inquiry. " Do you want him ? " 
 
 " No," replied the visitor. " I don't ezactly want him, if it's made 
 a favour on. You can jist give him that 'ere card, and tell him if he 
 wants to speak to me, and save trouble, here I am, that's all." 
 
 With these words the stranger put a thick square card into Kate's 
 hand, and turning to his friend remarked, with an easy air, " that the 
 rooms was a good high pitch ;" to which the friend assented, adding, by 
 way of illustration, " that there was lots of room for a little boy to 
 grow up a man in either on 'em, vithout much fear of his ever bringing 
 his head into contract vith the ceilinof." 
 
 After rmgmg the bell which would summon Madame Mantalini, 
 Kate glanced at the card, and saw that it displayed the name of 
 " Scaley," together with some other information to which she had not 
 had time to refer, when her attention was attracted by Mr. Scaley him- 
 self, who, walking up to one of the cheval glasses, gave it a hard poke 
 in the centre with his stick, as coolly as if it had been made of 
 cast iron. 
 
 " Good plate this here, Tix," said Mr. Scaley to his friend. 
 
 " Ah ! " rejoined Mr. Tix, placing the marks of his four fingers, and 
 a duplicate impression of his thumb on a piece of sky-blue silk ; " and 
 this here article warn't made for nothing, mind you." 
 
 From the silk Mr. Tix transferred his admiration to some elegant 
 
 o 2 
 
196 
 
 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 articles of wearing apparel, while Mr. Scaley adjusted his neckcloth at 
 leisure before the glass, and afterwards, aided by its reflection, pro- 
 ceeded to the minute consideration of a pimple on his chin : in which 
 absorbing occupation he was yet engaged when Madame Mantalini 
 entering the room, uttered an exclamation of surprise which roused him. 
 
 " Oh ! Is this the missis?" inquired Scaley. 
 
 " It is Madame Mantalini," said Kate. 
 
 " Then," said Mr. Scaley, producing a small document from his 
 pocket and unfolding it very slowly, " this is a writ of execution, and 
 if it's not conwenient to settle we'll go over the house at wunst, please, 
 and take the inwentory." 
 
 Poor Madame Mantalini wrung her hands for grief, and rung the bell 
 for her husband ; which done, she fell into a chair and a fainting fit 
 simultaneously. The professional gentlemen, however, were not at all 
 discomposed by this event, for Mr. Scaley, leaning upon a stand on 
 which a handsome dress was displayed (so that his shoulders appeared 
 above it in nearly the same manner as the shoulders of the lady for 
 whom it was designed would have done if she had had it on), pushed 
 his hat on one side and scratched his head with perfect unconcern, while 
 his friend Mr. Tix, taking tliat opportunity for a general survey of the 
 apartment preparatory to entering upon business, stood with his 
 inventory-book under his arm and his hat in his hand, mentally 
 occupied in putting a price upon every object within his range of vision. 
 
 Such was the posture of affairs when Mr. Mantalini hurried in, and 
 as that distinguished specimen had had a pretty extensive intercourse 
 with Mr. Scaley's fraternity in his bachelor days, and was, besides, very 
 far from being taken by surprise on the present agitating occasion, he 
 merely shrugged his shoulders, thrust his hands down to the bottom of 
 his pockets, elevated his eyebrows, w^histled a bar or two, swore an oath 
 or two, and, sitting astride upon a chair, put the best face upon the 
 matter with great composure ^nd decency. 
 
 " What's the demd total?" was the first question he asked. 
 
 " Fifteen hundred and twenty-seven pound, four and nincpence 
 ha'penny," replied Mr. Scaley, without moving a limb. 
 
 " The halfpenny be demd," said Mr. JMantalini, impatiently. 
 
 " By all means if you visli it," retorted Mr. Scaley ; " and the nine- 
 pence too." 
 
 " It don't matter to us if the fifteen hundred and twenty-seven pound 
 went along with it, that I know on," observed Mr. Tix. 
 
 " Not a button," said Scaley. 
 
 " Well ;" said the same gentleman, after a pause, *' Wot's to be done 
 • — anythink ? Is it only a small crack, or a out-and-out smash ? A 
 break-up of the constitootion is it — werry good. Then Mr. Tom Tix, 
 esk-vire, you must inform your angel wife and lovely family as you 
 won't sleep at home for three nights to come, along of being in pos- 
 session here. Wot's the good of the lady a fretting herself? " continued 
 Mr. Scaley, as Madame Mantalini sobbed. " A good half of wot's here 
 isn't paid for I des-say, and wot a consolation oughtn't that to be to her 
 feelings !" 
 
,/('///// - //-///// /, 
 
 /^/ ///'// 
 

 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY, 197 
 
 With these remarks, combining great pleasantry with sound moral 
 encouragement under difficulties, Mr. Scaley proceeded to take the 
 inventory, in which delicate task he was materially assisted by the un- 
 common tact and experience of Mr. Tix, the broker. 
 
 " My cup of happiness's sweetener," said Mantalini, approaching his 
 wife with a penitent air ; " will you listen to me for two minutes V 
 
 " Oh ! don't speak to me," replied his wife, sobbing. " You have 
 ruined me, and that's enough." 
 
 Mr. Mantalini, who had doubtless well considered his part, no sooner 
 heard these words pronounced in a tone of grief and severity, than he 
 recoiled several paces, assumed an expression of consuming mental 
 agony, rushed headlong from the room, and was soon afterwards heard 
 to slam the door of an up-stairs dressing-room with great violence. 
 
 " Miss Nickleby," cried Madame Mantalini, when this sound met 
 her ear, " make haste for Heaven's sake, he will destroy himself ! I 
 spoke unkindly to him, and he cannot bear it from me. Alfred, my 
 darling Alfred." 
 
 With such exclamations she hurried up stairs, followed by Kate ; 
 who, although she did not quite participate in the fond wife's apprehen- 
 sions, was a little flurried nevertheless. The dressing-room door being 
 hastily flung open, Mr. Mantalini was disclosed to view with his 
 shirt-collar symmetrically thrown back, putting a fine edge to a break- 
 fast knife by means of his razor strop. 
 
 "Ah!" cried Mr. Mantalini, " interrupted!" and whisk went the 
 breakfast knife into Mr. Mantalini's dressing-gown pocket, while Mr. 
 Mantaiini's eyes rolled wildly, and his hair floating in wild disorder, 
 mingled with his whiskers. 
 
 " Alfred," cried his wife, flinging her arms about him, " I didn't 
 mean to say it, I didn't mean to say it." 
 
 *■' lluined!" cried Mr. Mantalini. " Have I brought ruin upon the 
 best and purest creature that ever blessed a denmition vagabond ! 
 Demmit, let me go." At this crisis of his ravings Mr. Mantalini made 
 a pluck at the breakfast knife, and being restrained by his wife's grasp, 
 attempted to dash his head against the wall — taking very good care to 
 ' be at least six feet from it, however. 
 
 " Compose yourself, my own angel," said Madame. *' It was nobody's 
 fault ; it was mine as much as yours, we shall do very well yet. Come, 
 Alfred, come." 
 
 Mr. Mantalini did not think proper to come to all at once ; but after 
 calling several times for poison, and requesting some lady or gentleman 
 to blow his brains out, gentler feelings came upon him, and he wept 
 pathetically. In this softened frame of mind he did not oppose the 
 capture of the knife — which, to tell the truth, he was rather glad to be 
 rid of, as an inconvenient and dangerous article for a skirt pocket — and 
 finally he suftered himself to be led away by his aflectionate partner. 
 
 After a delay of two or tliree hours, the young ladies were informed 
 that their services would be dispensed with until further notice, and 
 at the expiration of two days the name of Mantalini appeared in the 
 list of bankrupts : Miss Nickleby receiving an intimation per post on 
 
198 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 the same morning, that the business would be in future carried on under 
 the name of Miss Knag, and that her assistance would no longer be 
 required — a piece of intelligence with which Mrs. Nickleby was no 
 sooner made acquainted, than that good lady declared she had ex- 
 pected it all along, and cited divers unknown occasions on which she 
 had prophesied to that precise effect. 
 
 " And I say again," remarked Mrs. Nickleby (who, it is scarcely 
 necessary to observe, had never said so before), " I say again, that a 
 milliner's and dress-maker's is the very last description of business, Kate, 
 that you should have thought of attaching yourself to. I don't make it 
 a reproach to you, my love ; but still I will say, that if you had con- 
 sulted your own mother " 
 
 " Well, well, mama," said Kate, mildly ; " what would you recom- 
 mend now ? " 
 
 "Recommend!" cried Mrs. Nickleby, "isn't it obvious, my dear, 
 that of all occupations in this world for a young lady situated as you 
 are, that of companion to some amiable lady is the very thing for 
 which your education, and manners, and personal appearance, and 
 everything else, exactly qualify you ? Did you never hear your poor 
 dear papa speak of tlie young lady who was the daughter of the old 
 lady who boarded in the same house that he boarded in once, when he 
 was a bachelor — what was her name again ? I know it began with a 
 B, and ended with a g, but whether it was Waters or — no it couldn't 
 have been that either ; but whatever her name was, don't you know 
 that that young lady went as companion to a married lady who died 
 soon afterwards, and that she married the husband, and had one of the 
 finest little boys that the medical man had ever seen — all within eighteen 
 months ?" 
 
 Kate knew perfectly well that this torrent of favourable recollection 
 was occasioned by some opening, real or imaginary, which her mother 
 had discovered in the companionship w^alk of life. She therefore waited 
 very patiently until all reminiscences and anecdotes, bearing or not 
 bearing upon the subject, had been exhausted, and at last ventured to 
 inquire what discovery had been made. The truth then came out. 
 Mrs. Nickleby had that morning had a yesterday newspaper of the 
 very first respectability from the public-house where the porter came 
 from, and in this yesterday's newspaper was an advertisement, couched 
 in the purest and most grammatical English, announcing that a married 
 lady was in want of a genteel young person as companion, and that 
 the married lady's name and address were to be known on application 
 at a certain library at tlie west end of the town, therein mentioned. 
 
 " And I say," exclaimed Mrs. Nickleby, laying the paper down in 
 triumph, " that if your uncle don't object, it's well worth the trial." 
 
 Kate was too sick at heart, after the rough jostling she had already 
 had with the world, and really cared too'little at the moment what 
 fate was reserved for her, to make any objection. Mr. Ralph Nickleby 
 offered none, but on the contrary highly approved of the suggestion ; 
 neither did he express any great surprise at Madame Mantalini's sudden 
 failure, indeed it would have been strange if he had, inasmuch as it 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 199 
 
 liad been procured and brought about chiefly by himself. So tlie name 
 and address were obtained without loss of time, and Miss Nickleby 
 and her mama went off in quest of Mrs. Wititterly, of Cadogan Place, 
 Sloane Street, that same forenoon. 
 
 Cadogan Place is the one slight bond that joins two. great extremes ; 
 it is the connecting link between the aristocratic pavements of Belgrave 
 Square and the barbarism of Chelsea. It is in Sloane Street, but not 
 of it. The people in Cadogan Place look down upon Sloane Street, 
 and think Brompton low. They affect fashion too, and wonder where 
 the New Road is. Not that they claim to be on precisely the same 
 footing as the high folks of Belgrave Square and Grosvenor Place, but 
 that they stand w^th reference to them rather in the light of those 
 illegitimate children of the great who are content to boast of their 
 connexions, although their connexions disavow them. Wearinof as 
 much as they can of the airs and semblances of loftiest rank, the people 
 of Cadogan Place have the realities of middle station. It is the 
 conductor which communicates to the inhabitants of regions beyond its 
 limit, the shock of pride of birth and rank, which it has not within 
 itself, but derives from a fountain-head beyond ; or, like the ligament 
 which unites the Siamese twins, it contains something of the life and 
 essence of two distinct bodies, and yet belongs to neither. 
 
 Upon this doubtful ground lived Mrs. Wititterly, and at Mrs. 
 Wititterly' s door Kate Nickleby knocked with trembling hand. The 
 door was opened by a big footman \vlth his head floured, or chalked, 
 or painted in some way (It didn't look genuine powder), and the 
 big footman, receiving the card of introduction, gave it to a little page ; 
 so little indeed that his body would not hold, in ordinary array, 
 the number of small buttons which are Indispensable to a page's 
 costume, and they were consequently obliged to be stuck on four 
 abreast. This young gentleman took the card up-stairs on a salver, and 
 pending his return, Kate and her mother were shoAvn into a dining- 
 room of rather dirty and shabby aspect, and so comfortably arranged 
 as to be adapted to almost any purpose except eating and drinking. 
 
 Now, In the ordinary course of things and according to all authentic 
 descriptions of high life, as set forth in books, Mrs. Wititterly ought 
 to have been in her boudoir, but whether It was that Mr. Wititterly 
 was at that moment shaving himself in the boudoir or what not, certain 
 it is that Mrs. Wititterly gave audience in the drawing-room, where 
 was everytliing proper and necessary, including curtains and furni- 
 ture coverings of a roseate hue, to shed a delicate bloom on Mrs. 
 Wititterly's complexion, and a little dog to snap at strangers' legs for 
 Mrs. Wititterly's amusement, and the afore-mentioned page, to hand 
 chocolate for Mrs. Wititterly's refreshment. 
 
 The lady had an air of sweet Insipidity, and a face of engaging 
 paleness ; there was a faded look about her, and about the furniture, 
 and about the house altogether. She was reclining on a sofa in sfich a 
 very unstudied attitude, that she might have been taken for an actress 
 all ready for the first scene in a ballet, and only waiting for the drop 
 curtain to go up. 
 
 " Place chairs." 
 
200 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 The page placed them. 
 
 " Leave the room, Alphonse." 
 
 The page left it ; but if ever there were an Alphonse who carried 
 plain Bill in his face and figure, that page was the boy. 
 
 " I have ventured to call, ma'am," said Kate, after a few seconds of 
 awkward silence, " from having seen your advertisement." 
 
 " Yes," replied Mrs. Wititterly, " one of my people put it in the 
 paper. — Yes." 
 
 " I thought, perhaps," said Kate, modestly, " that if you had not 
 already made a final choice, you would forgive my troubling you with 
 an application." 
 
 " Yes," drawled Mrs. Wititterly again. 
 
 " If you have already made a selection " 
 
 " Oh dear no," interrupted the lady, " I am not so easily suited. 
 I really don't know what to say. You have never been a companion 
 before, have you?" 
 
 Mrs. Nickleby, who had been eagerly watching her opportunity, 
 came dexterously in before Kate could reply. " Not to any stranger, 
 ma'am," said the good lady ; " but she has been a companion to me for 
 some years. I am her mother, ma'am." 
 
 " Oh !" said Mrs. Wititterly, " I apprehend you." 
 
 " I assure you, ma'am," said ]\Irs. Is'ickleby, " that I very little 
 thouglit at one time that it would be necessary for my dau^llter to go 
 out into the world at all, for her poor dear papa was an independent 
 gentleman, and would have been at this moment if he had but listened 
 in time to my constant entreaties and " 
 
 " Dear mama," said Kate, in a low voice. 
 
 " My dear Kate, if you will allow me to speak," said Mrs. Nickleby, 
 " I shall take the liberty of explaining to this lady " 
 
 " I think it is almost unnecessary, mama." 
 
 And notwithstanding all tlie frowns and winks with which Mrs. 
 Nickleby intimated that she was going to say something which would 
 clench the business at once, Kate maintained her point by an expressive 
 look, and for once Mrs. Nickleby was stopped upon the very brink of 
 an oration. 
 
 " Yv'hat are your accomplishments ? " asked Mrs. Wititterly, with 
 her eyes shut. 
 
 Kate blushed as she mentioned her principal acquirements, and Mrs. 
 Nickleby checked tliem all off, one by one, on her fingers, having cal- 
 culated the number before she came out. Luckily the two calculations 
 agreed, so Mrs. Nickleby had no excuse for talking. 
 
 " You are a good temper ? " asked ]\Irs. Wititterly, opening her eyes 
 for an instant, and shutting them again. 
 
 " I hope so," rejoined Kate. 
 
 " And have a highly respectable reference for everything, have you ?" 
 
 Kate replied that slie had, and laid her uncle's card upon the table. 
 
 " Have the goodness to draw your chair a little nearer, and let me 
 look at you," said Mrs. Wititterly; '-'• I am so very near-sighted that I 
 can't quite discern your features." 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 201 
 
 Kate complied, though not without some embarrassment, with this 
 request, and Mrs. Wititterly took a hxnguid survey of her countenance, 
 which lasted some two or three minutes. 
 
 " I like your appearance," said that lady, ringing a little bell. 
 " Alphonse, request your master to come here." 
 
 The page disappeared on this errand, and after a short interval, 
 during which not a word was spoken on either side, opened the door 
 for an important gentleman of about eight-and-thirty, of rather plebeian 
 countenance and with a very light head of hair, who leant over Mrs. 
 "Wititterly for a little time, and conversed with her in wliispers. 
 
 "Oh!" he said, turning round, "yes. This is a most important 
 matter. Mrs. Wititterly is of a very excitable nature, very delicate, 
 very fragile ; a hothouse plant, an exotic," 
 
 " Oh ! Henry, my dear," interposed Mrs. Wititterly. 
 
 " You are my love, you know you are ; one breath — " said Mr. W., 
 blowing an imaginary feather away. " Pho ! you're gone." 
 
 Tlie lady sighed. 
 
 " Your soul is too large for your body," said Mr. Wititterly. 
 " Your intellect wears you out ; all the medical men say so ; you 
 know that there is not a physician who is not proud of being called in 
 to you. What is their unanimous declaration ? ' My dear doctor,* 
 said I to Sir Tumley Snuffim, in this very room, the very last time he 
 came. ' My dear doctor, what is my wife's complaint ? Tell me all. 
 I can bear it. Is it nerves ? ' ' My dear fellow,' he said, ' be proud 
 of that woman ; make much of her ; she is an ornament to the fashion- 
 able world, and to you. Her complaint is soul. It swells, expands, 
 dilates — the blood fires, the pulse quickens, the excitement increases — • 
 Whew ! ' " Here Mr. Wititterly, who, in the ardour of his description, 
 had flourished his right hand to within something less than an inch of 
 Mrs. Nickleby's bonnet, drew it hastily back again, and blew his nose 
 as fiercely as if it had been done by some violent machinery. 
 
 " You make me out worse than I am, Henry," said Mrs. Wititterly, 
 with a faint smile. 
 
 " I do not, Julia, I do not," said Mr. W. " The society in which 
 you move — necessarily move, from your station, connexion, and endow- 
 ments — is one vortex and whirlpool of the most frightful excitement. 
 Bless my heart and body, can I ever forget the night you danced 
 with the baronet's nephew, at the election ball, at Exeter ! It was 
 tremendous." 
 
 " I always suffer for these triumphs afterwards," said Mrs. Wititterly. 
 
 " And for that very reason," rejoined her husband, " you must have 
 a companion, in whom there is great gentleness, great sweetness, ex- 
 cessive sympathy, and perfect repose." 
 
 Here both Mr. and Mrs. Wititterly, who had talked rather at the 
 Nicklebys than to each other, left off speaking, and looked at their two 
 hearers, wit?i an expression of countenance which seemed to say " What 
 do you think of all that ! " 
 
 " Mrs. Wititterly," said her husband, addressing himself to Mrs. 
 Nickleby, " is sought after and courted by glittering crowds, and bril- 
 
202 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 liant circles. She is excited by the opera, the drama, the fine arts, the 
 —the— the " 
 
 " The nobility, my love," interposed Mrs. Wititterly. 
 . " The nobility, of course," said Mr. Wititterly. " And the military. 
 She forms and expresses an immense variety of opinions, on an immense 
 variety of subjects. If some people in public life were acquainted with 
 Mrs. Wititterly's real opinion of them, they would not hold their heads 
 perhaps quite as high as they do." 
 
 " Husli, Henry," said the lady; " this is scarcely fair." 
 
 " I mention no names, Julia," replied Mr. Wititterly ; " and nobody 
 is injured. I merely mention the circumstance to show that you are no 
 ordinary person ; that there is a constant friction perpetually going on 
 between your mind and your body ; and that you must be soothed and 
 tended. Now let me hear dispassionately and calmly, what are this 
 young lady's qualifications for the ofiice." 
 
 In obedience to this request, the qualifications were all gone 
 through again, with the addition of many interruptions and cross- 
 questionings from Mr. Wititterly. It was finally arranged that 
 inquiries should be made, and a decisive answer addressed to Miss 
 Nickleby, under cover to her uncle, wuthin two days. These conditions 
 agreed upon, the page showed them down as far as the staircase window, 
 and the big footman relieving guard at that point piloted them in 
 perfect safety to the street-door. 
 
 " They are very distinguished people, evidently," said Mrs. Nickleby, 
 as she took her daughter s arm. " What a superior person Mrs. 
 Wititterly is ! " 
 
 " Do you think so, mama ? " was all Kate's reply. 
 
 " Why who can help tliinking so, Kate, my love ? " rejoined her 
 mother. " She is pale, though, and looks much exhausted. I hope 
 she may not be wearing Iierself out, but I am very much afraid. " 
 
 These considerations led the deep-sighted lady into a calculation of 
 the probable duration of Mrs. Wititterly's life, and the chances of the 
 disconsolate widower bestowing his hand on her daughter. Before reach- 
 ing home, she had freed Mrs. Wititterly's soul from all bodily restraint, 
 married Kate with great splendour at Saint George's Hanover Square ; 
 and only left undecided the minor question whether a splendid French- 
 polished mahogany bedstead should be erected for herself in the two-pair 
 back of the house in Cadogan Place, or in the three-pair front, between 
 which apartments she could not quite balance the advantages, and 
 therefore adjusted the question at last, by determining to leave it to the 
 decision of her son-in-law. 
 
 The inquiries were made. The answer — not to Kate's very great 
 joy — was favourable; and at the expiration of a week she betook her- 
 self, with all her moveables and valuables, to Mrs. Wititterly's mansion, 
 where for the present we will leave her. 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 20S 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 NICHOLAS, ACCOMPANIED BY SMIKE, SALLIES FORTH TO SEEK HIS 
 FORTUNE. HE ENCOUNTERS MR. VINCENT CRUMMLES ; AND WHO 
 HE WAS IS HEREIN MADE MANIFEST. 
 
 The whole capital which Nicholas found himself entitled to, either 
 in possession, reversion, remainder, or expectancy, after paying his rent 
 and settling with the broker from whom he had hired his poor furniture, 
 did not exceed by more than a few halfpence the sum of twenty shillings. 
 And yet he hailed the morning on which he had resolved to quit London 
 with a light heart, and sprang from his bed with an elasticity of spirit 
 which is happily the lot of young persons, or the world would never be 
 stocked with old ones. 
 
 It was a cold, dry, foggy morning in early spring; a few meagre 
 shadows flitted to and fro in the misty streets, and occasionally there 
 loomed through the dull vapour the heavy outline of some hackney- 
 coach wending homewards, which drawing slowly nearer, rolled jangling 
 by, scattering the thin crust of frost from its whitened roof, and soon 
 was lost again in the cloud. At intervals were heard the tread of slip- 
 shod feet, and the chilly cry of the poor sweep as he crept shivering to 
 his early toil ; the heavy footfall of the official watcher of the night 
 pacing slowly up and down and cursing the tardy hours that still inter- 
 vened between him and sleep : the rumbling of ponderous carts and 
 waggons, the roll of the lighter vehicles which carried buyers and sellers 
 to the different markets : the sound of ineffectual knocking at the doors 
 of heavy sleepers — all these noises fell upon the ear from time to time, 
 but all seemed mufiled by the fog, and to be rendered almost as indis- 
 tinct to the ear as was every object to the sight. The sluggish dark- 
 ness thickened as the day came on ; and those who had the courage to 
 rise and peep at the gloomy street from their curtained windows, crept 
 back to bed again, and coiled themselves up to sleep. 
 
 Before even these indications of approaching morning were rife in 
 busy London, Nicholas had made his way alone to the city, and stood 
 beneath the windows of his mother's house. It was dull and bare to see, 
 but it had light and life for him ; for there was at least one heart 
 within its old walls to which insult or dishonour would bring the same 
 blood rushing that flowed in his own veins. 
 
 He crossed the road, and raised his eyes to the window of the room 
 where he knew his sister slept. It was closed and dark. " Poor 
 girl," thought Nicholas, " she little thinks who lingers here ! " 
 
 He looked again, and felt for the moment almost vexed that Kate 
 was not there to exchange one word at parting. " Good God ! " he 
 thought, suddenly correcting himself, " what a boy I am ! " 
 
 " It is better as it is," said Nicholas, after he had lounged on a few 
 
204 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 paces and returned to the same spot. " When I left them before, and 
 could have said good bye a thousand times if I had chosen, I spared 
 them the pain of leave-taking, and why not now V As he spoke, some 
 fancied motion of the curtain almost persuaded him, for the instant, that 
 Kate was at the window, and by one of those strange contradictions 
 of feeling which are common to us all, he shrunk involuntarily into a 
 door-way, that she might not see him. He smiled at his own weak- 
 ness ; said " God bless them !" and walked away with a lighter step. 
 
 Smike was anxiously expecting him when he reached his old lodgings, 
 and so was Newman, who had expended a day's income in a can of rum 
 and milk to prepare them for the journey* They had tied up the 
 luggage, Smike shouldered it, and away they went, with Newman 
 Noggs in company, for he had insisted on walking as far as he could 
 with them, over-night. 
 
 " Which way ?" asked Newman, wistfully. 
 
 " To Kingston first," replied Nicholas. 
 
 " And where afterwards ? " asked Newman. " Why won t you 
 tell me ? " 
 
 " Because I scarcely know myself, good friend," rejoined Nicholas, 
 laying his hand upon his shoulder ; " and if I did, I have neither plan 
 nor prospect yet, and might shift my quarters a hundred times before 
 j-ou could possibly communicate with me." 
 
 " I am afraid you have some deep scheme in your head," said 
 Newman, doubtfully. 
 
 " So deep," replied his young friend, " that even I can't fathom it. 
 Whatever I resolve upon, depend upon it I will write you soon." 
 
 " You won't forget ? " said Newman. 
 
 " I am not very likely to," rejoined Nicholas. " I have not so many 
 friends that I shall grow confused among the number, and forget my 
 best one." 
 
 Occupied in such discourse as this they walked on for a couple of 
 hours, as they might have done for a couple of days if Nicholas had 
 not sat himself down on a stone by the w^ay-side, and resolutely declared 
 his intention of not moving another step until Newman Noggs turned 
 back. Having pleaded ineffectually first for another half mile, and 
 afterwards for another quarter, Newman was fain to comply, and to 
 shape his course towards Golden Square, after interchanging many 
 hearty and affectionate farewells, and many times turning back to wave 
 his hat to the two wayfarers when they had become mere specks in the 
 distance. 
 
 " Now listen to me, Smike," said Nicholas, as they trudged with 
 stout hearts onwards. " We are bound for Portsmoutli." 
 
 Smike nodded his head and smiled, but expressed no other emotion ; 
 for whether they had been bound for Portsmouth or Port lloyal would 
 have been alike to him, so they had been bound together. 
 
 " I don't know much of these matters," resumed Nicholas ; " but 
 Portsmouth is a sea-port town, and if no other employment is to be 
 obtained, I should think we might get on board of some ship. I am 
 young and active, and could be useful in many ways. So could you." 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 205 
 
 " I hope so," replied Smike. " When I was at that — you know 
 where I mean ? " 
 
 " Yes, I know," said Nicholas. " You needn't name the place." 
 
 " Well, when I was there," resumed Smike ; his eyes sparkling at 
 the prospect of displaying his abilities ; " I could milk a cow, and 
 groom a horse with anybody." 
 
 " Ha ! " said Nicholas, gravely. " I am afraid they don't usually 
 keep many animals of either kind on board ship, and even when they 
 have horses, that they are not very particular about rubbing them 
 down ; still you can learn to do something else, you know. Where 
 there's a will, there's a way." 
 
 " And I am very willing," said Smike, brightening' up again. 
 
 " God knows you are," rejoined Nicholas ; " and if you fail, it shall 
 go hard but I'll do enough for us both." 
 
 " Do we go all the way to-day?" asked Smike, after a short silence. 
 
 " That would be too severe a trial, even for your willing legs," said 
 Nicholas, with a good-humoured smile. " No. Godalming is some 
 thirty and odd miles from London — as I found from a map I borrowed 
 — and I purpose to rest there. We must push on again to-morrow, for 
 we are not rich enough to loiter. Let me relieve you of that bundle, 
 come." 
 
 " No, no," rejoined Smike, falling back a few steps. " Don't ask 
 me to give it up to you." 
 
 " Why not ? " asked Nicholas. 
 
 " Let me do something for you, at least," said Smike. " You will 
 never let me serve you as I ought. You will never know how I think, 
 day and night, of ways to please you." 
 
 " You are a foolish fellow to say it, for I know it well, and see it, 
 or I should be a blind and senseless beast," rejoined Nicholas. " Let 
 me ask you a question while I think of it, and there is no one by," he 
 added, looking him steadily in the face. " Have you a good memory?" 
 
 " I don't know," said Smike, shaking his head sorrowfully. " I 
 think I had once ; but it's all gone now — all gone." 
 
 " Why do you think you had once ? " asked Nicholas, turning 
 quickly upon him as though the answer in some way helped out the 
 purport of his question. 
 
 " Because I could remember wlien I was a child," said Smike, " but 
 that is very, very long ago, or at least it seems so. I was always con- 
 fused and giddy at that place you took me from ; and could never 
 remember, and sometimes couldn't even understand what they said to 
 me. I — let me see — let me see." 
 
 " You are wandering now," said Nicholas, touching him on the arm, 
 
 " No," replied his companion, with a vacant look. " I was only 
 thinking how ." He shivered involuntarily as he spoke. 
 
 '' Think no more of that place, for it is all over," retorted Nicholas, 
 fixing his eye full upon that of his companion, which was fast settling 
 into an unmeaning stupified gaze, once habitual to him, and common 
 even then. " What of the first day you went to Yorkshire ? " 
 
 "Eh!" cried the lad. 
 
206 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 " That was before you began to lose your recollection, you know," 
 said Nicliolas quietly. " Was the weather hot or cold ? " 
 
 " Wet," replied the boy. " Very wet. I have always said when it 
 rained hard that it was like the night I came : and they used to crowd 
 round and laugh to see me cry when the rain fell heavily. It was like 
 a child they said, and that made me think of it mor<). I turned cold all 
 over sometimes, for I could see myself as I was then, coming in at the 
 very same door." 
 
 " As you were then," repeated Nicholas, with assumed carelessness ; 
 «' How was that ? " 
 
 " Such a little creature," said Smike," that they might have had pity 
 and mercy upon me, only to remember it." 
 
 " You didn't find your way there alone ! " remarked Nicholas. 
 
 " No," rejoined Smike, " oh no." 
 
 " Who was with you ? " 
 
 " A man — a dark withered man ; I have heard them say so at the 
 school, and I remembered that before. I was glad to leave him, I 
 was afraid of him ; but they made me more afraid of them, and used 
 me harder too." 
 
 " Look at me," said Nicholas, wishing to attract his full attention. 
 "There; don't turn away. Do you remember no woman, no kind 
 gentle woman, who hung over you once, and kissed your lips, and 
 called you her child ? " 
 
 "• No," said the poor creature, shaking his head, " no, never." 
 
 " Nor any house but that house in Yorkshire ? " 
 
 " No," rejoined the youth, with a melancholy look : " a room — I 
 remember I slept in a room, a large lonesome room at the top of a 
 house, where there was a trap-door in the ceiling. I have covered my 
 head with the clothes often, not to see it, for it frightened me, a 
 young child with no one near at' night, and I used to wonder what was 
 on the other side. There was a clock too, an old clock, in one corner. 
 I remember that. I have never forgotten that room, for when I have 
 terrible dreams, it comes back just as it was. I see things and people 
 in it that I had never seen then, but there is the room just as it used 
 to be ; that never changes." 
 
 " Will you let mo take the bundle now ? " asked Nicholas, abruptly 
 changing the theme. 
 
 " No," said Smike, " no. Come, let us walk on." 
 
 He quickened his pace as he said this, apparently under the impres- 
 sion that they had been standing still during the whole of the previous 
 dialogue. Nicliolas marked him closely, and every word of this con- 
 versation remained indelibly fastened in his memory. 
 
 It was by this time within an hour of noon, and although a dense 
 vapour still enveloped the city they had left as if the very breath of 
 its busy people liung over their schemes of gain and profit and found 
 greater attraction there than in the quiet region above, in the open 
 country it was clear and fair. Occasionally in some low spots they came 
 upon patches of mist which the sun had not yet driven from their 
 strongholds ; but these were soon passed, and as they laboured up the 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 207 
 
 hills beyond, it was pleasant to look down and see how the sluggish 
 mass rolled heavily off before the cheering influence of day. A broad 
 fine honest sun lighted up the green pastures and dimpled water with 
 the semblance of summer, while it left the travellers all the invigorating 
 freshness of that early time of year. The ground seemed elastic under 
 their feet ; the sheep-bells were music to their ears ; and exhilarated by 
 exercise, and stimulated by hope, they pushed onwards with the strength 
 of lions. 
 
 The day wore on, and all these bright colours subsided, and assumed 
 a quieter tint, like young hopes softened down by time, or youthful 
 features by degrees resolving into the calm and serenity of age. But 
 they were scarcely less beautiful in their slow decline than they had 
 been in their prime ; for nature gives to every time and season some 
 beauties of its own, and from morning to night, as from the cradle to 
 the grave, is but a succession of changes so gentle and easy, that we 
 can scarcely mark their progress. 
 
 To Godalming they came at last, and here they bargained for two 
 humble beds, and slept soundly. In the morning they were astir, 
 though not quite so early as the sun, and again afoot ; if not with all 
 the freshness of yesterday, still with enough of hope and spirit to bear 
 them cheerily on. 
 
 It was a harder day's journey than that they had already performed, 
 for there were long and weary hills to climb ; and in journeys, as in life, 
 it is a great deal easier to go down hill than up. However, they kept 
 on with unabated perseverance, and the hill has not yet lifted its face 
 to heaven that perseverance will not gain the summit of at last. 
 
 They walked upon the rim of the Devil's Punch Bowl, and Smike 
 listened with greedy interest as Nicholas read the inscription upon the 
 stone which, reared upon that w41d spot, tells of a foul and treacherous 
 murder committed there by night. The grass on which they stood 
 had once been dyed with gore, and the blood of the murdered man 
 had run down, drop by drop, into the hollow which gives the place its 
 name. " The Devil's Bowl," thought Nicholas, as he looked into the 
 void, " never held fitter liquor than that ! " 
 
 Onward they kept with steady purpose, and entered at length upon 
 a wide and spacious tract of downs, with every variety of little hill 
 and plain to change their verdant surface. Here, there shot up almost 
 perpendicularly into the sky a height so steep, as to be hardly acces- 
 sible to any but the sheep and goats that fed upon its sides, and 
 there stood a huge mound of green, sloping and tapering off so deli- 
 cately, and merging so gently into the level ground, that you could 
 scarce define its limits. Hills swelling above each other, and undula- 
 tions shapely and uncouth, smooth and rugged, graceful and grotesque, 
 thrown negligently side by side, bounded the view in each direction ; 
 while frequently, with unexpected noise, there uprose from the ground 
 a flight of crows, who, cawing and wheeling round the nearest hills, 
 as if uncertain of their course, suddenly poised themselves upon the 
 wing and skimmed down the long vista of some opening valley with the 
 speed of very light itself. 
 
208 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 By degrees the prospect receded more and more on either hand, and 
 as they had hecn sliut out from rich and extensive scenery, so they 
 emerged once again upon the open country. The knowledge that they 
 "were drawing near their place of destination, gave them fresh courage 
 to proceed ; but the way had been difficult, and they had loitered on 
 the road, and Smike was tired. Thus twilight had already closed in, 
 when they turned off the path to the door of a road-side inn, yet 
 twelve miles short of Portsmouth. 
 
 " Twelve miles," said Nicholas, leaning with both hands on his 
 stick, and looking doubtfully at Smike. 
 
 " Twelve long miles," repeated the landlord. 
 
 " Is it a good road ? " inquired Nicholas. 
 
 " Yery bad," said the landlord. As of course, being a landlord, he 
 would say. 
 
 " I want to get on," observed Nicholas, hesitating. " I scarcely know 
 what to do." 
 
 " Don't let me influence you," rejoined the landlord. " / w^ouldn't 
 go on if it was me." 
 
 " Wouldn't you ? " asked Nicholas, with the same uncertainty. 
 
 " Not if I knew when I was well off," said the landlord. And 
 having said it he pulled up his apron, put his hands into his pockets, 
 and taking a step or two outside the door, looked down the dark road 
 with an assumption of great indifference. 
 
 A glance at the toil-worn face of Smike determined Nicholas, so with- 
 out any further consideration he made up his mind to stay where 
 he was. 
 
 The landlord led them into the kitchen, and as there was a good fire 
 he remarked that it was very cold. If there had happened to be a bad 
 one he would have observed that it was very warm. 
 
 " What can you give us for supper ? " Avas Nicholas's natural 
 question. 
 
 " Why — what would you like ? " was the landlord's no less natural 
 answer. 
 
 Nicholas suggested cold meat, but there was no cold meat — poached 
 eggs, but there were no eggs — mutton chops, but there wasn't a mutton 
 chop within three miles, though there had been more last week than 
 they knew what to do with, and would be an extraordinary supply the 
 day after to-morrow. 
 
 " Then," said Nicholas, " I must leave it entirely to you, as I would 
 have done at first if you had allowed me." 
 
 " Why, then I'll tell you what," rejoined the landlord. " There's a 
 gentleman in the parlour that's ordered a hot beef-steak pudding and 
 potatoes at. nine. There's more of it than he can manage, and 1 have 
 very little doubt that if I ask leave, you can sup with him. I'll do that 
 in a minute." 
 
 " No, no," said Nicholas, detaining him. " I would rather not. I — 
 at least— pshaw ! why cannot I speak out. Here ; you see that I am 
 travelling in a very humble manner, and have made my way hither on 
 foot. It is more than probable, I think, that the gentleman may not 
 
A 
 
'V// A />'//•//' 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 209 
 
 relish my company ; and although I am the dusty figure you see, I am 
 too proud to thrust myself into his." 
 
 " Lord love you," said the landlord, " it's only Mr. Crummies ; Jiq 
 isn't particular." 
 
 " Is he not ? " asked Nicholas, on whose mind, to tell the truth, the 
 prospect of the savoury pudding was making some impression. 
 
 " Not he," replied the landlord. " He'll like your way of talking, I 
 know. But we'll soon see all about that. Just wait a minute." 
 
 The landlord hurried into the parlour without staying for further 
 permission, nor did Nicholas strive to prevent him : wisely considering 
 that supper under the circumstances was too serious a matter to trifle 
 with. It was not long before the host returned in a condition of much 
 excitement. 
 
 " All right," he said in a low voice. " I knew he would. ^' You'll 
 see something rather worth seeing in there. Ecod, how they are a 
 going of it ! " 
 
 There was no time to inquire to what this exclamation, which was 
 delivered in a very rapturous tone, referred, for he had already thrown 
 open the door of the room ; into which Nicholas, followed by Smike 
 with the bundle on his shoulder (he carried it about with him as vigi- 
 lantly as if it had been a purse of gold), straightway repaired. 
 
 Nicholas was prepared for something odd, but not for something quite 
 so odd as the sight he encountered. At the upper end of the room 
 were a couple of boys, one of them very tall and the other very short, both 
 dressed as sailors — or at least as theatrical sailors, with belts, buckles, 
 pigtails, and pistols complete — fighting what is called in play-bills a 
 terrific combat with two of those short broad-swords with basket hilts 
 which are commonly used at our minor theatres. The short boy had 
 gained a great advantage over the tall boy, who was reduced to mortal 
 strait, and both were overlooked by a large heavy man, perched against 
 the corner of a table, who emphatically adjured them to strike a little 
 more fire out of the swords, and they couldn't fail to bring the house 
 down on the very first night. 
 
 " Mr. Yincent Crummies," said the landlord with an air of great 
 deference. " This is the young gentleman." 
 
 Mr. Yincent Crummies received Nicholas with an inclination of the 
 head, something between the courtesy of a Roman emperor and the 
 nod of a pot companion ; and bade the landlord shut the door and 
 begone. 
 
 " There's a picture,'* said Mr. Crummies, motioning Nicholas not to 
 advance and spoil it. " The little 'un has liim ; if the big 'un doesn't 
 knock under in three seconds he's a dead man. Do that again, boys." 
 
 The two combatants went to work afresh, and chopped away until 
 the swords emitted a shower of sparks, to the great satisfaction of Mr. 
 Crummies, who appeared to consider this a very great point indeed. 
 The engagement commenced with about two hundred chops admi- 
 nistered by the short sailor and the tall sailor alternately, without pro- 
 ducing any particular result until the short sailor was chopped down 
 on one knee, but this was nothing to him, for he worked himself about 
 
 P 
 
fStW LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 on the one knee with the assistance of his left hand, and fought most 
 desperately until the tall sailor chopped his sword out of his grasp. 
 ;Now the inference was, that the short sailor, reduced to this extremity, 
 would give in at once and cry quarter, hut instead of that he all of a 
 rsudden drew a large pistol from his helt and presented it at the face of 
 the tall sailor, who was so overcome at this (not expecting it) that he 
 Jet the short sailor pick up his sword and begin again. Then the 
 chopping recommenced, and a variety of fancy chops were administered 
 •on both sides, such as chops dealt with the left hand and under the leg 
 and over the right shoulder and over the left, and when the short sailor 
 made a vigorous cut at the tall sailor's legs, which would have shaved 
 them clean off if it had taken effect, the tall sailor jumped over the short 
 sailor's sword, wherefore to balance the matter and make it all fair, 
 the tall sailor administered the same cut and the short sailor jumped 
 .over Ms sword. After this tliere was a good deal of dodging about 
 and hitching up of the inexpressibles in the absence of braces, and then the 
 ■ short sailor (who was the moral character evidently, for he always had 
 .the best of it) made a violent demonstration and closed with the tall 
 sailor, who, after a few unavailing struggles, went down and expired in 
 great torture as the short sailor put his foot upon his breast and bored 
 a hole in him through and through. 
 
 " That'll be a double encore if you take care, boys," said Mr. 
 Crummies. " You had better get your wind now, and change your 
 clothes." 
 
 Having addressed these words to the combatants, he saluted Nicholas, 
 who then observed that the face of Mr, Crummies was quite propor- 
 tionate in size to his body ; that he had a very full under-lip, a hoarse 
 voice, as though he were in the habit of shouting very much, and very 
 short black hair, shaved off nearly to the crown of his head — to admit 
 (as he afterwards learnt) of his more easily wearing character wigs of 
 any shape or pattern. 
 
 " What did you think of that. Sir?" inquired Mr. Crummies. 
 
 " Very good, indeed — capital," answered Nicholas. 
 
 " You won't see such boys as those very often, I think," said Mr. 
 Crummies. 
 
 Nicholas assented — observing, that if they were a little better 
 ' match 
 
 " Match ! " cried Mr. Crummies. 
 
 " I mean if they were a little more of a size," said Nicholas, explain- 
 ing himself. 
 
 " Size !" repeated Mr. Crummies ; " why, it's the very essence of the 
 combat that there should be a foot or two between them. How are you 
 to get up the sympathies of the audience in a legitimate manner, if there 
 isn't a little man contending against a great one — unless there's at least five 
 to one, and we haven't hands enough for that business in our company." ; 
 
 *' I see," replied Nicholas. " I beg your pardon. That didn't occur 
 to me, I confess." 
 
 " It's the main point," said Mr. Crummies. " I open at Portsmouth 
 the day after to-morrow. If you're going tliere, look into the theatre, 
 and see how that'll tell." 
 
i 
 
 NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 211 
 
 •" Nicholas promised to do so if he could, and drawing a chair near the 
 fire, fell into conversation with the manager at once. He was very- 
 talkative and communicative, stimulated perhaps not only by his 
 natural disposition, but by the spirits and water he sipped very plenti- 
 fully, or the snuff whicli he took in large quantities from a piece of 
 whitey -brown paper in his waistcoat pocket. He laid open his affairs 
 without the smallest reserve, and descanted at some length upon the merits 
 of his company, and the acquirements of his family, of both of which 
 the two broad-sword boys formed an honourable portion. There was 
 to be a gathering it seemed of the different ladies and gentlemen at 
 Portsmouth on the morrow, whither the father and sons were proceeding 
 (not for the regular season, but in the course of a wandering speculation), 
 after fulfilling an engagement at Guildford with the greatest applause. 
 
 " You are going that way ? " asked the manager. 
 
 " Ye-yes," said Nicholas. " Yes, I am." 
 
 " Do you know the towm at all ?" inquired the manager, who seemed 
 to consider himself entitled to the same confidence as he had himself 
 exhibited. 
 
 " No," replied Nicholas. 
 
 " Never there ?" 
 
 " Never." 
 
 Mr. Yincent Crummies gave a short dry cough, as much as to say, 
 " If you won't be communicative, you won't ; " and took so many 
 pinches of snuff from the piece of paper, one after another, that Nicholas 
 quite wondered where it all went to. 
 
 While he was thus engaged, Mr. Crummies looked from time to 
 time with great interest at Smike, with whom he had appeared con- 
 siderably struck from the first. He had now fallen asleep, and was 
 nodding in his chair. 
 
 " Excuse my saying so," said the manager, leaning over to Nicholas, 
 and sinking his voice, " but — what a capital countenance your friend 
 has got !" 
 
 " Poor fellow ! " said Nicholas, with a half smile, " I wish it were a 
 little more plump and less haggard." 
 
 " Plump ! " exclaimed the manager, quite horrified, " you'd spoil it 
 for ever." 
 
 " Do you think so ? " 
 
 " Think so, sir ! Why, as he is now," said the manager, striking 
 his knee emphatically ; " without a pad upon his body, and hardly a 
 touch of paint upon his face, he'd make such an actor for the starved 
 business as was never seen in this country. Only let him be tolerably 
 well up in the Apothecary in Romeo and Juliet with the slightest 
 possible dab of red on the tip of his nose, and he'd be certain of three 
 rounds the moment he put his head out of the practicable door in 
 the front grooves 0. P." 
 
 " You view him with a professional eye," said Nicholas, laughing. 
 
 " And well I may," rejoined the manager, " I never saw a young 
 fellow so regularly cut out for that line since I've been in the profes- 
 sion, and I played the heavy children when I was eighteen months old." 
 
 P 2 
 
212 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF ' 
 
 The appearance of the beef- steak pudding, which came in simulta- 
 neously with the junior Vincent Crummleses, turned the conversation 
 to other matters, and indeed for a time stopped it altogether. These 
 two young gentlemen wielded their knives and forks with scarcely less 
 address than their broad-swords, and as the whole party were quite as 
 sharp set as either class of weapons, there was no time for talking until 
 the supper had been disposed of. • 
 
 The master Crummleses had no sooner swallowed the last procurable 
 morsel of food than they evinced, by various half-suppressed yawns 
 and stretchings of their limbs, an obvious inclination to retire for the 
 night, which Smike had betrayed still more strongly: he having, in the 
 course of the meal, fallen asleep several times while in the very act of 
 eating. Nicholas therefore proposed that they should break up at 
 once, but the manager would by no means hear of it, vowing that he 
 had promised himself the pleasure of inviting his new acquaintance to 
 share a bowl of punch, and that if he declined, he should deem it very 
 unhandsome behaviour. 
 
 " Let them go," said Mr. Vincent Cnmimles, " and we'll have it 
 snugly and cosily together by the fire." 
 
 Nicholas was not much disposed to sleep, being in truth too anxious, 
 so after a little demur he accepted the offer, and having exchanged a 
 shake of the hand with the young Crummleses, and the manager having 
 on his part bestowed a most affectionate benediction on Smike, he sat 
 himself down opposite to that gentleman by the fire-side to assist in 
 emptying the bowl, which soon afterwards appeared, steaming in a 
 manner which was quite exhilarating to behold, and sending forth a 
 most grateful and inviting fragrance. 
 
 But, despite the punch and the manager, who told a variety of 
 stories, and smoked tobacco from a pipe, and inhaled it in the shape of 
 snuff, with a most astonishing power, Nicholas was absent and dispi- 
 rited. His thoughts were in his old home, and when they reverted to 
 his present condition, the uncertainty of the morrow cast a gloom upon 
 him, which his utmost efforts were unable to dispel. His attention 
 wandered ; although he heard the manager's voice, he was deaf to what 
 he said, and when Mr. Vmcent Crummies concluded the history of 
 some long adventure with a loud laugh, and an inquiry what Nicholas 
 would have done under the same circumstances, he was obliged to make 
 the best apology in his power, and to confess his entire ignorance of all 
 he had been talking about. 
 
 " Why so I saw," observed Mr. Crummies. " You're uneasy in 
 your mind. What's the matter?" 
 
 Nicholas could not refrain from smiling at the abruptness of the 
 question, but thinking it scarcely worth while to parry it, owned that 
 he was under some apprehensions lest he might not succeed in tlie 
 object which had brought him to that part of the country. 
 
 " And what's that?" asked the manager. 
 
 " Getting something to do wliicli will keep me and my poor fellow- 
 traveller in the common necessaries of life," said Nicholas. "That's the 
 truth ; you guessed it long ago, I dare say, so I may as well have the 
 credit of telling it you with a good grace." 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 213 
 
 " What's to be got to do at Portsmouth more than anywhere else ? " 
 asked Mr. Vincent Crummies, melting the sealing-wax on the stem of 
 his pipe in the candle, and rolling it out afresh with his little finger. 
 
 " There are many vessels leaving the port, I suppose," replied 
 Nicholas. " I shall try for a berth in some ship or other. There is 
 meat and drink there, at all events." 
 
 " Salt meat and new rum ; pease-pudding and chaff -biscuits," said 
 the manager, taking a whiff at his pipe to keep it alight, and returning 
 to his work of embellishment. 
 
 " One may do worse than that," said Nicholas. " I can rough it, I 
 believe, as well as most men of my age and previous habits." 
 
 " You need be able to," said the manager, " if you go on board ship ; 
 but you won't." 
 
 " Why not? '- 
 
 " Because there's not a skipper or mate that would think you worth 
 your salt, when he could get a practised hand," replied the manager ; 
 " and they as plentiful there as the oysters in the streets." 
 
 " What do you mean ? " asked Nicholas, alarmed by this prediction, 
 and the confident tone in which it had been uttered. " Men are not 
 bom able seamen. They must be reared, I suppose ? " 
 
 Mr. Vincent Crummies nodded his head. " They must ; but not 
 at your age, or from young gentlemen like you." 
 
 There was a pause. The countenance of Nicholas fell, and he gazed 
 ruefully at the fire. 
 
 " Does no other profession occur to you, which a young man of 
 your figure and address could take up easily, and see the world to 
 advantage in ? " asked the manager. 
 
 *' No," said Nicholas, shaking his head. 
 
 " Why, then, I'll tell you one," said Mr. Crummies, throwing his 
 pipe into the fire, and raising his voice. " The stage." 
 
 " The stage ! " cried Nicholas, in a voice almost as loud. 
 
 " The theatrical profession," said Mr. Vincent Crummies. " I am 
 in the theatrical profession myself, my wife is in the theatrical profes- 
 sion, my children are in the theatrical profession. I had a dog that 
 lived and died in it from a puppy ; and my chaise-pony goes on in 
 Timour the Tartar. I'll bring you out, and your friend too. Say the 
 word. I want a novelty." • 
 
 " I don't know anything about it," rejoined Nicholas, whose breath 
 had been almost taken away by this sudden proposal. " I never acted 
 a part in my life, except at school." 
 
 " There's genteel comedy in your walk and manner, juvenile tragedy 
 in your eye, and touch-and-go farce in your laugh," said Mr. Vincent 
 Crummies. " You'll do as well as if you had thought of nothing else 
 but the lamps, from your birth downwards." 
 
 Nicholas thought of the small amount of small change there w^ould 
 remain in his pocket after paying the tavern bill : and he hesitated. 
 
 " You can be useful to us in a hundred ways," said Mr. Crummies. 
 " Think what capital bills a man of your education could write for the 
 shop- windows." 
 
214 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 " Well, I think I could manage that department," said Nicholas. ' 
 
 "To be sure you could," replied Mr. Crummies. "' For further 
 particulars see small hand-bills ' — we might have half a volume in every- 
 one of them. Pieces too ; why, you could write us a piece to bring out 
 the whole strength of the company, whenever we wanted one." 
 
 " I am not quite so confident about that," replied Nicholas. " But 
 I dare say I could scribble something now and then that would suit 
 you." 
 
 " We'll have a new show-piece out directly," said the manager. 
 " Let me see — peculiar resources of this establishment — new and 
 splendid scenery — you must manage to introduce a real pump and two 
 washing-tubs." 
 
 " Into the piece ! " said Nicholas. 
 
 " Yes," replied the manager. " I bought 'em cheap, at a sale the 
 other day ; and they'll come in admirably. That's the London plan. 
 They look up some dresses, and properties, and have a piece written 
 to fit them. Most of the theatres keep an author on purpose." 
 
 " Indeed ! " cried Nicholas. 
 
 " Oh yes," said the manager ; " a common thing. It'll look very 
 well in the bills in separate lines — Real pump ! — Splendid tubs ! — 
 Great attraction! You don't happen to be anything of an artist, 
 do you ? " 
 
 " That is not one of my accomplishments," rejoined Nicholas. 
 
 " Ah ! Then it can't be helped," said the manager. " If you had 
 been, we might have had a large woodcut of the last scene for the 
 posters, showing the whole depth of the stage, with the pump and tubs 
 in the middle ; but however, if you're not, it can't be helped." 
 
 " What should I get for all this ? " inquired Nicholas, after a few 
 moments' reflection. " Could I live by it ? " 
 
 " Live by it ! " said the manager. " Like a prince. With your 
 own salary, and your friend's, and your writings, you'd make — ah ! 
 you'd make a pound a week ! " 
 
 " You don't say so." 
 
 " I do indeed, and if we had a run of good houses, nearly double 
 the money." 
 
 Nicliolas shrugged his shoulders, but sheer destitution was before 
 him ; and if he could summon fortitude to undergo the extremes of 
 want and hardship, for what had he rescued his helpless charge if it 
 were only to bear as hard a fate as that from which he had wrested 
 him ? It was easy to think of seventy miles as nothing, when he was 
 in the same town with the man who had treated him so ill and roused 
 his bitterest thoughts ; but now it seemed far enough. What if he 
 went abroad, and his mother or Kate were to die the while ? 
 
 Without more deliberation he hastily declared that it was a bargain, 
 and gave Mr. Vincent Crummies his hand upon it. 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 215 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 TREATS OP THE COMPANY OP MR. VINCENT CRUMMLES, AND OF HIS 
 AFFAIRS, DOMESTIC AND THEATRICAL. 
 
 As Mr. Crummies had a strange four-legged animal in the inn 
 stables, which he called a pony, and a vehicle of unknown design, on 
 which he bestowed the appellation of a four-wheeled phaeton, Nicholas 
 proceeded on his journey next morning with greater ease than he had 
 expected : the manager and himself occupying the front seat, and the 
 Master Crummleses and Smike being packed together behind, in com- 
 pany with a wicker basket defended from wet by a stout oilskin, in 
 which were the broad-swords, pistols, pigtails, nautical costumes, and 
 other professional necessaries of the aforesaid young gentlemen. 
 
 The pony took his time upon the road, and — possibly in consequence 
 of *his theatrical education — evinced every now and then a strong in- 
 clination to lie down. However, Mr. Yincent Crummies kept him up 
 pretty well, by jerking the rein, and plying the whip ; and when these 
 means failed, and the animal came to a stand, the elder Master 
 Crummies got out and kicked him. By dint of these encouragements, 
 he was persuaded to move from time to time, and they jogged on (as 
 Mr. Crummies truly observed) very comfortably for all parties. 
 
 " He's a good pony at bottom," said Mr. Crummies, turning to 
 Nicholas. 
 
 He might have been at bottom, but he certainly was not at top, 
 seeing that his coat was of the roughest and most ill-favoured kind. So, 
 Nicholas merely observed, that he shouldn't wonder if he was. 
 
 " Many and many is the circuit this pony has gone," said Mr. 
 Crummies, flicking him skilfully on the eyelid for old acquaintance' sake. 
 " He is quite one of us. His mother was on the stage." 
 
 " Was she, indeed ? " rejoined Nicholas. 
 
 " She ate apple-pie at a circus for upwards of fourteen years," said 
 the manager ; " fired pistols, and went to bed in a nightcap ; and, in 
 short, took the low comedy entirely. His father was a dancer." 
 
 " Was he at all distinguished ?" 
 
 " Not very," said the manager. " He was rather a low sort of 
 pony. The fact is, that he had been originally jobbed out by the 
 day, and he never quite got over his old habits. He was clever in 
 melodrama too, but too broad — too broad. When the mother died, he 
 took the port- wine business." 
 
 " The port- wine business ! " cried Nicholas. 
 
 " Drinking port-wine with the clown," said the manager ; " but he 
 was greedy, and one night bit off the bowl of the glass, and choked 
 himself, so that his vulgarity was the death of him at last." 
 
 The descendant of this ill-starred animal requiring increased attention 
 from Mr. Crummies as he progressed in his day's work, that gentleman 
 had very little time for conversation, and Nicholas was thus left at 
 
216 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 leisure to entertain himself with his own thoughts until they arrived at 
 the drawbridge at Portsmouth, when Mr. Crummies pulled up. 
 
 " We'll set down here," said the manager, " and the boys will take 
 him round to the stable, and call at my lodgings with the luggage. 
 You had better let yours be taken there for the present." 
 
 Thanking Mr. Vincent Crummies for his obliging offer, Nicholas 
 jumped out, and, giving Smike his arm, accompanied the manager up 
 High Street on their way to the theatre, feeling nervous and uncom- 
 fortable enough at the prospect of an immediate introduction to a scene 
 so new to him. 
 
 They passed a great many bills pasted against the walls and dis- 
 played in windows, wherein the names of Mr. Vincent Crummies, Mrs. 
 Vincent Crummies, Master Crummies, Master P. Crummies, and Miss 
 Crummies, were printed in very large letters, and everything else in 
 very small ones ; and turning at length into an entry, in which was a 
 strong smell of orange-peel and lamp-oil, with an under-current of saw- 
 dust, groped their way through a dark passage, and, descending a step 
 or two, threaded a little maze of canvass screens and paint pots, and 
 emerged upon the stage of the Portsmouth Theatre. 
 
 " Here we are," said Mr. Crummies. 
 
 It was not very light, but Nicholas found himself close to the first 
 entrance on the prompter's side, among bare walls, dusty scenes, mil- 
 dewed clouds, heavily daubed draperies, and dirty floors. He looked 
 about him ; ceiling, pit, boxes, gallery, orchestra, fittings, and decora- 
 tions of every kind, — all looked coarse, cold, gloomy, and wretched. 
 
 " Is this a theatre?" whispered Smike, in amazement; " I thought 
 it was a blaze of light and finery." 
 
 " Why, so it is," replied Nicholas, hardly less surprised ; " but not 
 by day, Smike — not by day." 
 
 The manager's voice recalled him from a more careful inspection of 
 the building, to the opposite side of the proscenium, where, at a small 
 mahogany table with rickety legs and of an oblong shape, sat a stout, 
 portly female, apparently between forty and fifty, in a tarnished silk 
 cloak, with her bonnet dangling by the strings in her hand, and her 
 hair (of which she had a great quantity) braided in a large festoon over 
 each temple. 
 
 " Mr. Johnson," said the manager (for Nicholas had given the nam& 
 which Newman Noggs had bestowed upon him in his conversation with 
 Mrs. Kenwigs), " let me introduce Mrs. Vincent Crummies." 
 
 " I am glad to see you. Sir," said Mrs. Vincent Crummies, in a 
 sepulchral voice. " I am very glad to see you, and still more happy 
 to hail you as a promising member of our corps." 
 
 The lady shook Nicholas by the hand as she addressed him in these 
 terms ; he saw it was a large one, but had not expected quite such an 
 iron grip as that with which she honoured him. 
 
 " And this," said the lady, crossing to Smike, as tragic actresses 
 cross when they obey a stage direction, " and this is the other. You 
 too, are welcome. Sir." 
 
 " He'll do, I think, my dear?" said the manager, taking a pinch of snuff. 
 . " He is admirable," replied the lady. " An acquisition, indeed." 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 217 
 
 As Mrs. Vincent Crummies re-crossed back to the table, there 
 bounded on to the stage from some mysterious inlet, a little girl in a 
 dirty white frock with tucks up to the knees, short trousers, sandaled 
 shoes, white spencer, pink gauze bonnet, green veil and curl-papers, 
 who turned a pirouette, cut twice in the air, turned another pirouette, 
 then looking off at the opposite wing shrieked, bounded forward to 
 within six inches of the footlights, and fell into a beautiful attitude of 
 terror, as a shabby gentleman in an old pair of buff slippers came in at 
 one powerful slide, and chattering his teeth, fiercely brandished a walk- 
 ing-stick. 
 
 " They are going through the Indian Savage and the Maiden," said 
 Mrs. Crummies. 
 
 " Oh ! " said the manager, " the little ballet interlude. Very good, 
 go on. A little this way, if you please, Mr. Johnson. That'll 
 do. Now." 
 
 The manager clapped his hands as a signal to proceed, and the 
 Savage, becoming ferocious, made a slide towards the maiden, but the 
 maiden avoided him in six twirls, and came down at the end of the last 
 one upon the very points of her toes. This seemed to make some 
 impression upon the savage, for, after a little more ferocity and chasing 
 of the maiden into corners, he began to relent, and stroked his face 
 several times with his right thumb and four fingers, thereby intimating 
 that he was struck with admiration of the maiden s beauty. Acting 
 upon the impulse of this passion, he (the savage) began to hit himself 
 severe thumps in the chest, and to exhibit other indications of being 
 desperately in love, which being rather a prosy proceeding, was very 
 likely the cause of the maiden's falling asleep ; whether it was or not, 
 asleep she did fall, sound as a church, on a sloping bank, and the 
 savage perceiving it, leant his left ear on his left hand, and nodded 
 sideways, to intimate to all whom it might concern that she was asleep, 
 and no shamming. Being left to himself, the savage had a dance, all 
 alone, and just as he left off the maiden woke up, rubbed her eyes, got 
 off the bank, and had a danoe all alone too — such a dance that the 
 savage looked on in ecstasy all the while, and when it was done, 
 plucked from a neighbouring tree some botanical curiosity, resembling 
 a small pickled cabbage, and offered it to the maiden, who at first 
 wouldn't have it, but on the savage shedding tears relented. Then the 
 savage jumped for joy ; then the maiden jumped for rapture at the 
 sweet smell of the pickled cabbage. Then the savage and the maiden 
 danced violently together, and, finally, the savage dropped down on 
 one knee, and the maiden stood on one leg upon his other knee ; thus 
 concluding the ballet, and leaving the spectators in a state of pleasing 
 uncertainty, whether she would ultimately marry the savage, or return 
 to her friends. 
 
 " Very well indeed," said Mr. Crummies ; " bravo ! " 
 
 " Bravo ! " cried Nicholas, resolved to make the best of everything. 
 "Beautiful!" 
 
 "This, Sir," said Mr. Vincent Crummies, bringing the maiden 
 forward, " this is the infant phenomenon— Miss Ninetta Crummies." 
 
 " Your daughter ? " inquired Nicholas. 
 
218 LIFE AND ADVENTUEES OP 
 
 " My (laughter — my daughter," replied Mr. Vincent Crummies ; 
 *' the idol of every place we go into, Sir. We have had complimentary 
 letters about this girl, Sir, from the nobility and gentry of almost 
 every town in England." 
 
 " I am not surprised at that," said Nicholas ; " she must be quite a 
 natural genius." 
 
 "Quito a !" Mr. Crummies stopped; language was not 
 
 powerful enough to describe the infant phenomenon. " I'll tell you 
 what. Sir," he said ; " the talent of this child is not to be imagined. 
 She must be seen. Sir — seen — to be ever so faintly appreciated. There; 
 go to your mother, my dear." 
 
 " May I ask how old she is ? " inquired Nicholas. 
 
 "You may, Sir," replied Mr. Crummies, looking steadily in his 
 questioner's face as some men do when they have doubts about being 
 implicitly believed in what they are going to say. " She is ten years 
 of age. Sir." 
 
 " Not more ! " 
 
 " Not a day." 
 
 " Dear me ! " said Nicholas, " it's extraordinary." 
 
 It was ; for the infant phenomenon, though of short stature, had a 
 comparatively aged countenance, and had moreover been precisely the 
 same age — not perhaps to the full extent of the memory of the oldest 
 inhabitant, but certainly for five good years. But she had been kept 
 up late every night, and put upon an unlimited allowance of gin and 
 ■water from infancy, to prevent her growing tall, and perhaps this 
 system of training had produced in the infant phenomenon these addi- 
 tional phenomena. 
 
 While this short dialogue was going on, the gentleman who had 
 enacted the savage came up, with his walking-shoes on his feet, and 
 his shppers in his hand, to within a few paces, as if desirous to join 
 in the conversation, and deeming this a good opportunity he put in 
 his word. 
 
 " Talent there, Sir," said the savage, nodding towards Miss 
 Crummies. ' 
 
 Nicholas assented. 
 
 " Ah ! " said the actor, setting his teeth together, and drawing in 
 his breath with a hissing sound, " she oughtn't to be in the provinces, 
 she oughtn't." 
 
 " What do you mean ? " asked the manager. 
 
 " I mean to say," replied the other, warmly, " that she is too good 
 for country boards, and that she ought to be in one of the large houses 
 in London, or nowhere ; and I tell you more, without mincing the 
 matter, that if it wasn't for envy and jealousy in some quarter that 
 you know of, she would be. Perhaps you'll introduce me here, Mr. 
 Crummies." 
 
 " Mr. Folair," said the manager, presenting him to Nicholas. 
 
 " Happy to know you. Sir." Mr. Folair touched the brim of his 
 hat with his forefinger, and then shook hands. " A recruit, Sir, I 
 understand ? " 
 
 " An unworthy one," replied Nicholas. 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 219 
 
 ' " Did you ever see such a set-out as that ? " whispered the actor, 
 drawing him away, as Crummies left them to speak to his wife. 
 
 "As what?" 
 
 Mr. Folair made a funny face from his pantomime collection, and 
 pointed over his shoulder. 
 
 " You don't mean the infant phenomenon I" 
 
 " Infant humbug, Sir," replied Mr. Folair. " There isn't a female 
 child of common sharpness in a charity school that couldn't do better 
 than that. She may thank her stars she was born a manager's 
 daughter." 
 
 " You seem to take it to heart," observed Nicholas, with a smile. 
 
 " Yes, by Jove, and well I may," said Mr. Folair, drawing his arm 
 through his, and walking him up and down the stage. " Isn't it 
 enough to make a man crusty to see that little sprawler put up in the 
 best business every night, and actually keeping money out of the house, 
 by being forced down the people's throats, while other people are 
 passed over ? Isn't it extraordinary to see a man's confounded family 
 conceit blinding him even to his own interest ? Why I know of fifteen 
 and sixpence that came to Southampton one night last month to see 
 me dance the Highland Fling, and what's the consequence? I've 
 never been put up in it since — ^never once — while the ' infant pheno- 
 menon ' has been grinning through artificial flowers at five people and 
 a baby in the pit, and two boys in the gallery, every night." 
 
 " If I may judge from what I have seen of you," said Nicholas, "you 
 must be a valuable member of the company." 
 
 " Oh ! " replied Mr. Folair, beating his slippers together, to knock 
 the dust out ; " I can come it pretty well — nobody better perhaps in 
 my own line — but having such business as one gets here, is like putting 
 lead on one's feet instead of chalk, and dancing in fetters without the 
 credit of it. Holloa, old fellow, how are you ? " 
 
 The gentleman addressed in these latter words was a dark-com- 
 plexioned man, inclining indeed to sallow, with long thick black hair, 
 and very evident indications (although he was close shaved) of a stiff 
 beard, and whiskers of the same deep shade. His age did not appear 
 to exceed thirty, although many at first sight would have considered 
 him much older, as his face was long and very pale, from the constant 
 application of stage paint. He wore a checked shirt, an old green coat 
 with new gilt buttons, a neckerchief of broad red and green stripes, 
 and full blue trousers ; he carried too a common ash walking-stick, 
 apparently more for show than use, as he flourished it about with the 
 hooked end downwards, except when he raised it for a few seconds, 
 and throwing himself into a fencing attitude, made a pass or two at 
 the side-scenes, or at any other object, animate or inanimate, that 
 chanced to afibrd him a pretty good mark at the moment. 
 
 " Well, Tommy," said this gentleman, making a thrust at his friend, 
 who parried it dexterously with his slipper, " what's the news?" 
 
 " A new appearance, that's all," replied Mr. Folair, looking at 
 Nicholas. 
 
 " Do the honours. Tommy, do the honours," said the other gentleman, 
 tapping him reproachfully on the crown of the liat with his stick. 
 
220 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 " This is Mr. Lenville, who does our first tragedy, Mr. Johnson," 
 said the pantomimist. 
 
 " Except when old bricks and mortar takes it into his head to do it 
 himself, you should add, Tommy," remarked Mr. Lenville. '' You 
 know who bricks and mortar is, I suppose, Sir ?" 
 
 " I do not, indeed," replied Nicholas. 
 
 " We call Crummies that, because his style of acting is rather in the 
 heavy and ponderous way," said Mr. Lenville. " I mustn't be cracking 
 jokes though, for I've got a part of twelve lengths here which I must 
 be up in to-morrow night, and I haven't had time to look at it yet ; 
 I'm a confounded quick study, that's one comfort." 
 
 Consoling himself with this reflection, Mr. Lenville drew from his 
 coat-pocket a greasy and crumpled manuscript, and having made 
 another pass at his friend proceeded to walk to and fro, conning it to 
 himself, and indulging occasionally in such appropriate action as his 
 imagination and the text suggested. 
 
 A pretty general muster of the company had by this time taken 
 place ; for besides Mr. Lenville and his friend Tommy, there was 
 present a slim young gentleman with weak eyes, who played the low- 
 spirited lovers and sang tenor songs, and who had come arm-in-arm 
 with the comic countryman — a man with a turned-up nose, large 
 mouth, broad face, and staring eyes. Making himself very amiable to 
 the infant phenomenon, was an inebriated elderly gentleman in the last 
 depths of shabbiness, who played the calm and virtuous old men ; and 
 paying especial court to Mrs. Crummies was another elderly gentleman, 
 a shade more respectable, who played the irascible old men — those 
 funny fellows who have nephews in the army, and perpetually run about 
 with thick sticks to compel them to marry heiresses. Besides these, 
 there was a roving-looking person in a rough great-coat, who strode up 
 and down in front of the lamps, flourishing a dress cane, and rattling 
 away in an undertone with great vivacity for the amusement of an ideal 
 audience. He was not quite so young as he had been, and his figure 
 was rather running to seed ; but there was an air of exaggerated gen- 
 tility about him, which bespoke the hero of swaggering comedy. There 
 was also a little group of three or four young men, with lantern jaws 
 and thick eyebrows, who were conversing in one corner ; but they 
 seemed to be of secondary importance, and laughed and talked together 
 without attracting any very marked attention. 
 
 The ladies were gathered in a little knot by themselves round the 
 rickety table before mentioned. There was Miss Snevellicci, who 
 could do anything from a medley dance to Lady Macbeth, and always 
 played some part in blue silk knee-smalls at her benefit, glancing from 
 the depths of her coal-scuttle straw bonnet at Nicholas, and aftecting to be 
 absorbed in the recital of a diverting story to her friend Miss Ledrook, 
 who had brought her work, and was making up a ruft* in the most 
 natural manner possible. There was Miss Belvawney, who seldom 
 aspired to speaking parts, and usually went on as a page in white 
 silk hose, to stand with one leg bent and contemplate the audience, or 
 to go in and out after Mr. Crummies in stately tragedy, twisting up the 
 ringlets of the beautiful Miss Bravassa, who had once had her like- 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 221 
 
 ness taken " in character " by an engraver's apprentice, whereof im- 
 pressions were hung up for sale in the pastry-cook's window, and the 
 gxeen-grocer's, and at the circulating library, and the box-office, when- 
 ever the announce bills came out for her annual night. There was 
 Mrs. Lenville in a very limp bonnet and veil, decidedly in that way in 
 which she would wish to be if she truly loved Mr. Lenville ; there was 
 Miss Gazingi, with an imitation ermine boa tied in a loose knot round 
 her neck, flogging Mr. Crummies, junior, with both ends in fun. Lastly, 
 there was Mrs. Grudden in a brown cloth pelisse and a beaver bonnet, 
 who assisted Mrs. Crummies in her domestic affairs, and took money at 
 the doors, and dressed the ladies, and swept the house, and held the 
 prompt book when everybody else was on for the last scene, and 
 acted any kind of part on any emergency without ever learning it, and 
 was put down in the bills under any name or names whatever that 
 occurred to Mr. Crummies as looking well in print. 
 
 Mr. Folair having obligingly confided these particulars to Nicholas, 
 left him to mingle with his fellows ; the work of personal introduction 
 was completed by Mr. Vincent Crummleis, who publicly heralded the 
 new actor as a prodigy of genius and learning. 
 
 " I beg your pardon," said Miss Snevellicci, sidling towards Nicholas, 
 " but did you ever play at Canterbury ? " 
 
 " I never did," replied Nicholas. 
 
 " I recollect meeting a gentleman at Canterbury," said Miss Snevel- 
 licci, " only for a few moments, for I was leaving the company as he 
 joined it, so like you that I felt almost certain it was the same." 
 
 " I see you now for the first time," rejoined Nicholas with all due 
 gallantry. " I am sure I never saw you before ; I couldn't have for- 
 gotten it." 
 
 " Oh, I'm sure — it's very flattering of you to say so," retorted Miss 
 Snevellicci with a graceful bend. " Now I look at you again, I see 
 that the gentleman at Canterbury hadn't the same eyes as you — 
 you'll think me very foolish for taking notice of such things, won't 
 you ? " 
 
 " Not at all," said Nicholas. " How can I feel otherwise than 
 flattered by your notice in any way ?" 
 
 " Oh ! you men, you are such vain creatures !" cried Miss Snevellicci. 
 Whereupon she became charmingly confused, and, pulling out her 
 pocket handkerchief from a faded pink silk reticule with a gilt clasp, 
 called to Miss Ledrook — 
 
 " Led, my dear," said Miss Snevellicci. 
 
 " Well, what is the matter?" said Miss Ledrook. 
 
 " It's not the same." 
 
 " Not the same what ?" 
 
 " Canterbury — you know what I mean. Come here, I want to 
 speak to you." 
 
 But Miss Ledrook wouldn't come to Miss Snevellicci, so Miss 
 .Snevellicci was obhged to go to Miss Ledrook, which she did in a 
 skipping manner that was quite fascinating, and Miss Ledrook evi- 
 dently joked Miss Snevellicci about being struck with Nicholas, for, 
 after some playful whispering, Miss Snevellicci hit Miss Ledrook very 
 
'222 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 hard on the backs of her hands, and retu'ed up, in a state of pleasing 
 confusion. 
 
 "Ladies and gentlemen," said Mr. Vincent Crummies, who had 
 been writing on a piece of paper, " we'll call the Mortal Struggle to- 
 morrow at ten ; everybody for the procession. Intrigue, and Ways 
 and Means, you're all up in, so we shall only want one rehearsal. 
 Everybody at ten, if you please." 
 
 " Everybody at ten," repeated Mrs. Grudden, looking about her. 
 
 "On Monday morning we shall read a new piece," said Mr. 
 Crummies ; " the name's not known yet, but everybody will have a 
 good part. Mr. Johnson will take care of that." 
 
 " Hallo ! " said Nicholas, starting, " I " 
 
 " On Monday morning," repeated Mr. Crummies, raising his voice, 
 to drown the unfortunate Mr. Johnson's remonstrance ; " that'll do, 
 ladies and gentlemen." 
 
 The ladies and gentlemen required no second notice to quit, and in a 
 few minutes the theatre was deserted, save by the Crummies' family, 
 Nicholas, and Smike. 
 
 " Upon my word," said Nicholas, taking the manager aside, "I don't 
 , think I can be ready by Monday." 
 
 " Pooh, pooh," replied Mr. Crummies. 
 
 " But really I can't," returned Nicholas ; " my invention is not 
 accustomed to these demands, or possibly I might produce " 
 
 " Invention ! what the devil's that got to do with it ! " cried the 
 manager, hastily. 
 
 " Everything, my dear Sir." 
 
 " Nothing, my dear Sir," retorted the manager, with: evident impa- 
 tience. " Do you understand French ? " 
 
 " Perfectly well." 
 
 " Very good," said the manager, opening the table-drawer, and 
 giving a roll of paper from it to Nicholas. " There, just turn that 
 into English, and put your name on the title-page. Damn me," said 
 Mr. Crummies, angrily, " if I haven't often said that I wouldn't have 
 a man or woman in my company that wasn't master of the language, 
 so that they might learn it from the original, and play it in English, 
 and by that means save all this trouble and expense." 
 
 Nicholas smiled, and pocketed the play. 
 . " What are you going to do about your lodgings ? " said Mr. 
 Crummies. 
 
 Nicholas could not help thinking that for the first week it would be 
 an uncommon convenience to have a turn-up bedstead in tlie 
 pit, but he merely remarked that he had not turned his tlioughts 
 that way. 
 
 " Come home with me then," said Mr. Cnimmlei=?, " and my boys 
 shall go with you after dinner, and show you the most likely place." 
 
 The offer was not to be refused : Nicholas and Mr. Crummies gave 
 Mrs. Crummies an arm each, and walked up the street in stately array. 
 Smike, the boys, and the phenomenon, went home by a shorter cut, 
 and Mrs. Grudden remained behind to take some cold Irish stew and 
 a pint of porter in the box-office. 
 
I 
 
 NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 223 
 
 Mrs. Crummies trod the pavement as if she were going to immediate 
 execution with an animating consciousness of innocence and that heroic 
 fortitude which- virtue alone inspires. Mr. Crummies, on the other 
 hand, assumed the look and gait of a hardened despot ; but they both 
 attracted some notice from many of the passers-by, and when they 
 heard a whisper of " Mr. and Mrs. Crummies," or saw a little boy run 
 back to stare them in the face, the severe expression of their counte- 
 nances relaxed, for they felt it was popularity. 
 
 Mr. Crummies lived in Saint Thomas's Street, at the house of one 
 Bulph, a pilot, who sported a boat-green door, with window-frames 
 oi the same colour, and had the little finger of a drowned man on his 
 parlour mantel-shelf, with other maritime and natural curiosities. He 
 displayed also a brass knocker, a brass plate, and a brass bell-handle, 
 all very bright and shining ; and had a mast, with a vane on the top 
 of it, in his back yard. 
 
 " You are welcome," said Mrs. Crummies, turning round to Xicholas 
 when they reached the bow-windowed front room on the first floor. 
 
 Nicholas bowed his acknowledgments, and was unfeignedly glad to 
 see the cloth laid. 
 
 " We have but a shoulder of mutton with onion sauce," said Mrs. 
 Crummies, in the same charnel-house voice ; " but such as our dinner 
 is, we beg you to partake of it." 
 
 " You are very good," replied Nicholas, " I shall do it ample 
 justice." 
 
 " Vincent," said Mrs. Crummies, " what is the hour ? " 
 
 " Five minutes past dinner-time," said Mr. Crummies. 
 
 Mrs. Crummies rang the bell. " Let the mutton and onion sauce 
 appear." 
 
 The slave who attended upon Mr. Bulph's lodgers disappeared, and 
 after a short interval re-appeared with the festive banquet. Nicholas 
 and^the" infant phenomenon opposed each other at the pembroke-table, 
 and Smike and the master Crummleses dined on the sofa bedstead. 
 
 " Are they very theatrical people here ? " asked Nicholas. 
 
 " No," replied Mr. Crummies, shaking his head, " far from it — far 
 from it." 
 
 " I pity them," observed Mrs. Crummies. 
 
 " So do I," said Nicholas ; " if they have no relish for theatrical 
 entertainments, properly conducted." 
 
 " Then they have none. Sir," rejoined Mr. Crummies. " To the 
 infant's benefit, last year, on which occasion she repeated three of her 
 most popular characters, and also appeared in the Fairy Porcupine, as 
 originally performed by her, there was a house of no more than four 
 pound twelve." 
 
 " Is it possible ? " cried Nicholas. 
 
 " And two pound of that was trust, pa," said the phenomenon. 
 
 " And two pound of that was trust," repeated Mr. Crummies. " Mrs. 
 Crummies herself has played to mere handfuls." 
 
 " But they are always a taking audience, Vincent," said the ma- 
 nager's wife. 
 
224 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 " Most audiences are, when they have good acting — ^real good actin®" 
 — the real thing," replied Mr. Crummies, forcibly. 
 
 " Do you give lessons, ma'am ? " inquired Nicholas. 
 
 " I do," said Mrs. Crummies. 
 
 '' There is no teaching here, I suppose ? " 
 
 " There has been," said Mrs. Crummies. " I have received pupils 
 here. I imparted tuition to the daughter of a dealer in ships' provi- 
 vision ; but it afterwards appeared that she was insane when she first 
 came to me. It was very extraordinary that she should come, under 
 such circumstances." 
 
 Not feeling quite so sure of that, Nicholas thought it best to hold his 
 peace. 
 
 " Let me see," said the manager cogitating after dinner. " Would 
 you like some nice little part with the infant ? " 
 
 " You are very good," replied Nicholas hastily ; " but I think per- 
 haps it would be better if I had somebody of my own size at first, in 
 case I should turn out awkward. I should feel more at home perhaps." 
 
 " True," said the manager. " Perhaps you would, and you could 
 play up to the infant in time you know." 
 
 " Certainly," replied Nicholas : devoutly hoping that it would be a 
 very long time before he was honoured with this distinction. 
 
 " Then I'll tell you what we'll do," said Mr. Crummies. " You shall 
 study Romeo when you've done that piece — don't forget to throw the 
 pump and tubs in by-the-bye — Juliet Miss Snevellicci, old Grudden 
 the nurse. — Yes, that'll do very well. Rover too ; — you might get up 
 Rover while you were about it, and Cassio, and Jeremy Diddler. You 
 can easily knock them off; one part helps the other so much. Here 
 they are, cues and all." 
 
 With these hasty general directions Mr. Crummies thrust a number 
 of little books into the faltering hands of Nicholas, and bidding his 
 eldest son go with him and show him where lodgings were to be had, 
 shook him by the hand and wished him good night. 
 
 There is no lack of comfortable furnished apartments in Portsmouth, 
 and no dijQ&culty in finding some that are proportionate to very slender 
 finances ; but the former were too good, and the latter too bad, and 
 they went into so many houses, and came out unsuited, that Nicholas 
 seriously began to think he should be obliged to ask permission to 
 spend the night in the theatre, after all. 
 
 Eventually, however, they stumbled upon two small rooms up three 
 pair of stairs, or rather two pair and a ladder, at a tobacconist's shop, 
 on the Common Hard, a dirty street leading down to the dockyard. 
 These Nicholas engaged, only too happy to have escaped any request for 
 payment of a week's rent beforehand. 
 
 " There, lay down our personal property, Smike," he said, after show- 
 ing young Crummies down stairs. " We have fallen upon strange 
 times, and God only knows the end of them ; but I am tired with the 
 events of these three days, and will postpone reflection till to-morrow 
 —if I can." 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 225 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 OP THE GREAT BESPKAK FOR MISS SNEVELLICCI, AND THE FIRST 
 APPEARANCE OF NICHOLAS UPON ANY STAGE. 
 
 Nicholas was up betimes in the morning; but he had scarcely 
 begun to dress, notwithstanding, when he heard footsteps ascending 
 the stairs, and was presently saluted by the voices of Mr. Folair the 
 pantomimist, and Mr. Lenville, the tragedian. 
 
 " House, house, house!" cried Mr. Folair. 
 
 " What, ho ! within there !" said Mr. Lenville, in a deep voice. 
 
 Confound these fellows ! thought Nicholas ; they have come to 
 breakfast, I suppose. " I'll open the door directly, if you'll wait au 
 instant." 
 
 The gentlemen entreated him not to hurry himself; and to beguile 
 the interval, had a fencing bout with their walking-sticks on the very 
 small landing-place, to the unspeakable discomposure of all the other 
 lodgers down stairs. 
 
 *' Here, come in," said Nicholas, when he had completed his toilet. 
 " In the name of all that's horrible, don't make that noise outside." 
 
 " An uncommon snug little box this," said Mr. Lenville, stepping 
 into the front room, and takinor his hat off before he could oet in at all. 
 
 -r% ' ' y 
 
 ''Pernicious snug. 
 
 " For a man at all particular in such matters it might be a trifle 
 too snug," said Nicholas; "for, although it is undoubtedly a great con- 
 venience to be able to reach anything you want from the ceiling or 
 .the floor, or either side of the room, without having to move from 
 your chair, still these advantages can only be had in an apartment of 
 the most limited size." 
 
 " It isn't a bit too confined for a single man," returned Mr. Lenville. 
 " That reminds me, — my wife, Mr. Johnson — I hope she'll have 
 some good part in this piece of yours?" 
 
 " I glanced at the French copy last night," said Nicholas. " It 
 looks very good, I think." 
 
 " What do you mean to do for me, old fellow ?" asked Mr. Lenville, 
 poking the struggling fire with his walking-stick, and afterwards 
 wiping it on the skirt of his coat. " Anything in the gruff" and 
 grumble way ? " 
 
 " You turn your wife and child out of doors," said Nicholas ; " and 
 in a fit of rage and jealousy stab your eldest son in the library." 
 
 " Do I though ! " exclaimed Mr. Lenville. "That's very good business." 
 
 " After which," said Nicholas, " you are troubled with remorse till 
 the last act, and then you make up your mind to destroy yourself. 
 But just as you are raising the pistol to your head, a clock strikes — 
 ten." 
 
 " I see," cried Mr. Lenville. " Very good." 
 
S26 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 " You pause," said Nicholas; "you recollect to have heard a clock 
 strike ten in your infancy. The pistol falls from your hand — you are 
 overcome — you burst into tears, and become a virtuous and exemplary 
 character for ever afterwards." 
 
 "Capital!" said Mr. Lenville: "that's a sure card, a sure card. 
 Get the curtain down with a touch of nature like that, and it '11 be a 
 triumphant success." 
 
 "Is there anything good for me?" inquired Mr. Folair, anxiously. 
 
 " Let me see," said Nicholas. " You play the faithful and attached 
 servant ; you are turned out of doors with the wife and child." 
 
 " Always coupled with that infernal phenomenon," sighed Mr. 
 Folair: " and we go into poor lodgings, where 1 won't take any wages, 
 and talk sentiment, I suppose ? " 
 
 " Why — yes," replied Nicholas; "that is the course of the piece." 
 
 " I must have a dance of some kind, you know," said Mr. Folair. 
 " You'll have to introduce one for the phenomenon, so you'd better 
 make it a pas de deux^ and save time." 
 
 " There's nothing easier than that," said Mr. Lenville, observing the 
 disturbed looks of the young dramatist. 
 
 " Upon my word I don't see how it's to be done," rejoined NicholaSi 
 
 " Why, isn't it obvious?" reasoned Mr. Lenville. " Gadzooks, who 
 can help seeing the way to do it? — you astonish me! You get 
 the distressed lady, and the little child, and the attached servant, into 
 the poor lodgings, don't you ? — Well, look here. The distressed lady 
 sinks into a chair, and buries her face in her pocket-handkerchief— 
 'What makes you weep, mama?' says the child. 'Don't weep, 
 mama, or you'll make me weep too!' — 'And me!' says the faithful 
 servant, rubbing his eyes with his arm. ' What can we do to raise your 
 Bpirits, dear mama?' says the little child. 'Aye, what can we do?' 
 says the faithful servant. 'Oh, Pierre!' says the distressed lady; 
 * Would that 1/ could shake off these painful thoughts.' — ' Try, ma'am, 
 try,' says the faithful servant; 'rouse yourself, ma'am; be amused.' 
 — ' I will,' says the lady, ' I will learn to suffer with fortitude. Do 
 you remember that dance, my honest friend, which, in happier days, 
 you practised with this sweet angel ? It never failed to calm my 
 spirits then. Oli ! let me see it once again before I die ! ' — There it is — 
 cue for the band, before I die^ — and off they go. That's the regular 
 thing; isn't it. Tommy?" 
 
 " That's it," replied Mr. Folair. " The distressed lady, overpowered 
 by old recollections, faints at the end of the dance, and you close in 
 with a picture." 
 
 Profiting by these and other lessons, which were the result of the 
 personal experience of the two actors, Nicholas willingly gave them the 
 best breakfast he could, and when he at length got rid of them applied 
 himself to his task, by no means displeased to find that it was so 
 much easier than he had at first su])posed. He worked very hard all 
 day, and did not leave his room until the evening, when he went down 
 to the theatre, whither Smike had repaired before him to go on with 
 another gentleman as a general rebellion. 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 227 
 
 Here all the people were so much changed that he scarcely knew 
 them. False hair, false colour, false calves, false muscles — they had 
 become different beings. Mr. Lcnville was a blooming warrior of most 
 exquisite proportions ; Mr. Crummies, his large face shaded by a pro- 
 fusion of black hair, a Highland outlaw of most majestic bearing; one 
 of the old gentlemen a gaoler, and the other a venerable patriarch ; the 
 comic countryman, a fighting-man of great valour, relieved by a touch 
 of humour; each of the master Crummleses a prince in his own right; 
 and the low-spirited lover a desponding captive. There was a gorgeous 
 banquet ready spread for the third act, consisting of two pasteboard 
 vases, one plate of biscuits, a black bottle, and a vinegar cruet ; and, 
 in shoi-t, everything was on a scale of the utmost splendour and 
 preparation. 
 
 Nicholas was standing with his back to the curtain, now contem- 
 plating the first scene, which was a Gothic archway, about two feet 
 shorter than Mr. Crummies, through which that gentleman was to 
 make his first entrance, and now listening to a couple of people who were 
 cracking nuts in the gallery, wondering whether they made the whole 
 audience, when the manager himself walked familiarly up and accosted 
 him. 
 
 " Been in front to-night ?" said Mr. Crummies. 
 
 "No," replied Nicholas, "not yet. I am going to see the play." 
 
 " We've had a pretty good Let," said Mr. Crummies. " Four front 
 places in the centre, and the whole of the stage-box." ,^. 
 
 " Oh, indeed ! " said Nicholas ; " a family, I suppose ? " 
 
 " Yes," replied Mr. Crummies, " yes. It's an affecting thing. There 
 are six children, and they never come unless the phenonfeiion plays." 
 
 It would have been difficult for any party, family or otherwise, to 
 have visited the theatre on a night when the phenomenon did not play, 
 inasmuch as she always sustained one, and not uncommonly two or 
 three, characters every night ; but Nicholas, sympathising with the 
 feelings of a father, refrained from hinting at this trifling circumstance, 
 and Mr. Crummies continued to talk uninterrujjted by him. 
 
 " Six," said that gentleman ; " Pa and Ma eight, aunt nine, gover- 
 ness ten, grandfather and grandmother twelve. Then there's the 
 footman, who stands outside, with a bag of oranges and a jug of toast- 
 and- water, and sees the play for nothing through the little pane of 
 glass in the box -door — it's cheap at a guinea ; they gain by taking 
 a box." 
 
 " I wonder you allow so many," observed Nicholas. 
 
 " There's no help for it," replied Mr. Crummies ; " it's always ex- 
 pected in the country. If there are six children, six people come to 
 hold them in their laps. A family-box carries double always. Ring 
 in the orchestra, Grudden." 
 
 That useful lady did as she was requested, and shortly afterwards 
 the tuning of three fiddles was heard. Which process having been 
 protracted as long as it was supposed that the patience of the audience 
 could possibly bear it, was put a stop to by another jerk of the bell, 
 
 q2 
 
ti2Q LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 which, being the signal to begin in earnest, set the orchestra playing a 
 variety of popular airs, witli involuntary variations. 
 
 If Nicliolas liad been astonislied at the alteration for the better 
 wliich the gentlemen displayed, the transformation of the ladies was 
 still more extraordinary. When, from a snug corner of the manager's 
 box, he beheld Miss Snevellicci in all the glories of wliite muslin with 
 a gold hem, and Mrs. Crummies in all the dignity of the outlaw's 
 wife, and Miss Bravassa in all the sweetness of Miss Snevellicci's con- 
 fidential friend, and Miss I^elvawney in the white silks of a page 
 doing duty everywhere and swearing to live and die in tlie service of 
 everybody, he could scarcely contain his admiration, which testified 
 itself in great applause, and the closest possible attention to the busi- 
 ness of the scene. The plot was most interesting. It belonged to no 
 particular age, people, or country, and was perhaps the more delightful 
 on that jiccoun^", as nobody's previous information could afford the 
 remotest glimmering of what w^ould ever come of it. An outlaw had 
 been very successful in doing sometliing somewliere, and came home in 
 triumph, to the sound of shouts and fiddles, to greet his wife — a lady of 
 masculine mind, who talked a good deal about her father's bones, which 
 it seemed were unburied, though whether from a peculiar taste on the 
 part of the old gentleman himself, or the rey)rehensible neglect of his 
 relations, did not appcjar. This outlaw's wife was somehow or other 
 mixed up wuth a patriarch, living in a castle a long way off, and this 
 patriarch was the father of several of the characters, but he didn't 
 exactly know which, and was uncertain whether he had brought up 
 the right ones in his castle, or the WTong ones, but rather inclined to 
 the latter opinion, and, being uneasy, relieved his mind with a banquet, 
 during which solemnity somebody in a cloak said " Beware !" which 
 somebody was known by nobody (except the audience) to be the 
 outlaw himself, who had come there for reasons unexplained, but 
 ])ossibly with an eye to the spoons. There was an agreeable little 
 surprise in the way of certain love passages between the desponding 
 captive and Miss Snevellicci, and the comic fighting-man and Miss 
 Bravassa; besides which, Mr. Lenville had several very tragic scenes 
 in the dark, while on throat-cutting ex})editions, which were all battled 
 by the skill and bravery of the comic fighting-man (who overheard 
 whatever was said all through the piece) and the intrepidity of Miss 
 Snevellicci, who adopted tiglits, and therein repaired to the prison of 
 her captive lover, with a small basket of refreshments and a dark 
 lantern. At last it came out that the patriarch was the man who had 
 treated the bones of the outlaw's father-in-law with so nnich disrespect, 
 for wliich cause and reason the outlaw's wife repaired to his castle to 
 kill him, and so got into a dark room, where, after a great deal of 
 gro])ing in the dark, eso ybody got hold of everybody else, and took 
 them for somebody besides, which occasioned a vast quantity of confu- 
 sion, with some ])istolling, loss of life, and torchlight; after which the 
 patriarch came forward, and observing, with a knowing look, that he 
 knew all about his children now, and would tell them when they got 
 inside, said that there could not be a more appropriate occasion for 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 229 
 
 marrying the young people than that, and therefore he joined their 
 hands, with the full consent of the indefatigable page, who (being the 
 only other person surviving) pointed with his cap into the clouds, and 
 his right hand to the ground ; thereby invoking a blessing and giving 
 the cue for the curtain to come down, which it did, amidst general 
 applause. 
 
 " "What did you think of that ?" asked Mr. Crummies, when 
 Nicholas went round to the stage again. Mr. Crummies was very red 
 and hot, for your outlaws are desperate fellows to shout. 
 
 "I think it was very capital, indeed," replied Nicholas; "Miss 
 Snevellicci in particular was uncommonly good." 
 
 " She's a genius," said Mr. Crummies ; " quite a genius, that girl. 
 By-the-bye, I've been thinking of bringing out that piece of yours on 
 her bespeak night." 
 
 " When?" asked Nicholas. 
 
 *' The night of her bespeak. Her benefit night, when her friends 
 and patrons bespeak the play," said Mr. Crummies. 
 
 " Oh ! I understand," replied Nicholas. 
 
 " You see," said Mr. Crummies, " it's sure to go on such an occasion, 
 and even if it should not work up quite as well as we expect, why it 
 will be her risk, you know, and not ours." 
 
 " Yours, you mean," said Nicholas. 
 
 *' I said mine, didn't I ? " returned Mr. Crummies. " Next Monday 
 week. What do you say now ? You'll have done it, and are sure to 
 be up in the lover's part long before that time." 
 
 " I don't know about ' long before,'" replied Nicholas ; " but &y that 
 time I think I can undertake to be ready." 
 
 " Very good," pursued Mr. Crummies, " then we '11 call that settled. 
 Now, I want to ask you something else. There's a little — what shall 
 I call it — a little canvassing takes place on these occasions." 
 
 " Among the patrons, I suppose ? " said Nicholas. 
 
 " Among the patrons ; and the fact is, that Snevellicci has had so 
 many bespeaks in this place, that she wants an attraction. She had a 
 bespeak when her mother-in-law died, and a bespeak when her uncle 
 died ; and Mrs. Crummies and myself have had bespeaks on the anni- 
 versary of the phenomenon's birthday and our wedding-day, and occa- 
 sions of that description, so that, in fact, there's some difficulty in 
 getting a good one. Now won't you help this poor girl, Mr. Johnson?" 
 said Crummies, sitting himself down on a drum, and taking a great 
 pinch of snuff as he looked him steadily in the face. 
 
 "How do you mean?" rejoined Nicholas. 
 
 " Don't you think you could spare half-an-hour to-morrow morning, 
 to call with her at the houses of one or two of the principal people?" 
 murmured the manager in a persuasive tone. 
 
 " Oh dear me," said Nicholas, with an air of very strong objection, 
 " I shouldn't like to do that." 
 
 " The infant will accompany her," said Mr. Crummies. " The 
 moment it was suggested to me, I gave permission for the infant to go. 
 There will not be the smallest impropriety — Miss Snevellicci, Sir, is the 
 
280 LIFE AND ADVEiVTURES OF 
 
 very soul of honour. It would be of material service — tlie gentleman 
 from London — author of the new piece — actor in the new piece — first 
 appearance on any boards — it w^ould lead to a great bespeak, Mr. 
 Johnson." 
 
 " I am very sorry to throw a damp upon the prospects of anybody, 
 and more especially a lady," replied Nicholas ; " but really I must 
 decidedly object to making one of the canvassing party." 
 
 "What does Mr. Johnson say, Vincent?" inquired a voice close to 
 his ear ; and, looking round, he found Mrs. Crummies and Miss Snevel- 
 Ucci herself standing behind him. 
 
 " He has some objection, my dear," replied Mr. Crummies, looking 
 at Nicholas. 
 
 " Objection !" exclaimed Mrs. Crummies. " Can it be possible ?" 
 
 " Oh, I hope not !" cried Miss Snevellicci. " You surely are not so 
 cruel — oh, dear me ! — Well, I — to think of that now, after all one's 
 looking forward to it." 
 
 " Mr. Johnson will not persist, my dear," said Mrs. Crummies. 
 "Think better of him than to suppose it. Gallantry, humanity, all 
 the best feelings of his nature, must be enlisted in this interesting cause." 
 
 " Which moves even a manager," said Mr. Crummies, smiling. 
 
 " And a manager's wife," added Mrs. Crummies, in her accustomed 
 tragedy tones. " Come, come, you will relent, I know you wilL" 
 
 " It is not in my nature," said Nicholas, moved by tliese appeals, " to 
 resist any entreaty, unless it is to do something positively wrong; and, 
 beyond a feeling of pride, I know nothing which should prevent my 
 doing this. I know nobody here either, and nobody knows me. So 
 be it then. I yield." 
 
 Miss Snevellicci was at once overwhelmed with blushes and expres- 
 sions of gratitude, of which latter commodity neither Mr. nor Mrs. 
 Crummies was by any means sparing. It was arranged that Nicholas 
 should call upon her at her lodgings at eleven next morning, and soon 
 afterwards they parted : he to return home to his authorship ; Miss 
 Snevellicci to dress for the after-piece ; and the disinterested manager 
 and his wife to discuss the probable gains of the forthcoming bespeak, 
 of which they were to have two-tliirds of the profits by solemn treaty 
 of agreement. 
 
 At the stipulated hour next morning, Nicholas repaired to the lodgings 
 of Miss Snevellicci, which were in a place called Lombard-street, at the 
 house of a tailor. A strong smell of ironing pervaded the little passage, 
 and the tailor's daughter, who opened the door, ap])eared in that flutter 
 of spirits which is so often attendant upon the periodical getting up of 
 a family's linen. 
 
 " Miss Snevellicci lives here, I believe ?" said Nicholas, when the doca: 
 was opened. 
 
 The tailor's daughter replied in tlie affirmative. 
 
 " Will you have the goodness to let her know that Mr. Johnson is 
 here?" said Nicholas. 
 
 " Oh, if you please, you're to come up stairs," replied the tailors 
 daughter, with a smile^ 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. ^t 
 
 Nicholas followed the young lady, and was shown into a small apart- 
 ment on the first floor, communicating witli a back room ; in which, as 
 he judged from a certain half-subdued clinking sound as of cups and 
 saucers, JMiss Snevellicci was then taking her breakfast in bed. 
 
 " You're to wait, if you please," said the tailor's daughter, after a 
 short period of absence, during which the clinking in the back room 
 had ceased, and been succeeded by whispering — " iShe won't be long." 
 
 As she spoke she pulled up the window-blind, and having by this 
 means (as she thought) diverted Mr. Johnson's attention from the room 
 to the street, caught up some articles which were airing on the fender, 
 and had very much the appearance of stockings, and darted off. 
 
 As there were not many objects of interest outside the window, 
 Nicholas looked about the room with more curiosity than he might 
 otherwise have bestowed upon it. On the sofa lay an old guitar, several 
 thumbed pieces of music, and a scattered litter of curl-papers : together 
 with a confused heap of play-bills, and a pair of soiled white satin shoes 
 with large blue rosettes. Hanging over the back of a chair was a half- 
 finished muslin apron with little pockets ornamented with red ribbons, 
 such as waiting-women wear on the stage, and by consequence are never 
 seen with anywhere else. In one corner stood the diminutive pair of 
 top-boots in which Miss Snevellicci was accustomed to enact the little 
 jockey, and, folded on a chair hard by, was a small parcel, which bore 
 a very suspicious resemblance to the companion smalls. 
 
 But the most interesting object of all, was perhaps the open scrap- 
 book, displayed in the midst of some theatrical duodecimos that were 
 strewn upon the table, and pasted into which scrap-book were various 
 critical notices of Miss Snevellicci's acting, extracted from different 
 provincial journals, together with one poetic address in her honour, 
 commencing — 
 
 Sing, God of Love, and tell me in \Yhat dearth 
 Thrice-gifted Snevklliccj came on earth, 
 To thrill us with her smile, her tear, her eye, 
 Sing, God of Love, and tell me quickly why. 
 
 Besides this effusion, there were innumerable complimentaiy allu- 
 sions, also extracted from newspapers, such as — " We observe from 
 an advertisement in another part of our paper of to-day, that the 
 charmirtg and highly-talented Miss Snevellicci takes her bentfit on 
 Wednesday, for which occasion she has put forth a bill of fare that 
 might kindle exhilaration in the breast of a misanthrope. In the 
 confidence that our fellow- townsmen have not lost that high apprecia- 
 tion of public ability and private worth, for which they have long 
 been so pre-eminently distinguished, we predict that this charming 
 actress will be greeted with a bumper." " To Correspondents. — J. S. 
 is misinformed when he supposes that the highly -gifted and beautiful 
 Miss Snevellicci, nightly captivating all hearts at our pretty and com- 
 modious little theatre, is not the same lady to wliom the young gentle- 
 man of immense fortune, residing within a hundred miles of the good 
 city of York, lately made honourable proposals. We have reason to 
 know that Miss Snevellicci is the lady who was implicated in that 
 
232 
 
 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 mysterious and romantic affair, and whose conduct on that occasion did 
 no less honour to her head and lieart, than do lier histrionic triumphs to 
 her brilliant genius." A most copious assortment of such paragraphs 
 as these, with long bills of benefits all ending with " Come Early," in 
 large capitals, formed the principal contents of jNIiss Snevellicci's scrap- 
 book. 
 
 Nicholas had read a great many of these scraps, and was absorbed in 
 a circumstantial and melancholy account of the train of events which 
 had led to Miss Snevellicci's spraining her ancle by slipping on a piece 
 of orange-peel flung by a monster in human form, (so the paper said,) 
 upon the stage at Winchester, — when that young lady herself, attired in 
 the coal-scuttle bonnet and walking-dress complete, tripped into the 
 room, with a thousand apologies for having detained him so long after 
 the appointed time. 
 
 " But really," said !Miss Snevellicci, " my darling Led, who lives 
 with me here, was taken so very ill in the night that I thought she 
 would have expired in my arms." 
 
 " Such a fate is almost to be envied," returned Nicholas, " but I am 
 very sorry to hear it nevertheless." 
 
 " What a creature you are to flatter ! " said Miss Snevellicci, buttoning 
 her glove in much confusion. 
 
 " If it be flattery to admire your charms and accomplishments," 
 rejoined Nicholas, laying his hand upon the scrap-book, " you have 
 better specimens of it here." 
 
 " Oh you cruel creature, to read such things as those. I'm almost 
 ashamed to look you in the face afterwards, positively I am," said Miss 
 Snevellicci, seizing the book and putting it away in a closet. " How 
 careless of Led ! How could she be so naughty ! " 
 
 " I thought you had kindly left it here, on puqiose for me to read," 
 said Nicholas. And really it did seem possible. 
 
 " I wouldn't have had you see it for the world ! " rejoined Miss 
 Snevellicci. " I never was so vexed — never. But she is such a careless 
 thing, there's no trusting her." 
 
 The conversation was here interrupted by the entrance of the 
 phenomenon, who had discreetly remained in the bedroom up to this 
 moment, and now presented herself with much grace and lightness, 
 bearing in her hand a very little green parasol with a broad fringe 
 border, and no handle. After a few words of course, they sallied into 
 the street. 
 
 The phenomenon was rather a troublesome companion, for first the 
 right sandal came down, and then the left, and tliese mischances being 
 repaired, one leg of the little white trowsers was discovered to be longer 
 than the other ; besides these accidents, the green parasol was dropped 
 down an iron grating, and only fished up again with great difficulty and 
 by dint of much exertion. However it was impossible to scold her, as 
 she was the manager's daughter, so Nicholas took it all in perfect good 
 humour, and walked on with Miss Snevellicci, arm in ann on one side, 
 and the offending infant on the other. 
 
 The first house to which they bent their steps, was situated in a 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 233 
 
 terrace of respectable appearance. Miss Siievelllcci's modest double- 
 knock was answered by a foot-boy, who, in reply to her inquiry 
 whether Mrs. Curdle was at home, opened his eyes very wide, grinned 
 very much, and said he didn't know, but he'd inquire. With this, he 
 showed them into a parlour where he kept them waiting, until the two 
 women-servants had repaired thither, under false pretences, to see the 
 play-actors, and having compared notes with them in the passage, and 
 joined in a vast quantity of whispering and giggling, he at length went 
 up stairs with Miss Snevellicci's name. 
 
 Now, Mrs. Curdle was supposed, by those who were best informed 
 on such points, to possess quite the London taste in matters relat- 
 ing to literature and the drama ; and as to Mr. Curdle, he had 
 written a pamphlet of sixty-four pages, post octavo, on the cha- 
 racter of the Nurse's deceased husband in Romeo and Juliet, with 
 an inquiry whether he really had been a " merry man " in his lifetime, 
 or whether it was merely his widow's aft'ectionate partiality that 
 induced her so to report him. He had likewise proved, that by 
 altering the received mode of punctuation, any one of Shakspeare's 
 plays could be made quite different, and the sense completely changed ; 
 it is needless to say, therefore, that he was a great critic, and a very 
 profound and most original thinker. 
 
 "• Well, Miss Snevellicci,"said Mrs. Curdle, entering the parlour, " and 
 how do ;i/ou do ? " 
 
 Miss 8nevellicci made a graceful obeisance, and hoped Mrs. Curdle 
 was well, as also Mr. Curdle, who at the same time appeared. Mrs. 
 Curdle was dressed in a morning wrapper, with a little cap stuck upon 
 the top of her head ; Mr. Curdle wore a loose robe on his back, and 
 his right fore-finger on his forehead after the portraits of Sterne, to 
 whom somebody or other had once said he bore a striking resemblance. 
 
 " I ventured to call for the purpose of asking whether you would 
 put your name to my bespeak, ma'am," said Miss Snevellicci, producing 
 documents. 
 
 " Oh ! I really don't know what to say," replied Mrs. Curdle. 
 " It's not as if the theatre was in its high and palmy days — you 
 needn't stand. Miss Snevellicci — the drama is gone, perfectly gone." 
 
 *' As an exquisite embodiment of the poet's visions, and a realisation 
 of human intellectuality, gilding with refulgent light our dreamy 
 moments, and laying open a new and magic world before the mental 
 eye, the drama is gone, perfectly gone," said Mr. Curdle. 
 
 " What man is there now living who can present before us all those 
 changing and prismatic colours with which the character of Hamlet is 
 invested ? " exclaimed Mrs. Curdle. 
 
 "What man indeed — upon the stage;" said Mr. Curdle, with a 
 small reservation in favour of himself. " Hamlet ! Pooh ! ridiculous ! 
 Hamlet is gone, perfectly gone." 
 
 Quite overcome by these dismal reflections, Mr. and Mrs. Curdle 
 sighed, and sat for some short time without speaking. At length the 
 lady, turning to Miss Snevellicci, inquired what play she proposed 
 to have. 
 
S9$ LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 " Quite a new one," said Miss Snevellicci, " of which this gentleman 
 is the author, and in wliich he plays ; being his first ajjpeaFance oa 
 any stage. Mr. Johnson is the gentleman's name." 
 
 " I hope you have preserved the unities, Sir?" said Mr. Curdle. 
 
 " The original piece is a French one," said Nicholas. " There is 
 abundance of incident, sprightly dialogue, strongly -marked cha- 
 racters — " 
 
 " — All imavailing without a strict observance of the unities. Sir,'* 
 returned Mr. Curdle. " The unities of the drama before everything." 
 
 " Might I ask you," said Nicholas, hesitating between the respect 
 he ought to assume, and his love of tlie whimsical, "might I ask you 
 what the unities arc ?" 
 
 Mr. Curdle coughed and considered. " The unities. Sir," he said, " are 
 a completeness — a kind of a universal dove-tailedness with regard to place 
 and time — a sort of a general oneness, if I may be allowed to use so 
 strong an expression. I take those to be the dramatic unities, so far 
 as I have been enabled to bestow attention upon them, and I have 
 read much upon the subject, and thouglit much. I find, running through 
 the performances of this child," said Mr. Curdle, turning to the pheno- 
 menon, " a unity of feeling, a breadth, a light and shade, a warmth of 
 colouring, a tone, a harmony, a glow, an artistical development of 
 original conceptions, which I look for in vain among older performers 
 — I don't know whether I make myself understood ? " 
 
 " Perfectly," replied Nicholas. 
 
 " Just so," said Mr. Curdle, pulling up his neckcloth. " That is 
 my definition of the unities of the drama." 
 
 Mrs. Curdle had sat listening to this lucid explanation with great 
 complacency, and it being finished, inquired what Mr. Curdle thought 
 about putting down tlieir names. 
 
 " I don't know, my dear ; upon my word I don't know," said Mr. 
 Curdle. " If we do, it must be distinctly understood that we do not 
 pledge ourselves to the quality of the performances. Let it go forth 
 to the world, that we do not give them the sanction of our names, but 
 that we confer the distinction merely upon Miss Snevellicci. That 
 being clearly stated, I take it to be, as it were, a duty, that we should 
 extend our patronage to a degraded stage even for the sake of tlie asso- 
 ciations with which it is entwined. Have you got two-and-sixpence 
 for half-a-crown. Miss Snevellicci ?" said Mr. Curdle, turning over 
 four of those pieces of money. 
 
 Miss Snevellicci felt in all the comers of the pink reticule, but there 
 was nothing in any of them. Nicholas murmured a jest about his 
 being an author, and thouglit it best not to go through the form of 
 feeling in his own pockets at all. 
 
 " Let me see," said Mr. Curdle ; " twice four's eight — four shillings 
 a-piece to the boxes, Miss Snevellicci, is exceedingly dear in the pre- 
 sent state of the drama — three half-crowns is seven-and-six ; we shall 
 not difi'er about sixpence, I suppose. Sixpence will not part us, Misa 
 Snevellicci ?" 
 
 Poor Miss Snevellicci took the three half-crowns with many smiles 
 
NICHOLAS IsICKLEBY. 235 
 
 and bends, and Mrs. Curdle, adding several supplementary directions 
 relative to keeping the places for them, and dusting the seat, and sending 
 two clean bills as soon as they came out, rang the bell as a signal for 
 breaking up the conference. 
 
 " Odd people those," said Nicholas, vvdien they got clear of the 
 house. 
 
 " I assure you," said Miss Snevellicci, taking his arm, " that I think 
 myself very lucky they did not owe all the money instead of being six- 
 pence short. Now, if you w^ere to succeed, they would give people to 
 understand that they had always patronised you ; and if you were to 
 fail, they would have been quite certain of that from the very 
 beginning." 
 
 The next house they visited they were in great glory, for there 
 resided the six children who were so enraptured witli the public actions 
 of the phenomenon, and who, being called down from the nursery to be 
 treated with a private view of that young lady, proceeded to poke their 
 fingers into her eyes, and tread upon her toes, and show her many 
 other little attentions peculiar to their time of life. 
 
 " I shall certainly persuade Mr. Borum to take a private box," said 
 the lady of the house, after a most gracious reception. " I shall only 
 take two of the children, and will make up the rest of the party, of 
 gentlemen — your admirers, IMiss Snevellicci. Augustus, you naughty 
 boy, leave the little girl alone." 
 
 This was addressed to a young gentleman who was pinching the 
 phenomenon behind, apparently with the view of ascertaining whether 
 she was real. 
 
 " I am sure you must be very tired," said the mama, turning to 
 Miss Snevellicci. '*■ I cannot think of allowing you to go without first 
 taking a glass of wine. Fie, Charlotte, I am ashamed of you. Miss 
 Lane, my dear, pray see to the children." 
 
 Miss Lane was the governess, and this entreaty was rendered neces- 
 sary by the abrupt behaviour of the youngest Miss Borum, who, having 
 filched the phenomenon's little green parasol, was now carrying it 
 bodily off, while the distracted infant looked helplessly on. 
 
 " I am sure, where you ever learnt to act as you do," said good- 
 natured Mrs. Borum, turning again to Miss Snevellicci, " I cannot 
 understand (Emma, don't stare so) ; laughing in one piece, and crying 
 in the next, and so natural in all — oh, dear ! " 
 
 " I am very happy to hear you express so favourable an opinion," 
 said Miss Snevellicci. " It's quite delightful to think you like it." 
 
 " Like it !" cried Mrs. Borum. " Who can help liking it ! I would 
 go to the play twice a week if I could : I dote upon it — only you're 
 too affecting sometimes. You do put me in such a state — into such fits 
 of crying ! Goodness gracious me. Miss Lane, how can you let them 
 torment that poor child so ?" 
 
 The phenomenon was really in a fair way of being torn limb from 
 limb, for two strong little boys, one holding on by each of her hands, 
 were dragging her in different directions as a trial of strength. How^- 
 ever, Miss Lane (who had herself been too much occupied ia contem- 
 
236 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 plating the grown-up actor?, to pay tlie necessary attention to these 
 proceedings) rescued the unhappy infant at this juncture, who, beino- 
 recruited with a glass of wine, was shortly afterwards taken away by 
 her friends, after sustaining no more serious damage than a flattening 
 of tlie pink gauze bonnet, and a rather extensive creasing of the white 
 frock and trowsers. 
 
 It was a trying morning, for there were a great many calls to make, 
 and everybody wanted a difterent thing ; some wanted tragedies, and 
 others comedies; some objected to dancing, some wanted scarcely 
 anything else. Some thought the comic singer decidedly low, and 
 others hoped he would have more to do than he usually had. Some 
 people wouldn't promise to go, because other people wouldn't promise to 
 go ; and other people wouldn't go at all, because other people went. 
 At length, and by little and little, omitting something in this place, 
 and adding something in that. Miss Snevellicci pledged herself to a bill 
 of fare which was comprehensive enough, if it had no other merit (it 
 included among other trifles, four pieces, divers songs, a few combats, 
 and several dances) ; and they returned home pretty well exhausted 
 with the business of the day. 
 
 Nicholas worked away at the piece, which was speedily put into 
 rehearsal, and then worked away at his own part, which he studied 
 with great perseverance and acted — as the whole company said — to 
 perfection. And at length the great day arrived. The crier was sent 
 round in the morning to proclaim the entertainments with sound of 
 bell in all the thoroughfares ; extra bills of three feet long by nine 
 inches wide, were dispersed in all directions, flung down all the areas, 
 thrust under all the knockers, and developed in all the shops ; they 
 were placarded on all the walls too, though not with complete success, 
 for an illiterate person having undertaken this oflice during the indis- 
 position of the regular bill-sticker, a part were posted sideways and 
 the remainder upside down. 
 
 At half-past Ave there was a rush of four people to the gallery-door; 
 at a quarter before six there were at least a dozen; at six o'clock the 
 kicks were terrific ; and when the elder mast(T Crummies opened the 
 door, he was obliged to run behind it for his life. Fifteen shillings were 
 taken by Mrs. Grudden in the first ten minutes. 
 
 Behind the scenes the same unwonted excitement prevailed. Miss 
 Snevellicci was in such a perspiration that the paint would scarcely 
 stay on her face. Mrs. Crummies was so nervous tliat she could hardly 
 remember her part. Miss Bravassa's ringlets came out of curl with 
 the lieat and anxiety; even Mr. Crummies himself kept peeping 
 through the hole in the curtain, and running back every now and then 
 to iinnounce that anotlier man had come into the pit. 
 
 At last the orchestra left ofl', and the curtain rose upon the new 
 piece. The first scene, in which there was nobody p.articular, passed ofl' 
 calmly enougli, but when Miss Snevellicci went on in the second, 
 accompanied by the phenomenon as child, what a roar of applause 
 l)roke out ! The people in the Borum box rose as one man, waving 
 their hats and handkerchiefs, and uttering shouts of '* bravo!" Mrs. 
 
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mmmm^ jn] p^ ^ , 
 
 ill 
 
 ff^/y 
 
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NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 237 
 
 Borum and the governess cast wreaths upon the stage, of which some 
 fluttered into the lamps, and one crowned the temples of a fat gentle- 
 man in the pit, who, looking eagerly towards the scene, remained 
 unconscious of the honour; the tailor and his family kicked at the 
 panels of the upper boxes till they threatened to come out altogether ; 
 the very ginger-beer boy remained transfixed in the centre of the house; 
 a young officer, supposed to entertain a passion for Miss Snevellicci, 
 stuck his glass in his eye as though to hide a tear. Again and again 
 Miss Snevellicci curtseyed lower and lower, and again and again the 
 applause came down louder and louder. At length when the pheno- 
 menon picked up one of the smoking wreaths and put it on sideways 
 over Miss Snevellicci' s eye, it reached its climax, and the play pro- 
 ceeded. 
 
 But when Nicholas came on for his crack scene with Mrs. Crummies, 
 what a clapping of hands there was ! When Mrs. Crummies (who was 
 his unworthy mother), sneered, and called him " presumptuous boy," 
 and he defied her, what a tumult of applause came on ! When he 
 quarrelled with the other gentleman about the young lady, and pro- 
 ducing a case of pistols, said, that if he was a gentleman, he would 
 fight him in that drawing-room, till the furniture was sprinkled with 
 the blood of one, if not of two — how boxes, ])it, and gallery joined in 
 one most vigorous cheer ! When he called his mother names, because 
 she wouldn't give up the young lady's property, and she relenting, 
 caused him to relent likewise, and fall down on one knee and ask her 
 blessing, how the ladies in the audience sobbed! When he was hid 
 behind the curtain in the dark, and the wicked relation poked a sharp 
 sword in every direction, save where his legs were plainly visible, what 
 a thrill of anxious fear ran through the house ! His air, his figure, his 
 walk, his look, everything he said or did, was the subject of com- 
 mendation. There was a round of applause every time he spoke. 
 And when at last, in the pump-and-tub scene, Mrs. Grudden lighted 
 the blue fire, and all the unemployed members of the company came 
 in, and tumbled down in various directions — not because that had 
 anything to do with the plot, but in order to finish oft" with a tableau 
 — the audience (who had by this time increased considerably) gave 
 vent to such a shout of enthusiasm, as had not been heard in those walls 
 for many and many a day. 
 
 In short, the success both of new piece and new actor was complete, 
 and when Miss Snevellicci was called for at the end of the play, Nicholas 
 led her on, and divided the applause. 
 
238 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 CONCERNING A YOUNG LADY PROM LONDON, WHO JOINS THE COMPANY, 
 AND AN ELDERLY ADMIRER WHO FOLLOWS IN HER TRAIN ; WITH 
 AN AFFECTING CEREMONY CONSEQUENT ON THEIR ARRIVAL. 
 
 The new piece being a decided hit, was annonnced for every evening 
 of perfomiance until further notice, and the evenings when the 
 theatre was closed, were reduced from three in the week to two* 
 Nor were these the only tokens of extraordinary success ; for on the 
 succeeding Saturday Nicholas received, by favour of the indefatigable 
 Mrs. Grudden, no less a sum than thirty shillings ; besides which sub- 
 stantial reward, he enjoyed considerable fame and honour, having a 
 presentation copy of Mr. Curdles pamphlet forwarded to the theatre, 
 with that gentleman's own autograph (in itself an inestimable treasure) 
 on the fly-leaf, accompanied with a note, containing many expressions 
 of approval, and an unsolicited assurance that Mr. Curdle would be 
 very happy to read Shakspeare to him for three hours every morning 
 before breakfast during his stay in the town. 
 
 "I've got another novelty, Johnson," said Mr. Crummies one morning 
 in great glee. 
 
 " AVhat's that ?" rejoined Nicholas. " The pony ?" 
 
 " No, no, we never come to the pony till everything else has failed," 
 said Mr. Crummies. " I don't think we shall come to the pony at all 
 this season. No, no, not the pony." 
 
 " A boy phenomenon, perhaps?" suggested Nicholas. 
 
 " There is only one phenomenon. Sir," replied Mr. Crummies impres- 
 sively, " and that's a girl." 
 
 " Very true," said Nicholas. " I beg your pardon. Then I don't 
 know what it is, I am sure." 
 
 " What should you say to a young lady from London ? " inquired 
 Mr. Crummies. " Miss So-and-so, of the Theatre Royal, Drury Lane ?" 
 
 " I should say she would look very well in the bills," said Nicholas. 
 
 " You're about right there," said Mr. Crummies ; " and if you had 
 said she would look very well upon the stage too, you wouldn't have 
 been far out. Look here ; what do you think of that ? " 
 
 With this inquiry Mr. Crummies severally unfolded a red poster, and 
 a blue poster, and a yellow poster, at the top of each of which public 
 notification was incsribed in enormous characters — " First appearance of 
 the unrivalled Miss Petowker, of the Theatre Royal, Drury Lane!" 
 
 " Dear me !" said Nicholas, " I know that lady." 
 
 " Then you are acquainted with as much talent as was ever com- 
 pressed into one young person's body," retorted ^Ir. C/nmimles, rolling 
 up the bills again ; " that is, talent of a certain sort — of a certain sort. 
 * The Blood Drinker,'" added Mr. Crummies with a prophetic sigh, 
 " * The Blood Drinker' will die with that girl ; and she's the only sylph 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 239 
 
 / ever saw who could stand upon one leg, and play the tambourine on 
 her other knee, like a sylph." 
 
 "When does she come down?" asked Nicholas. 
 
 " We expect her to-day," replied Mr. Crummies. " She is an old 
 friend of Mrs. Crummles's. Mrs. Crummies saw what she could do — 
 always knew it from the first. She taught her, indeed, nearly all she 
 knows. Mrs. Crummies was the original Blood Drinker." 
 
 " Was she, indeed ?" 
 
 " Yes. She was obliged to give it up though." 
 
 "Did it disagree with her?" asked Nicholas, smiling. 
 
 " Not so much with her, as with her audiences," replied Mr. Crummies. 
 " Nobody could stand it. It was too tremendous. You don't quite 
 know what Mrs. Crummies is, yet." 
 
 Nicholas ventured to insinuate that he thought he did. 
 
 " No, no, you don t," said Mr. Crummies; "you don't, indeed. / 
 don't, and that's a fact ; I don't think her country will till she is dead. 
 Some new proof of talent bursts from that astonishing woman every 
 year of her life. Look at her — mother of six children — three^ of 'em 
 alive, and all upon the stage!" 
 
 " Extraordinary ! " cried Nicholas. 
 
 "Ah! extraordinary indeed," rejoined Mr. Crummies, taking a com- 
 placent pinch of snuif, and shaking his head gravely. " I pledge you 
 my professional word I didn't even know she could dance till her last 
 benefit, and then she played Juliet and Helen MacgTcgor, and did the 
 skipping-rope hornpipe between the pieces. The very first time I saw 
 that admirable woman, Johnson," said Mr. Crummies, drawing a little 
 nearer, and speaking in the tone of confidential friendship, " she stood 
 upon her head on the butt-end of a spear, surrounded with blazing fire- 
 works." 
 
 " You astonish me !" said Nicholas. 
 
 " She astonished ine ! " returned Mr. Crummies, with a very serious 
 countenance. " Such grace, coupled with such dignity ! I adored her 
 from that moment." 
 
 The arrival of the gifted subject of these remarks put an abrupt ter- 
 mination to Mr. Crummles's eulogium, and almost immediately after- 
 wards. Master Percy Crummies entered with a letter, which had arrived 
 by the General Post, and was directed to his gracious mother ; at sight 
 of the superscription whereof, Mrs. Crummies exclaimed, "From 
 Henrietta Petowker, I do declare ! " and instantly became absorbed in 
 the contents. 
 
 «Is it ?" inquired Mr. Cnmimles, liesitating. 
 
 " Oh yes, it's all right," replied Mrs. Crummies, anticipating the 
 question. " What an excellent thing for her, to be sure !" 
 
 "It's the best thing altogether that I ever heard of, I think," said 
 Mr. Crummies ; and then Mr. Crummies, Mrs. Crummies, and Master 
 Percy Crummies all fell to laughing violently. Nicholas left them to 
 enjoy their mirth together, and walked to his lodgings, wondering very 
 much what mystery connected with Miss Petowker could provoke such 
 merriment, and pondering still more on the extreme surprise with which 
 
240 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 tliat lady would regard his sudden enlistment in a profession of which 
 she was such a distinguished and brilliant ornament. 
 
 But in this latter respect he was mistaken ; for — w hether Mr. Vincent 
 Crummies had paved the way, or Miss Petowker had some special reason 
 for treating him with even more than her usual amiability — their 
 meeting at the theatre next day was more like that of two dear friends 
 who had been inseparable from infancy, than a recognition passing 
 between a lady and gentleman who had only met some half-dozen times, 
 and then by mere chance. Nay, Miss Petowker even whispered that 
 she had wholly dropped the Kenwigses in her conversations with the 
 manager's family, and had represented herself as having encountered 
 Mr. Johnson in the very first and most fashionable circle^ ; and on 
 Nicholas receiving this intelligence w^ith unfeigned surprise, she added 
 with a sweet glance that she had a claim on his good-nature now, and 
 might tax it before long. 
 
 Nicholas had the honour of playing in a slight piece with Miss 
 Petowker that night, and could not but observe that the warmth of her 
 reception was mainly attributable to a most persevering umbrella in the 
 upper boxes ; he saw, too, that the enchanting actress cast many sweet 
 looks towards the quarter whence these sounds proceeded, and that 
 every time she did so the umbrella broke out afresh. Once he thought 
 that a peculiarly shaped hat in the same comer was not wholly unknown 
 to him, but being occupied with his share of the stage business he 
 bestowed no great attention upon this circumstance, and it had quite 
 vanished from his memory by the time he reached home. 
 
 He had just sat down to supper with Smike, when one of the people 
 of the house came outside the door, and announced that a gentleman 
 below stairs wished to speak to i\Ir. Johnson. 
 
 "' Well, if he does, you must tell him to come up, that's all I know," 
 replied Nicholas. *' One of our hungry brethren, I suppose, Smike." 
 
 His fellow-lodger looked at the cold meat, in silent calculation of the 
 quantity that would be left for dinner next day, and put back a slice 
 he had cut for himself, in order that the visitor's encroachments might 
 be less formidable in their effects. 
 
 " It is not anybody who has been here before," said Nicholas, " for 
 he is tumbling up every stair. Come in, come in. In the name of 
 wonder — Mr. Lilly vick ! " 
 
 It was, indeed, the collector of water-rates who, regarding Nicholas 
 with a fixed look and immoveable countenance, shook hands with most 
 portentous solemnity and sat himself down in a seat by the chimney- 
 corner. 
 
 " Why, when did you come here ?" asked Nicholas. 
 
 " This morning, Sir," replied Mr. Lillyvick. 
 
 " Oh ! I see ; then you were at the theatre to-night, and it was 
 your umb " 
 
 " This umbrella," said Mr. Inllyvick, producing a fat green cotton one 
 with a battered ferrule : " what did you think of that performance ?" 
 
 *' So far as I could judge, being on the stage," replied Nicholas, " I 
 thought it very agxeeable." 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 241 
 
 " Agreeable ! " cried the collector. " I mean to say, Sir, that it was 
 delicious." 
 
 Mr. Lillyvick bent forward to pronounce the last w^ord with greater 
 emphasis ; and having done so, drew himself up, and frowned and 
 nodded a great many times. 
 
 *'- 1 say, delicious," repeated Mr. Lillyvick. *' Absorbing, fairy-like, 
 toomultuous." And again Mr. Lillyvick drew himself up, and again 
 he frowned and nodded. 
 
 " Ah !" said Nicliolas, a little surprised at these symptoms of ecsta- 
 tic approbation. " Yes — she is a clever girl." 
 
 " She is a divinity," returned Mr. Lillyvick, giving a collector's dou- 
 ble knock on the ground with the umbrella before-mentioned. " I have 
 known divine actresses before now, Sir ; I used to collect — at least I 
 used to call for — and very often call for — the water-rate at the house 
 of a divine actress, who lived in my beat for upwards of four year, 
 but never — no, never, Sir — of all divine creatures, actresses or no 
 actresses, did I see a diviner one than is Henrietta Petowker." 
 
 Nicholas had much ado to prevent himself from laughing; not 
 trusting himself to speak, he merely nodded in accordance with Mr. 
 Lilly vick's nods, and remained silent. 
 
 " Let me speak a word with you in private," said Mr. Lillyvick. 
 
 Nicholas looked good-humouredly at Smike, who, taking the hint, 
 disappeared. 
 
 " A bachelor is a miserable wretch. Sir," said Mr. Lillyvick. 
 
 " Is he?" asked Nicholas. 
 
 " He is," rejoined the collector. " I have lived in the w^orld for nigh 
 sixty year, and I ought to know what it is." 
 
 " You ought to know, certainly," thought Nicholas; "but whether 
 you do or not, is another question." 
 
 " If a bachelor happens to have saved a little matter of money," said 
 Mr. Lillyvick, " his sisters and brothers, and nephews and nieces, 
 look to that money, and not to him ; even if by being a pubhc charac- 
 ter he is the head of the family, or as it may be the main from which 
 all the other little branches are turned on, they still wish him dead all 
 the while, and get low-spirited every time they see him looking in 
 good health, because they want to come into his little property. You 
 see that?" 
 
 " O, yes," replied Nicholas : " it's very true, no doubt." 
 
 "The great reason for not being maiTied," resumed Mr. Lillyvick, 
 " is the expense ; that's what's kept me off', or else — Lord!" said Mr. 
 Lillyvick, snapping his fingers, " I might have had fifty women." 
 
 " Fine women ?" asked Nicholas. 
 
 "Fine women. Sir!" replied the collector; "aye! not so fine as 
 Henrietta Petowker, for she is an uncommon specimen, but such women 
 as don't fall into every man's way, I can tell you that. Now suppose 
 a man can get a fortune m his wife instead of with her — eh ? " 
 
 " Why, then, he is a lucky fellow," replied Nicholas. 
 
 " That's what I say," retorted the collector, patting him benignantly 
 on the side of the head with his umbrella; "just what I say: Ilen- 
 
 R 
 
242 
 
 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 rietta Petowker, the talented Henrietta Petowker, has a fortune in her- 
 self, and I am goinp^ to ." 
 
 " To make her Mrs. Lillyviek ?" suggested Xieholas. 
 
 " No, !Sir, not to make her Mrs. Lillyviek," replied the collector. 
 "Actresses, Sir, always keep their maiden names, that's tlie regular 
 thing — but I'm going to marry her; and the day after to-morrow, too." 
 
 " I congratulate you. Sir," said Nicholas. 
 
 "Thank you, Sir," replied the collector, buttoning his waistcoat. 
 " I shall draw her salary, of course, and I hope after all that it's nearly 
 as cheap to keep two as it is to keep one ; that's a consolation." 
 
 "Surely you don't want any consolation at such a moment?" 
 observed Nicliolas. 
 
 " No," replied Mr. Lillyviek, shaking his head nervously : " no — 
 of course not." 
 
 " But how come you both here, if you're going to be married, Mr. 
 Lillyviek?" asked Nicholas. 
 
 " Why, that's what I came to explain to you," replied the collector 
 of water-rate. " The fact is, we have thought it best to keeji it secret 
 from the family." 
 
 "Family!" said Nicholas. " What family?" 
 
 " The Kenwigses of course," rejoined Mr. Lillyviek. " If my niece 
 and the children had known a word about it before I came away, 
 they'd have gone into fits at my fijet, and never have come out of 'em 
 till I took an oath not to marry anybody — or they'd have got out a 
 commission of lunacy, or some dreadful thing," said the collector, quite 
 trembling as he spoke. 
 
 " To be sure," said Nicholas. " Yes ; they would have been jealous, 
 no doubt." 
 
 " To prevent which," said Mr. Lillyviek, " Henrietta Petowker (it 
 was settled between us) should , come down here to her friends, the 
 CrummlesGS, under pretence of this engagement, and I should go down 
 to Guildford the day before, and join her on tlie coach there, which I 
 did, and we came down from Guildford yesterday together. Now, for 
 fear you should be writing to Mr. Noggs, and might say anything 
 about us, we have thought it best to let you into the secret. AVe shall 
 be married from the Cnimmleses' lodgings, and shall be delighted to see 
 you — either before church or at breakfast-time, which yoU like. It 
 won't be expensive, you know," said the collector, highly anxious to 
 prevent any misunderstanding on this point ; " just muffins and coftee, 
 with perhaps a shrimp or something of that sort for a relish, you 
 know." 
 
 " Yes, yes, I understand," replied Nicholas. " Oh, I shall be most 
 happy to come ; it will give me the greatest pleasure. Where's the 
 lady stopping — with Mrs. (.^rummies ? " 
 
 " Why, no," said the collector ; " they couldn't very well dispose of 
 her at night, and so she is staying with an acquaintance of hers, and 
 another young lady ; they both belong to the theatre." 
 
 "Miss Snevellicci, I suppose?" said Nicholas. 
 
 " Yes, that's the name." • 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 243 
 
 " And tliey'll be bridesmaids, I presume ? " said Nicholas. 
 " Why," said the collector, with a rueful face, " they will have four 
 bridesmaids ; I'm afraid they'll make it rather theatrical." 
 
 " Oh no, not at all," replied Nicholas, with an awkward attempt to 
 convert a laugh into a cough. " Who may the four be ? Miss 
 Snevellicci of course — Miss Ledrook — " 
 
 " The — the phenomenon," groaned the collector. 
 " Ha, ha !" cried Nicholas. " I beg your pardon, I don't know 
 wdiat I'm laughing at — yes, that'll be very pretty — the phenomenon — 
 who else ? " 
 
 " Some young woman or other," replied the collector, rising ; " some 
 other friend of Henrietta Petowker's. Well, you'll be careful not to 
 say anything about it, will you ? " 
 
 " You may safely depend upon me," replied Nicholas. " Won't you 
 take anything to eat or drink ?" 
 
 " No," said the collector ; " I haven't any appetite. I should think 
 it was a very pleasant life, the married one — eh ?" 
 *' I have not the least doubt of it," rejoined Nicholas. 
 " Yes," said the collector ; " certainly. Oh yes. No doubt. Good 
 night." 
 
 With these words, Mr. Lillyvick, whose manner had exhibited 
 through the whole of this interview a most extraordinary compound 
 of precipitation, hesitation, confidence and doubt; fondness, misgiving, 
 meanness, and self-importance, turned his back upon the room, and 
 left Nicholas to enjoy a laugh by himself if he felt so disposed. 
 
 Without stopping to enquire whether the intervening day appeared 
 to Nicholas to consist of the usual number of hours of the ordinary 
 length, it may be remarked that, to the parties more directly interested 
 in the forthcoming ceremony, it passed with great rapidity, insomuch 
 that when Miss Petowker awoke on the succeeding morning in the 
 chamber of Miss Snevellicci, she declared that nothing should ever per- 
 suade her that that really was the day which was to behold a change 
 in her condition. 
 
 *-' I never will believe it," said Miss Petowker ; " I cannot really. 
 It's of no use talking, I never can make up my mind to go through 
 with such a trial 1" 
 
 On hearing this. Miss Snevellicci and Miss Ledrook, who knew per- 
 fectly well that their fair friend's mind had been made up for three or 
 four years, at any period of which time she would have cheerfully 
 undergone the desperate trial now approaching if she could have found 
 imy eligible gentleman disposed for the venture, began to preach com- 
 fort and firmness, and to say how very proud she ought to feel that it 
 was in her power to confer lasting bliss on a deserving object, and how 
 necessary it was for the happiness of mankind in general that women 
 should possess fortitude and resignation on such occasions ; and that 
 although for their parts they held true happiness to consist in a single 
 life, which they would not willingly exchange — no, not for any 
 worldly consideration — still (thank God), if ever the time should come, 
 they hoped they knew their duty too well to repine, but would the 
 
 K 2 
 
244 LIFE JCSD ADVENTURES OP 
 
 rather submit with meekness and humih'ty of spirit to a fate for which 
 Providence had clearly designed them with a view to the contentment 
 and reward of their fellow-creatures. 
 
 " I might feel it was a great blow," said Miss Snevellicci, " to break 
 up old associations and what-do-you-callems of that kind, but I would 
 sTsbmit my dear, I would indeed." 
 
 " So would I," said Miss Ledrook ; " I would rather court the yoke 
 than shun it. I have broken hearts before now, and I'm very sorry 
 for it : for it's a terrible thing to reflect upon." 
 
 " It is indeed," said Miss Snevellicci. " Now Led, my dear, we 
 must positively get her ready, or we shall be too late, we shall indeed." 
 This pious reasoning, and perhaps the fear of being too late, sup- 
 ported the bride through the ceremony of robing, after which, strong 
 tea and brandy were administered in alternate doses as a means of 
 strengthening her feeble limbs and causing her to walk steadier. 
 ''How do you feel now, my love?" enquired Miss Snevellicci. 
 " Oh Lilly vick !" cried the bride — " If you knew what I am under- 
 going for you !" 
 
 " Of course he knows it, love, and will never forget it," said Miss 
 Ledrook. 
 
 " Do you think he w^on't ? " cried Miss Petowker, really showing 
 great capability for the stage. " Oh, do you think he won't ? Do you 
 think Lilly vick will always remember it-— always, always, always ? " 
 
 There is no knowing in what this burst of feeling might have 
 ended, if Miss Snevellicci had not at that mom« nt proclaimed the 
 arrival of the fly, which so astounded the bride that .-he shook ofi* divers 
 alarming symptoms which were coming on very strong, and running 
 to the glass adjusted her dress, and calmly declared that she was ready 
 for the sacrifice. 
 
 She was aecordingly supported into the coach, and there " kept 
 np" (as Miss Snevellicci said) with perpetual snifls of sal volatile and sips 
 of brandy and other gentle stimulants, until they reached the manager's 
 door, which was already opened by the two master Crummleses, 
 who wore white cockades, and were decorated with the choicest and 
 most resplendent waistcoats in the theatrical wardrobe. By the com- 
 bined exertions of these young gentlemen and the bridesmaids, assisted 
 by the coachman. Miss Petowker was at length supported in a condi- 
 tion of much exhaustion to the first floor, where she no sooner encoun- 
 tered the youthful bridegroom than she fainted with great decorum. 
 
 " Henrietta Petowker ! " said the collector ; " clieer up, my lovely 
 one." 
 
 Miss Petowker grasped the collector's hand, but emotion choked 
 her utterance. 
 
 " Is the sight of me so dreadful, Henrietta Petowker ? " said the 
 collector. 
 
 " Oh no, no, no," rejoined the bride ; " but all the friends — the 
 darling friends — of my youthful days — to leave them all — it is such a 
 shock ! " 
 
 AVith such expressions of sorrow, Miss Petowker went on to 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 245 
 
 enumerate the dear friends of her youthful days one by one, and to 
 call upon such of them as were present to come and embrace her. 
 This done, she remembered that Mrs. Crummies had been more than 
 a mother to her, and after that, that Mr. Crummies had been more 
 than a father to her, and after that, that the Master Crummleses and 
 Miss Ninetta Crummies had been more than brotliers and sisters to 
 her. These various remembrances being each accompanied with a 
 series of hugs, occupied a long time, and tiiey were obliged to drive to 
 church very fast, for fear they should be too late. 
 
 The procession consisted of two fiys; in the first of which were Miss 
 Bravassa (the fourth bridesmaid), Mrs. Crummies, the collector, and Mr, 
 Folair, who had been chosen as his second on the occasion. In the other 
 were the bride, Mr. Crummies, Miss Snevellicci, Miss Ledrook, and the 
 phenomenon. The costumes were beautiful. The bridesmaids were 
 quite covered with artificial flowers, and the phenomenon, in particular, 
 was rendered almost invisible by the portable arbour in which she 
 was enshrined. Miss Ledrook, who was of a romantic turn, wore in 
 her breast the miniature of some field-ofiicer unknown, wliich she had 
 purcliased, a great bargain, not very long before ; the other ladies dis- 
 played several dazzling articles of imitative jewellery, almost equal to 
 real ; and Mrs. Crummies came out in a stern and gloomy majesty, 
 which attracted the admiration of all beholders. 
 
 But, perhaps the appearance of Mr. Crummies was more striking 
 and appropriate tlian that of any member of the party. This gentle- 
 man, who personated the bride's father, had, in pursuance of a happy 
 and original conception, " made up " for the part by arraying himself 
 in a theatrical wig, of a style and pattern commonly known as a brown 
 George, and moreover assuming a snufi"- coloured suit, of the previous 
 century, with grey silk stockings, and buckles to his shoes. The 
 better to support his assumed character he had determined to be 
 greatly overcome, and, consequently, when they entered the churcli, 
 the sobs of the affectionate parent were so heart-rending that the pew- 
 opener suggested the propriety of his retiring to the vestry, and 
 comforting himself with a glass of water before the ceremony began. 
 
 The procession up the aisle was beautiful. The bride, with the four 
 bridesmaids, forming a group previously arranged and rehearsed ; the 
 collector, followed by his second, imitating his walk and gestures, to 
 the indescribable amusement of some theatrical friends in the gallery ; 
 Mr. Crummies, with an infirm and feeble gait ; Mrs. Crummies 
 advancing with that stage walk, which consists of a stride and a stop 
 alternately — it was the completest thing ever witnessed. The cere- 
 mony was very quickly disposed of, and all parties present having 
 signed the register (for.jvhich purpose, wlien it came to his turn, Mr. 
 Crummies carefully wiped and put on an immense pair of spectacles), 
 they went back to breakfiist in high spirits. And here they found 
 Nicholas awaiting their'j^rriva,!. ; ,l 
 
 " Now then," said Crummies, who had been assisting Mrs. Grudden 
 in the preparations, which were ' on a more extensive scale than was 
 quite agreeable to the collector. " Breakfast, breakfast." 
 
246 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 No second invitation v^^as required. The company crowded and 
 squeezed themselves at the table as well as th(;y could, and fell to, 
 immediately : Miss Petowker blushing very much when anybody was 
 looking, and eating very much when anybody w^as not looking ; and 
 Mr. Lilly vick going to work as though with the cool resolve, that since 
 the good things must be paid for by him, he would leave as little 
 as possible for the Crummleses to eat up afterwards. 
 
 " It's very soon done, Sir, isn't it?" inquired Mr. Folair of the 
 collector, leaning over the table to address him. 
 
 "What is soon done. Sir? " returned Mr. Lillyvick. 
 
 "The tying up — the fixing oneself with a wife," replied Mr. Folair, 
 " It don't take long, does it? " 
 
 " No, Sir," replied Mr. Lillyvick, colouring. " It does not take 
 long. And what then. Sir? " 
 
 " Oh ! nothing," said the actor. " It don't take a man long to hang 
 himself, either, eh ? ha, ha ! " 
 
 Mr. Lillyvick laid down his knife and fork, and looked round the 
 table with indignant astonishment. 
 
 " To hang himself ! " repeated Mr. Lillyvick. 
 
 A profound silence came upon all, for Mr. Lillyvick was dignified 
 beyond expression. 
 
 " To hang himself ! " cried Mr. Lillyvick again. " Is any parallel 
 attempted to be drawn in this company between matrimony and 
 hanging ? " 
 
 " The noose, you know," said Mr. Folair, a little crest-fallen. 
 
 " The noose. Sir? " retorted Mr. Lillyvick. " Does any man dare to 
 gpeak to me of a noose, and Henrietta Pe — " 
 
 " Lillyvick," suggested Mr. Crummies. 
 
 — " and Henrietta Lillyvick in the same breath ? " said the collector. 
 " In this house, in the presence of Mr. and Mrs. Crummies, who have 
 brought up a talented and virtuous family, to be blessings and pheno- 
 menons, and what not, are we to hear talk of nooses ? " 
 
 " Folair," said Mr. Crummies, deeming it a matter of decency to be 
 affected by thi-s allusion to himself and partner, " I'm astonished at you." 
 
 " What are you going on in this way at me for ? " urged the unfor- 
 tunate actor. " What have I done ? " 
 
 "Done, Sir!" cried Mr. Lillyvick, " aimed a blow at the whole 
 frame- work of society — " 
 
 " And the best and tenderest feelings," added Crummies, relapsing 
 into the old man. 
 
 " And the highest and most estimable of social ties," said the col- 
 lector. " Noose ! As if one was caught, trapped into the married state, 
 pinned by the leg, instead of going into it of one's own accord and 
 glorying in the act ! " 
 
 " I didn't mean to make it out, that you w^ere caught and trapped, 
 and pinned by the leg," replied the actor. " I'm sorry for it ; I can't 
 say any more." 
 
 " So you ought to be. Sir," returned Mr. Lillyvick ; " and I am glad 
 to hear that you have enough of feeling left to be so." 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 247 
 
 The quarrel appearing to terminate with this reply, Mrs. Lilly vick 
 considered that the fittest occasion (the attention of the company being 
 no longer distracted) to burst into tears, and require tire assistance of 
 all four bridesmaids, which was immediately rendered, though not 
 without some confusion, for the room being small and the table-cloth 
 long, a whole detachment of plates were swept off the board at the very 
 first move. Regardless of this. circumstance, however, Mrs. Lillyvick 
 refused to be comforted until the belligerents had passed their words 
 that the dispute should be carried no further, which, after a sufficient 
 show of reluctance, they did, and from that time Mr. Folair sat in 
 moody silence, contenting himself with pinching Nicholas's leg when 
 anything w^as said, and so expressing his contempt both for the speaker 
 and the sentiments to which he gave utterance. 
 
 There were a great number of speeches made, some by Nicholas, 
 and some by Crummies, and some by the collector ; two by the master 
 Crummlescs in returning thanks for themselves, and one by the pheno- 
 menon on behalf of the bridesmaids, at which Mrs, Crummies shed 
 tears. There was some singing, too, from Miss Ledrook and Miss 
 Pravassa, and very likely there might have been more, if the fly-driver, 
 who stopped to drive the happy pair to the spot where they proposed 
 to take steam-boat to Kyde, had not sent in a peremptory message 
 intimating, that if they didn't come directly he should infallibly demand 
 eigh teen-pence over and above his agreement. 
 
 This desperate threat effectually broke up the party. After a most 
 pathetic leave-taking, Mr. Lillyvick and his bride departed for Ryde, 
 where they were to spend the next two days in profound retirement, 
 and whither they were accompanied by the infant, who had been 
 appointed travelling bridesmaid on Mr. Lillyvick's express stipulation, 
 as the steam-boat people, deceived by her size, would (he had previously 
 ascertained) transport her at half price. 
 
 As there was no performance that night, Mr. Crummies declared 
 his intention of keeping it up till everything to drink was disposed of; 
 but Nicholas having to play Romeo for the first time on the ensuing 
 evening, contrived to slip away in the midst of a temporary confusion, 
 occasioned by the unexpected development of strong symptoms of 
 inebriety in the conduct of Mrs. Grudden. 
 
 To this act of desertion he was led, not only by liis own incli- 
 nations, but by his anxiety on account of Smike, who, having to 
 sustain the character of the Apothecary, had been as yet wholly 
 unable to get any more of the part into his head than the general idea 
 that he was very hungry, which — perhaps from old recollections — ho 
 had acquired with great aptitude. 
 
 " I don't know what's to be done, Smike," said Nicholas, laying 
 down the book. " I am afraid you can't learn it, my poor fellow." 
 
 " I am afraid not," said Smike, shaking his head. " I think if you 
 — but that would give you so much trouble." 
 
 " What ? " inquired Nicholas. ^^ Never mind me." 
 
 " I think," said Smike, " if you were to keep saying it to me in 
 little bits, over and over again, I should be able to recollect it from 
 hearing you." 
 
:^48 LIFE AND ADVENTDRES OF 
 
 " Do you think so ! " exclaimed Nicholas. " AVell said. Let us 
 see who tii-es first. Not I, Smike, trust me. Now then. ' AVho 
 calls so loud ? ' " 
 
 " ' Who calls so loud ? ' " said Smike. 
 
 *' ' Who calls so loud ? ' " repeated Nicholas. 
 - 44 < ^,y\^Q calls so loud ? ' " cried Smike. 
 
 Thus thev continued to ask each other who called so loud, over 
 and over and over again ; and when Smike had that hy heart, Nicholas 
 went to another sentence, and then to two at a time, and then to three, 
 and so on, until at midnight poor Smike found to his unspeakable joy 
 that he really began to remember something about the text. 
 
 Early in the morning they went to it again, and Smike, rendered 
 more confident by the progress he had already made, got on faster and 
 with better heai-t. As soon as he began to acquire the words pretty 
 freely, Nicholas showed him how he must come in with both hands 
 spread out upon his stomach, and how he nuist occasionally rub it, in 
 compliance with the established form by which people on the stage 
 always denote that they want something to eat. After the morning's 
 rehearsal they went to work again, nor did they stop, except for a hasty 
 dinner, until it w^as time to repair to the theatre at night. 
 
 Never had master a more anxious, humble, docile pupil. Never 
 had pupil a more patient, unwearying, considerate, kind-hearted 
 master. 
 
 As soon as they were dressed, and at every interval when he was 
 not upon the stage, Nicholas renewed his instructions. They prospered 
 well. The Komeo was received with hearty plaudits and unbounded 
 favour, and Smike was pronounced unanimously, alike by audience and 
 actors, the very prince and prodigy of Apothecaries. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 IS PRAUOnX WITH SOME DANGER TO MISS NICKLEBY's PEACE OP MIND. 
 
 The place was a handsome suite of private apartments in Regent- 
 street; the time was three o'clock in the afternoon to the dull and 
 plodding, and the first hour of morning to the gay and spirited; the 
 persons were Lord Frederick Verisopht, and his friend Sir Mulberry 
 Hawk. 
 
 These distinguished gentlemen were reclining listlessly on a couple of 
 sofas, with a table between them, on which were scattered in rich con- 
 fusion the materials of an untasted breakfast. Newspapers lay strewn 
 about the room, but these, like the meal, were neglected and unnoticed ; 
 not, however, because any flow of conversation prevented the attractions of 
 the journals from being called into request, for not a word was exchanged 
 between the two, nor was any sound uttered, save when one, in tossing 
 about to find an easier resting-place for his aching head, uttered an 
 
^pp 
 

 9- 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 249 
 
 exclamation of impatience, and seemed for the moment to commuuicato 
 a new restlessness to his companion. 
 
 These appearances would in themselves have furnished a pretty strong 
 clue to the extent of the debauch of the previous night, even if there 
 had not been other indications of the amusements in which it had been 
 passed. A couphj of billiard balls, all mud and dirt, two battered hata, 
 a champagne bottle with a soiled glove twisted round the neck, to allow 
 of its being grasped more surely in its capacity of an offensive weapon ; 
 a broken cane ; a card-case withovit the. top ; an empty purse ; a watch- 
 guard snapped asunder ; a handful of silver, mingled with fragments of 
 half-smoked cigars, and their stale and crumbled ashes ; — these, and 
 many other tokens of riot and disorder, hinted very intelligibly at the 
 nature of last night's gentlemanly frolics. 
 
 Lord Frederick Verisopht was the first to speak. Dropping his 
 slippered foot on the ground,, and, yawning heavily, he struggled into a 
 sitting posture, and turned his dull languid eyes towards his friend, to 
 whom he called in a drowsy voice. 
 
 " Hallo ! " replied Sir Mulberry, turning round. 
 
 " Are we going to lie here all da-a-y ? " said the Lord. 
 
 " I don't know that we're fit for anything else," replied Sir Mulberry; 
 " yet awhile, at least. I haven't a grain of life in me this morning." 
 
 " Life ! " cried Lord Verisopht. " I feel as if there would be nothing 
 so snug and comfortable as to die at once." 
 
 " Then why don't you die?" said Sir Mulberry. 
 
 With which inquiry he turned his face away, and seemed to occupy 
 himself in an attempt to fall asleep. 
 
 His hopeful friend and pupil drew a chair to the breakfast-table, and 
 essayed to eat ; but, finding that impossible, lounged to the window, 
 then loitered up and down the room with his hand to his fevered head, 
 and finally threw himself again on his sofa, and roused his friend once 
 more. 
 
 " What the devil's the matter ?" groaned Sir Mulberry, sitting upright 
 on the couch. 
 
 Although Sir Mulberry said this with sufiicient ill-humour, he did 
 not seem to feel himself quite at liberty to remain silent ; for, after 
 stretching himself very often, and declaring with a shiver that it was 
 " infernal cold," he made an experiment at the breakfast-table, and prov- 
 ing more successful in it than his less-seasoned friend, remained there. 
 
 " Suppose," said Sir Mulberry, pausing with a morsel on the point of 
 his fork, "Suppose we go back to the subject of little Nickleby, eh?" 
 
 " Which little Nickleby ; the money-lender or the ga-a-1?" asked 
 Lord Verisopht. 
 
 " You take me, I see," replied Sir Mulberry. " The girl, of course." 
 
 " You promised me you'd find her out," said Lord Verisopht. 
 
 " So I did," rejoined his friend; " but I have thought further of the 
 matter since then. You distrust me in the business — you shall find 
 her out yourself." 
 
 " Na — ay," remonstrated Lord Verisopht. 
 
 " But I say yes," returned his friend. " You shall find her out 
 
250 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 yourself. Don't think that I mean, when you can — I know as well as 
 you that if I did, you could never get sight of her without me. No. 
 I say you shall find her out — shall — and I'll put you in the way." 
 
 " Now, curse me, if you ain't a real, deyvlish, downright, thorough- 
 paced friend," said the young Lord, on whom this speech had produced 
 a most reviving effect. 
 
 " I'll tell you how," said Sir Mulberrj% " She was at that dinner 
 as a bait for you." 
 
 " No !" cried the young Lord. " What the dey — " 
 
 " As a bait for you," repeated his friend ; " old Nickleby told me 
 so himself." 
 
 " What a fine old cock it is!" exclaimed Lord Verisopht; " a noble 
 rascal!" 
 
 " Yes," said Sir Mulberry, " he knew she was a smart little creature — " 
 
 " Smart ! " interposed the young lord. " Upon my soul. Hawk, 
 she's a perfect beauty — a — a picture, a statue, a — a — upon my soul 
 she is ! " 
 
 " Well," replied Sir Mulberry, shrugging his shoulders and mani- 
 festing an indifference, whether he felt it or not ; " that's a matter of 
 taste ; if mine doesn't agree with yours, so much the better." 
 
 " Confound it ! " reasoned the lord, " you were thick enough with 
 her that day, anyhow. I could hardly get in a word." 
 
 " Well enough for once, well enough for once," replied Sir Mul- 
 berry ; " but not worth the trouble of being agreeable to again. If you 
 seriously want to follow up the niece, tell the uncle that you must know 
 where she lives, and how she lives, and with whom, or you are no 
 longer a customer of his. He'll tell you fast enough." 
 
 '*• Why didn't you say this before 'i " asked Lord Verisopht, " instead 
 of letting me go on burning, consuming, dragging out a miserable exist- 
 ence for an a-age ? " 
 
 *' I didn't know it, in the first place," answered Sir Mulberry care- 
 lessly ; " and in the second, I didn't believe you were so very much in 
 earnest." 
 
 Now, the truth was that in the interval which had elapsed since the 
 dinner at Ralph Nickleby's, Sir Mulberry Hawk had been furtively 
 trying by every means in his power to discover whence Kate had so 
 suddenly appeared, and whither she had disappeared. Unassisted by 
 Ralph, however, with whom he had held no communication since their 
 angry parting on that occasion, all his efforts were wholly unavailing, 
 and he had therefore arrived at the determination of communicating to 
 the young lord the substance of the admission he had gleaned from that 
 worthy. To this he was impelled by various considerations ; among 
 which the certainty of knowing whatever the weak young man knew 
 was decidedly not the least, as the desire of encountering the usurer's 
 niece again, and using his utmost arts to reduce her pride, and revenge 
 himself for her contempt, was uppermost in his thoughts. It was a 
 politic course of proceeding, and one w^hich could not fail to redound to 
 his advantage in every point of view, since the very circumstance of 
 his having extorted from Ralph Nickleby his real design in introducing 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 251 
 
 his niece to such society, coupled with his extreme disinterestedness in 
 communicating it so freely to his friend, could not but advance his 
 interests in that quarter, and greatly facilitate the passage of coin 
 (pretty frequent and speedy already) from the pockets of Lord Frederick 
 Verisopht to those of Sir Mulberry Hawk. 
 
 Thus reasoned Sir Mulberry, and in pursuance of this reasoning ho 
 and his friend soon afterwards repaired to Ralph Nickleby's, there to 
 execute a plan of operations concerted by Sir Mulberry himself, 
 jivowedly to promote his friend's object, and really to attain his own. 
 
 They found Ralph at home, and alone. As he led them into the 
 drawing-room, the recollection of the scene which had taken place there 
 seemed to occur to him, for he cast a curious look at Sir Mulberry, 
 who bestowed upon it no other acknowledgment than a careless 
 smile. 
 
 They had a short conference upon some money matters then in pro- 
 gress, which were scarcely disposed of when the lordly dupe (in pur- 
 suance of his friend's instructions) requested with some embarrassment 
 to speak to Ralph alone. 
 
 " Alone, eh ? " cried Sir Mulberry, affecting surprise. " Oh, very 
 good. I'll walk into the next room here. Don't keep me long, that's 
 aU." 
 
 So saying. Sir Mulberry took up his hat, and humming a fragment 
 of a song disappeared through the door of communication between the 
 two drawing-rooms, and closed it after him. 
 
 " Now, my lord," said Ralph, " what is it ? " 
 
 "Nickleby," said his client, throwing himself along the sofa on 
 which he had been previously seated, so as to bring his lips nearer to 
 the old man's ear, " what a pretty creature your niece is ! " 
 
 " Is she, my lord ? " replied Ralph. " Maybe — maybe — I don't 
 trouble my head with such matters." 
 
 " You know she's a deyv'lish fine girl," said the client. " You 
 must know that, Nickleby. Come, don't deny that." 
 
 " Yes, I believe she is considered so," replied Ralph. " Indeed, I 
 know she is. If I did not, you are an authority on such points, and 
 your taste, my lord — on all points, indeed — is undeniable." 
 
 Nobody but the young man to whom these words were addressed 
 could have been deaf to the sneering tone in which they were spoken, 
 or blind to the look of contempt by which they were accompanied. 
 But Lord Frederick Verisopht was both, and took them to be com- 
 plimentary. 
 
 " Well," he said, " p'raps you're a little right, and p'raps you're a 
 little wrong — a little of both, Nickleby. I want to know where this 
 beauty lives, that I may have another peep at her, Nickleby." 
 
 " Really — " Ralph began in his usual tones. 
 
 " Don't talk so loud," cried the other, achieving the great point of 
 his lesson to a miracle. " I don't want Hawk to hear." 
 
 " You know he is your rival, do you ? " said Ralph, looking sharply 
 at him. 
 
 *' He always is, d-a-amn him," replied the client ; " and I want to 
 steal a march upon him. Ha, ha, ha! He'll cut up so rough, 
 
252 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 Nickleby, at our talking together without him. Where does she live, 
 Kickloby, that's all ? Only tell me where she lives, Nickleby." 
 
 " lie bites," thought Ralph. " He bites." 
 
 " Eh, Nickleby, eh ? " pursued the client. " Where does she live ? " 
 
 " Really, my lord," said Ralph, rubbing his hands slowly over each 
 other, " I must think before I tell you." 
 
 " No, not a bit of it, Nickleby ; you mustn't think at all," replied 
 Yerisopht. " Where is it ? " 
 
 *' No good can come of your knowing," replied Ralph. " She has 
 been virtuously and well brought up ; to be sure she is handsome, poor, 
 un))rotected — poor girl, poor girl." 
 
 Ralph ran over this brief summary of Kate's condition as if it were 
 merely passing through his own mind, and he had no intention to 
 speak aloud ; but the shrewd sly look which he directed at his compa- 
 nion as he delivered it, gave this poor assumption the lie. 
 
 " I tell you I only want to see her," cried his client. " A ma-an 
 may look at a pretty woman without harm, mayn't he ? Now, where 
 does she live? You know you're making a fortune out of me, Nickleby, 
 and upon my soul nobody shall ever take me to anybody else, if you 
 only tell me this." 
 
 "As you promise that, my Lord," said Ralph, with feigned reluctance, 
 " and as I am most anxious to oblige you, and as there's no harm in 
 it — no harm — I'll tell you. But you had better keep it to yourself, my 
 Lord ; strictly to yourself." Ralph pointed to the adjoining room as 
 he spoke, and nodded expressively. 
 
 The young Lord, feigning to be equally impressed with the necessity 
 of this precaution, Ralph disclosed the present address and occupation 
 of his niece, observing that from what he heard of the family they 
 appeared very ambitious to have distinguished acquaintances, and that 
 a J^ord could, doubtless, introduce himself with great ease, if he felt 
 disposed. 
 
 " Your object being only to see her again," said Ralph, " you could 
 effect it at any time you chose by that means." 
 
 Lord Yerisopht acknowledged the hint with a great many squeezes 
 of Ralph's hard, horny hand, and whispering that tliey would now do 
 well to close the conversation, called to Sir Mulberry Hawk that he 
 might come back. 
 
 " I thought you had gone to sleep," said Sir Mulberry, re-appearing 
 with an ill-tempered air. 
 
 *• Sorry to detain you," replied the gull; " but Nickleby has been so 
 ama-azingly funny that I couldn't tear myself away." 
 
 " No, no," said Ralph ; " it was all his lordship. You know what 
 a witty, humorous, elegant, accomplished man Lord Frederick is. 
 Mind the stop, my Lord — Sir Mulberry, pray give way." 
 
 A\^ith such courtesies as these, and many low bows, and the same cold 
 sneer upon his face all the while, Ralph busied himself in showing his 
 visitors down stairs, and otherwise than by the slightest possible motion 
 al)()ut the corners of his mouth, returned no show of answer to the look 
 of admiration with which Sir Mulberry Hawk seemed to compliment 
 him on being such an accomplished and most consummate scoundrel. 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 253 
 
 There had been a ring at the bell a few moments before, which was 
 answered by Newman Noggs just as they reached the hall. In tlie 
 ordinary course of business Newman would have either admitted the 
 new-comer in silence, or have requested him or her to stand aside while 
 the gentlemen passed out. But he no sooner saw who it was, than as 
 if for some private reason of his own, he boldly departed from the 
 established custom of Ralph's mansion in business hours, and looking 
 towards the respectable trio who were approaching, cried in a loud and 
 sonorous voice, " Mrs. Nickleby!" 
 
 "Mrs. Nickleby!" cried Sir Mulberry Ilawk, as his friend looked 
 back, and stared him in the face. 
 
 It was, indeed, that well-intentioned lady, who, having received an 
 offer for the empty house in the city directed to the landlord, had 
 brought it post-haste to Mr. Nickleby without delay. 
 
 '' Nobody you know," said Ralph. " Step into the office, my — my — 
 dear. I'll be with you directly." 
 
 " Nobody I know ! " cried Sir Mulberry Hawk, advancing to the 
 astonished lady. " Is this Mrs. Nickleby — the mother of Miss 
 Nickleby — the delightful creature that I had the happiness of meeting 
 in this house the very last time I dined here ! But no ;" said Sir Mul- 
 berry, stopping short. " No, it can't be. There is the same cast of 
 features, the same indescribable air of; — But no ; no. This lady is too 
 young for that." 
 
 " I think you can tell the gentleman, brother-in-law, if it concerns 
 liim to know," said Mrs. Nickleby, acknowledging the compliment with 
 a graceful bend, " that Kate Nickleby is my daughter." 
 
 "Her daughter, my Lord!" cried Sir Mulberry, turning to his 
 friend. " This lady's daughter, my Lord." 
 
 " My Lord!" thought Mrs. Nickleby. " Well, I never did — !" 
 " This, then, my Lord," said Sir Mulberry, " is the lady to whose 
 obliging marriage we owe so much happiness. This lady is the mother 
 of sweet Miss Nickleby. Do you observe the extraordinary likeness, 
 my Lord ? Nickleby — introduce us," 
 Ralph did so, in a kind of desperation. 
 
 " Upon my soul, it's a most deliglitful thing," said Lord Frederick, 
 pressing forward : " How de do ? " 
 
 Mrs. Nickleby was too much flurried by these uncommonly kind 
 salutations, and her regrets at not having on her other bonnet, to make 
 any immediate reply, so she merely continued to bend and smile, and 
 betray great agitation. 
 
 "A — and how is Miss Nickleby ?" said Lord Frederick. "Well, 
 I hope?" 
 
 " She is quite well, I'm obliged to you, my lord," returned Mrs/ 
 Nickleby, recovering. " Quite well. She wasn't well for some days 
 after that day she dined here, and I can't help thinking, that she caught 
 cold in that hackney coach coming home : Hackney coaclies, my lord, 
 are such nasty things, that it's almost better to walk at any time, for 
 although I believe a hackney coachman can be transported for life, if 
 he has a broken window, still they are so reckless, that they nearly all 
 
254 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 have broken windows. I once had a swelled face for six weeks, my 
 lord, from riding in a hackney coach — I think it was a hackney coach," 
 said Mrs. Nickleby reflecting, " though I'm not quite certain, whether it 
 wasn't a chariot ; at all events I know it was a dark green, with a very 
 long number, beginning with a nought and ending with a nine — no, 
 beginning with a nine, and ending with a nought, that was it, and of 
 course the stamp office people would know at once whether it was a 
 coach or a chariot if any inquiries were made there — however that 
 was, there it was with a broken window, and there was I for six weeks 
 with a swelled face — I think that was the very same hackney coach, 
 that we found out afterwards, had the top open all the time, and 
 we should never even have known it, if they hadn't charged us a 
 shilling an hour extra for having it open, which it seems is the law, or 
 was then, and a most shameful law it appears to be — I don't under- 
 stand the subject, but I should say the Corn Laws could be nothing to 
 that act of Parliament." 
 
 Having pretty well nm herself out by this time, Mrs. Nickleby 
 stopped as suddenly as she had started off, and repeated that Kate was 
 quite well. " Indeed," said Mrs. Nickleby, " I don't think she ever 
 was better, since she had the hooping-cough, scarlet-fever and measles, 
 all at the same time, and that's the fact." 
 
 " Is that letter for me ? " growled Ralph, pointing to the little packet 
 Mrs. Nickleby held in her hand. 
 
 " For you, brother-in-law," replied Mrs. Nickleby, " and I walked 
 all the way up here on purpose to give it you." 
 
 " All the way up here ! " cried Sir Mulberry, seizing upon the chance 
 of discovering where Mrs. Nickleby had come from. " AVhat a con- 
 founded distance ! How far do you call it now?" 
 
 " How far do I call it ! " said Mrs. Nickleby. " Let me see. It's 
 just a mile, from our door to th6 Old Bailey." 
 
 " No, no. Not so much as that," urged Sir Mulbcrr\'. 
 " Oh ! It is indeed," said Mrs. Nickleby. " I appeal to his lordship." 
 " I should decidedly say it was a mile," remarked Lord Frederick, 
 with a solemn aspect. 
 
 " It must be ; it can't be a yard less," said Mrs. Nickleby. " All 
 down Newgate Street, all down Cheapside, all up Lombard Street, 
 down Gracechurch Street, and along Thames Street, as far as Spig- 
 wiffin's AVharf. Oh ! It's a mile." 
 
 " Yes, on second thoughts I should say it was," replied Sir Mulberry. 
 " But you don't surely mean to walk all the way back ? " 
 
 " Oh no," rejoined Mrs. Nickleby. " I shall go back in an omnibus. 
 I didn't travel about in omnibuses, when my poor dear Nicholas was 
 alive, brother-in-law. Bat as it is, you know — " 
 
 " Yes, yes," replied Ralph impatiently, " and you had better get back 
 before dark." 
 
 " Thank you, brother-in-law, so I had," retmned Mrs. Nickleby. 
 " I think I had better say good bye, at once." 
 
 "Not stop and — rest?" said Ralph, who seldom offered refreshments 
 unless something was to be got by it. 
 
NICHOLAS NICltLEBY. 255 
 
 " Oil dear me no," returned Mrs. Nickleby, glancing at the dial. 
 
 "Lord Frederick," said Sir Mulberry, "we are going Mrs. 
 Nickleby's way. We'll see her safe to the omnibus ? " 
 
 "By all means. Ye-es." 
 
 " Oh ! I really couldn't think of it!" said Mrs. Nickleby. 
 
 But Sir Mulberry Hawk and Lord Verisopht were peremptory in 
 their politeness, and leaving Ralph, who seemed to think, not unwisely, 
 that he looked less ridiculous as a mere spectator, than he would have 
 done if he had taken any part in these proceedings, they quitted the 
 house with Mrs. Nickleby between them ; that good lady in a perfect 
 ecstacy of satisfaction, no less with the attentions shown her by two 
 titled gentlemen, than with the conviction, that Kate might now pick 
 and choose, at least between two large fortunes, and most unexception- 
 able husbands. 
 
 As she was carried away for the moment by an irresistible train of 
 thought, all connected with her daughter's future greatness. Sir Mul- 
 berry Hawk and his friend exchanged glances over the top of the 
 bonnet which the poor lady so much regretted not having left at home, 
 and proceeded to dilate with great rapture, but much respect, on the 
 manifold perfections of Miss Nickleby. 
 
 " What a delight, what a comfort, what a happiness, this amiable 
 creature must be to you," said Sir Mulberry, throwing into his voice 
 an indication of the warmest feeling. 
 
 " She is indeed, Sir," replied Mrs. Nickleby ; " she is the sweetest- 
 tempered, kindest-hearted creature — and so clever ! " 
 
 " She looks clayver," said Lord Verisopht, with the air of a judge 
 of cleverness. 
 
 " I assure you she is, my lord," returned Mrs. Nickleby. " When 
 she w^as at school in Devonshire, she was universally allowed to be 
 beyond all exception the very cleverest girl there, and there were a 
 great many very clever ones too, and that's the truth — twenty-five 
 young ladies, fifty giiineas a-year without the et-ceteras, both the 
 Miss Dowdies, the most accomplished, elegant, fascinating creatures — 
 Oh dear me ! " said Mrs. Nickleby, " I never shall forget what plea- 
 sure she used to give me and her poor dear papa, when she was at 
 that school, never — such a delightful letter every half-year, telling us 
 that she was the first pupil in the whole establishment, and had made 
 more progress than anybody else ! I can scarcely boar to think of it 
 even now. The girls wrote all the letters themselves," added Mrs. 
 Nickleby, " and the writing-master touched them up afterwards with 
 a magnifying glass and a silver pen ; at least I think they wrote them, 
 though Kate was never quite certain about that, because she didn't 
 know the handwriting of hers again ; but any way, I know it was a 
 circular which they all copied, and of course it was a very gratifying 
 thing — very gratifying." 
 
 With similar recollections Mrs. NicKleby beguiled the tediousness of 
 the way, until they reached the omnibus, which the extreme politeness 
 of her new friends would not allow them to leave until it actually 
 started, wdien they took their hats, as Mrs. Nickleby solemnly assured 
 
256 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 her hearers on many subsequent occasions, "completely off/' and kissed 
 their straw-coloured kid gloves till they were no longer visible. 
 
 Mrs. Nickleby leant back in the furthest corner of the conveyance, 
 and, closing her eyes, resigned herself to a host of most pleasing medi- 
 tations. Kate had never said a word about having met either of these 
 gentlemen ; " that," she thought, " argues that she is strongly prepos- 
 sessed in favour of one of them." Then the question arose, which one 
 could it be. The lord was the youngest, and his title was certainly 
 tlie grandest ; still Kate was not the girl to Ik; swayed by such con- 
 siderations as these. " I will never put any constraint upon her 
 inclinations," said Mrs. Nickleby to herself; "but upon my word I 
 think there's no comparison between his lordship and Sir Mulberry — 
 Sir Mulberry is such an attentive gentlemanly creature, so much 
 manner, such a fine man, and has so much to say for himself. I hope 
 it's Sir Mulberry — I think it must be Sir Mulberry ! " And then her 
 thoughts flew back to her old predictions, and the number of times 
 she had said, that Kate with no fortune would marry better than 
 other people's daughters with thousands ; and, as she pictured with the 
 brightness of a mother's fancy all the beauty and grace of the poor girl 
 who had struggled so cheerfully w^th her new life of hardship and 
 trial, her heart grew too full, and the tears trickled down her face. 
 
 Meanwhile, Ralph walked to and fro in his little back office, 
 troubled in mind by what had just occurred. To say that Ralph 
 loved or cared for — in tlie most ordinary acceptation of those terms — 
 any one of God's creatures, would be the wildest fiction. Still, there 
 had somehow stolen upon him from time to time a thought of his 
 niece which was tinged with compassion and pity ; breaking through 
 the dull cloud of dislike or indifference which darkened men and 
 women in his eyes, there was, in her case, the faintest gleam of liglit 
 — a most feeble and sickly ray at the best of times — but there it was, 
 and it showed the poor girl in a better and purer aspect than any in 
 which he had looked on human nature yet. 
 
 " I wish," thought Ralph, " I had never done this. And yet it 
 will keep this boy to me, while there is money to be made. Selling a 
 girl — throwing her in the way of temptation, and insult, and coarse 
 speech. Nearly two thousand pounds profit from him already though. 
 Pshaw ! match-makinor mothers do the same thinor everv dav." 
 
 He sat down, and told the chances, for and against, on his fingers. 
 
 " If I had not put them in the right track to-day," thought Ralph, 
 " this foolish woman would have done so. Well. If her daughter 
 is as true to herself as she should be from what I have seen, what 
 harm ensues ? A little teazing, a little humbling, a few tears. Yes," 
 said Ralph, aloud, as he locked his iron safe. " She must take her 
 chance. She must take her chance." 
 
NICHOLAS KICKLEBY. 257 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 MRS. NICKLEBY BECOMES ACQUAINTED WITH MESSRS. PYKE AND 
 PLUCK, WHOSE AFFECTION AND INTEREST ARE BEYOND ALL BOUNDS. 
 
 Mrs. Nickleby had not felt so proud and important for many a 
 day, as when, on reaching home, she gave herself wholly up to the 
 pleasant visions which had accompanied her on her way thither. 
 Lady Mulberry Hawk — ^that was the prevalent idea. Lady Mulberry 
 Hawk ! — On Tuesday last, at St. George's, Hanover Square, by the 
 Right Reverend the Bishop of Llandaff, Sir Mulberry Hawk, of Mul- 
 berry Castle, North Wales, to Catherine, only daughter of the late 
 Nicholas Nickleby, Esquire, of Devonshire. "Upon my word!" cried 
 Mrs. Nicholas Nickleby, " it sounds very well." 
 
 Having despatched the ceremony, with its attendant festivities, to 
 the perfect satisfaction of her own mind, the sanguine mother pictured 
 to her imagination a long train of honours and distinctions which could 
 not fail to accompany Kate in her new and brilliant sphere. She 
 would be presented at court, of course. On the anniversary of her 
 birth-day, which was upon the nineteenth of July ("at ten minutes 
 past three o'clock in the morning," thought Mrs. Nickleby in a paren- 
 thesis, " for I recollect asking what o'clock it was,") Sir Mulberry 
 would give a great feast to all his tenants, and would return them 
 three and a half per cent, on the amount of their last half-year's rent, 
 as would be fully described and recorded in the fashionable intelli- 
 gence, to the immeasurable delight and admiration of all the readers 
 thereof. Kate's picture, too, would be in at least half-a-dozen of the 
 annuals, and on the opposite page would appear, in delicate type, 
 " Lines on contemplating the Portrait of Lady Mulberry Hawk. By 
 Sir Dingleby Dabber." Perhaps some one annual, of more compre- 
 hensive design than its fellows, might even contain a portrait of the 
 mother of Lady Mulberry Hawk, with lines by the father of Sir 
 Dingleby Dabber. More unlikely things had come to pass. Less 
 interesting portraits had appeared. As this thought occurred to the 
 good lady, her countenance unconsciously assumed that compound 
 expression of simpering and sleepiness which, being common to all such 
 portraits, is perhaps one reason wliy they are always so charming and 
 agreeable. 
 
 With such triumphs of aerial architecture did Mrs. Nickleby occupy 
 the whole evening after her accidental introduction to Ralph's titled 
 friends ; and dreams, no less prophetic and equally promising, haunted 
 her sleep that night. She was preparing for her frugal dinner next 
 day, still occupied with the same ideas — a little softened down per- 
 haps by sleep and daylight— when the girl who attended her, partly 
 for company, and partly to assist in the household affairs, rushed into 
 the room in unwonted agitation, and announced that two gentlemen 
 were waiting in the passage for permission to walk up stairs. 
 
258 IIPB AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 " Bless my heart ! " cried Mrs. Nicklcby, hastily arranging her cap 
 and front, " if it should be — dear me, standing in the passage all this 
 time — why don't you go and ask them to walkj up, you stupid 
 thing ?" 
 
 While the girl was gone on this errand, Mrs. Nickleby hastily swept 
 into a cupboard all vestiges of eating and drinking ; which she had 
 scarcely done, and seated herself with looks as collected as she could 
 assume, when two gentlemen, both perfect strangers, presented them- 
 selves. 
 
 " How do you do ?" said one gentleman, laying great stress on the 
 last word of the inquiry. 
 
 " How do you do ?" said the other gentleman, altering the emphasis, 
 as if to give variety to the salutation. 
 
 Mrs. Nickleby curtseyed and smiled, and curtseyed again, and re- 
 marked, rubbing her hands as she did so, that she hadn't the— really 
 —the honour to — 
 
 " To know us," said the first gentleman. " The loss has been ours, 
 Mrs. Nickleby. Has the loss been ours, Pyke ?" 
 
 " It has, Pluck," answered the other gentleman. 
 
 " We have regretted it very often, I believe, Pyke ? " said the first 
 gentleman. 
 
 " Very often, Pluck," answered the second. 
 
 " But now," said the first gentleman, " now we have the happiness 
 we have pined and languished for. Have we pined and languished for 
 this happiness, Pyke, or have we not ?" 
 
 " You know we have, Pluck," said Pyke, reproachfully. 
 
 " You hear him, ma'am ?" said Mr. Pluck, looking round ; " you 
 hear the unimpeachable testimony of my friend Pyke — that reminds 
 me, — formalities, formalities, must not be neglected in civilized society. 
 Pyke — Mrs. Nickleby." 
 
 Mr. Pyke laid his hand upon his heart, and bowed low. 
 
 " Whether I shall introduce myself w^ith the same formality," said 
 Mr. Pluck — "whether I shall say myself that my name is Pluck, 
 or whether I shall ask my friend Pyke (who being now regularly 
 introduced, is competent to the office) to state for me, Mrs. Nickleby, 
 that my name is Pluck; whether I shall claim your acquaintance 
 on the plain ground of the strong interest I take in your welfare, 
 or whether I shall make myself known to you as the friend of Sir 
 Mulberry Hawk — these, Mrs. Nickleby, are considerations which I 
 leave to you to determine." 
 
 " Any friend of Sir Mulberry Hawk's i:equires no better introduction 
 to me," observed Mrs. Nickleby, graciously. 
 
 " It is delightful to hear you say so," said Mr. Pluck, drawing a 
 chair close to Mrs. Nickleby, and sitting himself down. " It is 
 refreshing to know that you hold my excellent friend, Sir Mulberry, in 
 such high esteem. A word in your ear, Mrs. Nickleby. AVhen Sir 
 Mulberry knows it, he will be a happy man — I say, Mrs. Nickleby, 
 a happy man. Pyke, be seated." 
 
 " Ml/ good opinion," said Mrs. Nickleby, and the poor lady exulted 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 259 
 
 in the idea that she was marvellously sly, — " my oood opinion can be 
 of very little consequence to a gentleman like Sir Mulberry." 
 
 "Of little consequence!" exclaimed Mr. Pluck. " Pyke, of what 
 consequence to our friend, Sir Mulberry, is the good opinion of Mrs. 
 Nickleby ? " 
 
 " Of what consequence ?" echoed Pyke. 
 
 " Aye," repeated Pluck ; " is it of the greatest consequence ?" 
 
 "Of the very greatest consequence," replied Pyke. 
 
 " Mrs. Nickleby cannot be ignorant," said Mr. Pluck, " of the im- 
 mense impression which that sweet girl has — " 
 
 " Pluck !" said his friend, "beware !" 
 
 " Pyke is right," muttered Mr. Pluck, after a short pause ; " I was 
 not to mention it. Pyke is very right. Thank you, Pyke." 
 
 " Well now, really," thought Mrs. Nickleby within herself. " Such 
 delicacy as that, I never saw 1" 
 
 Mr. Pluck, after feigning to be in a condition of great embarrassment 
 for some minutes, resumed the conversation by entreating Mrs. Nic- 
 kleby to take no heed of what he had inadvertently said — to consider 
 him imprudent, rash, injudicious. The only stipulation he would 
 make in his own favour was, that she should give him credit for the 
 best intentions. 
 
 " But when," said Mr. Pluck, " when I see so much sweetness and 
 beauty on the one hand, and so much ardour and devotion on the 
 other, I — ^i^ardon me, Pyke, I didn't intend to resume that theme. 
 Change the subject, Pyke." 
 
 *'We promised Sir Mulberry and Lord Frederick," said Pyke, 
 "that we'd call this morning and inquire whether you took any cold 
 last night." 
 
 " Not the least in the world last night. Sir ;" replied Mrs. Nickleby, 
 *' with many thanks to his Lordship and Sir Mulberry for doing me 
 the honour to inquire ; not the least — which is the more singular, as I 
 really am very subject to colds, indeed — very subject. I had a cold 
 once," said Mrs. Nickleby, " I think it was in the year eighteen hun- 
 dred and seventeen ; let me see, four and five are nine, and — yes, 
 eighteen hundred and seventeen, that I thought I never should get rid 
 of ; actually and seriously, that I thought I never should get rid of. 
 I was only cured at last by a remedy that I don't know whether you 
 ever happened to hear of, Mr. Pluck. You have a gallon of water as 
 hot as you can possibly bear it, with a pound of salt and sixpen'orth 
 of the finest bran, and sit with your head in it for twenty minutes 
 every night just before going to bed ; at least, I don't mean your head 
 — your feet. It's a most extraordinary cure — a most extraordinary 
 cure. I used it for the first time, I recollect, the day after Christmas 
 Day, and by the middle of April following the cold was gone. It 
 seems quite a miracle when you come to think of it, for I had it ever 
 since the beginning of September." 
 
 " What an afflicting calamity ! " said Mr. Pyke. 
 
 " Perfectly horrid ! " exclaimed Mr. Pluck. 
 
 s 2 
 
260 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 " But it's worth the pain of hearing, only to know that Mrs. 
 Nickleby recovered it, isn't it. Pluck ? " cried Mr. Pyke. 
 
 " That is the circumstance which gives it such a thrilling interest," 
 replied Mr. Pluck. 
 
 " But come," said Pyke, as if suddenly recollecting himself; " we must 
 not forget our mission in the pleasure of this interview. We come on 
 a mission, Mrs. Nickleby." 
 
 " On a mission," exclaimed that good lady, to whose mind a definitive 
 proposal of marriage for Kate at once presented itself in lively colours. 
 
 " From Sir Mulberry," replied Pyke. " You must be very dull here." 
 
 " Rather dull, I confess," said Mrs. Nickleby. 
 
 " "We bring the compliments of Sir Mulberry Hawk, and a thousand 
 entreaties that you'll take a seat in a private box at the play to-night," 
 said Mr. Pluck. 
 
 *^ Oh dear !" said Mrs. Nickleby," " I never go out at all, never." 
 
 " And that is the very reason, my dear Mrs. Nickleby, why you 
 should go out to-night," retorted Mr. Pluck. "Pyke, entreat Mrs. 
 Nickleby." 
 
 " Oh, pray do," said Pyke. 
 
 " You positively must," urged Pluck. 
 
 " You are very kind," said Mrs. Nickleby hesitating ; " but — " 
 
 " There's not a but in the case, my dear Mrs. Nickleby," remon- 
 strated Mr. Pluck ; " not such a w^ord in the vocabulary. Your 
 brother-in-law joins us, Lord Frederick joins us, Sir Mulberry joins us, 
 Pyke joins us — a refusal is out of the question. Sir Mulberry sends a 
 carriage for you — twenty minutes before seven to the moment — you'll 
 not be so cruel as to disappoint the whole party, Mrs. Nickleby ? " 
 
 " You are so very pressing, that I scarcely know what to say," replied 
 the worthy lady. 
 
 " Say nothing ; not a word, not a word, my dearest madam," urged 
 Mr. Pluck. " Mrs. Nickleby," said that excellent gentleman, lowenng 
 his voice, " there is the most trifling, the most excusable breach of con- 
 fidence in what I am about to say ; and yet if my friend Pyke there 
 overheard it — such is that man's delicate sense of honour, Mrs. Nickleby 
 — he'd have me out before dinner-time." 
 
 Mrs. Nickleby cast an apprehensive glance at the warlike Pyke, who 
 had walked to the window ;, and Mr. Pluck, squeezing her hand, 
 went* on — 
 
 " Your daughter has made a conquest — a conquest on which I may 
 congratulate you. Sir Mulberry, my dear nia'am, Sir Mulberry is her 
 devoted slave. Hem !" 
 
 " Hah ! " cried Mr. Pyke at this juncture, snatching something from 
 the chimney-piece with a theatrical air. " What is this ! what do I 
 behold ! " 
 
 " What do you behold, ray dear fellow ? " asked Mr. Pluck. 
 
 " It is the face, the countenance, the expression," cried Mr. Pyke, 
 falling into his chair with a miniature in his hand ; " feebly portrayed, 
 imperfectly caught, but still the face, the countenance, the expression." 
 
• • 
 
 -&^i 
 
 '^^ 
 
// 
 
 i/f.'/r /v •///// //■'/'' 
 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 261 
 
 " I recognise it at this distance !" exclaimed Mr. Pluck in a fit of 
 enthusiasm. " Is it not, my dear madam, the faint similitude of — " 
 
 " It is my daughter s portrait," said Mrs. Nickleby, with great 
 pride. And so it was. And little Miss La Creevy had brought it 
 home for inspection only two nights before. 
 
 Mr. Pyke no sooner ascertained that he was quite right in his con- 
 jecture, than he launched into the most extravagant encomiums of the 
 divine original ; and in the warmth of his enthusiasm kissed the picture 
 a thousand times, while Mr. Pluck pressed Mrs. Nickleby's hand to 
 his heart, and congratulated her on the possession of such a daughter, 
 with so much earnestness and affection, that the tears stood, or seemed 
 to stand, in his eyes. Poor Mrs. Nickleby, who had listened in a state 
 of enviable complacency at first, became at length quite overpowered by 
 these tokens of regard for, and attachment to, the family ; and even the 
 servant girl, who had peeped in at the door, remained rooted to the spot 
 in astonishment at the ecstasies of the two friendly visiters. 
 
 By degrees these raptures subsided, and Mrs. Nickleby went on to 
 entertain her guests with a lament over her fallen fortunes, and a pic- 
 turesque account of her old house in the country : comprising a full 
 description of the different apartments, not forgetting the little store- 
 room, and a lively recollection of how many steps you went down to 
 get into the garden, and which way you turned when you came out at 
 the parlour-door, and what capital fixtures there were in the kitchen. 
 This last reflection naturally conducted her into the wash-house where 
 she stumbled upon the brewing utensils, among which she might 
 have wandered for an hour, if the mere mention of those implements 
 had not, by an association of ideas, instantly reminded Mr. Pyke 
 that he was " amazing thirsty." 
 
 " And I'll tell you what," said Mr. Pyke ; *' if you'll send round to 
 the public-house for a pot of mild half-and-half, positively and actually 
 I'll drink it." 
 
 And positively and actually Mr. Pyke did drink it, and Mr. Pluck 
 helped him, while Mrs. Nickleby looked on in divided admiration of 
 the condescension of the two, and the aptitude with which they accommo- 
 dated themselves to the pewter-pot ; in explanation of which seeming 
 marvel it may be here observed, that gentlemen who, like Messrs. Pyke 
 and Pluck, live upon their wits (or not so much, perhaps, upon the 
 presence of their own wits as upon the absence of wits in other people) 
 are occasionally reduced to very narrow shifts and straits, and are at 
 such periods accustomed to regale themselves in a very simple and 
 primitive manner. 
 
 " At twenty minutes before seven, then," said Mr. Pyke, rising, 
 *' the coach will be here. One more look — one little look — at that 
 sweet face. Ah ! here it is. Unmoved, unchanged !" This by the way 
 was a very remarkable circumstance, miniatures being liable to so 
 many changes of expression — " Oh, Pluck ! Pluck !" 
 
 Mr. Pluck made no other reply than kissing Mrs. Nickleby's hand 
 with a great show of feeling and attachment ; Mr. Pyke having done 
 the same, both gentlemen hastily withdrew„ 
 
LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 Mrs. Nickleby was commonly in the habit of giving herself credit 
 for a pretty tolerable share of penetration and acuteness, but she had 
 never felt so satisfied with her own sharp-sightedness as she did that day. 
 She had found it all out the night before. She had never seen Sir 
 Mulberry and Kate together — never even heard Sir Mulberry's names— 
 and yet hadn't she said to herself from the very first, that she saw how 
 the case stood ? and what a triumph it was, for there was now no doubt 
 about it. If these flattering attentions to herself were not sufficient 
 proof, Sir Mulberry's confidential friend had suffered the secret to 
 escape him in so many words. " I am quite in love with that dear 
 Mr. Pluck, I declare I am," said Mrs. Nickleby. 
 
 There was one great source of uneasiness in the midst of this good 
 fortune, and that was the having nobody by, to whom she could confide it. 
 Once or twice she almost resolved to walk straight to Miss LaCreevy's 
 and tell it all to her. " But I don't know," thought Mrs. Nickleby ; 
 " she is a very worthy person, but I am afraid too much beneath Sir 
 Mulberry's station for us to make a companion of. Poor thing!" 
 Acting upon this grave consideration she rejected the idea of taking the 
 little portrait-painter into her confidence, and contented herself with 
 holding out sundry vague and mysterious hopes of preferment to the 
 servant girl, who received these obscure hints of dawning greatness 
 with much veneration and respect. 
 
 Punctual to its time came the promiscid vehicle, which was no 
 hackney coach, but a private chariot, having behind it a footman, whose 
 legs, although somewhat large for his body, might, as mere abstract 
 legs, have set themselves up for models at the Royal Academy. It was 
 quite exhilarating to hear the clash and bustle with which he banged 
 the door and jumped up behind after Mrs. Nickleby was in ; and as 
 that good lady was perfectly imconscious that he applied the gold-headed 
 end of his long stick to his nose, and so telegraphed most disrespectfully 
 to the coachman over her very head, she sat in a state of much stiffness 
 and dignity, not a little proud of her position. 
 
 At the theatre entrance there was more banging and more bustle, and 
 there were also Messrs. Pyke and Pluck waiting to escort her to her 
 box ; and so polite were they, that Mr. Pyke threatened with many 
 oaths to " smifligate " a very old man with a lantern who accidentally 
 stumbled in her way — to the great terror of Mrs. Nickleby, who, con- 
 jecturing more from Mr. Pyke's excitement than any previous acquaint- 
 ance with the etymology of the word that smifligation and bloodshed 
 must be in the main one and the same thing, was alarmed beyond 
 expression, lest something should occur. Fortunately, however, Mr. 
 Pyke confined himself to mere verbal smifligation, and they reached 
 their box with no more serious inteiTuption by the way, than a desire 
 on the part of the same pugnacious gentleman to " smash " the assistant 
 box-keeper for happening to mistake the number. 
 
 Mrs. Nickleby had scarcely been put away behind the curtain of 
 the box in an arm chair, when Sir Mulberry and Lord Verisopht 
 arrived, arrayed from the crowns of their heads to the tips of their 
 gloves, and from the tips of their gloves to the toes of their boots, ia 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 263 
 
 the most elegant and costly manner. Sir Mulberry was a little hoarser 
 than on the previous day, and Lord Verisopht looked rather sleepy 
 and queer ; from which tokens, as well as from the circumstance of 
 their both being to a trifling extent unsteady upon their legs, Mrs. 
 Nickleby justly concluded that they had taken dinner. 
 
 " We have been — we have been — toasting your lovely daughter, 
 Mrs. Nickleby," whispered Sir Mulberry, sitting down behind her. 
 
 " Oh, ho !" thought that knowing lady; " wine in; truth out. — • 
 You are very kind. Sir Mulberry." 
 
 " No, no, upon my soul !" replied Sir Mulberry Hawk. "It's you 
 that's kind, upon my soul it is. It was so kind of you to come to- 
 night." 
 
 " So very kind of you to invite me, you mean. Sir Mulberry," 
 replied Mrs. Nickleby, tossing her head, and looking prodigiously sly. 
 
 " I am so anxious to know you, so anxious to cultivate your good 
 opinion, so desirous that there should be a delicious kind of harmo- 
 nious family understanding between us," said Sir Mulberry, " that you 
 mustn't think I'm disinterested in what I do. I'm infernal selfish ; 
 I am — upon my soul I am." 
 
 "I am sure you can't be selfish, Sir Mulberry!" replied Mrs. 
 Nickleby. " You have much too open and generous a countenance 
 for that." 
 
 " What an extraordinary observer you are!" said Sir Mulberry Hawk. 
 
 " Oh no, indeed, I don't see very far into things. Sir Mulberry," 
 replied Mrs. Nickleby, in a tone of voice which left the baronet to 
 infer that she saw very far indeed. 
 
 " I am quite afraid of you," said the baronet. " Upon my soul," 
 repeated Sir Mulberry, looking round to his companions ; " I am 
 afraid of Mrs. Nickleby. She is so immensely sharp." 
 
 Messrs. Pyke and Pluck shook their heads mysteriously, and 
 observed together that they had found that out long ago ; upon which 
 Mrs. Nickleby tittered, and Sir Mulberry laughed, and Pyke and Pluck 
 roared. 
 
 " But where's my brother-in-law, Sir Mulberry ?" inquired Mrs. 
 Nickleby. " I shouldn't be here without him. I hope he's coming." 
 
 " Pyke," said Sir Mulberry, taking out his tooth-pick and lolling 
 back in his chair, as if he were too lazy to invent a reply to this ques- 
 tion. " Where's Ralph Nickleby ?" 
 
 " Pluck," said Pyke, imitating the baronet's action, and turning 
 the lie over to his friend, " where's Ralph Nickleby ?" 
 
 Mr, Pluck was about to return some evasive reply, when the 
 bustle caused by a party entering the next box seemed to attract 
 the attention of all four gentlemen, who exchanged glances of much 
 meaning. The new party beginning to converse together. Sir Mul- 
 berry suddenly assumed the character of a most attentive listener, and 
 implored his friends not to breathe — not to breathe. 
 
 " Why not ?" said Mrs. Nickleby. " What is the matter ?" 
 
 "Hush!" replied Sir Mulberry, laying his liand on her arm, 
 *' Lord Frederick, do you recognize the tones of that voice ?" 
 
264 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 " Deyvie take me if I didn't think it was the voice of Miss 
 Nickleby." 
 
 " Lor, my Lord !" cried Miss Nickleby's mamma, thrusting her head 
 round the curtain. " Why, actually — Kate, my dear, Kate." 
 
 " You here, mamma ! Is it possible !" 
 
 " Possible, my dear ? Yes." 
 
 " Why who — who on earth is that you have with you, mamma ?" 
 said Kate, shrinking back as she caught sight of a man smiling and 
 kissing his hand. 
 
 " Who do you suppose, my dear ?" replied Mrs. Nickleby, bending 
 towards Mrs. Wititterly, and speaking a little louder for that lady's 
 edification. " There's Mr. Pyke, Mr. Pluck, Sir Mulberry Hawk, 
 and Lord Frederick Verisopht." 
 
 " Gracious Heaven !" thought Kate hurriedly. " How comes she 
 in such society!" 
 
 Now, Kate thought thus so hurriedly, and the surprise was so 
 great, and moreover brought back so forcibly the recollection of what 
 had passed at Ralph's delectable dinner, that she turned extremely 
 pale and appeared greatly agitated, which symptoms being observed 
 by Mrs. Nickleby, were at once set down by that acute lady as being 
 caused and occasioned by violent love. But, although she was in no 
 small degree delighted by this discovery which reflected so much 
 credit on her own quickness of perception, it did not lessen her motherly 
 anxiety in Kate's behalf ; and accordingly, with a vast quantity of 
 trepidation, she quitted her own box to hasten into that of Mrs. 
 Wititterly. Mrs. Wititterly, keenly alive to the glory of having a 
 lord and a baronet among her visiting acquaintance, lost no time in 
 signing to Mr. Wititterly to open the door, and thus it was that in 
 less than thirty seconds Mrs. Nickleby's party had made an irruption 
 into Mrs. Wititterly's box, which it filled to the very door, there being 
 in fact only room for Messrs. Pyke and Pluck to get in their heads and 
 waistcoats. 
 
 " My dear Kate," said Mrs. Nickleby, kissing her daughter affec- 
 tionately. " How ill you looked a moment ago ! You quite frightened 
 me, I declare !" 
 
 " It was mere fancy, mamma, — the — the — reflection of the lights 
 perhaps," replied Kate, glancing nervously round, and finding it impos- 
 sible to whisper any caution or explanation. 
 
 " Don't you see Sir Mulberry Hawk, my dear ?" 
 Kate bowed slightly, and biting her lip turned her head towards 
 the stage. 
 
 But Sir Mulberry Hawk was not to be so easily repulsed, for he 
 advanced with extended hand ; and Mrs. Nickleby officiously inform- 
 ing Kate of this circumstance, she was obliged to extend her own. 
 Sir Mulberry detained it while he munnured a profusion of compli- 
 ments, which Kate, remembering what had passed between them, 
 rightly considered as so many aggravations of the insult he had already 
 put upon her. Then followed the recognition of Lord Verisopht, and 
 then the greeting of Mr. Pyke, and then that of ^Ir. Pluck, and finally, 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 265 
 
 to complete the young lady's mortification, she was compelled at Mrs. 
 Wititterly's request to perform the ceremony of introducing the odious 
 persons, whom she regarded with the utmost indignation and abhor- 
 rence. 
 
 " Mrs. Wititterly is delighted," said Mr. Wititterly, rubbing his 
 hands ; " delighted, my Lord, I am sure, with this opportunity of 
 contracting an acquaintance which, I trust, my Lord, we shall improve. 
 Julia, my dear, you must not allow yourself to be too much excited, 
 you must not. Indeed you must not. Mrs. Wititterly is of a most 
 excitable nature. Sir Mulberry. The snuff of a candle, the wick of a 
 lamp, the bloom on a peach, the down on a butterfly. You might 
 blow her away, my Lord ; you might blow her away." 
 
 Sir Mulberry seemed to think that it would be a great convenience 
 if the lady could be blown away. He said, however, that the delight 
 was mutual, and Lord Verisopht added that it was mutual, whereupon 
 Messrs. Pyke and Pluck were heard to murmur from the distance that 
 it was very mutual indeed. 
 
 " I take an interest, my Lord," said Mrs. Wititterly, with a faint 
 smile, " such an interest in the drama." 
 
 " Ye — es. It's very interasting," replied Lord Yerisopht. 
 ■-' " I'm always ill after Shakspeare," said Mrs. Wititterly. " I scarcely 
 exist the next day ; I find the re-action so very great after a tragedy, 
 my Lord, and Shakspeare is such a delicious creature." 
 
 " Ye — es !" replied Lord Yerisopht. " He was a clayver man." 
 
 " Do you know, my Lord," said Mrs. Wititterly, after a long silence, 
 ** I find I take so much more interest in his plays, after having been 
 to that dear little dull house he was born in ! Were you ever there, 
 my Lord ?" 
 
 " No, nayver," replied Yerisopht. 
 
 " Then really you ought to go, my Lord," returned Mrs. Wititterly, 
 in very languid and drawling accents. " I don't know how it is, but 
 after you've seen the place and written your name in the little book, 
 somehow or other you seem to be inspired ; it kindles up quite a fire 
 within one." 
 
 " Ye — es ! " replied Lord Yerisopht. " I shall certainly go there." _ 
 
 " Julia, my life," interposed Mr. Wititterly, " you are deceiving his 
 lordship — unintentionally, my Lord, she is deceiving you. It is your 
 poetical temperament, my dear — your ethereal soul — your fervid 
 imagination, which throws you into a glow of genius and excitement. 
 There is nothing in the place, my dear — nothing, nothing." 
 
 " I think there must be something in the place," said Mrs. Nickleby, 
 who had been listening in silence ; " for, soon after I was married, I 
 went to Stratford with poor dear Mr. Nickleby, in a post-chaise from 
 Birmingham — was it a post-chaise though !" said Mrs. Nickleby, con- 
 sidering ; " yes, it must have been a post-chaise, because I recollect 
 remarking at the time that the driver had a green shade over his 
 left eye ; — in a post-chaise from Birmingham, and after we had seen 
 Shakspeare's tomb and birth-place, we went back to the inn there, 
 where we slept that night, and I recollect that all night long I 
 
266 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 dreamt of nothing but a black gentleman, at full length, in plaster-of- 
 Paris, with a lay down collar tied with two tassels, leaning against a 
 post and thinking ; and when I woke in the morning and described 
 him to Mr. Nickleby, he said it was Shakspeare just as he had 
 been when he was alive, which was very curious indeed. Stratford 
 — Stratford," continued Mrs. Nickleby, considering. " Yes, I am 
 positive about that, because I recollect I was in the family way with 
 my son Nicholas at the time, and I had been very much frightened by 
 an Italian image boy that very morning. In fact, it was quite a mercy, 
 ma'am," added Mrs. Nickleby, in a whisper to Mrs. Wititterly, " that 
 my son didn't turn out to be a Shakspeare, and what a dreadful thing 
 that would have been ! " 
 
 When Mrs. Nickleby had brought this interesting anecdote to a close, 
 Pyke and Pluck, ever zealous in their patron's cause, proposed the 
 adjournment of a detachment of the party into the next box ; and with 
 so much skill were the preliminaries adjusted, that Kate, despite all 
 she could say or do to the contrary, had no alternative but to suffer 
 herself to be led away by Sir Mulberry Hawk. Her mother and Mr. 
 Pluck accompanied them, but the worthy lady, pluming herself upon 
 her discretion, took particular care not so much as to look at her 
 daughter during the whole evening, and to seem wholly absorbed in 
 the jokes and conversation of Mr. Pluck, who, having been appointed 
 sentry over Mrs. Nickleby for that especial purpose, neglected, on his 
 side, no possible opportunity of engrossing her attention. 
 
 Lord Frederick Yerisopht remained in the next box to be talked to 
 by Mrs. "Wititterly, and Mr. Pyke was in attendance to throw in a 
 word or two when necessary. As to Mr. Wititterly, he was suffi- 
 ciently busy in the body of the house, informing such of his friends 
 and acquaintance as happened to be there, that those two gentlemen 
 up stairs, whom they had seen in conversation with Mrs. W., were 
 the distinguished Lord Frederick Verisopht and his most intimate 
 friend, the gay Sir Mulberry Hawk — a communication which inflamed 
 several respectable housekeepers with the utmost jealousy and rage, 
 and reduced sixteen unmarried daughters to the very brink of 
 despair. 
 
 The evening came to an end at last, but Kate had yet to be handed 
 down stairs by the detested Sir Mulberry ; and so skilfully were the 
 manoeuvres of Messrs. Pyke and Pluck conducted, that she and the 
 baronet were the last of the party, and were even — without an appear- 
 ance of effort or design — left at some little distance behind. 
 
 " Don't hurry, don't hurry," said Sir Mulberry, as Kate hastened 
 on, and attempted to release her arm. 
 
 She made no reply, but still pressed forward. 
 
 *' Nay, then — " coolly obsei-ved Sir Mulberry, stopping her outright. 
 
 " You had best not seek to detain me, sir !" said Kate, angrily. 
 
 " And why not ?" retorted Sir Mulberry. " My dear creature, now 
 why do you keep up this show of displeasure?" 
 
 " Show !" repeated Kate, indignantly. " How dare you presume id 
 speak to me, Sir — to address me — to come into my presence V 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 267 
 
 " You look prettier in a passion, Miss Nickleby," said Sir Mul- 
 berry Hawk, stooping down, the better to see her face. 
 
 " I hold you in the bitterest detestation and contempt, sir," said 
 Kate. " If you find any attraction in looks of disgust and aversion, 
 you — let me rejoin my friends, sir, instantly. Whatever considera- 
 tions may have withheld me thus far, I will disregard them all, and 
 take a course that even you might feel, if you do not immediately suffer 
 me to proceed." 
 
 Sir Mulberry smiled, and still looking in her face and retaining her 
 arm, walked towards the door. 
 
 " If no regard for my sex or helpless situation will induce you to 
 desist from this coarse and unmanly persecution," said Kate, scarcely 
 knowing, in the tumult of her passions, what she said, — " I have a 
 brother who will resent it dearly, one day." 
 
 " Upon my soul ! " exclaimed Sir Mulberry, as though quietly com- 
 muning with himself; passing his arm round her waist as he spoke, 
 " she looks more beautiful, and I like her better in this mood, than when 
 her eyes are cast down, and she is in perfect repose !" 
 
 How Kate reached the lobby where her friends were waiting she 
 never knew, but she hurried across it without at all regarding them, 
 and disengaged herself suddenly from her companion, sprang into the 
 coach, and throwing herself into its darkest corner burst into tears. 
 
 Messrs. Pyke and Pluck, knowing their cue, at once threw the party 
 into great commotion by shouting for the carriages, and getting up a 
 violent quarrel with sundry inoffensive bystanders ; in the midst of 
 which tumult they put the affrighted Mrs. Nickleby in her chariot, and 
 having got her safely off, turned their thoughts to Mrs. Wititterly, 
 whose attention also they had now effectually distracted from the 
 young lady, by throwing her into a state of the utmost bewilderment 
 and consternation. At length, the conveyance in which she had come 
 rolled off too with its load, and the four worthies, being left alone under 
 the portico, enjoyed a hearty laugh together. 
 
 " There," said Sir Mulberry, turning to his noble friend. " Didn't 
 I tell you last night that if we could find where they were going by 
 bribing a servant through my fellow^, and then established ourselves close 
 by with the mother, these people's honour would be our own ? Why 
 here it is, done in four-and-twenty hours." 
 
 " Ye-es," replied the dupe. " But I have been tied to the old 
 woman all ni-ight." 
 
 " Hear him," said Sir Mulberry, turning to his two friends. " Hear 
 this discontented grumbler. Isn't it enough to make a man swear 
 never to help him in his plots and schemes again ? Isn't it an infernal 
 shame ?" 
 
 Pyke asked Pluck whether it was not an infernal shame, and Pluck 
 asked Pyke ; but neither answered. 
 
 " Isn't it the truth ?" demanded Verisopht. " Wasn't it so ?" 
 
 " Wasn't it so ! " repeated Sir Mulberry. " How would you have 
 had it ? How could we have got a general invitation at first sight — 
 come when you like, go vrhen you like, stop as long as you like, do 
 
268 LIFE AND ADTENTURES OP 
 
 what you like — if you, the lord, had not made yourself agreeable to the 
 foolish mistress of the house ? Do / care for this girl, except as 
 your friend ? Haven't I been sounding your praises in her ears, and 
 bearing her pretty sulks and peevishness all night for you ? What sort 
 of stuff do you think I'm made of ? Would I do this for every man — 
 Don't I deserve even gratitude in return ? " 
 
 " You're a deyvlish good fellow," said the poor young lord, taking 
 his friend's arm. " Upon my life, you're a deyvlish good fellow, 
 Hawk." 
 
 " And I have done right, have I ? " demanded Sir Mulberry. 
 
 " Quite ri-ght." 
 
 " And like a poor, silly, good-natured, friendly dog as I am, eh ?" 
 i " Ye-es, ye-es — like a friend," replied the other. 
 
 " Well then," replied Sir Mulberry, " I'm satisfied. And now let's 
 go and have our revenge on the German baron and the Frenchman, who 
 cleaned you out so handsomely last night." 
 
 Witli these words tlie friendly creature took his companion s arm and 
 led him away, turning half round as he did so, and bestowing a wink 
 and a contemptuous smile on Messrs. Pyke and Pluck, who, cramming 
 their handkerchiefs into their mouths to denote their silent enjoyment 
 of the whole proceedings, followed their patron and his victim at a little 
 distance. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 MISS NICKLEBY, RENDERED DESPERATE BY THE PERSECUTION OF SIR 
 MULBERRY HAWK, AND THE COMPLICATED DIFFICULTIES AND DIS- 
 TRESSES WHICH SURROUND HER, APPEALS, AS A LAST RESOURCE, TO 
 HER UNCLE FOR PROTECTION. 
 
 The ensuing morning brought reflection with it, as morning usually 
 does ; but widely different was the train of thought it awakened in the 
 different persons who had been so unexpectedly brought together on the 
 preceding evening, by the active agency of Messrs. Pyke and Pluck. 
 
 The reflections of Sir Mulberry Hawk — if such a term can be applied 
 to the thoughts of the systematic and calculating man of dissipation, 
 whose joys, regrets, pains, and pleasures, are all of self, and who would 
 seem to retain notliing of the intellectual faculty but the power to 
 debase himself, and to degrade the very nature whose outward 
 semblance he wears — the reflections of Sir Mulberry Hawk turned 
 upon Kate Nickleby, and were, in brief, that she was undoubtedly 
 handsome ; that her coyness must be easily conquerable by a man of 
 his address and experience, and that the pursuit was one which could 
 not fail to redound to his credit, and greatly to enhance his reputation 
 with the world. And lest this last consideration — no mean or second- 
 ary one with Sir Mulberry — should sound strangely in the ears of 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 269 
 
 some, let it be remembered that most men live in a world of their own, 
 and that in that limited circle alone are they ambitious for distinction 
 and applause. Sir Mulberry's world was peopled with profligates, and 
 he acted accordingly. 
 
 Thus, cases of injustice, and oppression, and tyranny, and the most 
 extravagant bigotry, are in constant occurrence among us every day. 
 It is the custom to trumpet forth much wonder and astonishment 
 at the chief actors therein setting at defiance so completely the opinion 
 of the w^orld ; but there is no greater fallacy ; it is precisely because they 
 do consult the opinion of their own little world that such things take 
 place at all, and strike the great world dumb with amazement. 
 
 The reflections of Mrs. Nickleby were of the proudest and most 
 complacent kind ; and under the influence of her very agreeable delu- 
 sion she straightway sat down and indited a long letter to Kate, in 
 which she expressed her entire approval of the admirable choice she had 
 made, and extolled Sir Mulberry to the skies ; asserting, for the more 
 complete satisfaction of her daughter s feelings, that he was precisely 
 the individual whom she (Mrs. Nickleby) would have chosen for her 
 son-in-law, if she had had the picking and choosing from all mankind. 
 The good lady then, with the preliminary observation that she might 
 be fairly supposed not to have lived in the world so long without 
 knowing its ways, communicated a great many subtle precepts applica- 
 ble to the state of courtship, and confirmed in their wisdom by her own 
 personal experience. Above all things she commended a strict maidenly- 
 reserve, as being not only a very laudable thing in itself, but as tending 
 materially to strengthen and increase a lover s ardour. " And I never," 
 added Mrs. Nickleby, " was more delighted in my life than to observe 
 last night, my dear, that your good sense had already told you this." 
 With which sentiment, and various hints of the pleasure she derived 
 from the knowledge that her daughter inherited so large an instalment 
 of her own excellent sense and discretion (to nearly the full measure of 
 which she might hope, with care, to succeed in time), Mrs. Nickleby 
 concluded a very long and rather illegible letter. 
 
 Poor Kate was well nigh distracted on the receipt of four closely- 
 written and closely -crossed sides of congratulation on the very subject 
 which had prevented her closing her eyes all night, and kept her 
 weeping and watching in her chamber ; still worse and more trying 
 was the necessity of rendering herself agreeable to Mrs. "VYititterly, who, 
 being in low spirits after the fatigue of the preceding night, of course 
 expected her companion (else wherefore had she board and salary ?) to 
 be in the best spirits possible. As to Mr. Wititterly, he went about 
 all day in a tremor of delight at having shaken hands with a lord, and 
 having actually asked him to come and see him in his own house. 
 The lord himself, not being troubled to any inconvenient extent with 
 the powder of thinking, regaled himself with the conversation of 
 Messrs. Pyke and Pluck, who sharpened their wit by a plentiful indul- 
 gence in various costly stimulants at his expense. 
 
 It was four in the afternoon — that is, the vulgar afternoon of the 
 sun and the clock — and Mrs. Wititterly reclined, according to custom, 
 
270 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 on the drawing-room sofa, while Kate read aloud a new novel in three 
 volumes, entitled " The Lady Flabella," which Alphonsc the doubtful 
 had procured from the library that very morning. And it was a pro- 
 duction admirably suited to a lady labouring under Mrs. Wititterly's 
 complaint, seeing that there was not a line in it, from beginning to end, 
 which could, by the most remote contingency, awaken the smallest 
 excitement in any person breathing. 
 
 Kate read on. 
 
 ** ' Cherizette,* said the lady Flabella, inserting her mouse-like feet 
 in the blue satin slippers, wliich had unwittingly occasioned the half- 
 playful half-angry altercation between herself and the youthful Colonel 
 Belillaire, in the Duke of Mincefenille's salon de danse on the pre- 
 vious night. ' Cherizette^ ma cMre^ dofinez-moi de I' eau-de-Cologne^ 
 s'il vous plait ^ mon enfant. 
 
 ^ ' Mercie — thank you,' said the Lady Flabella, as the lively but 
 devoted Cherizette plentifully besprinkled with the fragrant compound 
 the Lady Flabella's mouchoir of finest cambric, edged with richest lace, 
 and emblazoned at the four comers with the Flabella crest, and gorgeous 
 heraldic bearings of that noble family ; ' Mercie — that will do.' 
 
 " ' At this instant, while the Lady Flabella yet inhaled that delicious 
 fragrance by holding the mouchoir to her exquisite, but thoughtfully- 
 chiselled nose, the door of the houcbir (artfully concealed by rich 
 hangings of silken damask, the hue of Italy's firmament) was thrown 
 open, and with noiseless tread two valets-de-chambre, clad in sump- 
 tuous liveries of peach-blossom and gold, advanced into the room 
 followed by a page in has de soie — silk stockings — who, while they 
 remained at some distance making the most graceful obeisances, advanced 
 to the feet of his lovely mistress, and dropping on one knee presented, 
 on a golden salver gorgeously chased, a scented billet. 
 
 " ' The Lady Flabella, with, an agitation she could not repress, 
 hastily tore off the envelope and broke the scented seal. It was from 
 Befillaire — the young, the slim, the low- voiced — her own BefiUaire.' " 
 
 " Oh, charming ! " interrupted Kate's patroness, who was sometimes 
 taken literary ; " Poetic, really. Read that description again, Miss 
 Nickleby." 
 
 Kate complied. 
 
 "Sweet, indeed!" said Mrs. Wititterly, with a sigh. "So volup- 
 tuous, is it not — so soft ?" 
 
 " Yes, I think it is," replied Kate, gently ; " very soft." 
 
 " Close the book, Miss Nickleby," said Mrs. Wititterly. " I can 
 hear nothing more to-day ; I should be sorry to disturb the impression 
 of that sweet description. Close the book." 
 
 Kate complied, not unwillingly ; and, as she did so, Mrs. Wititterly 
 raising her glass with a languid hand, remarked, that she looked pale. 
 
 " It was the fright of that — that noise and confusion last night," said 
 Kate. 
 
 " IIow very odd!" exclaimed Mrs. Wititterly, with a look of sur- 
 prise. And certainly, when one comes to think of it, it was very odd 
 that anything should have disturbed a companion. A stoam -engine, 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY, 271 
 
 or other ingemous piece of mechanism out of order, would have been 
 nothing to it. 
 
 " How did you come to know Lord Frederick, and those other 
 delightful creatures, child ? " asked Mrs. Wititterly, still eyeing Kate 
 through her glass. 
 
 " I met them at ray uncle's," said Kate, vexed to feel that she was 
 colouring deeply, but unable to keep down the blood which rushed to 
 her face whenever she thought of that man. 
 
 *' Have you known them long ? " 
 
 " No," rejoined Kate. " Not long." 
 
 " I was very glad of the opportunity which that respectable person, 
 your mother, gave us of being known to them," said Mrs. Witittarly, 
 in a lofty manner. " Some friends of ours were on the very point of 
 introducing us, which makes it quite remarkable." 
 
 This was said lest Miss Nickleby should grow conceited on the 
 honour and dignity of having known four great people (for Pyke and 
 Pluck were included among the delightful creatures), whom Mrs. 
 Wititterly did not know. But as the circumstance had made no 
 impression one way or other upon Kate's mind, the force of the 
 observation was quite lost upon her. 
 
 " They asked permission to call," said Mrs. "Wititterly. " I gave 
 it them of course." 
 
 " Do you expect them to-day ?" Kate ventured to inquire. 
 
 Mrs. Wititterly's answer was lost in the noise of a tremendous 
 rapping at the street-door, and, before it had ceased to vibrate, there 
 drove up a handsome cabriolet, out of which leaped Sir Mulberry 
 Hawk and his friend Lord Yerisopht. 
 
 " They are here now," said Kate, rising and hurrying away. 
 
 " Miss Nickleby !" cried Mrs. Wititterly, perfectly aghast at a, 
 companion's attempting to quit the room, without her permission first 
 had and obtained. " Pray don't think of going." 
 
 " You are very good !" replied Kate. " But — " 
 
 " For goodness' sake, don't agitate me by making me speak so 
 much," said Mrs. AYititterly, with great sharpness. " Dear me. Miss 
 Nickleby, I beg — " 
 
 It was in vain for Kate to protest that she was unwell, for the 
 footsteps of the knockers,, whoever they were, were already on the 
 stairs. She resumed her seat, and had scarcely done so, when the 
 doubtful page darted into the room and announced, Mr. Pyke, and 
 Mr. Pluck, and Lord Yerisopht, and Sir Mulberry Hawk, all at one 
 burst. 
 
 " The most extraordinary thing in the world," said Mr. Pluck 
 saluting both ladies with the utmost cordiality ; " the most extraor- 
 dinary thing. As Lord Frederick and Sir Mulberry drove up to the 
 door, Pyke and I had that instant knocked." 
 
 " That instant knocked," said Pyke. 
 
 " No matter how you came, so that you are here," said Mrs. 
 Wititterly, who, by dint of lying on the same sofa for three years and 
 a half, had got up quite a little pantomime of graceful attitudes, and 
 
&72 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 now threw herself into the most striking of the whole series, to astonish 
 the visiters. " I am delighted, I am sure." 
 
 " And how is Miss Nickleby ?" said Sir Mulberry Hawk, accosting 
 Kate, in a low voice — not so low, however, but that it reached the ears 
 of Mrs. Wititterly. 
 
 " Why, she complains of suffering from the fright of last night," 
 said the lady. " I am sure I don't wonder at it, for my nerves are 
 quite torn to pieces." 
 
 " And yet you look," observed Sir Mulberry, turning round ; " and 
 yet you look — " 
 
 " Beyond everything," said Mr. Pyke, coming to his patron's assist- 
 ance. Of course Mr. Pluck said the same. 
 
 " I am afraid Sir Mulberry is a flatterer, my Lord," said Mrs. 
 Wititterly, turning to that young gentleman, who had been sucking 
 the head of his cane in silence, and staring at Kate. 
 
 " Oh, deyvlish !" replied Verisopht. Having given utterance to 
 which remarkable sentiment, he occupied himself as before. 
 
 " Neither does Miss Nickleby look the worse," said Sir Mulberry, 
 bending his bold gaze upon her. " She was always handsome, but, 
 upon my soul, ma'am, you seem to have imparted some of your own 
 good looks to her besides." 
 
 To judge from the glow which suffused the poor girl's countenance 
 after this speech, Mrs. Wititterly might, with some show of reason, 
 have been supposed to have imparted to it some of that artificial bloom 
 which decorated her own. Mrs. Wititterly admitted, though not 
 with the best grace in the world, that Kate did look pretty. She began 
 to think too, that Sir Mulberry was not quite so agreeable a creature 
 as she had at first supposed him ; for, although a skilful flatterer is a 
 most delightful companion if you can keep him all to yourself, his 
 taste becomes very doubtful when he takes to complimenting other 
 people. 
 
 " Pyke," said the watchful Mr. Pluck, observing the effect which 
 the praise of Miss Nickleby had produced. 
 
 " Well, Pluck," said Pyke. 
 
 " Is there anybody," demanded Mr. Pluck, mysteriously, " anybody 
 you know, that Mrs. Wititterly's profile reminds you of ?" 
 
 " Reminds me of !" answered Pyke. " Of course there is." 
 
 " Who do you mean ?" said Pluck, in the same mysterious manner. 
 " The D. of B. ?" 
 
 " The C. of B.," replied Pyke, with the faintest trace of a grin 
 lingering in his countenance. " The beautiful sister is the countess ; 
 not the duchess." 
 
 " True," said Pluck, " the C. of B. The resemblance is won- 
 derful ?" 
 
 " Perfectly startling," said Mr. Pyke. 
 
 Here was a state of things ! Mrs. Wititterly was declared, upon the 
 testimony of two veracious and competent witnesses, to be the very 
 picture of a countess ! This was one of the consequences of getting 
 into good society. Why, she might have moved among grovelling 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 273 
 
 people for twenty-years, and never heard of it. How could she, indeed ? 
 what did they know about countesses ! 
 
 The two gentlemen having by the greediness with which this little 
 bait was swallowed, tested the extent of Mrs. Wititterly's appetite 
 for adulation, proceeded to administer that commodity in very large 
 doses, thus affording to Sir Mulberry Hawk an opportunity of pester- 
 ing Miss Nickleby with questions and remarks to which she was 
 absolutely obliged to make some reply. Meanwhile, Lord Yerisopht 
 enjoyed unmolested the full flavour of the gold knob at the top of his 
 cane, as he would have done to the end of the interview if Mr. 
 Wititterly had not come home, and caused the conversation to turn 
 to his favorite topic. 
 
 " My Lord," said Mr. Wititterly, " I am delighted — honoured — 
 proud. Be seated again, my Lord, pray. I am proud, indeed — most 
 proud." 
 
 It was to the secret annoyance of his wife that Mr. Wititterly 
 said all this, for, although she was bursting with pride and arrogance, 
 she would have had the illustrious guests believe that their visit was 
 quite a common occurrence, and that they had lords and baronets to 
 see them every day in the week. But Mr. Wititterly's feelings were 
 beyond the power of suppression. 
 
 " It is an honour, indeed \" said Mr. Wititterly. " Julia, my soul, 
 you will suffer for this to-morrow." 
 
 " Suffer !" cried Lord Yerisopht. 
 
 " The reaction, my Lord, the reaction," said Mr. Wititterly. 
 " This violent strain upon the nervous system over, my Lord, what 
 ensues ? A sinking, a depression, a lowness, a lassitude, a debility. 
 My Lord, if Sir Tumley Snuffim was to see that delicate creature 
 at this moment, he would not give a — a — this for her life." In illus- 
 tration of which remark, Mr. Wititterly took a pinch of snuff from 
 his box and jerked it lightly into the air as an emblem of instability. 
 
 " Not that" said Mr. Wititterly, looking about him with a serious 
 countenance. " Sir Tumley Snuffim would not give that for Mrs. 
 Wititterly's existence." 
 
 Mr. Wititterly told this with a kind of sober exultation, as if it were 
 no trifling distinction for a man to have a wife in such a desperate state, 
 and Mrs. Wititterly sighed and looked on, as if she felt the honour, 
 but had determined to bear it as meekly as might be. 
 
 " Mrs. Wititterly," said her husband, " is Sir Tumley Snuffim's 
 favourite patient. I believe I may venture to say, that Mrs. Wititterly 
 is the first person who took the new medicine which is supposed to 
 have destroyed a family at Kensington Gravel Pits. I believe she 
 was. If I am wrong, Julia, my dear, you will correct me." 
 
 " I believe I was," said Mrs. Wititterly, in a faint voice. 
 
 As there appeared to be some doubt in the mind of his patron how 
 he could best join in this conversation, the indefatigable Mr. Pyke 
 threw himself into the breach, and, by way of saying something to the 
 point, inquired — with reference to the aforesaid medicine — whether it 
 was nice. 
 
274 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 " No, Sir, it was not. It had not even that recommendation," 
 said Mr. W. 
 
 " Mrs. Wititterly is quite a martyr," observed Pyke, with a com- 
 plimentary bow. 
 
 " I think I am," said Mrs. Wititterly, smiling. 
 
 " I think you are, my dear Julia," replied her husband, in a tone 
 which seemed to say that he was not vain, but still must insist upon 
 their privileges. " If anybody, my Lord," added Mr. AV^ititterly, 
 wheeling round to the nobleman, " will produce to me a greater martyr 
 than Mrs. Wititterly, all I can say is, that I shall be glad to see that 
 martyr, v/hether male or female — that's all, my Lord." 
 
 Pyke and Pluck promptly remarked that certainly nothing could be 
 fairer than that ; and the call having been by this time protracted to a 
 very great length, they obeyed Sir Mulberry's look, and rose to go. This 
 brought Sir Mulberry himself and Lord Yerisoplit on tlieir legs also. 
 Many protestations of friendship, and expressions anticipative of the 
 pleasure which must inevitably flow from so happy an acquaintance, 
 were exchanged, and the visiters departed, with renewed assurances 
 that at all times and seasons the mansion of the Wititterlys would be 
 honoured by receiving them beneath its roof. 
 
 That they came at all times and seasons — that they dined there one 
 day, supped the next, dined again on the next, and were constantly to 
 and fro on all — that they made parties to visit public places, and met 
 by accident at lounges — that upon all these occasions Miss Nickleby 
 was exposed to the constant and unremitting persecution of Sir Mul- 
 berry Hawk, who now began to feel his character, even in the estima- 
 tion of his two dependants, involved in the successful reduction of her 
 pride — that she had no intervals of peace or rest, except at those hours 
 when she could sit in her solitary room and weep over the trials of 
 the day — all these were consequences naturally flowing from the well- 
 laid plans of Sir Mulberry, ancl their able execution by the auxiliaries, 
 Pyke and Pluck. 
 
 And thus for a fortnight matters went on. That any but the 
 weakest and silliest of people could have seen in one interview that 
 Lord Yerisopht, though he was a lord, and Sir Mulberry Hawk, 
 though he was a baronet, were not persons accustomed to be the best 
 possible companions, and were certainly not calculated by habits, man- 
 ners, tastes, or conversation, to shine with any very great liistre in the 
 society of ladies, need scarcely be remarked. But with Mrs. Wititterly 
 the two titles were all-sufficient; coarseness became humour, vulgarity 
 softened itself down into the most charming eccentricity ; insolence 
 took the guise of an easy absence of reserve, attainable only by those 
 who had liad the good fortune to mix with high folks. 
 
 If the mistress put such a construction upon the behaviour of her 
 new friends, what could the companion urge against them ? If they 
 accustomed themselves to very little restraint before the lady of the 
 house, with how much more freedom could they address her paid 
 dependent ! Nor was even this the worst. As the odious Sir Mulberry 
 Hawk attached himself to Kate with less and less of disguiae, Mrs. 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 275 
 
 Wititterly began to grow jealous of the superior attractions of Miss 
 Nickleby. If this feeling had led to her banishment from the draw- 
 ing-room when such company was there, Kate would have been only 
 too happy and willing that it should have existed, but unfortunately 
 for her she possessed that native grace and true gentility of manner, 
 and those thousand nameless accomplishments which give to female 
 society its greatest charm ; if these be valuable anywhere, they were 
 especially so where the lady of the house was a mere animated doll. The 
 consequence was, that Kate had the double mortification of being an 
 indispensable part of the circle when Sir Mulberry and his friends were 
 there, and of being exposed, on that very account, to all Mrs. Witit- 
 terly's ill-humours and caprices when they were gone. She became 
 utterly and completely miserable. 
 
 Mrs. Wititterly had never thrown off the mask with regard to 
 Sir Mulberry, but when she was more than usually out of temper, 
 attributed the circumstance, as ladies sometimes do, to nervous indis- 
 position. However, as the dreadful idea that Lord Verisopht also was 
 somewhat taken with Kate, and that she, Mrs. Wititterly, was quite a 
 secondary person, dawned upon that lady's mind and gradually deve- 
 loped itself, she became possessed with a large quantity of highly 
 proper and most virtuous indignation, and felt it her duty, as a married 
 lady and a moral member of society, to mention the circumstance to 
 " the young person" without delay. 
 
 Accordingly, Mrs. Wititterly broke ground next morning, during a 
 pause in the novel-reading. 
 
 " Miss Nickleby," said Mrs. Wititterly, " I wish to speak to you 
 very gravely. I am sorry to have to do it, upon my word I am very 
 sorry, but you leave me no alternative. Miss Nickleby." Here Mrs. 
 Wititterly tossed her head — not passionately, only virtuously — and 
 remarked, with some appearance of excitement, that she feared that 
 palpitation of the heart was coming on again. 
 
 " Your behaviour. Miss Nickleby," resumed the lady, " is very far 
 from pleasing me — very far. I am very anxious indeed that you 
 should do well, but you may depend upon it, Miss Nickleby, you will 
 not, if you go on as you do." 
 
 " Ma'am !" exclaimed Kate, proudly. 
 
 " Don't agitate me by speaking in that way, Miss Nickleby, don't,** 
 said Mrs. Wititterly, with some violence, " or you'll compel me to 
 ring the bell." 
 
 Kate looked at her, but said nothing. 
 
 " You needn't suppose," resumed Mrs. Wititterly, " that your look- 
 ing at me in that way. Miss Nickleby, will prevent my saying what 
 I am going to say, which I feel to be a religious duty. You needn't 
 direct your glances towards me," said Mrs. Wititterly, with a suddea 
 burst of spite ; " / am not Sir Mulberry, no nor Lord Frederick Veri- 
 sopht, Miss Nickleby ; nor am I Mr. Pyke, nor Mr. Pluck either." 
 
 Kate looked at her again, but less steadily than before ; and resting 
 her elbow on the table, covered her eyes with her hand.^ 
 
 " If such things had been done when / was a young girl," said Mrs, 
 
 T 2 
 
276 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 Wititterly (this, by the way, must have been some little time before), 
 ** I don't suppose anybody would have believed it." 
 
 " I don't think they would," murmured Kate. " I do not think 
 anybody would believe, without actually knowing it, what I seem 
 doomed to undergo !" 
 
 " Don't talk to me of being doomed to undergo, Miss Nickleby, if 
 you please," said Mrs. Wititterly, with a shrillness of tone quite 
 surprising in so great an invalid. " I will not be answered. Miss 
 Nickleby. I am not accustomed to be answered, nor will I permit it 
 for an instant. Do you hear ? " she added, waiting with some appa- 
 rent inconsistency /or an answer. 
 
 " I do hear you. Ma'am," replied Kate, " with surprise — with 
 greater surprise than I can express." 
 
 " I have always considered you a particularly well-behaved young 
 person for your station in life," said Mrs. Wititterly ; " and as you are 
 a person of healthy appearance, and neat in your dress and so forth, I 
 have taken an interest in you, as I do still, considering that I owe a 
 sort of duty to that respectable old female, your mother. For these 
 reasons. Miss Nickleby, I must tell you once for all, and begging you 
 to mind what I say, that I must insist upon your immediately altering 
 your very forward behaviour to the gentlemen who visit at this house. 
 It really is not becoming," said Mrs. Wititterly, closing her chaste 
 eyes as she spoke ; '' it is improper — quite improper." 
 
 "Oh!" cried Kate, looking upwards and clasping her hands, "is 
 not this, is not this, too cruel, too hard to bear ! Is it not enough that 
 I should have suffered as I have, night and day ; that I should almost 
 have sunk in my own estimation from very shame of having been 
 brought into contact with such people ; but must I also be exposed to 
 this unjust and most unfounded charge ! " 
 
 " You will have the goodness to recollect. Miss Nickleby," said 
 Mrs. Wititterly, "that when ^ou use such terms as 'unjust,' and 
 ' unfounded,' you charge me, in effect, with stating that which is 
 untrue." 
 
 " I do," said Kate, with honest indignation. " Whether you make 
 this accusation of yourself, or at the prompting of others, is alike to 
 me. I say it is vilely, grossly, wilfully untrue. Is it possible !" cried 
 Kate, " that any one of my own sex can have sat by, and not have 
 seen the misery these men have caused me ! Is it possible that you, 
 ma'am, can have been present, and failed to mark the insulting free- 
 dom that their every look bespoke ? Is it possible that you can have 
 avoided seeing, that these libertines, in their utter disrespect for you, 
 and utter disregard of all gentlemanly behaviour and almost of decency, 
 have had but one object in introducing themselves here, and that the 
 furtherance of their designs upon a friendless, helpless girl, who, with- 
 out this humiliating confession, might have hoped to receive from one 
 so much her senior something like womanly aid and sympathy ? I do 
 not — I cannot believe it !" 
 
 If poor Kate had possessed the slightest knowledge of the world, 
 she certainly would not have ventured, even in the excitement into 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 277 
 
 which she had been lashed, upon such an injudicious speech as this. 
 Its effect was precisely what a more experienced observer would have 
 foreseen. Mrs. Wititterly received the attack upon her veracity with 
 exemplary calmness, and listened with the most heroic fortitude to 
 Kate's account of her own sufferings. But allusion being made to 
 her being held in disregard by the gentlemen, she evinced violent emo- 
 tion, and this blow was no sooner followed up by the remark con- 
 cerning her seniority, than she fell back upon the sofa, uttering dismal 
 screams. 
 
 "What is the matter!" cried Mr. Wititterly, bouncing into the 
 room. " Heavens, what do I see ! Julia ! Julia ! look up, my life, 
 look up ! " 
 
 But Julia looked down most perseveringly, and screamed still 
 louder ! so Mr. Wititterly rang the bell, and danced in a frenzied 
 manner round the sofa on which Mrs. Wittitterly lay ; uttering perpe- 
 tual cries for Sir Tumley Snuffim, and never once leaving off to ask 
 for any explanation of the scene before him. 
 
 " Run for Sir Tumley," cried Mr. Wititterly, menacing the page 
 with both fists. " I knew it. Miss Nickleby," he said, looking round 
 with an air of melancholy triumph, " that society has been too much 
 for her. This is all soul, you know, every bit of it." With this assur- 
 ance Mr. Wititterly took up the prostrate form of Mrs. Wititterly, 
 and carried her bodily off to bed. 
 
 Kate waited until Sir Tumley Snuffim had paid his visit and looked 
 in with a report, that, through the special interposition of a merciful 
 Providence (thus spake Sir Tumley), Mrs. Wititterly had gone to 
 sleep. She then hastily attired herself for walking, and leaving word 
 that she should return within a couple of hours, hurried away towards 
 her uncle's house. 
 
 It had been a good day with Ralph Nickleby, — quite a lucky day ; 
 and as he walked to and fro in his little back room with his hands 
 clasped behind him, adding up in his own mind all the sums that had 
 been, or would be, netted from the business done since morning, his 
 mouth was drawn into a hard, stern smile ; while the firmness of the 
 lines and curves that made it up, as well as the cunning glance of 
 his cold, bright eye, seemed to tell, that if any resolution or cunning 
 would increase the profits, they would not fail to be excited for the 
 purpose. 
 
 " Very good !" said Ralph, in allusion, no doubt, to some proceed- 
 ing of the day. " He defies the usurer, does he ? Well, we shall see, 
 ' Honesty is the best policy,' is it ? We'll try that, too/ 
 
 He stopped, and then walked on again. 
 
 " He is content," said Ralph, relaxing into a smile, " to set his 
 known character and conduct against the power of money — dross, as 
 he calls it. Why, what a dull blockhead this fellow must be ! Dross 
 too— dross ! — Who's that ?" 
 
 " Me," said Newman Noggs, looking in. " Your niece," 
 
 " What of her ? " asked Ralph sharply. 
 
 " She's here." 
 
 m 
 
278 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 "Here!" 
 
 Newman jerked his head towards his little room, to signify that she 
 ■was waiting there. 
 
 " What does she want ?" asked Ralph. 
 
 "I don't know," rejoined Newman. "Shall I ask?" he added 
 quickly. 
 
 " No," replied Ralph. " Show her in — stay." He hastily put 
 away a padlocked cash-box that was on the table, and substituted in 
 its stead an empty purse. " There," said Ralph. " Now she may 
 » come in." 
 
 Newman, with a grim smile at this manoeuvre, beckoned the young 
 lady to advance, and having placed a chair for her retired ; looking 
 stealthily over his shoulder at Ralph as he limped slowly out. 
 
 " Well," said Ralph, roughly enough ; but still with something 
 more of kindness in his manner than he would have exhibited towards 
 anybody else. " Well, my — dear. What now ? " 
 
 Kate raised her eyes, which w^ere filled with tears ; and with an 
 effort to master her emotion strove to speak, but in vain. So drooping 
 her head again, she remained silent. Her face was hidden from his 
 view, but Ralph could see that she was weeping. 
 
 " I can guess tlie cause of this !" thought Ralph, after looking at 
 her for some time in silence. " I can — I can guess the cause. Well ! 
 Well !" — thought Ralph — for the moment quite disconcerted, as he 
 ■watched the anguish of his beautiful niece. " Wliere is the harm ? 
 only a few tears ; and it's an excellent lesson for her — an excellent 
 lesson." 
 
 " What is the matter ? " asked Ralph, drawing a chair opposite, and 
 Bitting down. 
 
 He was rather taken aback by the sudden firmness with which Kate 
 looked up and answered him. 
 
 " The matter which brings me to you, sir," she said, " is one which 
 should call the blood up into your cheeks, and make you burn to 
 hear, as it does me to tell. I have been wronged ; my feelings have 
 been outraged, insulted, wounded past all healing, and by your friends." 
 
 " Friends ! " cried Ralph, sternly. " / have no friends, girl." 
 
 " By the men I saw here, then," returned Kate, quickly. " If they 
 were no friends of yours, and you knew what they were, — oh, the 
 more shame on you, uncle, for bringing me among them. To have 
 subjected me to what I was exposed to here, through any misplaced 
 confidence or imperfect knowledge of your guests, would have required 
 some strong excuse ; but if you did it — as I now believe you did — 
 knowing them well, it was most dastardly and cruel." 
 
 Ralph drew back in utter amazement at this plain speaking, and 
 regarded Kate with his sternest look. But she met his gaze proudly 
 and firmly, and although lier face Avas very pale, it looked more noble 
 and handsome, lighted up as it was, than it had ever appeared before. 
 
 " There is some of that boy's blood in you, I see," said Ralph, 
 speaking in his harshest tones, as something in the flashing eye 
 reminded him of Nicholas at their last meeting. 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 279 
 
 " I hope there is ! " replied Kate. " I should be proud to know it. 
 I am young, uncle, and all the difficulties and miseries of my situation 
 have kept it down, but I have been roused to-day beyond all endurance, 
 and, come what may, / ^cill not^ as I am your brother's child, bear 
 these insults longer." 
 
 " What insults, girl ?" demanded Ralph, sharply. 
 
 " Remember what took place here, and ask yourself," replied Kate, 
 colouring deeply. *' Uncle, you must — I am sure you will — release 
 me from such vile and degrading companionship as I am exposed to 
 now. I do not mean," said Kate, hurrying to the old man, and laying 
 her arm upon his shoulder ; " I do not mean to be angry and violent — 
 I beg your pardon if I have seemed so, dear uncle, — ]3ut you do not 
 know what I have suffered, you do not indeed. You cannot tell what 
 the heart of a young girl is — I have no right to expect you should ; 
 but wlien I tell you that I am wretched, and that my heart is breaking, 
 I am sure you will help me. I am sure, I am sure you will ! " 
 
 Ralph looked at her for an instant ; then turned away his head, and 
 beat his foot nervously upon the ground. 
 
 " I have gone on day after day," said Kate, bending over him, and 
 timidly placing her little hand in his, " in the hope that this persecution 
 would cease ; I have gone on day after day, compelled to assume the 
 appearance of cheerfulness, when I was most unhappy. I have had 
 no counsellor, no adviser, no one to protect me. Mamma supposes that 
 these are honourable men, rich and distinguished, and how can I — 
 how can I undeceive her — when she is so happy in these little delu- 
 sions, which are the only happiness she has ? The lady with whom 
 you placed me, is not the person to whom I could confide matters of so 
 much delicacy, and I have come at last to you, the only friend I have 
 at hand — almost the only friend I have at all — to entreat and implore 
 you to assist me." 
 
 " How can /assist you, child ?" said Ralph, rising from his chair, 
 and pacing up and down the room in his old attitude. 
 
 " You have influence with one of these men, I knoic" rejoined Kate, 
 emphatically. " Would not a word from you induce them to desist 
 from this unmanly course ? " 
 
 " No," said Ralph, suddenly turning ; " at least — that — I can t say 
 it, if it would." 
 
 " Can't say it !" 
 
 " No," said Ralph, coming to a dead stop, and clasping his hands 
 more tightly behind him. " I can't say it." 
 
 Kate fell back a step or two, and looked at him, as if in doubt 
 whether she had heard aright. 
 
 " We are connected in business," said Ralph, poising himself alter- 
 nately on his toes and heels, and looking coolly in his niece's face, 
 "in business, and I can't affi)rd to offend them. What is it after all? 
 We have all our trials, and this is one of yours. Some girls would be 
 proud to have such gallants at their feet." 
 
 " Proud !" cried Kate. 
 
 " I don't say," rejoined Ralph, raising his fore-iinger, " but that you 
 
280 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 do right to despise them ; no, you show your good sense in that, as 
 indeed I knew from the first you would. Well. In all other respects 
 you are comfortably bestowed. It's not much to bear. If this young 
 lord does dog your footsteps, and whisper his drivelling inanities in 
 your ears, what of it ? It's a dishonourable passion. So be it ; it 
 won't last long. Some other novelty will spring up one day, and you 
 will be released. In the mean time — " 
 
 " In the mean time," interrupted Kate, with becoming pride and 
 indignation, " I am to be the scorn of my own sex, and the toy of 
 the other ; justly condemned by all women of right feeling, and 
 despised by all honest and honourable men ; sunken in my own esteem, 
 and degraded in every eye that looks upon me. No, not if I work 
 my fingers to the bone, not if I am driven to the roughest and hardest 
 labour. Do not mistake me. I will not disgrace your recommendation. 
 I will remain in the house in which it placed me, until I am entitled 
 to leave it by the terms of my engagement ; — though, mind, I see these 
 men no more. When I quit it, I will hide myself from them and you, 
 and, striving to support my mother by hard service, I will live at 
 least, in peace, and trust in God to help me." 
 
 With these words, she waved her hand, and quitted the room, 
 leaving Ralph Nickleby motionless as a statue. 
 
 The surprise with which Kate, as she closed the room-door, beheld, 
 close beside it, Newman Noggs standing bolt upright in a little niche 
 in the wall like some scarecrow or Guy Faux laid up in winter quar- 
 ters, almost occasioned her to call aloud. But, Newman laying his 
 finger upon his lips, she had the presence of mind to refrain. 
 
 " Don't," said Newman, gliding out of his recess, and accompanying 
 her across the hall. "Don't cry, don't cry." Two very large tears, 
 by-the-bye, were running down Newman's face as he spoke. 
 
 " I see how it is," said poor Noggs, drawing from his pocket what 
 seemed to be a very old duster, and wiping Kate's eyes with it, as 
 gently as if she were an infant. " You're giving way now. Yes, 
 yes, very good ; that's right, I like that. It was right not to give 
 way before him. Yes, yes ! Ha, ha, ha ! Oh, yes. Poor thing !" 
 
 With these disjointed exclamations, Newman wiped his own eyes 
 with the afore-mentioned duster, and, limping to the street-door, opened 
 it to let her out. 
 
 " Don't cry any more," whispered Newman. " I shall see you soon. 
 Ha ! ha ! ha ! And so shall somebody else too. Yes, yes. Ho ! ho !" 
 
 " God bless you," answered Kate, hurrying out, " God bless you." 
 
 " Same to you," rejoined Newman, opening the door again a little 
 way, to say so. " Ha, ha, ha ! Ho ! ho ! ho !" 
 
 And Newman Noggs opened the door once again to nod cheerfully, 
 and laugh — and shut it, to shake his head mournfully, and cry. 
 
 Ralph remained in the same attitude till he heard the noise of the 
 closing door, when he shrugged his shoulders, and after a few turns 
 about the room — hasty at first, but gradually becoming slower, as he 
 relapsed into himself — sat down before his desk. 
 
 It is one of those problems of human nature, which may be noted 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 281 
 
 down, but not solved ; — although Ralph felt no remorse at that moment 
 for his conduct towards the innocent, true-hearted girl ; although his 
 libertine clients had done precisely what he had expected, precisely 
 what he most wished, and precisely what would tend most to his 
 advantage, still he hated them for doing it, from the very bottom of 
 his soul. 
 
 "Ugh !" said Ralph, scowling round, and shaking his clenched hand 
 as the faces of the two profligates rose up before his mind ; " you shall 
 pay for this. Oh ! you shall pay for this !" 
 
 As the usurer turned for consolation to his books and papers, a 
 performance was going on outside his ofiice-door, which would have 
 occasioned him no small surprise, if he could by any means have become 
 acquainted with it. 
 
 Newman Noggs was the sole actor. He stood at a little distance 
 from the door, with his face towards it ; and with the sleeves of his 
 coat turned back at the wrists, was occupied in bestowing the most 
 vigorous, scientific, and straightforward blows upon the empty air. 
 
 At first sight, this would have appeared merely a wise precaution 
 in a man of sedentary habits, with the view of opening the chest and 
 strengthening the muscles of the arms. But the intense eagerness and 
 joy depicted in the face of Newman Noggs, which was suffused with 
 perspiration'; the surprising energy with which he directed a constant 
 succession of blows towards a particular panel about five feet eight 
 from the ground, and still worked away in the most untiring and per- 
 severing manner, would have sufficiently explained to the attentive 
 observer, that his imagination was threshing, to within an inch of his 
 life, his body's most active employer, Mr. Ralph Nickleby. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 OF THE PROCEEDINGS OF NICHOLAS, AND CERTAIN INTERNAL DIVI- 
 SIONS IN THE COMPANY OF MR. VINCENT CRUMMLES. 
 
 The unexpected success and favour with which his experiment at 
 Portsmouth had been received, induced Mr. Crummies to prolong his 
 stay in that town for a fortniglit beyond the period he had originally 
 assigned for the duration of his visit, during which time Nicholas per- 
 sonated a vast variety of characters with undiminished success, and 
 attracted so many people to the theatre who had never been seen there 
 before, that a benefit was considered by the manager a very promising 
 speculation. Nicholas assenting to the terms proposed, the benefit was 
 had, and by it he realized no less a sum than twenty pounds. 
 
 Possessed of this unexpected wealth, his first act was to inclose to 
 honest John Browdie the amount of his friendly loan, which he accom- 
 panied with many expressions of gratitude and esteem, and many 
 cordial wishes for his matrimonial happiness. To Newman Noggs he 
 
282 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 forwarded one half of the sum he had realized, entreating him to take 
 an opportunity of iianding it to Kate in secret, and conveying to 
 her the warmest assurances of his love and affection. He made no 
 mention of the way in which he had employed himself; merely 
 informing Newman that a letter addressed to him under his assumed 
 name at the Post Office, Portsmouth, would readily find him, and 
 entreating that worthy friend to write full particulars of the situation 
 of his mother and sister, and an account of all the grand things that 
 Ralph Nickleby had done for them since his departure from London. 
 
 " You are out of spirits," said Smike, on the night after the letter 
 had been despatched. 
 
 " Not I !" rejoined Nicholas, with assumed gaiety, for the confession 
 would have made the boy miserable all night ; " I was thinking about 
 my sister, Smike." 
 
 " Sister !" 
 
 "Aye." 
 
 " Is she like you ?" inquired Smike. 
 
 *' Why, so they say," replied Nicholas, laughing, " only a great deal 
 handsomer." 
 
 " She must be very beautiful," said Smike, after thinking a little 
 while with his hands folded together, and his eyes bent upon his 
 friend. 
 
 " Anybody who didn't know you as well as I do, my dear fellow, 
 would say you were an accomplished courtier," said Nicholas. 
 
 " I don't even know what that is," replied Smike, shaking his head. 
 " Shall I ever see your sister ?" 
 
 " To be sure," cried Nicholas ; " we shall all be together one of 
 these days — when we are rich, Smike." 
 
 " How is it that you, who are so kind and good to me, have nobody 
 to be kind to you ?" asked Smike, " I cannot make that out." 
 
 " Why, it is a long story," replied Nicholas, " and one you would 
 have some difficulty in comprehending, I fear. I have an enemy — you 
 understand what that is ?" 
 
 "Oh, yes, I understand that," said Smike. 
 
 " Well, it is owing to him," returned Nicholas. " He is rich, and 
 not so easily punished as your old enemy, Mr. Squeers. He is ray 
 uncle, but he is a villain, and has done me wrong." 
 
 " Has he though ?" asked Smike, bending eagerly forward. " What 
 is his name ? Tell me his name." 
 
 " Ralph — Ralph Nickleby." 
 
 " Ralph Nickleby," repeated Smike. " Ralph. I'll get that name 
 by heart." 
 
 He had muttered it over to himself some twenty times, when a 
 loud knock at the door disturbed him from his occupation. Before 
 lie could open it, Mr. Folair, the pantomimist, thrust in his head. 
 
 Mr. Folair's head was usually decorated with a very round hat, 
 unusually high in the crown, and curled up quite tight in the brim.s. 
 On the prestmt occasion he wore it very much on one side, with the 
 back part forward in consequence of its being the least rusty; round 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 283 
 
 his neck he wore a flaming red worsted comforter, whereof the strag- 
 gling ends peeped out beneath his threadbare Newmarket coat, which 
 was very tight and buttoned all the way up. He carried in his hand 
 one very dirty glove, and a cheap dress cane with a glass handle ; in 
 short, his whole appearance was unusually dashing, and demonstrated a 
 far more scrupulous attention to his toilet, than he was in the habit of 
 bestowing upon it. 
 
 *' Good evening, sir," said Mr. Folair, taking off the tall hat, and 
 running his fingers through his hair. " I bring a communication. Hem 1" 
 
 " From whom, and what about ?" inquired Nicholas. " You are 
 unusually mysterious to-night." 
 
 " Cold, perhaps," returned Mr. Folair ; " cold, perhaps. That is the 
 fault of my position — not of myself, Mr. Johnson. My position as a 
 mutual friend requires it, sir." Mr. Folair paused with a most im- 
 pressive look, and diving into the hat before noticed, drew from thence 
 a small piece of whity-brown paper curiously folded, whence he 
 brought forth a note which it had served to keep clean, and handing it 
 over to Nicholas, said — 
 
 " Have the goodness to read that, sir." 
 
 Nicholas, in a state of much amazement, took the note and broke the 
 seal, glancing at Mr. Folair as he did so, who, knitting his brow and 
 pursing up his mouth with great dignity, was sitting with his eyes 
 steadily fixed upon the ceiling. 
 
 It was directed to blank Johnson Esq., by favour of Augustus 
 Folair Esq. ; and the astonishment of Nicholas was in no degree 
 lessened, when he found it to be couched in the following laconic terms : 
 
 " Mr. Lenville presents his kind regards to Mr. Johnson, and will 
 feel obliged if he will inform him at what hour to-morrow morning it 
 will be most convenient to him to meet Mr. L. at -the Theatre, for the 
 purpose of having his nose pulled in the presence of the company. 
 
 "Mr. Lenville requests Mr. Johnson not to neglect making an 
 appointment, as he has invited two or three professional friends to 
 witness the ceremony, and cannot disappoint them upon any account 
 whatever. 
 
 *•* Portsmouth^ Tuesday night." 
 
 Indignant as he was at this impertinence, there was something so 
 exquisitely absurd in such a cartel of defiance, that Nicholas was 
 obliged to bite his lip and read the note over two or three times before 
 he could muster sufficient gravity and sternness to address the hostile 
 messenger, who had not taken his eyes from the ceiling, nor altered the 
 expression of his face in the slightest degree. 
 
 " Do you know the contents of this note, sir ?" he asked, at length. 
 
 " Yes," rejoined Mr. Folair, looking round for an instant, and 
 immediately carrying his eyes back again to the ceiling. 
 
 "And how dare you bring it here, sir ?" asked Nicholas, tearing it 
 into very little pieces, and jerking it in a shower towards the messen- 
 ger. " Had you no fear of being kicked down stairs, sir ? " 
 
^&4 
 
 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 Mr. Folair turned his head — now ornamented with several fragments 
 of the note — towards Nicholas, and with the same imperturbable 
 dignity briefly replied " No." 
 
 " Then," said Nicholas, taking up the tall hat and tossing it towards 
 the door, "you had better follow that article of your dress, sir,* or 
 you may find yourself very disagreeably deceived, and that within a 
 dozen seconds." 
 
 " I say, Johnson," remonstrated Mr. Folair, suddenly losing all his 
 dignity, "none of that, you know. No tricks with a gentleman's 
 wardrobe." 
 
 " Leave the room," returned Nicholas. " How could you presume 
 to come here on such an errand, you scoundrel?" 
 
 " Pooh ! pooh !" said Mr. Folair, unwinding his comforter, and 
 gradually getting himself out of it. " There — that's enough." 
 
 " Enough ! " cried Nicholas, advancing towards him. " Take your- 
 self off, sir." 
 
 " Pooh ! pooh ! I tell you," returned Mr. Folair, waving his hand in 
 deprecation of any further wrath ; "I wasn't in earnest. I only 
 brought it in joke." 
 
 " You had better be careful how you indulge in such jokes again," 
 said Nicholas, " or you may find an allusion to pulling noses rather a 
 dangerous reminder for the subject of your facetiousness. Was it 
 written in joke too, pray ? " 
 
 " No no, that's the best of it," returned the actor ; " right down 
 earnest — honour bright." 
 
 Nicholas could not repress a smile at the odd figure before him, 
 which, at all times more calculated to provoke mirth than anger, was 
 especially so at that moment, when with one knee upon the ground 
 Mr. Folair twirled his old hat round upon his hand, and affected the 
 extremest agony lest any of the nap should have been knocked off — an 
 ornament which, it is almost superfluous to say, it had not boasted for 
 many months. 
 
 " Come, sir," said Nicholas, laughing in spite of himself. " Have 
 the goodness to explain." 
 
 " Why, I'll tell you how it is," said Mr. Folair, sitting himself down 
 in a chair with great coolness. " Since you came here, Lenville has 
 done nothing but second business, and, instead of having a- reception 
 every night as he used to have, they have let him come on as if he 
 was nobody." 
 
 " What do you mean by a reception ?" asked Nicholas. 
 
 " Jupiter !" exclaimed Mr. Folair, "what an unsophisticated shep- 
 herd you are, Johnson ! Why, applause from the house when you first 
 come on. So he has gone on night after night, never getting a hand 
 and you getting a couple of rounds at least, and sometimes three, till at 
 length he got quite desperate, and had half a mind last night to play 
 Tybalt with a real sword, and pink you — ^iiot dangerously, but just 
 enough to lay you up for a month or two." 
 
 " Very considerate," remarked Nicholas. 
 
 " Yes, I think it was under the circumstances ; his professional repu- 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 285 
 
 tation being at stake," said Mr. Folair, quite seriously. " But his heart 
 failed him, and he cast about for some other way of annoying you, and 
 making himself popular at the same time — for that's the point. Noto- 
 riety, notoriety, is the thing. Bless you, if he had pinked you," said 
 Mr. Folair, stopping to make a calculation in his mind, " it would have 
 been worth — ah, it would have been worth eight or ten shillings a week 
 to him. All the town would have come to see the actor who nearly 
 killed a man by mistake ; I shouldn't wonder if it had got him an 
 engagement in London. However, he was obliged to try some other 
 mode of getting popular, and this one occurred to him. It's a clever 
 idea, really. If you had shown the white feather, and let him pull your 
 nose, he'd have got it into the paper; if you had sworn the peace 
 against him, it would have been in the paper too, and he'd have been 
 just as much talked about as you — don't you see ? " 
 
 " Oh certainly," rejoined Nicholas ; " but suppose I were to turn the 
 tables, and pull his nose, what then ? "Would that make his fortune ? " 
 
 " Why, I don't think it would," replied Mr. Folair, scratching his 
 head, " because there wouldn't be any romance about it, and he 
 wouldn't be favourably known. To tell you the truth though, he didn't 
 calculate much upon that, for you're always so mild-spoken, and are 
 so popular among the women, that we didn't suspect you of showing 
 fight. If you did, however, he has a way of getting out of it easily, 
 depend upon that." 
 
 " Has he ?" rejoined Nicholas. " We will try, to-morrow morning. 
 In the meantime, you can give whatever account of our interview you 
 like best. Good night." 
 
 As Mr. Folair was pretty well known among his fellow-actors for a 
 man who delighted in mischief, and was by no means scrupulous, 
 Nicholas had not much doubt but that he had secretly prompted the 
 tragedian in the course he had taken, and, moreover, that he would 
 have carried his mission with a very high hand if he had not been 
 disconcerted by the very unexpected demonstrations with which it had 
 been received. It was not worth his while to be serious with him, 
 however, so he dismissed the pantomimist, with a gentle hint that if 
 he offended again it would be under the penalty of a broken head ; 
 and Mr. Folair, taking the caution in exceedingly good part, walked 
 away to confer with his principal, and give such an account of his 
 proceedings as he might think best calculated to carry on the joke. 
 
 He had no doubt reported that Nicholas was in a state of extreme 
 bodily fear ; for when that young gentleman walked with much deli- 
 beration down to the theatre next morning at the usual hour, he found 
 all the company assembled in evident expectation, and Mr. Lenville, 
 wHth his severest stage face, sitting majestically on a table, whistling 
 defiance. 
 
 Now the ladies were on the side of Nicholas, and the gentlemen 
 (being jealous) were on the side of the disappointed tragedian ; so that 
 the latter formed a little group about the redoubtable Mr. Lenville, 
 and the former looked on at a little distance in some trepidation and 
 anxiety. On Nicholas stopping to salute them, Mr. Lenville laughed 
 
286 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 a scornful laugh, and made some general remark touching the natural 
 history of puppies. 
 
 "Oh !" said Nicholas, looking quietly round, "are you there?" 
 
 " Slave ! " returned Mr. Lenville, flourishing his right arm, and 
 approaching Nicholas with a theatrical stride. But somehow he 
 appeared just at that moment a little startled, as if Nicholas did not 
 look quite so frightened as he had expected, and came all at once to 
 an awkward halt, at which the assembled ladies burst into a shrill 
 laugh. 
 
 " Object of my scorn and hatred ! " said Mr. Lenville, " I hold ye in 
 contempt." 
 
 Nicholas laughed in very unexpected enjoyment of this performance ; 
 and the ladies, by way of encouragement, laughed louder than before ; 
 whereat Mr. Lenville assumed his bitterest smile, and expressed his 
 opinion that they were " minions." 
 
 " But they shall not protect ye !" said the tragedian, taking aa 
 upward look at Nicholas, beginning at his boots and ending at the 
 crown of his head, and then a downward one, beginning at the crown 
 of his head, and ending at his boots — which two looks, as everybody 
 knows, express defiance on the stage. " They shall not protect ye— 
 
 Thus speaking, Mr. Lenville folded his arms, and treated Nicholas to 
 that expression of face with which, in melo-dramatic performances, he 
 was in the habit of regarding the tyrannical kings when they said, 
 ' Away with him to the deepest dungeon beneath the castle moat ; ' 
 and which, accompanied with a little jingling of fetters, had been 
 known to produce great effects in its time. 
 
 Whether it was the absence of the fetters or not, it made no very 
 deep impression on Mr. Lenville's adversary, however, but rather 
 seemed to increase the good humour expressed in his countenance ; in 
 which stage of the contest, one or two gentlemen, who had come out 
 expressly to witness the pulling of Nicholas's nose, grew impatient, 
 murmuring that if it were to be done at all it had better be done at 
 once, and that if Mr. Lenville didn't mean to do it he had better say 
 so, and not keep them waiting there. Thus urged, the tragedian 
 adjusted the cuff of his right coat sleeve for the performance of the 
 operation, and walked in a very stately manner up to Nicholas, who 
 suffered him to approach to within the; requisite distance, and then, 
 without the smallest discomposure, knocked him down. 
 
 Before the discomfited tragedian could raise his head from the 
 boards, Mrs. Lenville (who, as has been before hinted, was in an 
 interesting state) rushed from the rear rank of ladies, and uttering a 
 piercing scream threw herself upon the body. 
 
 " Do you see this, monster ? Do you see this ?" cried Mr. Len- 
 ville, sitting up, and pointing to his prostrate lady, who was holding 
 him very tight round the waist. 
 
 " Come," said Nicholas, nodding his head, "apologize for the inso- 
 lent note you wrote to me last night, and waste no more time in 
 talking." 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY, 287 
 
 " Never l" cried Mr. Lenville. 
 
 « Yes — yes — yes — " screamed his wife. " For my sake — for mine, 
 Lenville — forego all idle forms, unless you would see me a blighted corse 
 at your feet." 
 
 "This is affecting!" said Mr. Lenville, looking round him, and 
 drawing the back of his hand across his eyes. " The ties of nature 
 are strong. The weak husband and the father — the father that is yet 
 to be — relents. I apologize." 
 
 " Humbly and submissively V said Nicholas. 
 
 *' Humbly and submissively," returned the tragedian, scowling 
 upwards. " But only to save her, — for a time will come " 
 
 " Very good," said Nicholas ; " I hope Mrs. Lenville may have a 
 good one ; and when it does come, and you are a father, you shall 
 retract it if you have the courage. There. Be careful, sir, to what 
 lengths your jealousy carries you another time ; and be careful, also, 
 before you venture too far, to ascertain your rival's temper." With 
 this parting advice Nicholas picked up Mr. Lenville's ash stick which 
 had flown out of his hand, and breaking it in half, threw him the pieces 
 and withdrew, bowing slightly to the spectators as he walked out. 
 
 The profoundest deference was paid to Nicholas that night, and the 
 people who had been most anxious to have his nose pulled in the 
 morning, embraced occasions of taking him aside, and telling him with 
 great feeling, how very friendly they took it that he should have 
 treated that Lenville so properly, who was a most unbearable fellow, 
 and on whom they had all, by a remarkable coincidence, at one time 
 or other contemplated the infliction of condign punishment, which 
 they had only been restrained from administering by considerations of 
 mercy ; indeed, to judge from the invariable termination of all these 
 stories, there never was such a charitable and kind-hearted set of 
 people as the male members of Mr. Crummles's company. 
 
 Nicholas bore his triumph, as he had his success in the little world of 
 the theatre, with the utmost moderation and good humour. The crest- 
 fallen Mr. Lenville made an expiring effort to obtain revenge by 
 sending a boy into the gallery to hiss, but he fell a sacrifice to popular 
 indignation, and was promptly turned out without having his money 
 back. 
 
 " Well, Smike," said Nicholas when the first piece was over, and he 
 had almost finished dressing to go home, " is there any letter yet ? " 
 
 " Yes," replied Smike, " I got this one from the post-office." 
 
 " From Newman Noggs," said Nicholas, casting his eye upon the 
 cramped direction ; " it's no easy matter to make his writing out. 
 Let me see — let me see." 
 
 By dint of poring over the letter for half an hour, he contrived to 
 make himself master of the contents, which were certainly not of a 
 nature to set his mind at ease. Newman took upon himself to send 
 back the ten pounds, observing that he had ascertained that neither 
 Mrs. Nickleby nor Kate was in actual want of money at the moment, 
 and that a time might shortly come when Nicholas might want it 
 more. He entreated him not to be alarmed at what he was about to 
 
288 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 say; — there was no bad news — they were in good health — hut he 
 thought circumstances might occur, or were occurring, which would 
 render it absolutely necessary that Kate should have her brother's 
 protection, and if so, Newman said, he would write to him to that 
 effect, either by the next post or the next but one. 
 
 Nicholas read this passage very often, and the more he thought of 
 it the more he began to fear some treachery upon the part of Ralph 
 Once or twice he felt tempted to repair to London at all hazards 
 without an hour's delay, but a little reflection assured him that if such 
 a step were necessary, Newman would have spoken out and told him so 
 at once. 
 
 " At all events I should prepare them here for the possibility of my 
 going away suddenly," said Nicholas ; " I should lose no time in 
 doing that." As the thought occurred to him, he took up his hat and 
 hurried to the green-room. 
 
 " Well, Mr. Johnson," said Mrs. Crummies, who was seated there in 
 full regal costume, with the phenomenon as the maiden in her maternal 
 arms, " next week for Ryde, then for Winchester, then for " 
 
 '' I have some reason to fear," interrupted Nicholas, " that before 
 you leave here my career with you will have closed." 
 ^ '* Closed ! " cried Mrs. Crummies, raising her hands in astonishment. 
 
 " Closed ! " cried Miss Snevellicci, trembling so much in her tights 
 that she actually laid her hand upon the shoulder of the manageress 
 for support. 
 
 " Why, he don't mean to say he's going ! " exclaimed Mrs. Grudden, 
 making her way towards Mrs. Crummies. " Hoity toity ! nonsense." 
 
 The phenomenon, being of an afl*ectionate nature and moreover 
 excitable, raised a lovid cry, and Miss Belvawney and Miss Bravassa 
 actually shed tears. Even the male performers stopped in their con- 
 versation, and echoed the word " Going ! " although some among 
 them (and they had been the loudest in their congratulations that day) 
 winked at each other as though they would not be sorry to lose such a 
 favoured rival ; an opinion, indeed, which the honest Mr. Folair, who 
 was ready dressed for the savage, openly stated in so many words to a 
 demon with whom he was sharing a pot of porter. 
 
 Nicholas briefly said that he feared it would be so, although he 
 could not yet speak with any degree of certainty ; and getting away as 
 soon as he could, went home to con Newman's letter once more, and 
 speculate upon it afresh. 
 
 How trifling all that had been occupying his time and thoughts for 
 many weeks seemed to him during that sleepless night, and how con- 
 stantly and incessantly present to his imagination was the one idea 
 that Kate in the midst of some great trouble and distress might even 
 then be looking — and vainly too — for him ! 
 
.*■■ - » 
 
 
 - « 
 
r f/m.o'^.' (' 
 
 A-V^/// // 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 289 
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 FESTIVITIES ARE HELD IN HONOUR OF NICHOLAS, WHO SUDDENLY 
 WITHDRAWS HIMSELF FROM THE SOCIETY OF MR. VINCENT CRUM- 
 MLES AND HIS THEATRICAL COMPANIONS. 
 
 Mr. Vincent Crummles was no sooner acquainted with the public 
 announcement which Nicholas had made relative to the probability of 
 his shortly ceasing to be a member of the company, than he evinced 
 many tokens of grief and consternation ; and, in the extremity of his 
 despair, even held out certain vague promises of a speedy improvement 
 not only in the amount of his regular salary, but also in the contingent 
 emoluments appertaining to his authorship. Finding Nicholas bent 
 upon quitting the society — for he had now determined that, even if no 
 further tidings came from Newman, he would, at all hazards, ease his 
 mind by repairing to London and ascertaining the exact position of his 
 sister — Mr. Crummies was fain to content himself by calculating the 
 chances of his coming back again, and taking prompt and energetic 
 measures to make the most of him before he went away. 
 
 " Let me see," said Mr. Crummies, taking off his outlaw's wig, the 
 better to arrive at a cool-headed view of the whole case. " Let me 
 see. This is Wednesday night. We'll have posters out the first thing 
 in the morning, announcing positively your last appearance for to- 
 moiTow." 
 
 " But perhaps it may not be my last appearance, you know," said 
 Nicholas. " Unless I am summoned away, I should be sorry to 
 inconvenience you by leaving before the end of the week." 
 
 "So much the better," returned Mr. Crummies. "We can have 
 positively your last appearance, on Thursday — re-engagement for one 
 night more, on Friday — and, yielding to the wishes of numerous influen- 
 tial patrons, who were disappointed in obtaining seats, on Saturday. 
 That ought to bring three very decent houses." 
 
 " Then I am to make three last appearances, am I ? " inquired 
 Nicholas, smiling. 
 
 "Yes,"' rejoined the manager, scratching his head with an air of 
 some vexation ; " three is not enough, and it's very bungling and 
 irregular not to have more, but if we can't help it we can't, so there's 
 no use in talking. A novelty would be very desirable. You couldn't 
 sing a comic song on the pony's back, could you ?" 
 
 " No," replied Nicholas, " I couldn't indeed." 
 
 " It has drawn money before now," said Mr. Crummies, with a look 
 of disappointment. " What do you think of a brilliant display of 
 fireworks ?" 
 
 " That it would be rather expensive," replied Nicholas, drily. 
 
 " Eighteenpence would do it," said Mr. Crummies. " You on the 
 top of a pair of steps with the phenomenon in an attitude ; ' Farewell' 
 on a transparency behind ; and nine people at the wings with a squi,b 
 
 V 
 
290 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 in each hand — all the dozen and a half going off at once — it would be 
 very grand — awful from the front, quite awful." 
 
 As Nicholas appeared by no means impressed with the solemnity of 
 the proposed effect, but, on the contrary, received the proposition in a 
 most irreverent manner and laughed at it very heartily, Mr. Crummies 
 abandoned the project in its birth, and gloomily observed that they 
 must make up the best bill they could with combats and hornpipes, 
 and so stick to the legitimate drama. 
 
 For the purpose of carrying this object into instant execution, the 
 manager at once repaired to a small dressing-room adjacent, where 
 Mrs. Crummies was then occupied in exchanging the habiliments of a 
 melo-dramatic empress for the ordinary attire of matrons in the nine- 
 teenth century. And with the assistance of this lady, and the accom- 
 plished Mrs. Grudden (who had quite a genius for making out bills, 
 being a great hand at throwing in the notes of admiration, and knowing 
 from long experience exactly where the largest capitals ought to go), 
 he seriously applied himself to the composition of the poster. 
 
 "Ileigho!" sighed Nicholas, as he threw himself back in the 
 prompter's chair, after telegraphing the needful directions to Smike, 
 who had been playing a meagre tailor in the interlude, with one skirt 
 to his coat, and a little pocket handkerchief with a large hole in it, and 
 a woollen nightcap, and a red nose, and other distinctive marks peculiar 
 to tailors on the stage. " Heigho ! I wish all this were over." 
 
 *' Over, Mr. Johnson !" repeated a female voice behind him, in a 
 kind of plaintive surprise. 
 
 " It was an ungallant speech, certainly," said Nicholas, looking up 
 to see who the speaker was, and recognising Miss Snevellicci. " I 
 would not have made it if I had known you had been within hearing." 
 
 *' What a dear that Mr. Digbyis!" said Miss Snevellicci, as the 
 tailor went off on the opposite side, at the end of the piece, with great 
 applause. (Smike's theatrical liame was Digby.) 
 
 " I'll tell him presently, for his gratification, that you said so,"retumed 
 -Nicholas. 
 
 "Oh you naughty thing!" rejoined Miss Snevellicci. *' I don't 
 know, though, that I should much mind his knowing my opinion of 
 him ; with some other people, indeed, it might be — " Here Miss 
 Snevellicci stopped, as though waiting to be questioned, but no ques- 
 tioning came, for Nicholas was thinking about more serious matters. 
 V " How kind it is of you," resumed Miss Snevellicci, after a short 
 silence, " to sit waiting here for him night after night, night after 
 night, no matter how tired you are ; and taking so much pains with 
 him, and doing it all with as much delight and readiness as if you 
 were coining gold by it ! " 
 
 " He well deserves all the kindness I can show him, and a great 
 deal more," said Nicholas. " He is the most grateful, single-hearted, 
 affectionate creature, that ever breathed." 
 
 " So odd, too," remarked Miss Snevellicci, "isn't he?" 
 
 "God help him, and those who have made him so, he is indeed," 
 rejoined Nicholas, shaking his heaa 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. . 291 
 
 " He is such a devilish close chap," said Mr. Folair, who had come 
 up a little before, and now joined in the conversation. " Nobody can 
 ever get anything out of him." 
 
 " What should they get out of him ?" asked Nicholas, turning round 
 with some abruptness. 
 
 " Zooks ! what a fire-eater you are, Johnson ! " returned Mr. Folair, 
 pulling up the heel of his dancing shoe. " I'm only talking of the 
 natural curiosity of the people here, to know what he has been about 
 all his life." 
 
 " Poor fellow ! it is pretty plain, I should think, that he has not the 
 intellect to have been about anything of much importance to them or 
 anybody else," said Nicholas. 
 
 "• Ay," rejoined the actor, contemplating the effect of his face in a 
 lamp reflector, " but that involves the whole question, you know." 
 
 " What question ?" asked Nicholas. 
 
 " Why, the who he is and what he is, and how you two, who are 
 so different, came to be such close companions," replied Mr. Folair, 
 delighted with the opportunity of saying something disagreeable. 
 '' That's in everybody's mouth." 
 
 " The ' everybody' of the theatre. I suppose?" said Nicholas, con- 
 temptuously. 
 
 " In it and out of it too," replied the actor. " Why, you know, 
 Lenville says — " 
 
 " I thought I had silenced him effectually," interrupted Nicholas, 
 reddening. 
 
 " Perhaps you have," rejoined the immovable Mr. Folair ; " if you 
 have, he said this before he was silenced : Lenville says that you're a 
 regular stick of an actor, and that it's only the mystery about you that 
 has caused you to go down with the people here, and that Crummies 
 keeps it up for his own sake ; though Lenville says he don't believe 
 there's anything at all in it, except your having got into a scrape 
 and run away from somewhere, for doing something or other." 
 
 " Oh !" said Nicholas, forcing a smile. 
 
 " That's a part of what he says," added Mr. Folair. " I mention it 
 as the friend of both parties, and in strict confidence. / don't agree 
 with him, you know. He says he takes Digby to be more knave than 
 fool ; and old Fluggers, who does the heavy business you know, he 
 says that when he delivered messages at Covent Garden the season 
 before last, there used to be a pickpocket hovering about the coach- 
 stand who had exactly the face of Digby ; though, as he very properly 
 says, Digby may not be the same, but only his brother, or some near 
 relation." 
 
 " Oh !" cried Nicholas again. 
 
 " Yes," said Mr. Folair, with undisturbed calmness, " that's what 
 they say. I thought I'd tell you, because really you ought to know. 
 Oh ! here's this blessed phenomenon at last. Ugh, you little imposi- 
 tion, I should like to — quite ready, my darling, — humbug — Ring up 
 Mrs. G., and let the favourite wake 'em." 
 
 Uttering in a loud voice such of the latter allusions as were com- 
 
 u2 
 
292 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 plimentary to the unconscious phenomenon, and giving the rest in a 
 confidential "aside" to Nicholas, Mr. Folair followed the ascent of the 
 curtain with his eyes, regarded with a sneer the reception of Miss 
 Crummies as the Maiden, and, falling back a step or two to advance 
 with the better effect, uttered a preHminary howl, and "went on" 
 chattering his teeth and brandishing his tin tomahawk as the Indian 
 Savage. 
 
 " So these are some of the stories they invent about us, and bandy 
 from mouth to mouth !" thought Nicholas. " If a man would commit 
 an inexpiable offence against any society, large or small, let him be 
 successful. They will forgive him any crime but that." 
 
 *' You surely don't mind what that malicious creature says, Mr. 
 Johnson ? " observed Miss Snevellicci in her most winning tones. 
 
 " Not I," replied Nicholas. " If I were going to remain here, I 
 might think it w^orth my while to embroil myself. As it is, let them 
 talk till they are hoarse. But here," added Nicholas, as Smike 
 approached, " here comes the subject of a portion of their good-nature, 
 so let he and I say good night together." 
 
 " No, I will not let either of you say anything of the kind," returned 
 Miss Snevellicci. " You must come home and see mama, who only 
 came to Portsmouth to-day, and is dying to behold you. Led, my 
 dear, persuade Mr. Johnson." 
 
 "Oh, I'm sure," returned Miss Ledrook, with considerable vivacity, 
 " if you can't persuade him — " Miss Ledrook said no more, but 
 intimated, by a dexterous playfulness, that if Miss Snevellicci couldn't 
 persuade him, nobody could. 
 
 " Mr. and Mrs. Lilly vick have taken lodgings in our house, and 
 share our sitting-room for the present," said Miss Snevellicci. " Won't 
 that induce you ? " 
 
 " Surely," returned Nicholas, " I can require no possible inducement 
 beyond your invitation." 
 
 " Oh no ! I dare say," rejoined Miss Snevellicci. And Miss 
 Ledrook said, " Upon my word !" Upon which Miss Snevellicci said 
 that Miss Ledrook was a giddy thing ; and Miss Ledrook said that 
 Miss Snevellicci needn't colour up quite so much ; and Miss Snevellicci 
 beat Miss Ledrook, and Miss Ledrook beat Miss Snevellicci. 
 
 " Come," said Miss Ledrook, " it's liigh time we were there, or we 
 shall have poor Mrs. Snevellicci thinking that you have run away with 
 her daughter, Mr. Johnson ; and then we should have a pretty to do." 
 
 " My dear Led," remonstrated Miss Snevellicci, " how you do talk V* 
 
 Miss Ledrook made no answer, but taking Smike's arm in hers, left 
 her friend and Nicholas to follow at their pleasure ; which it pleased 
 them, or rather pleased Nicholas who had no great fancy for a tete-d- 
 tete under the circumstances, to do at once. 
 
 There were not wanting matters of conversation when they reached 
 the street, for it turned out that Miss Snevellici had a small basket to 
 carry home, and Miss Ledrook a small band-box, both containing such 
 minor articles of theatrical costume as the lady performers usually 
 carried to and fro every evening. Nicholas would insist upon carrying 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 293 
 
 the basket, and Miss Snevellicci would insist upon carrying it herself, 
 which gave rise to a struggle, in which Nicholas captured the basket 
 and the band-box likewise. Then Nicholas said, that he wondered what 
 could possibly be inside the basket, and attempted to peep in, whereat 
 Miss Snevellicci screamed, and declared that if she thought he had 
 seen, she was sure she should faint away. This declaration was fol- 
 lowed by a similar attempt on the band-box, and similar demonstra- 
 tions on the part of Miss Ledrook, and then both ladies vowed that 
 they wouldn't move a step further until Nicholas had promised that he 
 wouldn't offer to peep again. At last Nicholas pledged himself to betray 
 no further curiosity, and they walked on : both ladies giggling very 
 much, and declaring that they never had seen such a wicked creature in 
 all their born days — never. 
 
 Lightening the way with such pleasantry as this, they arrived at the 
 tailor's house in no time ; and here they made quite a little party, there 
 being present, besides Mr. Lillyvick and Mrs. Lillyvick, not only Miss 
 Snevellicci's mama, but her papa also. And an uncommonly fine man 
 Miss Snevellicci's papa was, with a hook nose, and a white forehead, 
 and curly black hair, and high cheek bones, and altogether quite a 
 handsome face, only a little pimply as though with drinking. He 
 had a very broad chest had Miss Snevellicci's papa, and he wore a 
 threadbare blue, dress coat buttoned with gilt buttons tight across it ; 
 and he no sooner saw Nicholas come into the room, than he whipped the 
 two forefingers of his right hand in between the two centre buttons, and 
 sticking his other arm gracefully a-kimbo seemed to say, "Now, here 
 I am, my buck, and what have you got to say to me ?" 
 
 Such was, and in such an attitude sat. Miss Snevellicci's papa, w^ho 
 had been in the profession ever since he had first played the ten-year- 
 old imps in the Christmas pantomimes ; who could sing a little, dance a 
 little, fence a little, act a little, and do everything a little, but not much ; 
 who had been sometimes in the ballet, and sometimes in the chorus, at 
 every theatre in London; who was always selected in virtue of his figure 
 to play the military visitors and the speechless noblemen ; who always 
 wore a smart dress, and came on arm-in-arm with a smart lady in short 
 petticoats, — and always did it too with such an air that people in the 
 pit had been several times known to cry out "Bravo!" under the 
 impression that he was somebody. Such was Miss Snevellicci's papa, 
 upon whom some envious persons cast the imputation that he occasion- 
 ally beat Miss Snevellicci's mama, who was still a dancer, with a neat 
 little figure and some remains of good looks ; and who now sat, as she 
 danced, — being rather too old for the full glare of the foot-lights, — in 
 the back ground. 
 
 To these good people Nicholas was presented with much formality. 
 The introduction being completed. Miss Snevellicci's papa (who was 
 scented with rum and water) said that he was delighted to make the 
 acquaintance of a gentleman so highly talented ; and furthermore 
 remarked, that there hadn't been such a hit made — no, not since the 
 first appearance of his friend Mr. Glavormelly, at the Coburg. 
 
 " You have seen him, sir ?" said Miss Snevellicci's papa. 
 
294 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 " No, really I never did," replied Nicholas. 
 
 " You never saw my friend Glavormelly, Sir ! " said Miss Snevel- 
 licci's papa. "Then you have never seen acting yet. If he had 
 lived " 
 
 "Oh, he is dead, is he V interrupted Nicholas. 
 
 " He is," said Mr. Snevellicci, " but he isn't in Westminster Abbey, 
 
 more's the shame. He was a . Well, no matter. He is gone to 
 
 that bourne from whence no traveller returns. I hope he is appreciated 
 there" 
 
 So saying. Miss Snevellicci's papa rubbed tlie tip of his nose with a 
 very yellow silk handkerchief, and gave the company to understand 
 that these recollections overcame him. 
 
 " Well, Mr. Lillyvick," said Nicholas, " and how arc you ?" 
 
 " Quite well, Sir," replied the collector. " There is nothing like the 
 married state. Sir, depend upon it." 
 
 " Indeed !" said Nicholas, laughing. 
 
 " Ah ! nothing like it Sir," replied Mr. Lillyvick solemnly. " How 
 do you think," w^hispered the collector, drawing him aside, " How do 
 you think she looks to-night ?" 
 
 " As handsome as ever," replied Nicholas, glancing at the late Miss 
 Petowker. 
 
 " Why, there's a air about her, Sir," whispered the collector, " that 
 I never saw in anybody. Look at her now she moves to put the kettle 
 on. There ! Isn't it fascination. Sir ? " 
 
 " You're a lucky man," said Nicholas. 
 
 " Ila, ha, ha !" rejoined the collector. " No. Do you think I am 
 though, eh ? Perhaps I may be, perhaps I may be. I say, I couldn't 
 have done mucli better if I had been a young man, could I ? You 
 couldn't have done much better yourself, could you — eh — could you V 
 With such inquiries, and many more such, Mr. Lillyvick jerked his 
 elbow into Nicholas's side, and chuckled till his face became quite 
 purple in the attempt to keep down his satisfaction. 
 
 By this time the cloth had been laid under the joint superintendence 
 of all the ladies, upon two tables put together, one being higli and 
 narrow, and the other low and broad. There were oysters at the top, 
 sausages at the bottom, a pair of snuffers in the centre, and baked 
 potatoes wherever it w^as most convenient to put them. Two additional 
 chairs were brought in from the bedroom ; IMiss Snevellicci sat at the 
 head of the table, and Mr. Lillyvick at the foot ; and Nicholas had not 
 only the honoiir of sitting next Miss Snevellicci, but of having Miss 
 Snevellicci's mama on his right hand, and IMiss Snevellicci's papa over 
 the way. In short, he was the hero of the feast ; and when the table 
 was cleared and something warm introduced, Miss Snevellicci's papa 
 got up and proposed his health in a speech containing such affecting 
 allusions to his coming departure, that Miss Snevellicci wept, and was 
 compelled to retire into the bedroom. 
 
 " Husli ! Don't take any notice of it, said IMiss Ledrook, peeping 
 in from the bedroom. " Say, when she comes back, that she exerts 
 herself too much." - 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. ^5 
 
 Miss Ledrook eked out this speech with so many mysterious nods 
 and frowns before she shut the door again, that a profound silence came 
 upon all the company, during which Miss SnevelHcci's papa looked 
 very big indeed — several sizes larger than life — at everybody in turn, 
 but particularly at Nicholas, and kept on perpetually emptying his 
 tumbler and filling it again, until the ladies returned in a cluster, 
 with Miss Snevellicci among them. 
 
 " You needn't alarm yourself a bit, Mr. Sjievellicci," said Mrs. Lilly- 
 vick. " She is only a little weak and nervous ; she has been so ever 
 since the morning." 
 
 " Oh," said Mr. Snevellici, " that's all, is it ?" 
 
 " Oh yes, that's all. Don't make a fuss about it," cried all the ladies 
 together. 
 
 Now this was not exactly the kind of reply suited to Mr. Snevellicci's 
 importance as a man and a father, so he picked out the unfortunate 
 Mrs. Snevellicci, and asked her what the devil she meant by talking to 
 him in that way. 
 
 " Dear me, my dear " said Mrs. Snevellicci. 
 
 " Don't call me your dear, ma'am," said Mr. Snevellicci, " if you 
 please." 
 
 " Pray, pa, don't," interposed Miss Snevellicci. 
 
 " Don't what, my child ? " 
 
 " Talk in that way." 
 
 " Why not ?" said Mr. Snevellicci. " I hope you don't suppose 
 there's anybody here who is to prevent my talking as I like ?" 
 
 " Nobody wants to, pa," rejoined his daughter. 
 
 " Nobody would if they did want to," said Mr. Snevellicci. " I am 
 not ashamed of myself. Snevellicci is my name ; I'm to be found in 
 Broad Court, Bow Street, when I'm in town. If I'm not at home, let 
 any man ask for me at the stage door. Damme, they know me at the 
 stage door I suppose. Most men have seen my portrait at the cigar shop 
 round the corner. I've been mentioned in the newspapers before now, 
 haven't I ? Talk ! I'll tell you what ; if I found out that any man had 
 been tampering with the affections of my daughter, I wouldn't talk. 
 I'd astonish him without talking ; — that's my way." 
 
 So saying, Mr. Snevellicci struck the palm of his left hand three 
 smart blows with his clenched fist : pulled a phantom nose with his 
 right thumb and fore finger, and swallowed another glassful at a 
 draught. " That's my way," repeated Mr. Snevellicci. 
 
 Most public characters have their failings; and the truth is that 
 Mr. Snevellicci was a little addicted to drinking ; or, if the whole truth 
 must be told, that he was scarcely ever sober. He knew in his cups 
 three distinct stages of intoxication, — the dignified — the quarrelsome — 
 the amorous. When professionally engaged he never got beyond the 
 dignified ; in private circles he went through all three, passing from one 
 to another with a rapidity of transition often rather perplexing to those 
 who had not the honour of his acquaintance. 
 
 Thus Mr. Snevellicci had no sooner swallowed another glassful than 
 he smiled upon all present in happy forgetfulness of having exhibited 
 
296 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 symptoms of pugnacity, and proposed " The ladies — bless their hearts!" 
 in a most vivacious manner. 
 
 " I love 'em," said Mr. Snevelliccij looking round the table, " I love 
 *em, every one." 
 
 " Not every one," reasoned Mr. Lillyvick, mildly. 
 
 " Yes, every one," repeated Mr. Snevellicci. 
 
 " That would include the married ladies, you know," said Mr. Lilly- 
 vick. 
 
 " I love them too. Sir," said Mr. Snevellicci. 
 
 The collector looked into the surrounding faces with an aspect of 
 grave astonishment, seeming to say, " This is a nice man !" and appeared 
 a little surprised that Mrs. Lillyvick's manner yielded no evidences of 
 horror and indignation. 
 
 " One good turn deserves another," said Mr. Snevellicci. " I love 
 them and they love me." And as if this avowal were not made in 
 sufficient disregard and defiance of all moral obligations, what did Mr. 
 Snevellicci do ? He winked — winked, openly and undisguisedly ; 
 winked with his right eye — upon Henrietta Lillyvick ! 
 
 The collector fell back in his chair in the intensity of his astonish- 
 ment. If anybody had winked at her as Henrietta Petowker, it would 
 have been indecorous in the last degi'ee ; but as Mrs. Lillyvick ! While 
 he thought of it in a cold perspiration, and wondered whether it was 
 possible that he could be dreaming, Mr. Snevellicci repeated the wink, 
 and drinking to Mrs. Lillyvick in dumb show, actually blew her a 
 kiss ! Mr. Lillyvick left his chair, walked straight up to the other 
 end of the table, and fell upon him — literally fell upon him — instanta- 
 neously. Mr. Lillyvick was no light weight, and consequently when 
 he fell upon Mr. Snevellicci, Mr. Snevellicci fell under the table. Mr. 
 Lillyvick followed him, and the ladies screamed. 
 
 *' What is the matter with the men, — are they mad!" cried Nicholas, 
 diving under the table, dragging up the collector by main force, and 
 thrusting him, all doubled up, into a chair, as if he had been a stuffijd 
 figure. " What do you mean to do ? what do you want to do ? what 
 is the matter with you ?" 
 
 While Nicholas raised up the collector, Smike had performed the 
 same office for Mr. Snevellicci, who now regarded his late adversary in 
 tipsy amazement. 
 
 " Look here. Sir," replied Mr. Lillyvick, pointing to his astonished 
 wife, " here is purity and elegance combined, whose feelings have been 
 outraged — violated. Sir!" 
 
 " Lor, what nonsense he talks !" exclaimed Mrs. Lillyvick in answer 
 to the inquiring look of Nicholas. " Nobody has said anything to me." 
 
 "Said, Henrietta !" cried the collector. "Didn't I see him " 
 
 Mr. Lillyvick couldn't bring himself to utter the word, but he counter- 
 feited the motion of the eye. 
 
 " Well !" cried Mrs. Lillyvick. " Do you suppose nobody is 
 ever to look at me ? A pretty thing to be married indeed, if that 
 was law ! " 
 
 " You didn't mind it ?" cried the collector. 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 297 
 
 " Mind it !" repeated Mrs. Lillyvick contemptuously. " You ought 
 to go down on your knees and beg everybody's pardon, that you ought." 
 
 " Pardon, my dear ?" said the dismayed collector. 
 
 " Yes, and mine first," replied Mrs. Lillyvick. " Do you suppose 1 
 ain't the best judge of what's proper and what's improper?" 
 
 " To be sure," cried all the ladies. " Do you suppose we shouldn't 
 be the first to speak, if there Avas anything that ought to be taken 
 notice of?" 
 
 " Do you suppose they don't know, Sir ? " said Miss Snevellicci's 
 papa, pulling up his collar, and muttering something about a punching 
 of heads, and being only withheld by considerations of age. With 
 which Miss Snevellicci's papa looked steadily and sternly at Mr. Lilly- 
 vick for some seconds, and then rising deliberately Jrom his chair, 
 kissed the ladies all round, beginning with Mrs. Lillyvick. 
 
 The unhappy collector looked piteously at his wife, as if to sea 
 whether there w^as any one trait of Miss Petowker left in Mrs. Lillyvick, 
 and finding too surely that there was not, begged pardon of all the 
 company with great humility, and sat down such a crest-fallen, dis- 
 pirited, disenchanted man, that despite all his selfishness and dotage, he 
 was quite an object of compassion. 
 
 Miss Snevellicci's papa being greatly exalted by this triumph, and 
 incontestible proof of his popularity with the fair sex, quickly grew 
 convivial, not to say uproarious ; volunteering more than one song of 
 no inconsiderable length, and regaling the social circle between- whiles 
 with recollections of divers splendid women who had been supposed to 
 entertain a passion for himself, several of whom he toasted by name, 
 taking occasion to remark at the same time that if he had been a little 
 more alive to his own interest, he might have been rolling at that 
 moment in his chariot-and-four. These reminiscences appeared to 
 awaken no very torturing pangs in the breast of Mrs. Snevellicci, who 
 was sufficiently occupied in descanting to Nicholas upon the manifold 
 accomplishments and merits of her daughter. Nor was the young lady 
 herself at all behind- hand in displaying her choicest allurements ; but 
 these, heightened as they were by the artifices of Miss Ledrook, had no 
 effect whatever in increasing the attentions of Nicholas, who, with the 
 precedent of MissSqueers still fresh in his memory steadily resisted every 
 fascination, and placed so strict a guard upon his behaviour that when 
 he had taken his leave the ladies were unanimous in pronouncing him 
 quite a monster of insensibility. 
 
 Next day the posters appeared in due course, and the public were 
 informed, in all the colours of the rainbow, and in letters afflicted with 
 every possible variation of spinal deformity, how that Mr. Johnson 
 would have the honour of making his last appearance that evening, and 
 how that an early application for places was requested, in consequence 
 of the extraordinary overflow attendant on his performances, — it being 
 a remarkable fact in theatrical history, but one long since established 
 beyond dispute, that it is a hopeless endeavour to attract people to a 
 theatre unless they can be first brought to believe that they will never 
 get into it. 
 
298 LIFE AND ADVEMTUKES OP 
 
 Nicholas was somewhat at a loss, on entering the theatre at night, 
 to account for the unusual perturbation and excitement visible in the 
 countenances of all the company, but he was not long in doubt as to the 
 cause, for before he could make any inquiry respecting it Mr. Crum- 
 mies approached, and in an agitated tone of voice, informed him that 
 there was a London manager in the boxes. 
 
 *' It's the phenomenon, depend upon it, Sir," said Crummies, dragging 
 Nicholas to the little hole in the curtain that he might look through 
 at the London manager. " I have not the smallest doubt it's the fame 
 of the phenomenon — that's the man; him in the great-coat and no 
 shirt-collar. She shall have ten pound a- week, Johnson ; she shall not 
 appear on the London boards for a farthing less. They shan't engage 
 her either, unless they engage Mrs. Crummies too — twenty pound a- 
 weck for the pair ; or I'll tell you what, I'll tlirow in myself and the 
 two boys, and they shall have the family for thirty. I can't say fairer 
 than that. They must take us all, if none of us will go without the 
 others. That's the way some of the London people do, and it always 
 answers. Thirty pound a-week — it's too cheap, Johnson. It's dirt 
 cheap." 
 
 Nicholas replied, that it certainly was ; and Mr. Vincent Crummies 
 taking several huge pinches of snuff to compose his feelings, hurried 
 away to tell Mrs. Crummies that he had quite settled the only terms 
 that could be accepted, and had resolved not to abate one single 
 farthing. 
 
 When everybody was dressed and the curtain went up, the excite- 
 ment occasioned by the presence of the London manager increased a 
 thousandfold. Everybody happened to know that the London manager 
 had come down specially to witness his or her own performance, and 
 all were in a flutter of anxiety and expectation. Some of those who 
 were not on in the first scene, hurried to the wings, and tliere stretched 
 their necks to have a peep at him ; others stole up into the two little 
 private boxes over the stage-doors, and from that position reconnoitred 
 the London manager. Once the London manager was seen to smile- 
 he smiled at the comic countryman's pretending to catch a blue-bottle, 
 while Mrs. Crummies was making her greatest effect. " Very good, 
 my fine fellow," said Mr. Crummies, shaking his fist at the comic 
 countryman when he came off, " you leave this company next- Saturday 
 night." 
 
 In the same way, everybody who was on the stage beheld no audi- 
 ence but one individual ; everybody played to the London manager. 
 When Mr. Lenville in a sudden burst of passion called the emperor a, 
 miscreant, and then biting his glove, said, " But I must dissemble," 
 instead of looking gloomily at the boards and so waiting for his cue, 
 as is proper in such cases, he kept his eye fixed upon the London 
 manager. When Miss Bravassa sang her song at her lover, who 
 according to custom stood ready to shake hands with her between tlie 
 verses, they looked, not at each other but at the London manager. 
 Mr. Crummies died point blank at him ; and when the two guards 
 came in to take the body off after a very hard death, it was seen to 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 299 
 
 open its eyes and glance at the London manager. At length the 
 London manager was discovered to be asleep, and shortly after that he 
 woke up and went away, whereupon all the company fell foul of the 
 unhappy comic countryman, declaring that his buffoonery was the sole 
 cause ; and Mr. Crummies said, that he had put up with it a long 
 time, but that he really couldn't stand it any longer, and therefore 
 would fe(3l obliged by his looking out for another engagement. 
 
 All this was the occasion of much amusement to Nicholas, whose 
 only feeling upon the subject was one of sincere satisfaction that the 
 great man went away before he appeared. He went through his 
 part in the two last pieces as briskly as he could, and having been 
 received with unbounded favour and unprecedented applause — so said 
 the bills for next day, which had been printed an hour or two before 
 — he took Smike's arm and walked home to bed. 
 
 With the post next morning came a letter from Newman Noggs, 
 very inky, very short, very dirty, very small, and very mysterious, 
 urging Nicholas to return to London instantly ; not to lose an instant ; 
 to be there that night if possible. 
 
 " I will," said Nicholas. " Heaven knows I have remained here for 
 the best, and sorely against my own will ; but even now I may have 
 dallied too long. What can have happened ? Smike, my good fellow, 
 here — take my purse. Put our things together, and pay what little 
 debts we owe — quick, and we shall be in time for the morning coach. 
 I will only tell them that we are going, and will return to you imme- 
 diately." 
 
 So saying, he took his hat, and hurrying away to the lodgings of 
 Mr. Crummies, applied his hand to the knocker with such hearty 
 good- will, that he awakened that gentleman, who was still in bed, and 
 caused Mr. Bulph the pilot to take his morning's pipe very nearly out 
 of his mouth in the extremity of his surprise. 
 
 The door being opened, Nicholas ran up-stairs without any cere- 
 mony, and bursting into the darkened sitting-room on the one pair 
 front, found that the two Master Crummleses had sprung out of the 
 sofa-bedstead and were putting on their clothes with great rapidity, 
 under the impression that it was the middle of the night, and the next 
 house was on fire. 
 
 Before he could undeceive them, Mr. Crummies came down in a 
 flannel-gown and nightcap ; and to him Nicholas briefly explained that 
 circumstances had occurred Avhich rendered it necessary for him to 
 repair to London immediately. 
 
 " So good bye," said Nicholas ; " good bye, good bye." 
 
 He was half-way down stairs before Mr. Crummies had sufficiently 
 recovered his surprise to gasp out something about the posters. 
 
 " I can't help it," replied Nicholas. " Set whatever I may have 
 earned this week against them, or if that will not repay you, say at 
 once what will. Quick, quick." 
 
 " We'll cry quits about that," returned Crummies. " But can't we 
 have one last night more ?" 
 
 " Not an hour — not a minute," replied Nicholas, impatiently. 
 
300 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 " " Won't you stop to say something to Mrs. Crummies ?" asked the 
 manager, following him down to the door. 
 
 " I couldn't stop if it were to prolong my life a score of years," 
 rejoined Nicholas. " Here, take my hand, and with it my hearty 
 thanks. — Oh ! that I should have been fooling here !" 
 
 Accompanying these words with an impatient stamp upon the 
 ground, he tore himself from the manager's detaining grasp, and darting 
 rapidly down the street was out of sight in an instant. 
 
 " Dear me, dear me," said Mr. Crummies, looking wistfully towards 
 the point at which he had just disappeared ; " if he only acted like 
 that, what a deal of money he'd draw ! He should have kept upon 
 this circuit ; he'd have been very useful to me. But he don't know 
 what's good for him. He is an impetuous youth. Young men are 
 rash, very rash." 
 
 Mr. Crummies being in a moralizing mood, might possibly have 
 moralized for some minutes longer if he had not mechanically put his 
 hand towards his waistcoat pocket, where he was accustomed to keep 
 his snufF. The absence of any pocket at all in the usual direction, 
 suddenly recalled to his recollection the fact that he had no waistcoat 
 on ; and this leading him to a contemplation of the extreme scantiness 
 of his attire, he shut the door abruptly, and retired up-stairs with great 
 precipitation. 
 
 Smike had made good speed while Nicholas was absent, and with 
 his help everything was soon ready for their departure. They scarcely 
 stopped to take a morsel of breakfast, and in less than half an hour 
 arrived at the coach-office : quite out of breath with the haste they had 
 made to reach it in time. There were yet a few minutes to spare, so, 
 having secured the places, Nicholas hurried into a slopseller's hard by, 
 and bought Smike a gTeat-coat. It would have been rather large for 
 a substantial yeoman, but the shopman averring (and with considerable 
 truth) that it was a most uncommon fit, Nicholas would have purchased 
 it in his impatience if it had been twice the size. 
 
 As they hurried up to the coach, which was now in the open street 
 and all ready for starting, Nicholas was not a little astonished to find 
 himself suddenly clutched in a close and violent embrace, which nearly 
 took him off his legs ; nor was his amazement at all lessened by hearing 
 the voice of Mr. Crummies exclaim " It is he — my friend, my friend !" 
 
 " Bless my heart," cried Nicholas, struggling in the manager's arms, 
 " what are you about ?" 
 
 The manager made no reply, but strained him to his breast again, 
 exclaiming as he did so, "Farewell, my noble, my lion-hearted boy !" 
 
 In fact, Mr. Crummies, who could never lose any opportunity for 
 professional display, had turned out for the express purpose of taking 
 a public farewell of Nicholas ; and to render it the more imposing, he 
 was now, to that young gentleman's most profound annoyance, inflicting 
 upon him a rapid succession of stage embraces, whicli, as everybody 
 knows, are performed by the embracer's laying liis or her chin on the 
 shoulder of the object of affection, and looking over it. This Mr. 
 Crummies did in the highest style of melo-drama, pouring forth at the 
 
-TS^ ^^>^s^C^>-^ 
 
 
!S^ 
 
 #^f> 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 301 
 
 same time all the most dismal forms of farewell he could think of, out 
 of the stock pieces. Nor was this all, for the elder Master Crummies 
 was going through a similar ceremony with Smike ; while Master Percy 
 Crummies, with a very little second-hand camlet cloak, worn theatri- 
 cally over his left shoulder, stood by, in the attitude of an attendant 
 officer, waiting to convey the two victims to the scaffold. 
 
 The lookers-on laughed very heartily, and as it was as well to put 
 a good face upon the matter, Nicholas laughed too when he had 
 succeeded in disengaging himself ; and rescuing the astonished Smike, 
 climbed up to the coach roof after him, and kissed his hand in honour 
 of the absent Mrs. Crummies as they rolled away. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXI. 
 
 OP RALPH NICKLEBY AND NEWMAN NOGGS, AND SOME WISE PRECAU- 
 TIONS, THE SUCCESS OR FAILURE OF WHICH WILL APPEAR IN 
 THE SEQUEL. 
 
 In blissful unconsciousness that his nephew was hastening at the utmost 
 speed of four good horses towards his sphere of action, and that every 
 passing minute diminished the distance between them, Ralph Nickleby 
 sat that morning occupied in his customary avocations, and yet unable 
 to prevent his thoughts wandering from time to time back to the 
 interview which had taken place between himself and his niece on the 
 previous day. At such intervals, after a few moments of abstraction, 
 Ralph would mutter some peevish interjection, and apply himself with 
 renewed steadiness of purpose to the ledger before him, but again and 
 again the same train of thought came back despite all his efforts to 
 prevent it, confusing him in his calculations, and utterly distracting 
 his attention from the figures over which he bent. At length Ralph 
 laid down his pen, and threw himself back in his chair as though he 
 had made up his mind to allow the obtrusive current of reflection to 
 take its own course, and, by giving it full scope, to rid himself of it 
 effectually. 
 
 " I am not a man to be moved by a pretty face," muttered Ralph 
 sternly. " There is a grinning skull beneath it, and men like me who 
 look and work below the surface see that, and not its delicate covering. 
 And yet I almost like the girl, or should if she had been less proudly 
 and squeamislily brought up. If the boy were drowned or hanged, 
 and the mother dead, this house should be her home. I wish they were, 
 with all my soul." 
 
 Notwithstanding the deadly hatred which Ralph felt towards 
 Nicholas, and the bitter contempt with which he sneered at poor 
 Mrs. Nickleby — notwithstanding the baseness with which he had 
 behaved, and was then behaving, and would behave again if his interest 
 prompted him, towards Kate herself — still there was, strange though 
 
302 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 it may seem, something humanizing and even gentle in his thoughts at 
 that moment. He thought of what his home might be if Kate were 
 there ; he placed her in the empty chair, looked upon her, heard her 
 speak ; he felt again upon his arm the gentle pressure of the trem- 
 bling hand ; he strewed his costly rooms with the hundred silent 
 tokens of feminine presence and occupation ; he came back again to 
 the cold fireside and the silent dreary splendour ; and in that one 
 glimpse of a better nature, born as it was in selfish thoughts, the rich 
 man felt himself friendless, childless, and alone. Gold, for tlie instant, 
 lost its lustre in his eyes, for there were countless treasures of the 
 heart which it could never purchase. 
 
 A very slight circumstance was sufficient to banish such reflections 
 from the mind of such a man. As Ralph looked vacantly out across 
 the yard towards the window of the other office, he became suddenly 
 aware of the earnest observation of Newman Noggs, who, with his red 
 nose almost touching the glass, feigned to be mending a pen with a 
 rusty fragment of a knife, but was in reality staring at his employer 
 with a countenance of the closest and most eager scrutiny. 
 
 Ralph exchanged his dreamy posture for his accustomed business 
 attitude: the face of Newman disappeared, and the train of thought 
 took to flight, all simultaneously and in an instant. 
 
 After a few minutes, Ralph rang his bell. Newman answered the 
 summons, and Ralph raised his eyes stealthily to his face, as if he 
 almost feared to read there, a knowledge of his recent thoughts . 
 
 There was not the smallest speculation, however, in the countenance 
 of Newman Noggs. If it be possible to imagine a man, with two eyes 
 in his head, and both wide open, looking in no direction whatever, and 
 seeing nothing, Newman appeared to be that man while Ralph 
 Nickleby regarded him. 
 
 " How now ?" growled Ralph, 
 
 " Oh !" said Newman, throwing some intelligence into his eyes all at 
 once, and dropping them on his master, " I thought you rang." With 
 which laconic remark Newman turned round and hobbled away. 
 
 "Stop!" said Ralph. 
 
 Newman stopped ; not at all disconcerted. 
 
 " I did ring." 
 
 " I knew you did." 
 
 " Then why do you offer to go if you know that ?" 
 
 " I thought you rang to say you didn't ring," replied Newman. 
 '* You often do." 
 
 *' How dare you pry, and peer, and stare at me, sirrah ?" demanded 
 Ralph. 
 
 "Stare!" cried Newman, "atyow/ Ha, ha !" which was all the 
 explanation Newman deigned to offer. 
 
 " Be careful, sir," said Ralph, looking steadily at him. " Let me 
 have no drunken fooling here. Do you see this parcel ?" 
 
 " It's big enough," rejoined Newman. 
 
 " Carry it into the City ; to Cross, in Broad Street, and leave it 
 there — quick. Do yon hear?" 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 303 
 
 Newman gave a dogged kind of nod to express an affirmative reply, 
 and, leaving: the room for a few seconds, returned with his hat. Having 
 made various ineffective attempts to fit the parcel (which was some 
 two feet square) into the crown thereof, Newman took it under his arm, 
 and after putting on his fingerless gloves w^th great precision and 
 nicety, keeping his eyes fixed upon Mr. Ralph Nickleby all the time, 
 he adjusted his hat upon his head with as much care, real or pre- 
 tended, as if it were a bran-new one of the most expensive quality, and 
 at last departed on his errand. 
 
 He executed his commission with great promptitude and despatch, 
 only calling at one public-house for half a minute, and even that might 
 be said to be in his way, for he went in at one door and came out at 
 the other ; but as he returned and had got so far homewards as the 
 Strand, Newman began to loiter with the uncertain air of a man who 
 has not quite made up his mind whether to halt or go straight forwards. 
 After a very short consideration, the former inclination prevailed, and 
 making towards the point he had had in his mind, Newman knocked a 
 modest double -knock, or rather a nervous single one, at Miss La 
 Creevy's door. 
 
 It was opened by a strange servant, on whom the odd figure of the 
 visitor did not appear to make the most favourable impression 
 possible, inasmuch as she no sooner saw him than she very nearly 
 closed it, and placing herself in the narrow gap, inquired what he 
 wanted. But Newman merely uttering the monosyllable *' Noggs," as 
 if it were some cabalistic word, at sound of which bolts would fly 
 back and doors open, pushed briskly past and gained the door of 
 Miss La Creevy's sitting-room, before the astonished servant could 
 offer any opposition. 
 
 " Walk in if you please," said Miss La Creevy in reply to the sound 
 of Newman's knuckles ; and in he walked accordingly. 
 
 "'Bless us!" cried Miss La Creevy, starting as Newman bolted 
 in ; " what did you want. Sir ?" 
 
 " You have forgotten me," said Newman, with an inclination of the 
 bead. " I wonder at that. That nobody should remember me w^ho 
 knew me in other days, is natural enough ; but there are few people 
 who, seeing me once, forget me tiow." He glanced, as he spoke, at 
 his shabby clothes and paralytic limb, and slig-htly shook his head. 
 
 " I did forget you, I declare," said Miss La Creevy, rising to receive 
 Newman, who met her half-way, " and I am ashamed of myself for 
 doing so ; for you are a kind, good creature, Mr. Noggs. Sit down 
 and tell me all about Miss Nickleby. Poor dear thing ! I haven't seen 
 her for this many a week." 
 
 " How's that ?" asked Newman. 
 
 " Why, the truth is, Mr. Noggs," said Miss La Creevy, " that I 
 have been out on a visit — the first visit I have made for fifteen years." 
 " That is a long time," said Newman, sadly. 
 
 " So it is a very long time to look back upon in years, though, 
 somehow or other, thank Heaven, the solitary days roll away peace- 
 fully and happily enough," replied the miniature painter. " I have a 
 
S04 LIFB AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 brother, Mr. Noggs — ^the only relation I have — and all that time I 
 never saw him once. Not that we ever quarrelled, but he was apprenticed 
 down in the country, and he got married there, and new ties and 
 affections springing up about him, he forgot a poor little woman like 
 me, as it was very reasonable he should, you know. Don't suppose 
 that I complain about that, because I always said to myself, ' It is 
 very natural ; poor dear John is making his way in the world, and 
 has a wife to tell his cares and troubles to, and children now to play 
 about him, so God bless him and them, and send we may all meet 
 together one day where we shall part no more.' But what do you 
 think, Mr. Noggs," said the miniature painter, brightening up and 
 clapping her hands, " of that very same brother coming up to London 
 at last, and never resting till he found me out ; what do you think of 
 his coming here and sitting down in that very chair, and crying like a 
 child because he was so glad to see me — what do you think of his 
 insisting on taking me down all the way into the country to his own 
 house (quite a sumptuous place, Mr. Noggs, with a large garden and 
 I don't know how many fields, and a man in livery waiting at table, 
 and cows and horses and pigs and I don't know what besides), and 
 making me stay a whole month, and pressing me to stop there all my 
 life — yes, all my life — and so did his wife, and so did the children — 
 and there were four of them, and one, the eldest girl of all, they — they 
 had named her after me eight good years before, they had indeed. I 
 never was so happy; in all my life I never was !" The worthy soul 
 hid her face in her handkerchief, and sobbed aloud ; for it was the 
 first opportunity she had had of unburdening her heart, and it would 
 have its way. 
 
 " But bless my life," said Miss La Creevy, wiping her eyes after a 
 short pause, and cramming her handkerchief into her pocket with 
 great bustle and despatch ; " what a foolish creature I must seem to 
 you, Mr. Noggs ! I shouldn't Jiave said anything about it, only I 
 wanted to explain to you how it was I hadn't seen Miss Nickleby." 
 
 " Have you seen the old lady ?" asked Newman. 
 
 " You mean Mrs. Nickleby ?" said Miss La Creevy. " Then I tell 
 you what, Mr. Noggs, if you want to keep in the good books in that 
 quarter, you had better not call her the old lady any more, for I suspect 
 she wouldn't be best pleased to hear you. Yes, I went there the night 
 before last, but she was quite on the high ropes about something, and 
 was so grand and mysterious, that I couldn't make anything of her ; 
 so, to tell you the truth, I took it into my head to be grand too, and 
 came away in state. I thought she would have come round again 
 before this, but she hasn't been here." 
 
 " About Miss Nickleby — " said Newman. 
 
 " Why she was here twice while I was away," returned Miss La 
 Creevy. *' I was afraid she mightn't like to have me calling on her 
 among those great folks in what's-its-name Place, so I thought I'd wait 
 a day or two, and if I didn't see her, write." 
 
 " Ah !" exclaimed Newman, cracking his fingers. 
 
 " However, I want to hear all the news about thera from you," said 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 305 
 
 Miss La Oreevy. *'IIow is the old rougli and tough monster of 
 Golden Square ? Well, of course ; such people always are. I don't 
 mean how is he in health, but how is he going on ; how is he behaving 
 himself?" 
 
 " Damn him !" cried Newman, dashing his cherished hat on the 
 floor ; " like a false hound." 
 
 " Gracious, Mr. Noggs, you quite terrify me !" exclaimed Miss La 
 Creevy, turning pale. 
 
 " I should have spoilt his features yesterday afternoon if I could 
 have afforded it," said Newman, moving restlessly about, and shaking 
 his fist at a portrait of Mr. Canning over the mantel-piece. " I was 
 very near it. I was obliged to put my hands in my pockets, and keep 
 'em there very tight. I shall do it some day in that little back-parlour, 
 I know I shall. I should have done it before now, if I hadn't been 
 afraid of making bad worse. I shall double-lock myself in with him 
 and have it out before I die, I'm quite certain of it." 
 
 " I shall scream if you don't compose yourself, Mr. Noggs," said 
 Miss La Creevy ; " I'm sure I shan't be able to help it." 
 
 " Never mind," rejoined Newman, darting violently to and fro. 
 " He's coming up to-night : I wrote to tell him. He little thinks I 
 know ; he little thinks I care. Cunning scoundrel ! he don't think 
 that. Not he, not he. Never mind, I'll thwart him — /, Newman 
 Noggs. Ho, ho, the rascal !" 
 
 Lashing himself up to an extravagant pitch of fury, Newman 
 Noggs jerked himself about the room with the most eccentric motion 
 ever beheld in a human being: now sparring at the little miniatures 
 on the wall, and now giving himself violent thumps on the head, as if 
 to heighten the delusion, until he sank down in his former seat quite 
 breathless and exhausted. 
 
 " There," said Newman, picking up his hat ; " that's done me good. 
 Now I'm.better, and I'll tell you all about it." 
 
 It took some little time to reassure Miss La Creevy, who had been 
 almost frightened out of her senses by this remarkable demonstration ; 
 but that done, Newman faithfully related all that had passed in the 
 interview between Kate and her uncle, prefacing his narrative with a 
 statement of his previous suspicions on the subject, and his reasons for 
 forming them ; and concluding with a communication of the step he 
 had taken in secretly writing to Nicholas. 
 
 Though little Miss La Creevy's indignation was not so singularly 
 displayed as Newman's, it was scarcely inferior in violence and intensity. 
 Indeed if Ralph Nickleby had happened to make his appearance in the 
 room at that moment, there is some doubt whether he would not have 
 found Miss La Creevy a more dangerous opponent than even Newman 
 Noggs himself. 
 
 " God forgive me for saying so," said Miss La Creevy, as a wind-up 
 to all her expressions of anger, " but I really feel as if I could stick this 
 into him with pleasure." 
 
 It was not a very awful weapon that Miss La Creevy held, it being 
 in fact nothing more nor less than a black-lead pencil ; but discovering 
 
 X 
 
306 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 her mistake, the little portrait painter exchanged it for a mother-of- 
 pearl fruit knife, wherewith, in proof of her desperate thoughts, she 
 made a lunge as she spoke, which wonld hare scarcely disturbed the 
 crumb of a half-quartern loaf. 
 
 " She won't stop where she is, after to-night," said Newman. 
 " That's a comfort." 
 
 " Stop !" cried Miss La Creevy, " she should have left there, weeks 
 
 •■go." 
 
 — " If we had known of this," rejoined Newman. " But we didn't. 
 Nobody could properly interfere but her mother or brother. The 
 mother's weak — poor thing — weak. The dear young man will be here 
 to-night." 
 
 "Heart alive!" cried Miss La Creevy. ^^'^ He will do something 
 desperate, Mr. Noggs, if you tell him all at once." 
 
 Newman left oft' rubbing his hands, and assumed a thoughtful look. 
 
 " Depend upon it," said Miss La Creevy, earnestly, " if you are not 
 very careful in breaking out the tmth to him, he will do some violence 
 upon his uncle or one of these men that will bring some terrible cala- 
 mity upon his own head, and grief and sorrow to us all." 
 
 " I never thought of that," rejoined Newman, his countenance falling 
 more and more. " I came to ask you to receive his sister in case he 
 brought her here, but " i ,i;nrm ly/V/ "- 
 
 "But this is a matter of much greaite^ ittiportance," interruptela 
 Miss La Creevy ; " that: you might have been sure of before you came, 
 but the end of this, nobody can foresee, unless you are very guarded and 
 careful." .,■■-;-■!:. |>- v,^>;v :;..);,:•] yrx, i-r • 
 
 " What ca7i I do ?" cried Newman, scratching his head with an air 
 of great vexation and perplexity. "If he was to talk of pistolling 'em 
 all, I should be obliged to say, ' Certainly — serve 'em right.' " 
 
 Miss La Creevy could not suppress a small shriek on hearing this, 
 and instantly set about extorting a solemn pledge from Newman that 
 he would lise his utmost endeavours to pacify the wrath of Nicholas ; 
 which, after some demur, was conceded. They then consulted together 
 on the safest and surest mode of communicating to him the circum- 
 stances which had rendered his presence necessary. 
 
 " He must have time to cool before he can possibly do any thing," 
 said Miss La Creevy. " That is of the greatest consequence. He 
 must not be told until late at night." 
 
 " But he'll be in town between six and seven this evening," -replied 
 Newman. " / can't keep it from him when he asks me." 
 
 " Then you must go out, Mr. Noggs," said Miss La Creevy. " Yon 
 can easily have been kept away by business, and must not return till 
 nearly midnight." 
 
 " Then he'll come straight here," retorted Newman. 
 
 " So I suppose," observed Miss La Creevy ; " but lie won't find mo 
 at home, for I'll go straight to.the City the instant you leave me, make 
 up matters with Mrs. Nickleby, and take her away to the theatre, so 
 that he may not even know where his sister lives." 
 
 Upon further discussion, this appeared the safest and most feasible 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 307 
 
 mode of proceeding tliat could possibly be adopted. Therefore it was 
 finally determined that matters should be so arranged, and Newman, 
 after listening to many supplementary cautions and entreaties, took his 
 leave of Miss La Creevy and trudged back to Golden Square ; rumi- 
 nating as he went upon a vast number of possibilities and impossibilities 
 which crowded upon his brain, and arose out of the conversation that 
 had just terminated. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXII. 
 
 RELATING CHIEFLY TO SOME REMARKABLE CONVERSATION', AND SOME 
 REMARKABLE PROCEEDINGS TO WHICH IT GIVES RISE. 
 
 " London at last !" cried Nicholas, throwing back his great-coat 
 and rousing Smike from a long nap. " It seemed to me as though we 
 should never reach it." 
 
 " And yet you came along at a tidy pace too," observed the coach- 
 man, looking over his shoulder at Nicholas with no very pleasant 
 expression of countenance. 
 
 " Ay, I know that," was the reply ; " but I have been very anxious 
 to be at my journey's end, and that makes the way seem long." 
 
 " AVell," remarked the coachman, " if the way seemed long with 
 such cattle as you've sat behind, you 7nust have been most uncommon 
 anxious;" and so saying, he let out his whip-lash and touched up a 
 little boy on the calves of his legs by way of emphasis. 
 
 They rattled on through the noisy, bustling, crowded streets of 
 London, now displaying long double rows of brightly-burning lamps, 
 dotted here and there with the chemists' olarincy lights, and illuminated 
 besides with the brilliant flood that streamed from the windows of the 
 shops, where sparkling jewellery, silks and velvets of the richest colours, 
 the most inviting delicacies, and most sumptuous articles of luxurious 
 ornament, succeeded each other in rich and glittering profusion. 
 Streams of people apparently without end poured on and on, jostling 
 each other in the crowd and hurrying forward, scarcely seeming to 
 notice the riches that surrounded them on every side ; while vehicles of 
 all shapes and makes, mingled up together in one moving mass like 
 running water, lent their ceaseless roar to swell the noise and tumult. 
 
 As they dashed by the quickly- changing and ever-varying objects, 
 it was curious to observe in what a strange procession they passed 
 before the eye. Emporiums of splendid dresses, the materials brought 
 from every quarter of the world ; tempting stores of every thing to 
 stimulate and pamper the sated appetite and give new relish to tl»e 
 oft-repeated feast ; vessels of burnished gold and silver, wrought into 
 every exquisite form of vase, and dish, and goblet; guns, swords 
 pistols, and patent engines of destruction ; screws and irons for the 
 
 x2 
 
008 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 crooked, clothes for the newly-born, drugs for the sick, coffins for the 
 dead, and chiircli yards for the buried — all these jumbled each with the 
 other and flocking side by side, seemed to flit by in motley dance like 
 the fantastic groups of the old Dutch painter, and with the same stem 
 moral for the unheeding restless crowd. 
 
 Nor were there wanting objects in the crowd itself to give new 
 point and purpose to the shifting scene. The rags of the squalid 
 ballad-singer fluttered in the rich light that showed the goldsmith's 
 treasures, pale and pinched-up faces hovered about the windows where 
 was tempting food, hungry eyes wandered over the profusion guarded 
 by one thin sheet of brittle glass — an iron wall to them ; half-naked 
 shivering figures stopped to gaze at Chinese shawls and golden stuffs 
 of India. There was a christening party at the largest coffin-maker's, 
 and a funeral hatchment had stopped some great improvements in the 
 bravest mansion. Life and death went hand in hand ; wealth and 
 poverty stood side by side ; repletion and starvation laid them down 
 together. 
 
 But it was London ; and the old country lady inside, who had put 
 her head out of the coach-window a mile or two this side Kingston, 
 and cried out to the driver that she was sure he must have passed it 
 and forgotten to set her down, was satisfied at last. 
 
 Nicholas engaged beds for himself and Smike at the inn where the 
 coach stopped, and repaired, without the delay of another moment, to 
 the lodgings of Newman Noggs ; for his anxiety and impatience had 
 increased with every succeeding minute, and were almost beyond 
 controul. 
 
 There was a fire in Newman's garret, and a candle had been left 
 burning ; the floor was cleanly swept, the room was as comfortably 
 arranged as such a room could be, and meat and drink were placed in 
 order upon the table. Every thing bespoke the affectionate care and 
 attention of Newman Noggs, but Newman himself was not there. 
 
 "Do you know what time he will be home?" inquired Nicholas, 
 tapping at the door of Newman's front neighbour. 
 
 " Ah, Mr. Johnson !" said Crowl, presenting himself. " Welcome, 
 Sir. — How well you're looking ! I never could have believed " 
 
 " Pardon me," interposed Nicholas. " My question — I am ex- 
 tremely anxious to know." 
 
 " Why, he has a troublesome aftair of business," replied Crowl, 
 *' and will not be home before twelve o'clock. He was very unwilling 
 to go, I can tell you, but there was no help for it. However, he left 
 word that you were to make yourself comfortable till he came back, 
 and that I was to entertain you, which I shall be very glad to do." 
 
 In proof of his extreme readhiess to exert himself for the general 
 entertainment, Mr. Crowl drew a chair to the table as he spoke, and 
 helping himself plentifully to the cold meat, invited Nicholas and 
 Smike to follow his example. 
 
 Disappointed and uneasy, Nicholas could touch no food, so, after he 
 had seen Smike comfortably established at the table, he walked out 
 (despite a great many dissuasions uttered by Mr. Crowl with his 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 809 
 
 moutli full), and left Smike to detain Newman in case he returned 
 first. 
 
 As Miss La Creevy had anticipated, Nicholas betook himself 
 straight to her house. Finding her from home, he debated within 
 himself for some time whether he should go to his mother's residence 
 and so compromise her with Ralph Nickleby. Fully persuaded, how- 
 ever, that Newman would not have solicited him to return unless there 
 was some strong reason which required his presence at home, he re- 
 solved to go there, and hastened eastwards with all speed. 
 
 Mrs. Nickleby would not be at home, the girl said, until past 
 twelve, or later. She believed Miss Nickleby was well, but she didn't 
 live at home now, nor did she come home except very seldom. She 
 couldn't say where she was stopping, but it was not at Madame Man- 
 talini's — she was sure of that. 
 
 With his heart beating violently, and apprehending he knew not 
 what disaster, Nicholas returned to w^here he had left Smike. New- 
 man had not been home. He wouldn't be, till twelve o'clock ; there 
 was no chance of it. Was there no possibility of sending to fetch him 
 if it were only for an instant, or forwarding to him one line of writing to 
 which he might return a verbal reply ? That was quite impracticable. 
 He was not at Golden Square, and probably had been sent to execute 
 some commission at a distance. 
 
 Nicholas tried to remain quietly where he was, but he felt so nervous 
 and excited that he could not sit still. He seemed to be losing time 
 unless he was moving. It was an absurd fancy, he knew, but he was 
 wholly unable to resist it. So, he took up his hat and rambled out 
 again. 
 
 He strolled westward this time, pacing the long streets with hurried 
 footsteps, and agitated by a thousand misgivings and apprehensions 
 which he could not overcome. He passed into Plyde Park, now silent 
 and deserted, and increased his rate of walking as if in the hope of 
 leaving his thoughts behind. They crowded upon him more thickly, 
 however, now there were no passing objects to attract his attention ; 
 and the one idea was always uppermost, that some stroke of ill- 
 fortune must have occurred so calamitous in its nature that all were 
 fearful of disclosing it to him. The old question arose again and again 
 — What could it be ? Nicholas walked till he was weary, but was not 
 one bit the wiser ; and indeed he came out of the Park at last a great 
 deal more confused and perplexed than when he went in. 
 
 He had taken scarcely any thing to eat or drink since early in the 
 morning, and felt quite worn out and exhausted. As he returned 
 languidly towards the point from which he had started, along one of 
 the thoroughfares which lie between Park Lane and Bond Street, he 
 passed a handsome hotel, before which he stopped mechanically. 
 
 " An expensive place, I dare say," thought Nicholas ; " but a pint 
 of wine and a biscuit are no great debauch wherever they are had. 
 And yet I don't know." 
 
 He walked on a few steps, but looking wistfully down the long 
 vista of gas-lamps before him, arid thinking how^ long it would take 
 
SIO LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 to reach the end of it — and bcin^ besides in that kind of mood in 
 which a man is most disposed to yield to liis first impulse — and being, 
 bi'sides, strongly attracted to the hotel, in part by curiosity, and in 
 ]>art by some odd mixture of feelings which he would have been 
 troubled to define — Nicholas turned back again, and walked into the 
 coffee-room. 
 
 It was very handsomely furnished. The walls were ornamented with 
 the choicest specimens of French paper, enriched with a gilded cornice of 
 elegant design. The floor was covered with a rich carpet ; and two 
 superb mirrors, one above the chimney-piece and one at the opposite 
 end of the room reaching from floor to ceiling, multiplied the other 
 beauties and added new ones of their own to enhance the general eff'ect. 
 There was a rather noisy party of four gentlemen in a box by the 
 fire-place, and only two other persons present — both elderly gentlemen, 
 and both alone. 
 
 Observing all this in the first comprehensive glance with which a 
 stranger surveys a place that is new to him, Nicholas sat himself down 
 in the box next to the noisy party, with his back towards them, and 
 postponing his order for a pint of claret until such time as the waiter 
 and one of the elderly gentlemen should have settled a disputed ques- 
 tion relative to the price of an item in the bill of fare, took up a news- 
 paper and began to read. 
 
 lie had not read twenty lines, and was in truth half-dozing, when he 
 was startled by the mention of his sister's name. " Little Kate 
 Nickleby" were the words that caught his car. He raised his head 
 in amazement, and as he did so, saw by the reflection in the opposite 
 glass, that two of the party behind him had risen and were standing 
 before the fire. " It must have come from one of them," thought 
 Nicholas. He waited to hear more with a countenance of some indig- 
 nation, for the tone -of speech had been anything but respectful, and 
 the appearance of the individual >Yhom he presumed to have been the 
 speaker was coarse and swaggering. 
 
 This person — so Nicholas observed in the same glance at the mirror 
 which had enabled him to see his face — was standing with his back to 
 tlie fire conversing with a younger man, who stood with his back to 
 tlie company, wore his hat, and was adjusting his shirt collar by the 
 aid of the glass. They spoke in whispers, now and then bursting into 
 a loud laugh, but Nicholas could catch no repetition of the wbrds, nor 
 anything sounding at all like the words, which had attracted his 
 attention. 
 
 At length the two resumed their seats, and more wine being ordered, 
 the party grew louder in their mirth. Still there was no reference 
 made to anybody with whom he was acquainted, and Nicholas became 
 persuaded that his excited fancy had either imagined the sounds alto- 
 gether, or converted some other words into the name which had been 
 so much in his thoughts. 
 
 " It is remarkable too," thought Nicholas: " if it had been ' Kate' or 
 ' Kate Nickleby,' I should not have been so much surprised ; but ' little 
 Kate Nickleby!'" 
 
J a^^ac^!^/'^ mr //i/-/i/w// (y/ A/j.y£^/e^^ /ia?/?r //z /Ae L^o/yee t/le?^c 
 

NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 311 
 
 The wine coming at the moment prevented his finishing the sentence. 
 He swallowed a glassful and took up tlie paper again. At that 
 instant 
 
 " Little Kate Nickleby !" cried a voice behind him. 
 
 " I was right," muttered Nicholas as the paper fell from his hand. 
 " And it was the man I supposed." 
 
 " As there was a proper objection to drinking her in heeltaps," said 
 the voice, " we'll give her the first glass in the new magnum. Little 
 Kate Nickleby !" 
 
 " Little Kate Nickleby," cried the other three. And the glasses 
 were set down empty. 
 
 Keenly alive to the tone and manner of this slight and careless 
 mention of his sister s name in a public place, Nicholas fired at once ; 
 but he kept himself quiet by a great effort, and did not even turn his head. 
 
 " The jade !" said the same voice which had spoken before. " She's 
 a true Nickleby — a worthy imitator of her old uncle Ralph — she 
 hangs back to be more sought after — so does he ; nothing to be got 
 out of Ralph unless you follow him up, and then the money comes 
 doubly welcome, and the bargain doubly hard, for you're impatient 
 and he isn't. Oh ! infernal cunning." 
 
 " Infernal cunning," echoed two voices. 
 
 Nicholas was in a perfect agony as the two elderly gentlemen oppo- 
 site, rose one after the other and went away, lest they should be the 
 means of his losing one word of what was said. But the conversation 
 was suspended as they withdrew, and resumed with even greater free- 
 dom when they had left the room. 
 
 " I am afraid," said the younger gentleman, " that the old woman 
 has grown jea-a-lous, and locked her up. Upon my soul it looks 
 like it." 
 
 " If they quarrel and little Nickleby goes home to her mother, so 
 much the better," said the first. '* I can do any thing with the old lady. 
 She'll believe anything I tell her." 
 
 " Egad that's true," returned the other voice. " Ha, ha, ha ! Poor 
 deyvle ! " 
 
 The laugh was taken up by the two voices which always came in 
 together, and became general at Mrs. Nickleby's expense. Nicholas 
 turned buminoj hot with rage, but he commanded himself for the 
 moment, and waited to hear more. 
 
 What he heard need not be repeated here. Suffice it that as the wine 
 went round he heard enough to acquaint him with the characters and 
 designs of those whose conversation he overheard ; to possess him with 
 the full extent of Ralph's villany, and the real reason of his own presence 
 being required in London. He heard all this and more. He heard his 
 sister's sufferings derided, and her vu-tuous conduct jeered at and 
 brutally misconstrued ; he heard her name banded from mouth to 
 mouth, and herself made the subject of coarse and insolent wagers, free 
 speech, and licentious jesting. 
 
 The man who had spoken first, led the conversation and indeed 
 almost engTossed it, being only stimulated from time to time by some 
 
812 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 nliglit observation from one or other of his companions. To him tlicn 
 Nicliolas addressed himself when he was sufficiently composed to stand 
 b(.'for(! tht! party, and force the words from Iiis parclied and scorching 
 tliroat. 
 
 ** TiCt me have a word with you, Sir," said Nicliolas. 
 
 "With me, Sir?" retorted Sir Mulberry Hawk, eyeing him in dis- 
 dainful surprise. 
 
 " I said with you," rei)lied Nicholas, speaking with great difficulty, 
 for his passion choked him. 
 
 " A mysterious stranger, uj)()n my soul !" exclaimed Sir Mulberry, 
 raising his wine-glass to his lij)s, and looking round upon his friends. 
 
 " Will you Ht(^p aj)art with me for a few minutes, or do you refuse ?" 
 said Nicholas, sternly. 
 
 Sir Mulberry merely paused in the act of drinking, and bade him 
 either name his business or leave the table. 
 
 Nicholas drew a card from his pocket, and threw it before him. 
 
 "There, Sir," said Nicholas; " my business you will guess." 
 
 A momentary expression of astonishment, not unmixed with some 
 confusion, a])peared in the face of Sir Mulberry as he read the name; 
 but he subdued it in an instant, and tossing the card to Jiord Verisopht, 
 who sat oj)poHit(', drirw a toothpick from a glass before him, and very 
 leisurely apj)lie(l it to his mouth. 
 
 " Your name and addrcjss ? " said Nicholas, turning paler as his 
 passion kindled. 
 
 " I shall give you neither," replied Sir Mulberry. 
 
 " If there is a gentleman in this ])arty," said Nicholas, looking round 
 and scarcely able to make his white lij)S form the words, *' ne will 
 accpuiint me with the? name and residence of this man." 
 
 There was a dead silence. 
 
 *' I am the brother of the young lady who has been the subject of 
 conversatioii here," said Nicholas. "I denounce this person as a liar, 
 and impeach him as a coward. If he has a friend here, he will save 
 hiu) the disgrace of tlu; ])altry attempt to conceal his name — an utterly 
 useless one — for I will find it out, nor leave him until I have." 
 
 Sir Mulberry looked at him contemptuously, and, addressing his 
 comj)anions, said — 
 
 *' jjct the fellow talk, I have nothing serious to say to boys of his 
 station ; and his pretty sister shall save him a broken head, if he talks 
 till midnight." 
 
 "You are a base and spiritless scoundrel !" said Nicholas, "and 
 shall be pnujlaimed so to the world. I frill know you ; I will follow 
 you home if you walk th(^ streets till morning." 
 
 Sir Mulberry's hand involuntarily closed upon the decanter, and ho 
 seemed for an instant about to launch it at the head of his challenger. 
 But he only filled his glass, and laughed in derision. 
 
 Nicholas sat himself down, directly opposite to the party, And, sum- 
 moning the waiter, paid his bill. 
 
 " Do you know that person's name ?" he inquired of the man in an 
 audible voice ; pointing out Sir Mulberry as he put the question. 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLBBY. 313 
 
 Sir Mulberry laughed again, and tlic two voices which had always 
 spoken together, echoed tlie laugh ; but rather feebly. 
 
 " That gentleman. Sir?" replied the waiter, who, no doubt, knew his 
 cue, and answered with just as little respect, and just as much imper- 
 tinence as he could safely show : " no, Sir, I do not. Sir." 
 
 " Here, you Sir," cried Sir Mulberry, as the man was retiring ; " do 
 you know that person's name?" 
 
 " Name, Sir ? No, Sir." 
 
 " Then you'll find it there," said Sir Mulberry, throwing Nicholas's 
 card towards him ; " and when you have made yourself master of it, 
 put that piece of pasteboard in the fire — do you hear me ?" 
 
 The man grinned, and, looking doubtfully at Nicholas, compromised 
 the matter by sticking tlie card in the chimney-glass. Having dono 
 this, he retired. 
 
 Nicholas folded his arms, and, biting his lip, sat perfectly quiet ; 
 sufficiently expressing by his manner, however, a firm determination to 
 carry his threat of following Sir Mulberry home, into steady execution. 
 
 It was evident from the tone in which the younger member of the 
 party appeared to remonstrate with his friend, that he objected to this 
 course of proceeding, and urged him to comply with the request which 
 Nicholas had made. Sir Mulberry, however, who was not quite sober, 
 and who was in a sullen and dogged state of obstinacy, soon silenced 
 the representations of his weak young friend, and further seemed — as if 
 to save himself from a repetition of them — to insist on being left alone. 
 However this might have been, the young gentleman and the two who 
 had always spoken together, actually rose to go after a short interval, 
 and presently retired, leaving their friend alone with Nicholas. 
 
 It will be very readily supposed that to one in the condition of 
 Nicholas, the minutes appeared to move with leaden wings indeed, 
 and that their progress did not seem the more rapid from the monotonous 
 ticking of a French clock, or the shrill sound of its little bell which told 
 the quarters. But there he sat ; and in his old seat on the opposite 
 side of the room reclined Sir Mulberry Hawk, with his legs upon 
 the cushion, and his handkerchief thrown negligently over his 
 knees : finishing his magnum of claret with the utmost coolness and 
 indifference. 
 
 Thus they remained in perfect silence for upwards of an hour — 
 Nicholas would have thought for three hours at least, but that the 
 little bell had only gone four times. Twice or thrice he h)oked angrily 
 and impatiently round ; but there was Sir Mulberry in the same 
 attitude, putting his glass to his lijjs from time to time, and looking 
 vacantly at the wall, as if he were wholly ignorant of the presence of 
 any living person. 
 
 At lengtli he yawned, stretched himself, and rose; walked coolly to 
 the glass, and liaving surveyed himself therein, turned round and 
 honoured Nicholas with a long and contemptuous stare. Nicholas 
 stared again with right good- will ; Sir Mulberry shrugged his shoulders, 
 smiled slightly, rang the bell, and ordered the waiter to help him on 
 with his great-coat. 
 
^14 WFB AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 The man did so, and held the door open. 
 
 *' Don't v/ait," said Sir Mulberry ; and they were alone again. 
 
 Sir Mulberry took several turns up and down the room, whistlinor 
 carelessly all the time f stopped to finish the last glass of claret which 
 he had poured out a few minutes before, walked again, put on his liat, 
 adjusted it by the glass, drew on his gloves, and, at last, walked 
 slowly out. Nicholas, who had been fuming and chafing until he was 
 nearly wild, darted from his seat, and followed him — so closely, that 
 before the door had swung upon its hinges after Sir Mulberry's passing 
 out, they stood side by side in the street together. 
 
 There was a private cabriolet in waiting ; the groom opened the 
 apron, and jumped out to the horse's head. 
 
 " Will you make yourself known to me ?" asked Nicholas, in a 
 suppressed voice. 
 
 " No," replied the other fiercely, and confirming the refusal with an 
 oath. "No." 
 
 " If you trust to your horse's speed, you will find yourself mis- 
 taken," said Nicholas. " I will accompany you. By Heaven I will, if 
 I hang on to the footboard." 
 
 *' You shall be horsewhipped if you do," returned Sii' Mulberry. 
 
 " You are a villain," said Nicholas. 
 
 " You are an errand-boy for aught I know," said Sir Mulberry 
 Hawk. 
 
 " I am the son of a country gentleman," "returned Nicholas, " your 
 equal in birth and education, and your superior I trust in everything 
 besides. I tell you again, Miss Nickleby is my sister. AYill you or 
 will you not answer for your unmanly and brutal conduct ?" 
 
 " To a proper champion — yes. To you — no," returned Sir Mul- 
 ben-y, taking the reins in his hand. " Stand out of the way, dog. 
 William, let go her head." 
 
 " You had better not," cried Nicholas, springing on the step as Sir 
 Mulberry jumped in, and catching at the reins. " He has no com- 
 mand over the horse, mind. You shall not go — you shall not, I swear 
 —till you have told me who you are." 
 
 The groom hesitated, for the mare who was a high-spirited animal 
 and thorough-bred, plunged so violently that he could scarcely hold 
 her. 
 
 " Leave go, I tell you ! " thundered his master. 
 
 The man obeyed. The animal reared and plunged as though it 
 would dash the carriage into a thousand pieces, but Nicholas, blind 
 to all sense of danger, and conscious of nothing but his fury, still main- 
 tained his place and his hold upon the reins. 
 
 " Will you unclasp your hand ? " 
 
 " Will you tell me who you are?" 
 
 "No!" 
 
 ^'No!" 
 
 In less time than the quickest tongue could tell it, these words were 
 exchanged, and Sir Mulberry shortening his whip, applied it furiously 
 to the head and shoulders of Nicholas. It was broken in the stniggle ; 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 315 
 
 Nicholas gained the heavy handle, and with it laid open one side of 
 his antagonist's face from the eye to the lip. He saw the gash ; knew 
 that the mare had darted off at a wild mad gallop ; a hundred lights 
 danced in his eyes, and he felt himself flung violently upon the ground. 
 
 He was giddy and sick, but staggered to his feet directly, roused by 
 the loud shouts of the men who were tearing up the street, and 
 screaming to those ahead to clear the way. He was conscious of a 
 torrent of people rushing quickly by — looking up, could discern the 
 cabriolet whirled along the foot pavement with frightful rapidity — then 
 heard a loud cry, the smashing of some heavy body, and the breaking 
 of glass — and then the crowd closed in in the distance, and he could 
 see or hear no more. 
 
 The general attention had been entirely directed from himself to the 
 person in the carriage, and he was quite alone. Rightly judging that 
 under such circumstances it would be madness to follow, he turned 
 down a bye-street in search of the nearest coach-stand, finding after a 
 minute or two that he was reeling like a drunken man, and aware for 
 the first time of a stream of blood that was trickling down his face and 
 breast. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII= 
 
 IN WHICH MR. RALPH NICKLEBY IS RELIEVED, BY A VERY EXPEDITIOUS 
 PROCESS, FROM ALL COMMERCE WITH HIS RELATIONS. 
 
 Smike and Newman Noggs, who in his impatience had returned 
 home long before the time agreed upon, sat before the fire, listening 
 anxiously to every footstep on the stairs, and the slightest sound that 
 stirred within the house, for the approach of Nicholas. Time had 
 worn on, and it was growing late. He had promised to be back in an 
 hour ; and his prolonged absence began to excite considerable alarm in 
 the minds of both, as was abundantly testified by the blank looks they 
 cast upon each other at every new disappointment. 
 
 At length a coach was heard to stop, and Newman ran out to light 
 Nicholas up the stairs. Beholding him in the trim described at the 
 conclusion of the last chapter, he stood aghast in wonder and con- 
 sternation. 
 
 " Don't be alarmed," said Nicholas, hurrying him back into the 
 room. " There is no harm done, beyond what a bason of water can 
 repair." 
 
 " No harm !" cried Newman, passing his hands hastily over the 
 back and arms of Nicholas, as if to assure himself that he had broken 
 no bones. " What have you been doing V\ 
 
 " I know all," interrupted Nicholas ; " I have heard a part, and 
 guessed the rest. But before I remove one jot of these stains, I must 
 hear the whole from you. You see I am collected. My resolution is 
 taken. Now, my good friend, speak out ; for the time for any pallia- 
 tion or concealment is past, and nothing will avail Ralph Nickleby now." 
 
816 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 " Your dress is torn in several places ; you walk lame, and I am 
 sure are suffering pain," said Newman. " Let me see to your hurts first." 
 
 " I have no Imi-ts to see to, beyond a little soreness and stiffness that 
 will soon pass off," said Nicholas, seating himself with some difficulty. 
 " But if I had fractured every limb, and still preserved my senses, you 
 should not bandage one till you had told me what I have the right to 
 know. Come," said Nicholas, giving his hand to Noggs, " You had 
 a sister of your own, you told me once, who died before you fell into 
 misfortune. Now think of her, and tell me, Newman." 
 
 " Yes, I will, I will," said Noggs. " I'll tell you the whole truth." 
 
 Newman did so. Nicholas nodded his head from time to time, as it 
 corroborated the particulars he had already gleaned ; but he fixed his 
 eyes upon the fire, and did not look round once. 
 
 His recital ended, Newman insisted upon his young friend's stripping 
 off his coat, and allowing whatever injuries he had received to be pro- 
 perly tended. Nicholas, after some opposition, at length consented, and 
 while some pretty severe bruises on his arms and shoulders were being 
 rubbed with oil and vinegar, and various other efficacious remedies 
 which Newman borrowed from the different lodgers, related in what 
 manner they had been received. The recital made a strong impression 
 on the warm imagination of Newman ; for when Nicholas came to the 
 violent part of the quarrel, he rubbed so hard, as to occasion him the 
 most exquisite pain, which he would not have exhibited, however, for 
 the world, it being perfectly clear that, for the moment, Newman was 
 operating on Sir Mulberry Hawk, and had quite lost sight of his real 
 patient. 
 
 This martyrdom over, Nicholas arranged with Newman that while 
 he was otherwise occupied next morning, arrangements should be made 
 for his mother's immediately quitting her present residence, and also for 
 despatching Miss La Creevy to break the intelligence to her. He then 
 wrapped himself in Smike's great-coat, and repaired to the inn where 
 they were to pass the night, and where (after writing a few lines to 
 Ralph, the delivery of which was to be entrusted to Newman next day,) 
 he endeavoured to obtain the repose of which he stood so much in need. 
 
 Drunken men, they say, may roll down precipices, and be quite 
 unconscious of any serious personal inconvenience when their reason 
 returns. The remark may possibly apply to injuries received in other 
 kinds of violent excitement ; certain it is, that although Nicholas 
 experienced some pain on first awakening next morning, he sprung out 
 of bed as the clock struck seven, with very little difficulty, and was 
 soon as much on the alert as if nothing had occurred. 
 
 Merely looking into Smike's room, and telling him that Ne\\Tnan 
 Noggs would call for him very shortly, Nicholas descended into the 
 street, and calling a hackney-coach, bade the man drive to Mrs. 
 "VVititterly's, according to the direction which Newman had given him 
 on the previous night. 
 
 It wanted a quarter to eight when they reached Cadogan Place. 
 Nicholas began to fear that no one might be stirring at that early hour, 
 when he was relieved by the sight of a female servant, employed in 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 317 
 
 cleaning the door steps. By this functionary he was referred to the 
 doubtful page, who appeared with dishevelled hair and a very warm 
 and glossy face, as of a page who had just got out of bed. 
 
 By this young gentleman he was informed that Miss Nickleby was 
 then taking her morning's walk in the gardens before the house. On 
 the question being propounded whether he could go and find her, the 
 page desponded and thought not ; but being stimulated with a shilling, 
 the page grew sanguine and thought he could. 
 
 " Say to Miss Nickleby that her brother is here, and in great haste 
 to see her," said Nicholas. 
 
 The plated buttons disappeared with an alacrity most unusual to 
 them, and Nicholas paced the room in a state of feverish agitation 
 which made the delay even of a minute insupportable. He soon heard 
 a light footstep which he well knew, and before he could advance to 
 meet her, Kate had fallen on his neck and burst into tears. 
 
 "My darling girl," said Nicholas as he embraced her. " How pale 
 you are !" 
 
 " I have been so unhappy here, dear brother," sobbed poor Kate ; 
 "so very, very, miserable. Do not leave me here, dear Nicholas, or I 
 shall die of a broken heart." 
 
 " I will leave you nowhere," answered Nicholas — " never again. 
 Kate," he cried, moved in spite of himself as he folded her to his 
 heart. " Tell me that I acted for the best. Tell me that we parted 
 because I feared to bring misfortune on your head ; that it was a trial 
 to me no less than to yourself, and that if I did wrong it was in igno- 
 rance of the world and unknowingly." 
 
 " Why should I tell you what we know so well?" returned Kate 
 soothingly. " Nicholas — dear Nicholas — how can you give way thus V 
 
 " It is such bitter reproach to me to know what you have under- 
 gone," returned her brother ; " to see you so much altered, and yet so 
 kind and patient — God !" cried Nicholas, clenching his fist and sud- 
 denly changing his tone and manner, " it sets my whole blood on fire 
 again. You must leave here with me directly ; you should not have 
 slept here last night, but that I knew all this too late. To whom can 
 I speak, before we drive away ? " 
 
 This question was most opportunely put, for at that instant Mr. 
 "Wititterly walked in, and to him Kate introduced her brother, who at 
 once announced his purpose, and the impossibility of deferring it. 
 
 " The quarter's notice," said Mr. Wititterly, with the gravity of a 
 man on the right side, " is not yet half expired. Therefore — " 
 
 " Therefore," interposed Nicholas, " the quarter's salary must be lost, 
 Sir. You will excuse this extreme haste, but circumstances require 
 that I should immediately remove my sister, and I have not a moment's 
 time to lose. Whatever she brought here I will send for, if you will 
 allow me, in the course of the day." 
 
 Mr. Wititterly bowed, but ofiered no opposition to Kate's immediate 
 departure ; with which, indeed, he was rather gratified than otherwise, 
 Sir Tumley Snuffim having given it as his opinion, that she rather 
 disagreed with Mrs. Wititterly 's constitution. 
 
318 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 ** With regard to the trifle of salary that is due," said Mr. Wititterly, 
 ** I will — " here he was interrupted by a violent fit of coughing — " I 
 will — owe it to Miss Niclcleby." 
 
 Mr. Wititterly, it should be observed, was accustomed to owe small 
 accounts, and to leave them owing. All men have some little pleasant 
 way of their own ; and this was Mr. Wititterly's. 
 
 " If you please," said Nicholas. And once more offering a hurried 
 apology for so sudden a departure, he hurried Kate into the vehicle, 
 and bade the man drive with all speed into the City. 
 
 To the City they went accordingly, with all the speed the hackney- 
 coach could make ; and as the horses happened to live at Whitechapel 
 and to be in the habit of taking theu- breakfast there, when they 
 breakfasted at all, they performed the journey with greater expedition 
 than could reasonably have been expected. 
 
 Nicholas sent Kate up-stairs a few minutes before him, that his 
 unlooked-for appearance might not alarm his mother, and when the 
 way had been paved, presented himself with much duty and affection. 
 Newman had not been idle, for there was a little cart at the door, and 
 the effects were hurrying out already. 
 
 Now, Mrs. Nickleby was not the sort of person to be told anything 
 in a hurry, or rather to comprehend anything of peculiar delicacy or 
 importance on a short notice. Wherefore, although the good lady had 
 been subjected to a full hour's preparation by little Miss La Creevy, 
 and was now addressed in most lucid terms both by Nicholas and his 
 sister, she was in a state of singular bewilderment and confusion, and 
 could by no means be made to comprehend the necessity of such hurried 
 proceedings. 
 
 " Why don't you ask your uncle, my dear Nicholas, what he can 
 possibly mean by it ? " said Mrs. Nickleby. 
 
 " My dear mother," returned Nicholas, " the time for talking has 
 gone by. There is but one step to take, and that is to cast him off 
 with the scorn and indignation he deserves. Your own honour and 
 good name demand that, after the discovery of his vile proceedings, 
 you should not be beholden to him one hour, even for the shelter of 
 these bare walls." 
 
 *' To be sure," said Mrs. Nickleby, crying bitterly, " he is a brute, 
 a monster ; and the walls are very bare, and want painting too, and I 
 have had this ceiling white- washed at the expense of eighteen pence, 
 which is a very distressing thing, considering that it is so much gone 
 into your uncle's pocket. I never could have believed it — ^never." 
 
 " Nor I, nor anybody else," said Nicholas. 
 
 "Lord bless my Hfe!" exclaimed Mrs. Nickleby. " To think that 
 ihat Sir MulbeiTy Hawk should be such an abandoned wretch as Miss 
 La Creevy says he is, Nicholas, my dear; when I was congratulating 
 myself every day on his being an admirer of our dear Kate's, and 
 thinking what a thing it would be for the family if he was to become 
 connected with us, and use his interest to get you some profitable 
 government place. There are very good places to be got about the 
 court, I know ; for the brother of a friend of ours (Miss Cropley, at 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 319 
 
 Exeter, my dear Kate, you recollect), he had one, and I know that it 
 was the chief part of his duty to wear silk stockings, and a bag wig 
 like a black watch-pocket; and to think that it should come to this 
 after all — oh, dear, dear, it's enough to kill one, that it is !" With 
 which expressions of sorrow, Mrs. Nickleby gave fresh vent to her grief, 
 and wept piteously. 
 
 As Nicholas and his sister were by this time compelled to superin- 
 tend the removal of the few articles of furniture. Miss La Creevy 
 devoted herself to the consolation of the matron, and observed with 
 oreat kindness of manner that she must really make an effort, and 
 cheer up. 
 
 " Oh I dare say. Miss La Creevy," returned Mrs. Nickleby, with a 
 petulance not unnatural in her unhappy circumstances, " it's very easy 
 to say cheer up, but if you had had as many occasions to cheer up 
 
 as I have had and there," said Mrs. Nickleby, stopping short, 
 
 " Think of Mr. Pyke and Mr. Pluck, two of the most perfect gentle- 
 men that ever lived, what am I to say to them — what can I say to 
 them ? Why, if I was to say to them, ^ I'm told your friend Sir Mul- 
 berry is a base wretch,' they'd laugh at me." 
 
 " They will laugh no more at us, I take it," said Nicholas, ad- 
 vancing. " Come mother, there is a coach at the door, and until 
 Monday, at all events, we will return to our old quarters." 
 
 — " Where every thing is ready, and a hearty welcome into the 
 bargain," added Miss La Creevy. " Now, let me go with you down 
 stairs." 
 
 But IMrs. Nickleby was not to be so easily moved, for first she in- 
 sisted on going up stairs to see that nothing had been left, and then on 
 going down stairs to see that every thing had been taken away ; and 
 when she was getting into the coach she had a vision of a forgotten 
 coffee-pot on the back-kitchen hob, and after she was shut in, a dismal 
 recollection of a green umbrella behind some unknown door. At last 
 Nicholas, in a condition of absolute despair, ordered the coachman to 
 drive away, and in the unexpected jerk of a sudden starting, Mrs. 
 Nickleby lost a shilling among the straw, which fortunately confined 
 her attention to the coach until it was too late to remember any 
 thing else. 
 
 Having seen every thing safely out, discharged the servant, and 
 locked the door, Nicholas jumped into a cabriolet and drove to a bye 
 place near Golden Square where he had appointed to meet Noggs ; and 
 so quickly had every thing been done, that it was barely half past 
 nine when he reached the place of meeting. 
 
 "Here is the letter for Ralph," said Nicholas, "and here the key. 
 When you come to me this evening, not a word of last night. Ill 
 news travels fast, and they will know it soon enough. Have you 
 beard if he was much hurt ?" 
 Newman shook his head. 
 
 " I will ascertain that myself without loss of time," said Nicholas. 
 " You had better take some rest," returned Newman. " You are 
 fevered and ill." 
 
320 LIPB AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 Nicholas waved his liand carelessly, and concealing the indisposition 
 he really felt, now that the excitement which had sustained him was 
 over, took a hurried farewell of Newman Noggs, and left him. 
 
 Newman was not tliree minutes' walk from Golden Square, but in 
 the course of that three minutes he took the letter out of his hat 
 and put it in again twenty times at least. First the front, then the 
 back, then the sides, then the superscription, then the seal, were objects 
 of Newman's admiration. Then he held it at arm's length as if to 
 take in the whole at one delicious survey, and then he rubbed his 
 hands in a perfect ecstacy with his commission. 
 
 He reached the office, hung his hat on its accustomed peg, laid the 
 letter and key upon the desk, and waited impatiently until Ralph 
 Nickleby should appear. After a few minutes, the well-known 
 creaking of his boots was heard on the stairs, and then the bell rung. 
 " Has the post come in ? " 
 " No." 
 
 "Any other letters?" 
 
 " One." Newman eyed him closely, and laid it on the desk. 
 " What's this ?" asked Ralph, taking up the key. 
 " Left with the letter ; — a boy brought them — quarter of an honr 
 ago, or less." 
 
 Ralph glanced at the direction, opened the letter, and read as 
 follows : — 
 
 *' You areknowTi to me now. There are no reproaches I could heap 
 upon your head which would carry with them one thousandth part of 
 the grovelling shame that this assurance will awaken even in your 
 breast. 
 
 " Your brother's widow and her orphan child spurn the shelter of 
 your roof, and shun you with disgust and loathing. Your kindred 
 renounce you, for they know no shame but the ties of blood which bind 
 them in name with you. 
 
 " You are an old man, and I leave you to the grave. May every 
 recollection of your life cling to your false heart, and cast their darkness 
 on your death-bed." 
 
 Ralph Nickleby read this letter twice, and frowning heavily, fell 
 into a fit of musing ; the paper fluttered from his hand and dropped 
 npon the floor, but he clasped his fingers, as if he held it still. 
 
 Suddenly, he started from his seat, and thrusting it all crumpled 
 into his pocket, turned furiously to NcAvman Noggs, as though to ask 
 him why he lingered. But Newman stood unmoved, with his back 
 towards him, following up, with the worn and blackened stump of an 
 old pen, some figures in an Interest-table which was pasted against the 
 wall, and apparently quite abstracted from every other object. 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 32] 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV. 
 
 WHEREIN MR. RALPH NICKLEBY IS VISITED BY PERSONS WITH WHOM 
 THE READER HAS BEEN ALREADY MADE ACQUAINTED. 
 
 " What a demnition long time you have kept me ringing at tliis con- 
 founded old cracked tea-kettle of a bell, every tinkle of which is enough 
 to throw a strong man into blue convulsions, upon my life and soul, 
 oh demmit," — said Mr. Mantalini to Newman Noggs, scraping his boots, 
 as he spoke, on Ralpli Nickleby's scraper. 
 
 " I didn't hear the bell more than once," replied Newman. 
 
 " Then you are most immensely and outn'geously deaf," said Mr. 
 Mantalini, " as deaf as a demnition post." 
 
 Mr. Mantalini had got by this time into the passage, and was making 
 his way to the door of Ralph's office with very little ceremony, when 
 Newman interposed his body ; and hinting that Mr. Nickleby was 
 unwilling to be disturbed, enquired whether the client's business was of 
 a pressing nature. 
 
 " It is most demnebly particular," said Mr. Mantalini. "It is to 
 melt some scraps of dirty paper into bright, shining, chinking, tinkling, 
 demd mint sauce." 
 
 Newman uttered a significant grunt, and taking Mr. Mantalini's 
 proffered card, limped with it into his master's office. As he thrust his 
 head in at the door, he saw that Ralph had resumed the thoughtful 
 posture into which he had fallen after perusing his nephew's letter, and 
 that he seemed to have been reading it again, as he once more held it open 
 in his hand. The glance was but momentary, for Ralph, being disturbed, 
 turned to demand the cause of the interruption. 
 
 As Newman stated it, the cause himself swaggered into the room, and 
 grasping Ralph's horny hand with uncommon affection, vowed that he 
 had never seen him looking so well in all his life. 
 
 " There is quite a bloom upon your demd countenance," said Mr. 
 Mantalini," seating himself unbidden, and arranging his hair and 
 whiskers. " You look quite juvenile and jolly, demmit !" 
 
 " We are alone," returned Ralph, tartly. " What do you want with 
 me ? " 
 
 " Good ! " cried Mr. Mantahni, displaying his teeth. " What did I 
 want ! Yes. Ha ha ! Very good. What did I want. Ha ha ! 
 Oh dem ! " 
 
 " What do you want, man? " demanded Ralph, sternly. 
 . " Demnition discount," returned Mr. Mantalini, with a grin, and 
 shaking his head waggislily. 
 
 " Money is scarce," said Ralph. 
 
 *' Demd scarce, or I shouldn't want it," interrupted Mr. Mantalini. 
 ^ " The times are bad, and one scarcely knows whom to trust," con- 
 tinued Ralph. " I don't want to do business just now, in fact I would 
 rather not; but as you are a friend— how many bills have you there?" 
 
 Y 
 
322 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 " Two/* returned Mr. Mantalini. 
 
 " What is the gross amount ? " 
 
 " Demd trifling — five-and-seventy." 
 
 " And the dates ? " 
 
 *' Two months, and four." 
 
 " I'll do them for you — mind, for you; I wouldn't for many people— 
 for five-and-twenty pounds," said Ralph, deliberately. 
 
 *' Oh demmit ! " cried Mr. Mantalini, whose face lengthened con- 
 siderably at this handsome proposal. 
 
 " Why, that leaves you fifty," retorted Ralph. " What would you 
 have ? Let me see the names." 
 
 " You are so demd hard, Nickleby," remonstrated Mr. Mantalini. 
 
 " Let me see the names," replied Ralph, impatiently extending his 
 hand for the bills. " Well ! They are not sure, but they are safe 
 enough. Do you consent to the terms, and will you take the money ? 
 I don't want you to do so. I would rather you didn't." 
 
 *' Demmit, Nickleby, can't you " began Mr. Mantalini. 
 
 *' No," replied Ralph, interrupting him. <' I cant. Will you take 
 the money — down, mind ; no delay, no going into the city and pretend- 
 ing to negotiate with some other party who has no existence and never 
 had. Is it a bargain or is it not ?" 
 
 Ralph pushed some papers from him as he spoke, and carelessly 
 rattled his cash-box, as though by mere accident. The sound was too 
 much for Mr. Mantalini. He closed the bargain directly it reached his 
 ears, and Ralph told the money out upon the table. 
 
 He had scarcely done so, and Mr, Mantalini had not yet gathered it 
 all up, when a ring was heard at the bell, and immediately afterwards 
 Newman ushered in no less a person than Madame Mantalini, at sight 
 of whom Mr. Mantalini evinced considerable discomposure, and swept 
 the cash into his pocket with remarkable alacrity. 
 
 " Oh, you are here," said Madame Mantalini, tossing her head. 
 • " Yes, my life and soul, I am," replied her husband, dropping on his 
 knees, and pouncing with kitten-like playfulness upon a stray sovereign. 
 " I am here, my soul's delight, upon Tom Tidler's ground, picking up 
 the demnition gold and silver." 
 
 " I am ashamed of you," said Madame Mantalini, with much indig- 
 nation. 
 
 " Ashamed — of me^ my joy ? It knows it is talking demd charming 
 sweetness, but naughty fibs," returned Mr. Mantalini. " It knows it 
 is not ashamed of its own popolorum tibby." 
 
 Whatever were the circumstances which had led to such a result, it 
 certainly appeared as though the popolorum tibby had rather miscalcu- 
 lated, for the nonce, the extent of his lady's afibction. IMadame Man- 
 talini only looked scornful in reply; and, turning to Ralph, begged him 
 to excuse her intrusion. 
 
 " Which is entirely attributable," said Madame^ " to the gross mis- 
 conduct and most improper behaviour of Mr. Mantalini." 
 
 " Of me, my essential- juice of pine-apple ! " 
 
 *' Of you," returned his wife. " But I will not allow it. I will not^ 
 
# 
 
 //r ////// ■ //. //A^'//. > '//'''' '' 
 
 K ^ 
 
'■»'-^rm, 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 323 
 
 submit to be ruined by the extravagance and profligacy of any man. I 
 call Mr. Nickleby to witness the course I intend to pursue with you." 
 
 " Pray don't call me to witness anything, ma'am," said Ralph. 
 " Settle it between yourselves, settle it between yourselves." 
 
 " No, but I must beg you as a favour," said Madame Mantalini, " to 
 hear me give him notice of what it is my fixed intention to do — my 
 fixed intention sir," repeated Madame Mantalini, darting an angry look 
 at her husband. 
 
 " Will she call me, ' Sir' ! " cried Mantalini. " Me who doat upon 
 her with the demdost ardour ! She, who coils her fascinations round 
 me like a pure and angelic rattle-snake ! It will be all up with my 
 feelings ; she will throw me into a demd state." 
 
 " Don't talk of feelings. Sir," rejoined Madame Mantalini, seating 
 herself, and turning her back upon him. " You don't consider mine." 
 
 " I do not consider yours, my soul !" exclaimed Mr. Mantalini. 
 
 " No," replied his wife. 
 
 And notwithstanding various blandishments on the part of Mr. 
 Mantalini, Madame Mantalini still said no, and said it too with such 
 determined and resolute ill temper, that Mr. Mantalini was clearly taken 
 aback. 
 
 " His extravagance, Mr. Nickleby," said Madame Mantalini, address- 
 ing herself to Ralph, who leant against his easy-chair with his hands 
 behind him, and regarded the amiable couple with a smile of the 
 supremest and most unmitigated contempt, — " His extravagance is 
 beyond all bounds." 
 
 " I should scarcely have supposed it," answered Ralph, sarcastically. 
 
 " I assure you, Mr. Nickleby, however, that it is," returned Madame 
 Mantalini. " It makes me miserable ; I am under constant apprehen- 
 sions, and in constant difficulty. And even this," said Madame Mantalini, 
 wiping her eyes, " is not the worst. lie took some papers of value out 
 of my desk this morning without asking my permission." 
 
 Mr. Mantalini groaned slightly, and buttoned his trowsers pocket. 
 
 " I am obliged," continued Madame Mantalini, *' since our late mis- 
 fortunes, to pay Miss Knag a great deal of money for having her name 
 in the business, and I really cannot afford to encourage him in all his 
 wastefulness. As I have no doubt that he came straight here, Mr. 
 Nickleby, to convert the papers I have spoken of, into money, and as 
 you have assisted us very often before, and are very much connected 
 with us in these kind of matters, I wish you to know the determination 
 at which his conduct has compelled me to arrive." 
 
 Mr. Mantalini groaned once more from behind his wife's bonnet, and 
 fitting a sovereign into one of his eyes, winked with the other at Ralph. 
 Having achieved this performance with great dexterity, he whipped the 
 coin into his pocket, and groaned again with increased penitence. 
 
 " I have made up my mind," said Madame Mantalini, as tokens 
 of impatience manifested themselves in Ralph's countenance, '* to allow- 
 ance him." 
 
 " To do what, my joy ?" inquired Mr. Mantalini, who did not seem 
 to have caught the words. 
 
 y 2 
 
824 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 " To put liim," said Madame Mantalini, loolcing at Ralph, and pru- 
 dently abstaining from the slightest glance at her husband, lest his many 
 graces should induce her to falter in her resolution, " to put him upon 
 a fixed allowance ; and I say that if he has a hundred and twenty 
 pounds a-year for his clothes and pocket-money, he may consider him- 
 self a very fortunate man." 
 
 Mr. Mantalini waited with much decorum to hear the amount of the 
 proposed stipend, but when it reached his ears, he cast his hat and cane 
 upon the floor, and drawing out his pocket-handkerchief, gave vent to 
 his feelings in a dismal moan. 
 
 " Dcmnition !" cried Mr. Mantalini, suddenly skipping out of his 
 ch?Jr, and as suddenly skipping into it again, to the great discomposure 
 of his lady's nerves. " But no. It is a demd horrid dream. It is not 
 reality. No." 
 
 Comforting himself with this assurance, Mr. Mantalini closed liis 
 eyes and waited patiently till such time as he should wake up. 
 
 "A very judicious arrangement," observed Ralph with a sneer, '*if 
 your husband will keep within it, ma'am — as no doubt he will." 
 
 "Demmit!" exclaimed Mr. Mantalini, opening his eyes at the 
 sound of Ralph's voice, " it is a horrid reality. She is sitting there 
 before me. There is the graceful outline of her form ; it cannot be 
 mistaken — there is nothing like it. The two countesses had no out- 
 lines at all, and the dowager's was a demd outline. Why is she so 
 excruciatingly beautiful that I cannot be angry with her even now?" 
 
 "You have brought it upon yourself, Alfred," returned Madame 
 Mantalini — still reproachfully, but in a softened tone. 
 
 " I am a demd villain !" cried Mr. Mantalini, smiting himself on the 
 head. " I will fill my pockets with change for a sovereign in half- 
 pence, and drown myself in the Thames ; but I will not be angry with 
 her even then, for I will put a note in the twopenny-post as I go along, 
 to tell her where the body is. She will be a lovely widow. I shall be 
 a body. Some handsome women will cry ; she will laugh demnebly." 
 
 " Alfred, you cruel, cruel, creature," said Madame Mantalini, sobbing 
 at the dreadful picture. 
 
 "She calls me cruel — me — me — who for her sake will become a 
 demd damp, moist, unpleasant body !" exclaimed Mr. Mantalini. 
 
 " You know it almost breaks my heart, even to hear you talk of 
 such a thing," replied Madame Mantalini. 
 
 "Can I live to be mistrusted?" cried her husband. "Have I cut 
 my heart into a demd extraordinary number of little pieces, and given 
 them all away one after another to the same little engrossing demnition 
 captivater, and can I live to be suspected by her ! Demmit, no I can't." 
 
 " Ask Mr. Nickleby whether the sum I have mentioned is not a 
 proper one," reasoned Madame Mantalini. 
 
 "I don't want any sum," replied her disconsolate husband; "I shall 
 require no demd allowance — I will bo a body." 
 
 On this repetition of Mr. Mantalini's fatal threat, Madame Mantalini 
 wnmg her hands and implored the interference of Ralph Nickleby ; 
 and after a great quantity of tears and talking, and several attempts 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 325 
 
 on the part of Mr. Mantalini to reach the door, preparatory to straight- 
 way committing violence npon himself, that gentleman was prevailed 
 upon, with difficulty, to promise that he wouldn't he a hody. This 
 great point attained, Madame Mantalini argued the question of 
 /ihe allowance, and Mr. Mantalini did the same, taking occasion to 
 show that he could live with uncommon satisfaction upon bread and 
 water and go clad in rags, but that he could not support existence with 
 the additional burden of being mistrusted by the object of his most 
 devoted and disinterested affection. This brought fresh tears into 
 Madame Mantalini's eyes, which having just begun to open to some 
 few of the demerits of Mr. Mantalini, were only open a very little way, 
 and could be easily closed again. The result was, that without quite 
 giving up the allowance question, Madame Mantalini postponed its 
 further consideration ; and Ralph saw clearly enough that Mr. Mantalini 
 had gained a fresh lease of his easy life, and that, for some time longer 
 at all events, his degradation and downfall were postponed. 
 
 *' But it will come soon enough," thought Ralph ; " all love — ^bah ! that 
 I should use the cant of boys and girls — is fleeting enough ; though that 
 which has its sole root in the admiration of a whiskei'ed face like that 
 of yonder baboon, perhaps lasts the longest, as it originates in the 
 greater blindness and is fed by vanity. Meantime the fools bring 
 grist to my mill, so let them live out their day, and the longer it is, 
 the better." 
 
 These agreeable reflections occurred to Ralph Nickleby, as sundry 
 small caresses and endearments, supposed to be unseen, were exchanged 
 between the objects of his thoughts. 
 
 " If you have nothing more to say, my dear, to Mr. Nickleby," said 
 Madame Mantalini, "we will take our leaves. I am sure we have 
 detained him much too long already." 
 
 Mr. ]\Iantalini answered, in the first instance, by tapping Madame 
 Mantalini several times on the nose, and then, by remarking in words 
 that he had nothing more to say. 
 
 " Demmit ! I have, though," he added almost immediately, drawing 
 Ralph into a corner. " Here's an affxiir about your friend Sir Mulberry. 
 Such a demd extraordinary out-of-the-way kind of thing as never was 
 —eh?" 
 
 " What do you mean ?" asked Ralph. 
 
 "Don't you know, demmit ?" asked Mr. Mantalini. 
 
 " I see by the paper that he was thrown from his cabriolet last 
 night and severely injured, and that his life is in some danger," an- 
 swered Ralph with great composure ; " but I see nothing extraordinary 
 in that — accidents are not miraculous events, when men live hard and 
 drive after dinner." 
 
 "Whew!" cried Mr. Mantalini in a long shrill whistle. "Then 
 don't you know how it was ?" 
 
 " Not unless it was as I have just supposed," replied Ralph, shrug- 
 ging his shoulders carelessly, as if to give his questioner to understand 
 that he had no curiosity upon the subject. 
 
 " Demmit, you amaze me," cried Mantalini. 
 
326 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 Ralph shrugged his shoulders again, as if it were no great feat to 
 amaze Mr. Mantaliiii, and cast a wistful glance at the face of Newman 
 Noggs, which had several times appeared behind a couple of panes of 
 glass in the room door ; it being a part of Newman's duty, when un- 
 important people called, to make various feints of supposing that the 
 bell had rung for him to show them out, by way of a gentle hint to 
 such visitors that it was time to go. 
 
 " Don't you know," said Mr. Mantalini, taking Ralph by the button, 
 " that it wasn't an accident at all, but a demd furious manslaughtering 
 attack made upon him by your nephew ? " 
 
 " What ! " snarled Ralph, clenching his fists and turning a livid 
 white. 
 
 " Demmit, Nickleby, you're as great a tiger as he is," said Mantalini, 
 alarmed at these demonstrations. 
 
 " Go on,"jGried Ralph, savagely. " Tell me what you mean. What 
 is this story ? Who told you ? Speak," growled Ralph. " Do you 
 hear me?" 
 
 " 'Gad, Nickleby," said Mr. Mantalini, retreating towards his wife, 
 " what a demneble fierce old evil genius you are. You're enough to 
 frighten my life and soul out of her little delicious wits — flying all at 
 once into such a blazing, ravaging, raging passion as never was, 
 demmit." 
 
 "'Pshaw," rejoined Ralph, forcing a smile. "It is but manner." "^ 
 
 "It is a demd uncomfortable and private-madhouse-sort of manner," 
 said Mr. Mantalini, picking up his cane. 
 
 Ralph afi'ectcd to smile, and once more inquired from whom Mr. 
 Mantalini had derived his information. 
 
 " From Pyke ; and a demd, fine, pleasant, gentlemanly dog it is," 
 rej^lied Mantalini. " Demnition pleasant, and a tip-top sawyer." 
 
 " And what said he ? " asked Ralph, knitting his brows. 
 
 " That it happened this way— that your nephew met him at a coffee- 
 house, fell upon him with the most demneble ferocity, followed him to 
 his cab, swore he would ride home with him if he rode upon the horse's 
 back or hooked himself on to the horse's tail ; smashed his counte- 
 nance, which is a demd fine countenance in its natural state ; frightened 
 the horse, pitched out Sir Mulberry and himself, and " 
 
 "And was killed?" interposed Ralph with gleaming eyes. "Was 
 he? Is he dead ?" 
 
 Mantalini shook his head. 
 
 " Ugh," said Ralph, turning away, " Then he has done nothing — 
 stay," he added, looking round again. " He broke a leg or an ai'm, or 
 put his shoulder out, or fractured his collar-bone, or ground a rib or 
 two ? His neck was saved for the halter, but he got some painful and 
 slow-healing injury for his trouble — did he ? You must have heard 
 that, at least." 
 
 " No," rejoined Mantalini, shaking his head again. " Unless he was 
 dashed into such little pieces that they blew away, he wasn't hurt, for 
 he went off as quiet and comfortable as — as — as demnition," said Mr. 
 Mantalini, rather at a loss for a simile. 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 327 
 
 " And what," said Ralph, hesitating a little, " what was the cause 
 of quarrel ? " 
 
 " You are the demdest, knowing hand," replied Mr. Mantalini, in 
 an admiring tone, " the cunningcst, rummest, superlativest old fox— - 
 oh dem — to pretend now not to know that it was the little bright- eyed 
 niece — the softest, sweetest, prettiest " 
 
 "Alfred!" interposed Madame Mantalini. 
 
 " She is always right," rejoined Mr. Mantalini soothingly, " and 
 when she says it is time to go, it is time, and go she shall ; and when 
 she walks along the streets with her own tulip, the women shall say with 
 envy, she has got a demd fine husband, and the men shall say with 
 rapture, he has got a demd fine wife, and they shall both be right and 
 neither wrong, upon my life and soul — oh demmit !" 
 
 With which remarks, and many more no less intellectual and to the 
 purpose, Mr. Mantalini kissed the fingers of his gloves to Ralph 
 Nickleby, and drawing his lady's arm through his, led her mincingly 
 away. 
 
 " So, so," muttered Ralph, dropping into his chair; "this devil is 
 loose again, and thwarting me, as he was born to do, at every turn. 
 He told me once there should be a day of reckoning between us, sooner 
 or later. I'll make him a true prophet, for it shall surely come." 
 
 "Are you at home?" asked Newman, suddenly popping in his 
 head. 
 
 " No," replied Ralph, with equal abruptness. 
 
 Newman withdrew his head, but thrust it in again. 
 
 " You're quite sure you're not at home, are you ?" said Newman. ] 
 
 "What does the idiot mean?" cried Ralph, testily. 
 
 *' He has been waiting nearly ever since they first came in, and may 
 have heard your voice — that's all," said Newman, rubbing his hands. 
 
 " Who has?" demanded Ralph, wrought by the intelligence he had 
 just heard, and his clerk's provoking coolness, to an intense pitch of 
 irritation. 
 
 The necessity of a reply was superseded by the unlooked-for entrance 
 of a third party — the individual in question — who, bringing his one 
 eye (for he had but one) to bear on Ralph Nickleby, made a great 
 many shambling bows, and sat himself down in an arm-chair, with his 
 hands on his knees, and his short black trousers drawn up so high in 
 the legs by the exertion of seating himself, that they scarcely reached 
 below the tops of his Wellington boots. 
 
 " Why, this is a surprise," said Ralph, bending his gaze upon the 
 visitor, and half smiling as he scrutinized him attentively ; " I should 
 know your face, Mr. Squeers." 
 
 " All 1" replied that worthy, " and you'd have know'd it better. Sir 
 if it hadn't been for all that I've been a-going through. Just lift that 
 little boy ofi^ the tall stool in the back office, and tell him to come in 
 here, will you, my man ? " said Squeers, addressing himself to New- 
 man. "Oh, he's lifted his-self oft*. My son. Sir, little Wackford; 
 What do you think of him. Sir, for a specimen of the Dotheboys Hall 
 feeding ? ain't he fit to bust out of his clothes, and start the seams, and 
 
?28 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 make tliG very buttons fly off with his fatness. Here's flesh !" cried 
 Squ^ers, turning the boy about, and indenting the plumpest parts of 
 his figure with divers pokes and punches, to the great discomposure of 
 liis son and heir. " Ilere's firmness, here's solidness ! why you can 
 hardly get u]) enough of him between your finger and thumb to pinch 
 him anywheres." 
 
 In however good condition IMaster Squeers might have been, he 
 certainly did not present this remarkable compactness of person, for on 
 his father's closing his finger and thumb in illustration of his remark, 
 lie uttered a sharp cry, and rubbed the place in the most natural 
 manner possible. 
 
 " Well," remarked Squeers, a little disconcerted, "I had him there; 
 but that's because we breakfasted early this morning, and he hasn't 
 had his lunch yet. Why you couldn't shut a bit of him in a door, 
 when he's had his dinner. Look at them tears. Sir," said Squeers, 
 with a triumphant air, as Master Wackford wiped his eyes with the 
 cuff of his jacket, " there's oiliness ! " 
 
 " lie looks well, indeed," returned Ralph, who Ibr some purposes of 
 his own seemed desirous to conciliate the schoolmaster. " 13ut how is 
 Mrs. Squeers, and how are you ? " ' 
 
 " Mrs. Squeers, sir," replied the proprietor of Dotheboys, " is as she 
 Always is — a mother to them lads, and a blessing, and a comfort, and 
 ^ y^y to all them as knows her. One of our boys — gorging his-self 
 witii vittles, and then turning ill; that's their way — got a abscess on 
 him last week. To see how she operated upon him with a pen-knife ! 
 Oil Lor ! " said Squeers, heaving a sigh, and nodding his head a great 
 many times, " what a member of society that w^oman is ! " 
 
 Mr. Squeers indulged in a retrospective look for some quarter of a 
 minute, as if this allusion to his lady's excellencies had naturally led 
 his mind to the peaceful village of Dotheboys near Greta Bridge in 
 Yorkshire, and then looked at Ralph, as if waiting for him to say 
 something. 
 
 "Have you quite recovered that scoundrel's attack?" asked Ralph. 
 
 " I've only just done it, if I've done it now," replied Squeers. " I 
 was one blessed bruise. Sir," said Squeers, touching first the roots of 
 his hair, and then the toes of his boots, " from /lere to there. Vinegar 
 and brown paper, vinegar and brown paper, from morning to night. 
 I suppose there was a matter of half a ream of brown paper stuck 
 upon me from first to last. As I laid all of a heap in our kitchen, 
 plastered all over, you might have thought I was a large brown paper 
 parcel, chock full of nothing but groans. Did I groan loud, Wackford, 
 or did I groan soft?" asked Mr. Squeers, appealing to his son. 
 
 " Loud," replied Wackford. 
 
 " Was the boys sony to see me in such a dreadful condition, Wack- 
 ford, or was they glad?" asked Mr. Squeers, in a sentimental manner. 
 
 *' Gl— " 
 
 " Eh ? " cried Squeers, turning sharp round. 
 
 " Sorry," rejoined his son. 
 
 " Oh ! " said Squeers, catching him a smart box on the ear. *'Tlien 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 329 
 
 take your hands out of your pockets, and don't stammer when you're 
 asked a question. Hold your noise, sir, in a gentleman's office, or I'll 
 run away from my family and never come back any more; and then 
 what would become of all them precious and forlorn lads as would be 
 let loose on the world, without their best friend at their elbers !" 
 
 " Were you obliged to have medical attendance ?" inquired Ralph. 
 
 " Ay, was I," rejoined Squeers, " and a precious bill the medical 
 attendant brought in too : but I paid it though." 
 
 Ralph elevated his eyebrows in a manner which might be expressive 
 of either sympathy or astonishment — just as the beholder was pleased 
 to take it. 
 
 " Yes, I paid it, every farthing," replied Squeers, who seemed to 
 know the man he had to deal with," too well to suppose that any 
 blinking of the question would induce him to subscribe towards the 
 expenses ; "I wasn't out of pocket by it after all, either." 
 
 " No ! " said Ralph. 
 
 " Not a halfpenny," replied Squeers. *' The fact is, that we have 
 only one extra with our boys, and that is for doctors when required — 
 and not then, unless we're sure of our customers. Do you see ? " 
 
 " I understand," said Ralph. 
 
 " Very good," rejoined Squeers. " Then after my bill was run up, 
 ■yve picked out five little boys (sons of small tradesmen, as was sure 
 pay) that had never had the scarlet fever, and we sent one to a cottage 
 where they'd got it, and he took it, and then we put the four others 
 to sleep with him, and the?/ took it, and then the doctor came and 
 attended 'em once all round, and we divided my total among 'em, and 
 added it on to their little bills, and the parents paid it. Ha ! ha ! ha !" 
 • " And a good plan too," said Ralph, eyeing the schoolmaster stealthily. 
 
 "I believe you," rejoined Squeers. " We always do it. Why, 
 when Mrs. Squeers was brought to bed with little Wackford here, we 
 ran the hooping-cough through half-a-dozen boys, and charged her 
 expenses among 'em, monthly nurse included. Ha, ha, ha !" 
 
 Ralph never laughed, but on this occasion he produced the nearest 
 approach to it that he could, and waiting until Mr. Squeers had enjoyed 
 the professional joke to his heart's content, enquired what had brought 
 him to town. 
 
 " Some bothering law business," replied Squeers, scratching his head, 
 *"' connected with an action, for what they call neglect of a boy. I don't 
 know what they would have. He had as good grazing, that boy had, 
 as there is about us." 
 
 Ralph looked as if he did not quite understand the observation. 
 
 " Grazing," said Squeers, raising his voice, under the impression that 
 as Ralph failed to comprehend him, he must be deaf. " When a boy 
 gets weak and ill and don't relish his meals, we give him a change of 
 diet — turn him out for an hour or so every day into a neighbour's 
 turnip field, or sometimes, if it's a delicate case, a turnip field and a 
 piece of carrots alternately, and let him eat as many as he likes. There 
 an't better land in the county than this perwerse lad grazed on, and yet 
 he goes and catches cold and indigestion and what not, and then his 
 
880 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 friends brings a law- suit against 7ne. Now, you'd hardly suppose," 
 added Squoers, moving in his chair with the impatience of an ill-used 
 man, *' that people's ingratitude would carry them quite as far as that; 
 would you ?" 
 
 " A hard case, indeed," observed Ralph. 
 
 " You don't say more than the truth when you say that," replied 
 Squeers. " I don't suppose there's a man going, as possesses the fond- 
 ness for youth tliat I do. Tliere's youth to the amount of eight hundred 
 pound a-year at Dotheboys Hall at this present time. I'd take sixteen 
 hundred pound worth if L could get 'em, and be as fond of every 
 individual twenty pound among 'em as nothing should equal it ! " 
 
 " Are you stopping at your old quarters ?" asked Ralph. 
 
 " Yes, we are at the Saracen," replied Squeers, " and as it don't want 
 very long to the end of the half-year, we shall continney to stop there 
 till I've collected the money, and some new boys too, I hope. I've 
 brought little Wackford up, on purpose to show to parents and guar- 
 dians. I shall put him. in the advertisement this time. Look at that 
 boy — himself a pupil — why he's a miracle of high feeding, that boy is." 
 
 " I should like to have a word with you," said Ralph, who had both 
 spoken and listened mechanically for some time, and seemed to have 
 been thinking. 
 
 " As many words as you like, Sir," rejoined Squeers. " Wackford, 
 you go and play in the back office, and don't move about too much or 
 you'll get thin, and tliat won't do. You haven't got such a thing as 
 twopence, Mr. Nickleby, have you?" said Squeers, rattling a bunch of 
 keys in his coat pocket, and muttering something about its being all 
 silver. 
 
 " I — think I have," said Ralph, very slowly, and producing, after 
 much rummaging in an old drawer, a penny, a halfpenny, and two 
 farthings. 
 
 " Thankee," said Squeers, bestowing it upon his son. " Here, you 
 go and buy a tart — Mr. Nickleby's man will show you where — and 
 mind you buy a rich one. Pastry," added Squeers, closing the door on 
 Master Wackford, " makes his flesh shine a good deal, and parents 
 thinks that's a healthy sign." 
 
 With which explanation, and a peculiarly knowing look to eke it 
 out, Mr. Squeers moved his chair so as to bring himself opposite to 
 Ralph Nickleby at no great distance off -, and having planted it to his 
 entire satisfaction, sat down. 
 
 " Attend to me," said Ralph, bending forward a little. 
 
 Squeers nodded. 
 
 " I am not to suppose," said Ralph, " that you are dolt enough to 
 forgive or forget very readily the violence that was committed upon 
 you, or the exposure which accompanied it?" 
 
 " Devil a bit," replied Squeers, tartly. 
 
 " Or to lose an opportunity of repaying it with interest, if you could 
 get one?" said Ralph. 
 
 *' Show me one and try," rejoined Squeers- 
 
 *' Some such object it was that induced you to call on mo?" said 
 Ralph, raising his eyes to the schoolmaster's face. 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 831 
 
 " N — n — no, I don't know that," replied Squeers. " I thought that 
 if it was in your power to make me, besides the trifle of money you 
 sent, any compensation " 
 
 " Ah !" cried Ralph, interrupting him. " You needn't go on." 
 
 After a long pause, during which Ralph appeared absorbed in con- 
 templation, he again broke silence, by asking— 
 
 " Who is this boy that he took with him ?" 
 ' Squeers stated his name. 
 
 " Was he young or old, healthy or sickly, tractable or rebellious ? 
 Speak out, man," retorted Ralph quickly. 
 
 " Why, he wasn't young," answered Squeers ; " that is, not young for 
 a boy you know." 
 
 "That is, that he was not a boy at all, I suppose?" interrupted 
 Ralph. 
 
 " Well," returned Squeers briskly, as if he felt'relieved by the sugges- 
 tion, " he might have been nigh twenty. He wouldn't seem so old 
 though to them as didn't know him, for he was a little wanting here," 
 touching his forehead, " nobody at home you know, if you knocked ever 
 so often." 
 
 " And you did knock pretty often, I dare say ? " muttered Ralph. 
 
 " Pretty well," returned Squeers with a grin. 
 
 " When you wrote to acknowledge the receipt of this trifle of money 
 as you call it," said Ralph, " you told me his friends had deserted him 
 long ago, and that you had not the faintest clue or trace to tell you 
 who he was. Is that the truth ?" 
 
 "It is; worse luck!" replied Squeers, becoming more and more 
 easy and familiar in his manner, as Ralph pursued his enquiries with 
 the less reserve. " It's fourteen year ago, by the entry in my book, 
 since a strange man brought him to my place one autumn night, and 
 left him there, paying five pound five, for his first quarter in advance. 
 He might have been five or six year old at that time — not more." 
 
 " What more do you know about him ?" demanded Ralph. 
 
 " Devilish little, I'm sorry to say," replied Squeers. " The money 
 was paid for some six or eight year, and then it stopped. He had 
 given an address in London, had this chap ; but when it came to the 
 point, of course nobody knowed anything about him. So I kept the 
 lad out of — out of — " 
 
 " Charity?" suggested Ralph drily. 
 
 " Charity, to be sure," returned Squeers, rubbing his knees, " and 
 when he begins to be useful in a certain sort of a way, this young 
 scoundrel of a Nickleby comes and carries him ofi". But the most 
 vexatious and aggeravating part of the whole affair is," said Squeers, 
 dropping his voice, and drawing his chair still closer to Ralph, " that 
 some questions have been asked about him at last — not of me, but in a 
 round-about kind of way of people in our village. So, that just when I 
 might have had all arrears paid up, perhaps, and perhaps — who knows ? 
 such things have happened in our business before — a present besides 
 for putting him out to a farmer or sending him to sea, so that he might 
 never turn up to disgrace his parents, supposing him to be a natural 
 
832 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 boy, as many of our boys are — damme, if tliat villain of a Nicklcby 
 don't collar him in open day, and commit as good as highway robbery 
 upon my pocket." 
 
 " We will both cry quits with him before long," said Ralph, laying 
 his hand on the arm of the Yorkshire schoolmaster. 
 
 " Quits !" echoed Squeers. " Ah ! and I should like to leave a small 
 balance in his favour, to be settled when he can. I only wish ISIrs. 
 Squeers could catch hold of him. Bless her heart ! She'd murder him, 
 Mr. Nickleby — she would, as soon as eat her dinner." 
 
 " We will talk of this again," said Ralph. "I must have time to 
 
 think of it. To wound him through his own affections or fancies . 
 
 If I can strike him through this boy " 
 
 " Strike him how you like. Sir," interrupted Squeers, " only hit him 
 hard enough, that's all — and with that, I'll say good morning. Here ! 
 — ^just chuck that little boy's hat off that comer-peg, and lift him off 
 the stool, will you ? " 
 
 Bawling these requests to Newman Noggs, Mr. Squeers betook 
 himself to the little back office, and fitted on his child's hat with 
 parental anxiety, while Newman, with his pen behind his ear, sat stiff 
 and immovable on his stool, regarding the father and son by turns 
 with a broad stare. 
 
 " He's a fine boy, an't he ?" said Squeers, throwing his head a little 
 on one side, and falling back to the desk, the better to estimate the 
 proportions of little Wackford. 
 
 " Very," said Newman. 
 
 " Pretty well swelled out, an't he?" pursued Squeers. " He has the 
 fatness of twenty boys, he has." 
 
 "Ah !" replied Newman, suddenly thrusting his face into that of 
 Squeers, " he has ;— the fatness of twenty ! — more. He's got it all. 
 God help the others. Ha ! ha ! Oh Lord ! " 
 
 Having uttered these fragmentary observations, Newman dropped 
 upon his desk and began to write with most marvellous rapidity. 
 
 " Why, what does the man mean?" cried Squeers, colouring. " Is 
 he drunk ?" 
 . Newman made no reply. 
 
 " Is he mad ?'' said Squeers. 
 
 But still Newman betrayed no consciousness of any presence save 
 his own ; so Mr. Squeers comforted himself by saying that he was 
 both drunk and mad; and, with this parting observation, he led his 
 hopeful son away. 
 
 In exact proportion as Ralph Nickleby became conscious of a 
 struggling and lingering regard for Kate, had his detestation of 
 Nicholas augmented. It might be, that to atone for the weakness of 
 inclining to any one person, he held it necessary to hate some other 
 more intensely than before ; but such had been the course of his feelings. 
 And now, to be defied and spumed, to be held up to her in the worst 
 and most repulsive colours, to know that she was taught to hate and 
 despise him ; to feel that there was infection in his touch and taint in 
 his companionship — to know all this, and to know that the mover of 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 333 
 
 it all, was that same boyish poor relation who had twitted him in 
 their very first interview, and openly bearded and braved him since, 
 wrought his quiet and stealtliy malignity to sucli a pitch, that there 
 was scarcely anything he would not have hazarded to gratify it, if he 
 could have seen his wjiy to some immediate retaliation. 
 
 But fortunately for Nicholas, Ralph Nickleby did not ; and although 
 he cast about all that day, and kept a corner of his brain working on 
 the one anxious subject through all the round of schemes and business 
 that came with it, night found him at last still harping on the same 
 theme, and still pursuing the same unprofitable reflections. 
 
 " When my brother was such as he," said Ralph, " the first com- 
 parisons were drawn between us — always in my disfavour. He was 
 open, liberal, gallant, gay; / a crafty hunks of cold and stagnant 
 blood, with no passion but love of saving, and no spirit beyond a thirst 
 for gain. I recollected it well when I first saw this whipster ; but I 
 remember it better now." 
 
 He had been occupied in tearing Nicholas's letter into atoms, and as 
 he spoke he scattered it in a tiny shower about him. 
 
 " Recollections like these," pursued Ralph, with a bitter smile, 
 " flock upon ine — when I resign myself to them — in crowds, and from 
 countless quarters. As a portion of the world affbct to despise the 
 power of money, I must try and show them what it is." 
 
 And being by this time in a pleasant frame of mind for slumber, 
 Ralph Nickleby went to bed. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXY. 
 
 SMIKE BECOMES KNOWN TO SIRS. NICKLEBY AND KATE. NICHOLAS 
 ALSO MEETS WITH NEW ACQUAINTANCES, AND BRIGHTER DAYS SEEM 
 TO DAWN UPON THE FAMILY. 
 
 Having established his mother and sister in the apartments of the 
 kind-hearted miniature painter, and ascertained that Sir Mulberry 
 Hawk was in no danger of losing his life, Nicholas turned his thoughts 
 to poor Smike, who, after breakfasting with Newman Noggs, had 
 remained in a disconsolate state at that worthy creature's lodgings, 
 waiting with much anxiety for further intelligence of his protector. 
 
 " As he will be one of our own little household, wherever we live, or 
 whatever fortune is in reserve for us," thought Nicholas, " I must present 
 the poor fellow in due form. They will be kind to him for his own 
 sake, and if not (on that account solely) to the full extent I could 
 wish, they will stretch a point, I am sure, for mine." 
 
 Nicholas said " they," but his misgivings were confined to one 
 person. He was sure of Kate, but he knew his mother's peculiarities, 
 and was not quite so certain that Smike would find favour in the eyes 
 Di Mrs. Nickleby.. 
 
834 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 "However," thought Nicholas, as he departed on his benevolent 
 errand ; " she cannot fail to become attached to him when she knows 
 what a devoted creature he is, and as she must quickly make the 
 discovery, his probation will be a short one." 
 
 " I was afraid," said Smike, overjoyed to see his friend again, " that 
 you had fallen into some fresh trouble ; the time seemed so long at 
 last, that I almost feared you were lost." 
 
 " Lost !" replied Nicholas gaily. " You will not be rid of me so 
 easily, I promise you. I shall rise to the surface many thousand times 
 yet, and the harder the thrust that pushes me down, the more quickly 
 I shall reboimd, Smike. But come ; my errand here is to take you 
 home." 
 
 "Home !" faltered Smike, drawing timidly back. 
 
 " Ay," rejoined Nicholas, taking his arm. " "Why not V 
 
 " I had such hopes once," said Smike ; " day and night, day and 
 night, for many years. I longed for home till I was weary, and pined 
 away with grief, but now " 
 
 "And what now?" asked Nicholas, looking kindly in his face. 
 "What now, old friend?" 
 
 " I could not part from you to go to any home on earth," replied 
 Smike, pressing his hand ; " except one, except one. I shall never be 
 an old man ; and if your hand placed me in the grave, and I could 
 think before I died that you would come and look upon it sometimes 
 with one of your kind smiles, and in the summer weather, when 
 everything was alive — not dead like me^ — I could go to that home 
 almost without a tear." 
 
 " Why do you talk thus, poor boy, if your life is a happy one with 
 me?" said Nicholas. 
 
 " Because / should change ; not those about me. And if they for- 
 got me, / should never know it," replied Smike. " In the churchyard 
 we are all alike, but here there are none like me. I am a poor creature, 
 but I know that well." 
 
 " You are a foolish, silly creature," said Nicholas cheerfully. " If 
 that is what you mean, I grant you that. Why, here's a dismal face 
 for ladies' company — my pretty sister too, whom you have so often 
 asked me about. Is this your Yorkshire gallantry ? For shame ! for 
 shame !" 
 
 Smike brightened up, and smiled. 
 
 " When I talk of homes," pursued Nicholas, " I talk of mine — which 
 is yours of course. If it were defined by any particular four walls and 
 a roof, God knows I should be sufficiently puzzled to say whereabouts 
 it lay ; but that is not what I mean. When I speak of home, I speak 
 of the place where — in default of a better — those I love are gathered 
 together ; and if that place were a gipsy's tent or a bam, I should 
 call it by the same good name notwithstanding. And now for what 
 is my present home, which, however alarming your expectations may 
 be, will neither terrify you by its extent nor its mag-nificence." 
 
 So saying, Nicholas took his companion by the arm, and Sctying a 
 great deal more to the same purpose, and pointing out various things 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 335 
 
 to amuse and interest him as they went along, led the way to Miss La 
 Creevy's house. 
 
 " And this, Kate," said Nicholas, entering the room where his sister 
 sat alone, " is the faithful friend and affectionate fellow-traveller whom 
 I prepared you to receive." 
 
 Poor Smike was bashful and awkward and frightened enough at 
 first, but Kate advanced towards him so kindly, and said in such a 
 sweet voice, how anxious she had been to see him after all her brother 
 had told her, and how much she had to thank him for having comforted 
 Nicholas so greatly in their very trying reverses, that he began to be 
 very doubtful whether he should shed tears or not, and became still 
 more flurried. However, he managed to say, in a broken voice, that 
 Nicholas was his only friend, and that he would lay down his life to 
 help him ; and Kate, although she was so kind and considerate, seemed 
 to be so wholly unconscious of his distress and embarrassment, that he 
 recovered almost immediately and felt quite at home. 
 
 Then Miss La Creevy came in, and to her Smike had to be presented 
 also. And Miss La Creevy was very kind too, and wonderfully talk- 
 ative : — not to Smike, for that would have made him uneasy at first, but 
 to Nicholas and his sister. Then, after a time, she would speak to 
 Smike himself now and then, asking him whether he was a judge of 
 likenesses, and whether he thought that picture in the comer was like 
 herself, and whether he didn't think it would have looked better if she 
 had made herself ten years younger, and whether he didn't think, as a 
 matter of general observation, that young ladies looked better, not only 
 in pictures but out of them too, than old ones ; with many more 
 small jokes and facetious remarks, which were delivered with such 
 good humour and merriment that Smike thought within himself she 
 was the nicest lady he had ever seen ; even nicer than Mrs. Grudden, 
 of Mr. Vincent Crummles's theatre, and she was a nice lady too, and 
 talked, perhaps more, but certainly louder than Miss La Creevy. 
 
 At length the door opened again, and a lady in mourning came in ; 
 and Nicholas kissing the lady in mourning affectionately, and calling 
 her his mother, led her towards the chair from which Smike had risen 
 when she entered the room. 
 
 " You are always kind-hearted, and anxious to help the oppressed, 
 my dear mother," said Nicholas, " so you will be favourably disposed 
 towards him, I know." 
 
 '• I am sure, my dear Nicholas," replied Mrs. Nickleby, looking very 
 hard at her new friend, and bending to him with something more oi 
 majesty than the occasion seemed to require, — " I am sure any friend 
 of yours has, as indeed he naturally ought to have, and must have, of 
 course, you know — a great claim upon me, and of course, it is a very 
 great pleasure to me to be introduced to anybody you take an interest 
 in — there can be no doubt about that ; none at all ; not the least in 
 the world," said Mrs. Nickleby. "At the same time I must say, 
 Nicholas, my dear, as I used to say to your poor dear papa, when he 
 would bring gentlemen home to dinner, and there was nothing in the 
 house, that if he had come the day before yesterday — no, I don't mean 
 
336 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 the day before yesterday now ; I should have said, perhaps, the year 
 before last — we should have been better able to entertain him." 
 
 With which remarks Mrs. Nickleby turned to her daughter, and 
 inquired, in an audible whisper, whether the gentleman was going to 
 stop all night. 
 
 " Because if he is, Kate, my dear," said Mrs. Nickleby, " I don't see 
 that it's possible for him to sleep anywhere, and that's the truth." 
 
 Kate stepped gracefully forward, and without any show of annoy- 
 ance or irritation, breathed a few words into her mother's ear. 
 
 " La, Kate, my dear," said Mrs. Nickleby, shrinking back, " how 
 you do tickle one. Of course, I understand that^ my love, without your 
 telling me ; and I said the same to Nicholas, and I am very much 
 pleased. You didn't tell me, Nicholas, my dear," added ^Mrs. Nickleby, 
 turning round with an air of less reserve than she had before assumed, 
 " what your friend's name is." 
 
 " His name, mother," replied Nicholas, " is Smike." 
 
 The effect of this communication was by no means anticipated ; but 
 the name was no sooner pronounced, than Mrs. Nickleby dropped upon 
 a chair, and burst into a fit of crying. 
 
 " What is the matter?" exclaimed Nicholas, running to support her. 
 
 " It's so like Pyke," cried Mrs. Nickleby ; '" so exactly like Pyke, 
 that's all. Oh ! don't speak to me — I shall be better presently." 
 
 And after exhibiting every symptom of slow suffocation, in all its 
 stages, and drinking about a tea-spoonful of water from a full tumbler, 
 and spilling the remainder, Mrs. Nickleby was better, and remarked, 
 with a feeble smile, that she was very foolish, she knew. 
 
 " It's a weakness in our family," said Mrs. Nickleby, " so, of course, 
 I can't be blamed for it. Your grandmama, Kate, was exactly the 
 same — precisely. The least excitement, the slightest surprise, she fainted 
 away directly. I have heard her say, often and often, that when she 
 was a young lady, and before she was married, she was turning a comer 
 into Oxford-street one day, when she ran against her own hair-dresser, 
 who, it seems, was escaping from a bear ; — the mcTO suddenness of the 
 encounter made her faint away directly. Wait, though," added Mrs. 
 Nickleby, pausing to consider, " Let me be sure I'm right. Was it 
 her hair-drcsser who had escaped from a bear, or was it a bear who 
 had escaped from her hair-dresser's ? I declare I can't remember just 
 now, but the hair-dresser was a very handsome man, I know, and quite 
 a gentleman in his manners ; so that it has nothing to do with the point 
 of the story." 
 
 Mrs. Nickleby having fallen imperceptibly into one of her retrospec- 
 tive moods, improved in temper from that moment, and glided, by an 
 easy change of the conversation occasionally, into various other anec- 
 dotes, no less remarkable for their strict application to the subject in 
 hand. 
 
 "Mr. Smike is from Yorkshire, Nicholas, my dear?" said Mrs. 
 Nickleby, after dinner, and when she had been silent for some time. 
 
 " Certainly, mother," replied Nicholas. " I see you have not for- 
 gotten liis melancholy history." 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 337 
 
 "0 dear no," cried Mrs. Nickleby. "Ah! melancholy, indeed. 
 Yon don't happen, Mr. Smike, ever to have dined with the Grimbles 
 of Grimble Hall, somew^here in the North Riding, do you ? " said the 
 good lady, addressing herself to him. " A very proud man, Sir Tho- 
 mas Grimble, with six grown-up and most lovely daughters, and the 
 finest park in the county." 
 
 " My dear mother," reasoned Nicholas, " Do you suppose that the 
 unfortunate outcast of a Yorkshire school was likely to receive many 
 cards of invitation from the nobility and gentry in the neighbourhood?" 
 
 *' Really, my dear, I don't know why it should be so very extraordi- 
 nary," said Mrs. Nickleby. " I know that when /was at school, I always 
 went at least twice every half-year to the Hawkinses at Taunton Vale, 
 and they are much richer than the Grimbles, and connected with them 
 in marriage ; so you see it's not so very unlikely, after all." 
 
 Having put down Nicholas in this triumphant manner, Mrs. Nickleby 
 was suddenly seized with a forgetfulness of Smike's real name, and an 
 irresistible tendency to call him Mr. Slammons ; which circumstance 
 she attributed to the remarkable similarity of the two names in point of 
 sound, both beginning with an S, and moreover being spelt with an M. 
 But, whatever doubt there might be on this point, there was none as to 
 liis being a most excellent listener ; which circumstance had considerable 
 influence in placing them on the very best terms, and in inducing Mrs. 
 Nickleby to express the highest opinion of his general deportment and 
 disposition. 
 
 Thus the little circle remained, on the most amicable and agreeable 
 footing, until the Monday morning, when Nicholas withdrew himself 
 from it for a short time, seriously to reflect upon the state of his affairs, 
 and to determine, if he could, upon some course of life, which would 
 enable him to support those who were so entirely dependent upon his 
 exertions. 
 
 Mr. Crummies occurred to him more than once ; but although Kate 
 was acquainted with the whole history of his connection with that gen- 
 tleman, his mother was not ; and he foresaw a thousand fretful objections, 
 on her part, to his seeking a livelihood upon the stage. There were graver 
 reasons, too, against his returning to that mode of life. Independently 
 of those arising out of its spare and precarious earnings, and his own 
 internal conviction that he could never hope to aspire to any great dis- 
 tinction, even as a provincial actor, how could he carry his sister from 
 to^vn to town, and place to place, and debar her from any other asso- 
 ciates than those with whom he would be compelled, almost without 
 distinction, to mingle ? " It won't do," said Nicholas, shaking his 
 head ; " I must try something else." 
 
 It was much easier to make this resolution than to carry it Into effect. 
 With no greater experience of the world than he had acquired for him- 
 self in his short trials ; with a sufficient share of headlong rashness and 
 precipitation, (qualities not altogether unnatural at his time of life) with 
 a very slender stock of money, and a still more scanty stock of friends, 
 what could he do ? " Egad ! " said Nicholas, " I'll try that Register 
 Office again." 
 
 z 
 
338 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 He smiled at himself as he walked away Avith a quick step ; for, an 
 instant before, he had been internally blaming his own precipitation. 
 He did not laugh himself out of the intention, however, for on he went; 
 picturing to himself, as he approached the place, all kinds of splendid 
 possibilities, and impossibilities too, for that matter, and thinking him- 
 self, perhaps with good reason, very fortunate to be endowed with so 
 buoyant and sanguine a temperament. 
 
 The office looked just the same as when he had left it last, and, 
 indeed, with one or two exceptions, there seemed to be the very same 
 placards in the window that he had seen before. There were the same 
 unimpeachable masters and mistresses in want of virtuous servants, and 
 the same virtuous servants in want of unimpeachable . masters and. 
 mistresses, and the same magnificent estates for the investment of 
 capital, and the same enormous quantities of capital to be invested in 
 estates, and, in short, the same opportunities of all sorts for people who 
 wanted to make their fortunes. And a most extraordinary proof it 
 was of the national prosperity, that people had not been found to avail 
 themselves of such advantages long ago. 
 
 As Nicholas stopped to look in at the window, an old gentleman 
 happened to stop too, and Nicholas carrying his eye along the window- 
 panes from left to right in search of some capital-text placard, which 
 should be applicable to his own case, caught sight of this old gentle- 
 man's figure, and instinctively withdrew his eyes from the window, to 
 observe the same more closely. 
 
 He was a sturdy old fellow in a broad-skirted blue coat, made pretty 
 large, to fit easily, and with no particular waist ; his bulky legs clothed 
 in drab breeches and high gaiters, and his head protected by a low- 
 crowned broad-brimmed white hat, such as a wealthy grazier might 
 wear. He wore his coat buttoned; and his dimpled double- chin 
 rested in the folds of a white neckerchief — not one of your stilS" starched 
 apoplectic cravats, but a good easy old-fashioned white neckcloth that 
 a man might go to bed in and be none the worse for it. But what 
 principally attracted the attention of Nicholas, was the old gentleman's 
 eye, — never was such a clear, twinkling, honest, merry, happy eye, as 
 that. And there he stood, looking a little upward, with one hand 
 thrust into the breast of his coat, and the other playing with his old- 
 fashioned gold watch-chain : his head thrown a little on one side, and 
 his hat a little more on one side than his head, (but that was evidently 
 accident; not his ordinary way of wearing it,) with such a pleasant 
 smile playing about his mouth, and such a comical expression of 
 mingled slyness, simplicity, kind-heartedness, and good-humour, light- 
 ing up his jolly old face, that Nicholas would have been content to 
 have stood there and looked at him until evening, and to have forgotten 
 meanwhile that there was such a thing as a soured mind or a crabbed 
 countenance to be met with in the whole wide world. 
 
 But, even a very remote approach to this gratification was not to be 
 made, for although he seemed quite unconscious of having been the 
 subject of observation, he looked casually at Nicholas ; and the latter, 
 fearful of giving ofience, resumed his scrutiny of the window instantly. 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 339 
 
 Still, the old gentleman stood there, glancing from placard to placard, 
 and Nicholas could not forbear raising his eyes to his face again. 
 Grafted upon the quaintness and oddity of his appearance, was some- 
 thing so indescribably engaging and bespeaking so much worth, and 
 there were so many little lights hovering about the corners of his 
 mouth and eyes, that it was not a mere amusement, but a positive 
 pleasure and delight to look at him. 
 
 This being the case, it is no wonder.that the old man caught Nicholas 
 in the fact more than once. At such times, Nicholas coloured and 
 looked embarrassed, for the truth is, that he had begun to wonder 
 whether the stranger could by any possibility be looking for a clerk or 
 secretary; and thinking this, he felt as if the old gentleman must 
 know it. 
 
 Long as all this takes to tell, it was not more than a couple of minutes 
 in passing. As the stranger was moving away, Nicholas caught his eye 
 again, and, in the awkwardness of the moment, stammered out an apology. 
 
 " No offence — Oh no offence ! " said the old man. 
 
 This was said in such a hearty tone, and the voice was so exactly 
 what it should have been from such a speaker, and there was such a 
 cordiality in the manner, that Nicholas was emboldened to speak again. 
 
 " A great many opportunities here, sir," he said, half-smiling as he 
 motioned towards the window. 
 
 " A great many people willing and anxious to be employed have 
 seriously thought so very often, I dare say," replied the old man. 
 " Poor fellows, poor fellows ! " 
 
 He moved away as he said this ; but seeing that Nicholas was about 
 to speak, good-naturedly slackened his pace, as if he were unwilling to 
 cut him short. After a little of that hesitation which may be some- 
 times observed between two people in the street who have exchanged a 
 nod, and are both uncertain whether they shall turn back and speak, or 
 not, Nicholas found himself at the old man's side. 
 
 " You were about to speak, young gentleman ; wdiat were you going 
 to say ? " 
 
 "Merely that I almost hoped — I mean to say, thought — you had some 
 object in consulting those advertisements," said Nicholas. 
 
 " Ay, ay ? what object now — what object ? " returned the old 
 man, looking slyly at Nicholas. " Did you think I wanted a situation 
 now— Eh ? Did you think I did ? " 
 
 Nicholas shook his head. 
 
 "Ha! ha!" laughed the old gentleman, rubbing his hands and 
 wrists as if he w^ere washing them. " A very natural thought at all 
 events, after seeing me gazing at those bills. I thought the same of 
 you at first, upon my word I did." 
 
 " If you had thought so at last, too, sir, you would not have been 
 far from the truth," rejoined Nicholas. 
 
 " Eh ?" cried the old man, surveying him from head to f6ot. " What ! 
 Dear me ! No, no. Well-behaved young gentleman reduced to such a 
 necessity I No no, no no." 
 
 Nicholas bowed, and bidding him good morning, turned upon his 
 heel. z 2 
 
340 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 " Stay," said the old man, beckoning him into a hye street, where 
 they could converse with less interruption. " What d'ye mean, eh ? 
 What d'ye mean ?" 
 
 " Merely that your kind face and manner — both so unlike any I 
 have ever seen — tempted me into an avowal, which, to any other 
 stranger in this wilderness of London, I should not have dreamt of 
 making," returned Nicholas. 
 
 " Wilderness ! Yes it is, it is. Good. It is a wilderness," said the 
 old man with much animation. " It was a wilderness to me once. I 
 came here barefoot — I have never forgotten it. Thank God ! " and he 
 raised his hat from his head, and looked very grave. 
 
 "What's the matter — what is it — how did it all come about?" said 
 the old man, laying his hand on the shoulder of Nicholas, and walking 
 him up the street. "You're — Eh?" laying his finger on the sleeve of 
 his black coat. " Who's it for — eh ?" 
 
 " My father," replied Nicholas. 
 
 " Ah !" said the old gentleman quickly. " Bad thing for a young 
 man to lose his father. Widowed mother, perhaps ?" 
 
 Nicholas sighed. 
 
 " Brothers and sisters too— eh ?" 
 
 " One sister," rejoined Nicholas. 
 
 " Poor thing, poor thing. You're a scholar too, I dare say?" said 
 the old man, looking wistfully into the face of the young one. 
 
 " I have been tolerably well educated," said Nicholas. 
 
 " Fine thing," said the old gentleman, " education a great thing — a 
 very great thing — I never had any. I admire it the more in others. 
 A very fine thing — yes, yes. Tell me more of your history. Let me 
 hear it all. No impertinent curiosity — no, no, no." 
 
 There was something so earnest and guileless in the way in which 
 all this was said, and such a complete disregard of all conventional 
 restraints and coldnesses, that' Nicholas could not resist it. Among 
 men who have any sound and sterling qualities, there is nothing so 
 contagious as pure openness of heart. Nicholas took the infection 
 instantly, and ran over the main points of his little history without 
 reserve, merely suppressing names, and touching as lightly as possible upon 
 his uncle's treatment of Kate. The old man listened with great attention, 
 and when he had concluded, drew his arm eagerly through his own. 
 
 " Don't say another word — not another word," said he. " Come 
 along with me. We must n't lose a minute." 
 
 So saying, the old gentleman dragged him back into Oxford Street, 
 and hailing an omnibus on its way to the city, pushed Nicholas in 
 before him, and followed himself. 
 
 As ho appeared in a most extraordinary condition of restless excite- 
 ment, and whenever Nicholas ofi'ered to speak, immediately intcri)osed 
 •with — "Don't say another word, my dear sir, on any account — not 
 another word," the young man thought it better to attempt no further 
 interruption. Into the city they journeyed accordingly, without inter- 
 changing any conversation ; and the further they went, the more 
 Nicholas Avondered what the end of the adventure could possibly be. 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 841 
 
 The old gentleman got out witli great alacrity when they reached the 
 Bank, and once more taking Nicholas by the arm, hurried him along 
 Threadneedle Street, and through some lanes and passages on the right, 
 until they at length emerged in a quiet shady little square. Into the 
 oldest and cleanest-looking house of business in the square, he led the 
 way. The only inscription on the door-post was " Cheeryble, Brothers;" 
 but from a hasty glance at the directions of some packages which were 
 lying about, Nicholas supposed that the Brothers Cheeryble were 
 German-merchants. 
 
 Passing through a warehouse which presented every indication of a 
 thriving business, Mr. Cheeryble (for such Nicholas supposed him to 
 be, from the respect wdiich had been shown him by the warehousemen 
 and porters whom they passed) led him into a little partitioned- oft' 
 counting-house like a large glass case, in which counting-house there 
 sat — as free from dust and blemish as if he had been fixed into the 
 glass case before the top was put on, and had never come out since — a 
 fat, elderly, large-faced, clerk, with silver spectacles and a powdered 
 head. 
 
 " Is my brother in his room, Tim ?" said Mr. Cheeryble, with no 
 less kindness of manner than he had shown to Nicholas. 
 
 " Yes he is, sir," replied the fat clerk, turning his spectacle-glasses 
 towards his principal, and his eyes towards Nicholas, " but Mr. 
 Trimmers is with him." 
 
 " Ay ! And what has he come about, Tim ?" said Mr. Cheeryble. 
 
 " He is getting up a subscription for the widow and family of a man 
 who was killed in the East India Docks this morning, sir," rejoined 
 Tim. " Smashed, sir, by a cask of sugar." 
 
 " lie is a good creature," said Mr. Cheeryble, with great earnestness. 
 " He is a kind soul. I am very much obliged to Trimmers. Trimmers 
 is one of the best friends we have. He makes a thousand cases known 
 to us that we should never discover of ourselves. I am very much 
 obliged to Trimmers." Saying which, Mr. Cheeryble rubbed his hands 
 with infinite delight, and Mr. Trimmers happening to pass the door 
 that instant on his way out, shot out after him and caught him by the 
 hand. 
 
 " I owe you a thousand thanks. Trimmers — ten thousand thanks — I 
 take it very friendly of you — very friendly indeed," said Mr. Cheeryble, 
 dragging him into a corner to get out of hearing. " How many 
 children are there, and what has my brother Ned given, Trimmers?" 
 
 " There are six children," replied the gentleman, " and your brother 
 has given us twenty pounds." 
 
 " My brother Ned is a good fellow, and you're a good fellow too. 
 Trimmers," said the old man, shaking him by both hands with trembling 
 eagerness. " Put me down for another twenty — or — stop a minute, 
 stop a minute. We must n't look ostentatious ; put me down ten 
 pound, and Tim Linkinwater ten pound. A cheque for twenty pound 
 for Mr. Trimmers, Tim. God bless you. Trimmers — and come and 
 dine with us some day this week ; you'll always find a knife and fork, 
 and we shall be delighted. Now, my dear Sir — cheque for Mr. Linkin- 
 
8^ LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 water, Tim. Smashed by a cask of sugar, and six poor children — oh 
 dear, dear, dear ! " 
 
 Talking on in this strain as fast as he could, to prevent any friendly 
 remonstrances from the collector of the subscription on the large 
 amount of his donation, ^Mr. Cheeryble led Nicholas, equally astonished 
 and affected by what he had seen and heard in this short space, to 
 the lialf-opened door of another room. 
 
 " Brother Ned," said Mr. Cheeryble, tapping with his knuckles, 
 and stooping to listen, " are you busy, my dear brother, or can you 
 spare time for a word or two with me ?" 
 
 " Brother Charles, my dear fellow," replied a voice from the inside ; 
 so like in its tones to that which had just spoken that Nicholas started, 
 and almost thought it was the same, " Don't ask me such a question, 
 but come in directly." 
 
 They went in without further parley. What was the amazement 
 of Nicholas when liis conductor advanced and exchanged a warm 
 greeting with another old gentleman, the very type and model of 
 himself — the same face, the same figure, the same coat, waistcoat, and 
 neckcloth, the same breeches and gaiters — nay, there was tlie very 
 same white hat hanging against the wall ! 
 
 As they shook each other by the hand, the face of each lighted up 
 by beaming looks of affection, which would have been most delightful 
 to behold in infants, and which, in men so old, was inexpressibly 
 touching, Nicholas could observe that the last old gentleman was 
 something stouter than his brother ; this, and a slight additional shade 
 of clumsiness in his gait and stature, formed the only perceptible 
 difference between them. Nobody could have doubted their being 
 twin brothers. 
 
 " Brother Ned," said Nicholas's friend, closing the room-door, 
 " here is a young friend of mine that we must assist. We must make 
 proper inquiries into his statements, in justice to him as well as to our- 
 selves, and if they are confirmed — as I feel assured they will be — we 
 must assist him ; we must assist him, brother Ned." 
 
 " It is enough, my dear brother, that you say we should," returned 
 the other. " When you say that, no further inquiries are needed. 
 He shall be assisted. What are his necessities, and what does he 
 require ? Where is Tim Linkinwatcr ? Let us have him liere." 
 
 Both the brothers, it may be here remarked, had a very empliatic 
 and earnest delivery, both had lost nearly the same teeth, which 
 imparted the same peculiarity to their speech ; and both spoke as if, 
 besides possessing the utmost serenity of mind that the kindliest and 
 most unsuspecting nature could bestow, they had, in collecting the 
 plums from Fortune's choicest pudding, retained a few for present use, 
 and kept them in their mouths. 
 
 " AVhere is Tim Linkinwatcr ? " said brother Ned. 
 
 " Stop, stop, stop," said brother (^'harles, taking the other aside. 
 " I've a plan, my dear brother, I've a plan. Tim is getting old, and 
 Tim has been a faithful servant, brother Ned; and I don't think 
 pensioning Tim's mother and sister, and buying a little tomb for the 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 343 
 
 family when his poor brother died, was a sufficient recompense for his 
 faithful services." 
 
 " No, no, no," replied the other. " Certainly not. Not half enough, 
 not half." 
 
 " If we could lighten Tim's duties," said the old gentleman, " and 
 prevail upon him to go into the country now and then, and sleep in 
 the fresh air, besides, two or three times a- week, (which he could if he 
 began business an hour later in the morning,) old Tim Linkin water would 
 grow young again in time ; and he's three good years our senior now. 
 Old Tim Linkinwater young again ! Eh, brother Ned, eh ? Why, I 
 recollect old Tim Linkinwater quite a little boy, don't you ? Ha, ha, 
 ha ! Poor Tim, poor Tim !" 
 
 And the fine old fellows laughed pleasantly together: each with a 
 tear of regard for old Tim Linkinwater, standing in his eye. 
 
 " But hear this first — hear this first, brother Ned," said the old 
 man hastily, placing two chairs, one on each side of Nicholas. " I'll 
 tell it you myself, brother Ned, because the young gentleman is modest, 
 and is a scholar, Ned, and I shouldn't feel it right that he should tell 
 us his story over and over again as if he was a beggar, or as if we 
 doubted him. No, no, no." 
 
 " No, no, no," returned the other, nodding his head gravely. " Yery 
 right, my dear brother, very right." 
 
 " He will tell me I'm wrong, if I make a mistake," said Nicholas's 
 friend. " But whether I do or not, you'll be very much affected, 
 brother Ned, remembering the time when we were two friendless lads, 
 and earned our first shilling in this great city." 
 
 The twins pressed each other's hands in silence, and, in his own 
 homely manner, brother Charles related the particulars he had heard 
 from Nicholas. The conversation which ensued was a long one, and 
 when it was over a secret conference of almost equal duration took 
 place between brother Ned and Tim Linkinwater in another room. It 
 is no disparagement to Nicholas to say, that before he had been 
 closeted with the two brothers ten minutes, he could only wave his 
 hand at every fresh expression of kindness and sympathy, and sob like 
 a little child. 
 
 At leng-th brother Ned and Tim Linkinwater came back together, 
 when Tim instantly walked up to Nicholas and whispered in his ear 
 in a very brief sentence, (for Tim was ordinarily a man of few words,) 
 that he had taken down the address in the {Strand, and would call 
 upon him that evening at eight. Having done which, Tim wiped his 
 spectacles and put them on, preparatory to hearing what more the 
 brothers Cheeryble had got to say. 
 
 " Tim," said brother Charles, " You understand that we have an 
 intention of taking this young gentleman into the counting-house ?" 
 
 Brother Ned remarked that Tim was aware of that intention, and 
 quite approved of it ; and Tim having nodded, and said he did, drew 
 himself up and looked particularly fat and very important. After 
 which there was a profound silence. 
 
 " I'm not coming an hour later in the morning you know," said Tim, 
 
344 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 breaking out all at once, and looking very resolute. " I'm not going 
 to sle(;p in the fresli air — no, nor I'm not going into the country 
 either. A pretty thing at this time of day, certainly. Pho ! " 
 
 " Damn your obstinacy, Tim Linkinwater," said brother Charles, 
 looking at him without the faintest spark of anger, and with a coun- 
 tenance radiant with attachment to the old clerk. " Damn your 
 obstinacy, Tim Linkinwater, what do you mean. Sir ? " 
 
 " It's forty-four year," said Tim, making a calculation in the air 
 with his pen, and drawing an imaginary line before he cast it up, 
 " forty-four year, next May, since I first kept the books of Clieeryble, 
 Brothers. I've opened the safe every morning all that time (Sundays 
 excepted) as the clock struck nine, and gone over the house every night 
 at half-past ten (except on Foreign Post nights, and then twenty minutes 
 before twelve) to see the doors fastened and the fires out, I've never 
 slept out of the back attic one single night. There's the same 
 mignionette box in the middle of the window, and the same four 
 flower-pots, two on each side, that I brought with me when I first 
 came. There an't — I've said it again and again, and I'll maintain it — 
 there an't such a square as this in the world. I know there an't," said 
 Tim, with sudden energy, and looking sternly about him. " Not one. 
 For business or pleasure, in summer time or winter — I don't care 
 which — there's nothing like it. There's not such a spring in England 
 as the pump under the archway. There's not such a view in England 
 as the view out of my window ; I've seen it every morning before I 
 shaved, and I ought to know something about it. I have slept in that 
 room," added Tim, sinking his voice a little, " for four- and- forty year ; 
 and if it wasn't inconvenient, and didn't interfere with business, I should 
 request leave to die there." 
 
 " Damn you, Tim Linkinwater, how dare you talk about dying ?" 
 roared the twins by one impulse, and blowing their old noses violently. 
 
 " That's what I've got to say, Mr. Edwin and Mr. Charles," said 
 Tim, squaring his shoulders agam. " This isn't the first time you've 
 talked about superannuating me ; but if you please we'll make it the 
 last, and drop the subject for evermore." 
 
 With these words, Tim Linkinwater stalked out and shut himself 
 up in his glass case, with the air of a man who had had his say, and 
 was thoroughly resolved not to be put down. 
 
 The brothers interchanged looks, and coughed some half-dozen times 
 without speaking. 
 
 " He must be done something with, brother Ned," said tiie other, 
 warmly ; " we must disregard his old scruples ; they can't be tole- 
 rated or borne. He must be made a partner, brother Ned ; and if he 
 won't submit to it peaceably, we must have recourse to violence." 
 
 " Quite right," replied brother Ned, nodding his head as a man 
 thoroughly determined ; " quite right, my dear brother. If he won't 
 listen to reason, we must do it against his will, and show him that 
 we are determined to exert our authority. We must quarrel with him, 
 brother Charles." 
 
 " We must — we certainly must have a quarrel with Tim Linkin- 
 
NICHOLAS KICKLEBY. 345 
 
 water," said the other. " But in the mean time, my dear brother, we 
 are keeping our young friend; and the poor lady and her daughter 
 will be anxious for his return. So let us say good-bye for the present, 
 and — there, tliQrc — take care of that box, my dear Sir — and — no, no, 
 no, not a word now ; but be careful of the crossings and " 
 
 And with any disjointed and unconnected words which would prevent 
 Nicholas from pouring forth his thanks, the brothers hurried him out, 
 shaking hands with him all the way, and affecting very unsuccessfully 
 — they were poor hands at deception ! — to be wholly unconscious of the 
 feelings that completely mastered him. 
 
 Nicholas's heart was too full to allow of his turning into the street 
 until he had recovered some composure. When he at last glided out of 
 the dark doorway-corner in which he had been compelled to halt, he 
 caught a glimpse of the twins stealthily peeping in at one corner of 
 the glass-case, evidently undecided whether they should follow up 
 their late attack without delay, or for the present postpone laying 
 further siege to the inflexible Tim Link in water. 
 
 To recount all the delight and wonder which the circumstances just 
 detailed awakened at Miss La Creevy's, and all the things that were 
 done, said, thought, expected, hoped, and prophesied in consequence, 
 is beside the present course and purpose of these adventures. It is 
 sufficient to state, in brief, that Mr. Timothy Linkinwater arrived 
 punctual to his appointment ; that, oddity as he was, and jealous as 
 lie was bound to be of the proper exercise of his employers' most 
 comprehensive liberality, he reported strongly and warmly in favour of 
 Nicholas ; and that next day he was appointed to the vacant stool in 
 the counting-house of Cheeryble, Brothers, with a present salary of one 
 hundred and twenty pounds a year. 
 
 " And I think, my dear brother," said Nicholas's first friend, " that 
 if we were to let them that little cottage at Bow which is empty, at 
 something under the usual rent, now— Eh, brother Ned ? " 
 
 " For nothing at all," said brother Ned. " We are rich, and should 
 be ashamed to touch the rent under such circumstances as these. 
 Where is Tim Linkinwater ? — for nothing at all, my dear brother, for 
 nothing at all." 
 
 " Perhaps it would be better to say something, brother Ned," sug- 
 gested the other, mildly ; " it would help to preserve habits of 
 frugality, you know, and remove any painful sense of overwhelming 
 obligations. We might say fifteen pound, or twenty pound, and if it 
 was punctually paid, make it up to them in some other way. And I 
 might secretly advance a small loan towards a little furniture, and you 
 might secretly advance another small loan, brother Ned ; and if we 
 find them doing well — as we shall ; there's no fear, no fear — we can 
 change the loans into gifts — carefully, brother Ned, and by degrees, 
 and without pressing upon them too much ; what do you say now, 
 brother ? " 
 
 Brother Ned gave his hand upon it, and not only said it should be 
 done, but had it done too : and in one short week Nicholas took 
 
346 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 possession of the stool, and Mrs. NickloLy and Kate took possession 
 of the house ; and all was hope, bustle, and light- heartedncss. 
 
 There surely never was such a week of discoveries and surprises as 
 the first week of that cottage. Every night when Nicholas came 
 heme, something new had been found out. One day it was a grape- 
 vine, and another day it was a boiler, and another day it was the key 
 of the front parlour closet at the bottom of the water-butt, and so on 
 through a hundred items. Then, this room was embellished with a 
 muslin curtain, and that room was rendered quite elegant by a window- 
 blind, and such improvements were made as no one would have 
 supposed possible. Then, there was Miss La Creevy, who had come 
 out in the omnibus to stop a day or two and help, and who was 
 perpetually losing a very small brown paper parcel of tin tacks and a 
 very large hammer, and running about with her sleeves tucked up at 
 the wrists, and falling off pairs of steps and hurting herself very much 
 — and Mrs. Nickleby, who talked incessantly, and did something now 
 and then, but not often — and Kate, who busied herself noiselessly every- 
 where, and was pleased with everything — and Smike, who made the 
 garden a perfect wonder to look upon — and Nicholas, who helped and 
 encouraged them every one — all the peace and cheerfulness of home 
 restored, with such new zest imparted to every frugal pleasure, and such 
 delight to every hour of meeting, as misfortune and separation alone 
 could give. 
 
 In short, the poor Nicklcbys were social and happy ; while the rich 
 Nickleby was alone and miserable. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXYI. 
 
 PRIVATE AND CONFIDENTIAL ; RELATING TO FAMILY MATTERS. SHOW- 
 ING now MR. KENWIGS UNDERWENT VIOLENT AGITATION, AND HOW 
 MRS. KENWIGS WAS AS WELL AS COULD BE EXPECTED. 
 
 It might have been about seven o'clock in the evening, and it was 
 growing dark in the narrow streets near Golden Square, when Mr. 
 Kenwigs sent out for a pair of the cheapest white kid gloves — those at 
 fourteenpence — and selecting the strongest, which happened to be the 
 right-hand one, walked down stairs with an air of some pomp and 
 much excitement, and proceeded to muffle the knob of the street-door 
 knocker therein. Having executed this task with great nicety, ]Mr. 
 Kenwigs pulled the door to after him, and just stepped across the road 
 to try the effect from the opposite side of the street. Satisfied that 
 nothing could possibly look better in its way, Mr. Kenwigs then 
 stepped back again, and calling through the keyhole to Morleena to 
 open the door, vanished into the house, and was seen no longer. 
 
 Now, considered as an abstract circumstance, there was no more 
 obvious cause or reason why 3Ir. Kenwigs should take the trouble of 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 347 
 
 muffling this particular knocker, than there would have been for his 
 muffling the knocker of any nobleman or gentleman resident ten miles 
 off ; because, for the greater convenience of the numerous lodgers, the 
 street-door always stood wide open, and the knocker was never used at 
 all. The first floor, the second floor, and the third floor, had each a 
 bell of its own. As to the attics, no one ever called on them ; if any 
 body wanted the parlours, there they were close at hand, and all he 
 had to do was to walk straight into them ; while the kitchen had a 
 separate entrance down the area steps. As a question of mere necessity 
 and usefulness, therefore, this muffling of the knocker was thoroughly 
 incomprehensible. 
 
 But knockers may be muffled for other purposes than those of mere 
 utilitarianism, as, in the present instance, was clearly shown. There 
 are certain polite forms and ceremonies which must be observed in civi- 
 lised life, or mankind relapse into their original barbarism. No genteel 
 lady was ever yet confined — indeed, no genteel confinement can possibly 
 take place — without the accompanying symbol of a muffled knocker. 
 Mrs. Kenwigs was a lady of some pretensions to gentility ; Mrs. 
 Kenwigs was confined. And, therefore, Mr. Kenwigs tied up the 
 silent knocker on the premises in a white kid glove. 
 
 " I'm not quite certain neither," said Mr. Kenwigs, arranging his 
 shirt-collar, and walking slowly up stairs, whether, " as it's a boy, I 
 won't have it in the papers." 
 
 Pondering upon the advisability of this step, and the sensation it was 
 likely to create in the neighbourhood, Mr. Kenwigs betook himself to 
 the sitting-room, where various extremely diminutive articles of cloth- 
 ing were airing on a horse before the fire, and Mr. Lumbey, the doctor, 
 was dandling the baby — that is, the old baby — not the new one. 
 
 " It's a fine boy, Mr. Kenwigs," said Mr. Lumbey, the doctor. 
 
 " You consider him a fine boy, do you, sir?" returned Mr. Kenwigs." 
 
 " It's the finest boy I ever saw in all my life," said the doctor. " I 
 never saw such a baby." 
 
 It is a pleasant thing to reflect upon, and furnishes a complete 
 answer to those who contend for the gradual degeneration of the human 
 species, that every baby born into the world is a finer one than the last. 
 
 " I ne — ver saw such a baby," said Mr. Lumbey, the doctor. 
 
 " IMorleena was a fine baby," remarked Mr. Kenwigs ; as if this were 
 rather an attack, by implication, upon the family. 
 
 " They were all fine babies," said Mr. Lumbey. And Mr. Lumbey 
 went on nursing the baby with a thoughtful look. Whether he was 
 considering under what head he could best charge the nursing in the 
 bill, was best known to liimself. 
 
 During this short conversation. Miss Morleena, as the eldest of the 
 family, and natural representative of her mother during her indisposi- 
 tion, had been hustling and slapping the three younger Miss Kenwigses, 
 without intermission ; which considerate and affectionate conduct 
 brought tears into the eyes of Mr. Kenwigs, and caused him to declare 
 that, in understanding and behaviour, that child was a woman. 
 
 " She will be a treasure to the man she marries, sir," said Mr. 
 
343 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 Kenwigs, half aside ; " I think she'll marry above her station, Mr. 
 Lumbey." 
 
 " I shouldn't wonder at all," replied the doctor. 
 
 " You never see her dance, sir, did you ? " asked Mr. Kenwigs. 
 
 The doctor shook his head. 
 
 " Ay ! " said Mr. Kenwigs, as though he pitied him from his heart, 
 *' then you don't know what she's capable of." 
 
 All this time there had been a great whisking in and out of the other 
 room ; the door had been opened and shut very softly about twenty 
 times a minute, (for it was necessary to keep Mrs. Kenwigs quiet), 
 and the baby had been exhibited to a score or two of deputations from 
 a select body of female friends, who had assembled in the passage, and 
 about the street-door, to discuss the event in all its bearings. Indeed, 
 the excitement extended itself over the whole street, and groups of 
 ladies might be seen standing at the doors, — some in the interesting 
 condition in which Mrs. Kenwigs had last appeared in public, — relating 
 their experiences of similar occurrences. Some few acquired great 
 credit from having prophesied, the day before yesterday, exactly when 
 it would come to pass ; others again related, how that they guessed what 
 it was, directly they saw Mr. Kenwigs turn pale and run up the street 
 as hard as ever he could go. Some said one tiling, and some another ; 
 but all talked together, and all agreed upon two points : first, that it 
 was very meritorious and highly praiseworthy in Mrs. Kenwigs, to 
 do as she had done ; and secondly, that there never was such a skilful 
 and scientific doctor as that Doctor Lumbey. 
 
 In the midst of this general hubbub. Doctor Lumbey sat ia the 
 first floor front, as before related, nursing the deposed baby, and talking 
 to Mr. Kenwigs. He was a stout bluff-looking gentleman, with no 
 shirt-collar, to speak of, and a beard that had been growing since 
 yesterday morning ; for Doctor Lumbey was popular, and the neigh- 
 bourhood was prolific ; and there had been no less than three other 
 knockers muffled, one after the other, within the last forty-eight hours. 
 
 " Well, Mr. Kenwigs," said Dr. Lumbey, " this makes six. You'll 
 have a fine family in time, sir." 
 
 " I think six is almost enough, sir," returned Mr. Kenwigs. 
 
 " Pooh ! pooh ! " said the doctor. " Nonsense ! not half enough." 
 " With this the doctor laughed ; but he didn't laugh half as much as 
 a married friend of Mrs. Kenwigs's, who had just come in from the 
 sick-chamber, to report progress and take a small sip of brandy-and- 
 water; and who seemed to consider it one of the best jokes ever launched 
 upon society. 
 
 " They're not altogether dependent upon good fortune, neither," said 
 Mr. Kenwigs, taking his second daughter on his knee ; " they have 
 expectations." 
 
 " Oh, indeed ! " said Mr. Lumbey, the doctor. 
 
 " And very good ones too, I believe, haven't they ? " asked the mar- 
 ried lady. 
 
 " Why, ma'am," said Mr. Kenwigs, " it's not exactly for me to say 
 what they may be, or what they may not be. It's not for me to boast 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. S49 
 
 of any family with which I have the honour to be connected ; at the 
 
 same time, Mrs. Kenwigs's is 1 should say," said Mr. Kenwigs, 
 
 abruptly, and raising his voice as he spoke, " that my children might 
 come into a matter of a hundred pound a-piece, perhaps. Perhaps 
 more, but certainly that." 
 
 " And a very pretty little fortune," said the married lady. 
 
 " There are some relations of Mrs. Kenwigs's," said Mr. Kenwigs, 
 taking a pinch of snuff from the doctor's box, and then sneezing very 
 hard, for he wasn't used to it, " that might leave their hundred pound 
 a-piece to ten people, and yet not go begging when they had done it." 
 
 *' Ah ! I know who you mean," observed the married lady, nodding 
 her head. 
 
 *' I made mention of no names, and I wish to make mention of no 
 names," said Mr. Kenwigs, with a portentous look. " Many of my 
 friends have met a relation of Mrs. Kenwigs's in this very room, as 
 would do honour to any company ; that's all." 
 
 " I've met him," said the married lady, with a glance towards 
 Doctor Lumbey. 
 
 " It's naterally very gratifying to my feelings as a father, to see 
 such a man as that, a kissing and taking notice of my children," 
 pursued Mr. Kenwigs. " It's naterally very gratifying to my feelings 
 as a man, to know that man. It will be naterally very gratifying to my 
 feelings as a husband, to make that man acquainted with this ewent." 
 
 Having delivered his sentiments in this form of words, Mr. Kenwigs 
 arranged his second daughter's flaxen tail, and bade her be a good girl 
 and mind what her sister, Morleena, said. 
 
 " That girl grows more like her mother every day," said Mr. 
 Lumbey, suddenly stricken with an enthusiastic admiration of 
 JMorleena. 
 
 " There!" rejoined the married lady. " What I always say — what 
 I always did say. She's the very picter of her." And having thus 
 directed the general attention to the young lady in question, the mar- 
 ried lady embraced the opportunity of taking another sip of the brandy- 
 and- water — and a pretty long sip too. 
 
 " Yes I there is a likeness," said Mr. Kenwigs, after some reflection. 
 " But such a woman as Mrs. Kenwigs was, afore she was married ! 
 Good gracious, such a woman !" 
 
 Mr. Lumbey shook his head with great solemnity, as though to 
 imply that he supposed she must have been rather a dazzler. 
 
 " Talk of fairies !" cried Mr. Kenwigs. " / never see anybody so 
 light to be alive — never. Such manners too ; so playful, and yet so 
 sewercly proper ! As for her figure ! It isn't generally known," said 
 Mr. Kenwigs, dropping his voice ; " but her figure was such at that 
 time, that the sign of the Britannia over in the Holloway road, was 
 painted from it!" 
 
 " But only see what it is now," urged the married lady. " Does 
 she look like the mother of six ?" 
 
 '^ Quite ridiculous," cried the doctor. 
 
 " She looks a deal more like her own daughter," said the married 
 lady. 
 
350 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 " So she does," assented Mr. Lumbey. " A great deal more." 
 
 Mr. Kenwigs was about to make some further observations, most 
 probably in confirmation of this opinion, when another married lady, 
 who had looked in to keep up Mrs. Kenwigs' spirits, and help to clear 
 off anything in the eating and drinking way that might be going about, 
 put in her head to announce that she had just been down to answer 
 the bell, and that there was a gentleman at the door who wanted to 
 see Mr. Kenwigs " most particular." 
 
 Shadowy visions of his distinguished relation flitted through the brain 
 of Mr. Kenwigs, as this message was delivered ; and under their influ- 
 ence, he despatched Morleena to show the gentleman up straightway. 
 
 " Why, I do declare," said Mr. Kenwigs, standing opposite the 
 door so as to get the earliest glimpse of the visitor, as he came up-stairs, 
 " it's Mr. Johnson. How do you find yourself, sir ?" 
 
 Nicholas shook hands, kissed his old pupils all round, entrusted a 
 large parcel of toys to the guardianship of Morleena, bowed to the 
 doctor and the married ladies, and inquired after Mrs. Kenwigs in a 
 tone of interest, which went to the very heart and soul of the nurse, 
 who had come in to warm some mysterious compound in a little sauce- 
 pan over the fire. 
 
 " I ought to make a hundred apologies to you for calling at such 
 a season," said Nicholas, " but I was not aware of it until I had 
 rung the bell, and my time is so fully occupied now, that I feared it 
 might be some days before I could possibly come again." 
 
 " No time like the present, sir," said Mr. Kenwigs. '' The sitiwa- 
 tion of Mrs. Kenwigs, sir, is no obstacle to a little conversation 
 between you and me, I hope ?" 
 
 " You are very good," said Nicholas. 
 
 At this juncture proclamation was made by another married lady, 
 that the baby had begun to eat like anything ; whereupon the two 
 married ladies, already mentionjed^ rushed tumultuously into the bed- 
 room to behold him in the act. 
 
 " The fact is," resumed Nicholas, " that before I left the country, 
 where I have been for some time past, I undertook to deliver a message 
 to you." 
 
 " Ay, ay ?" said Mr. Kenwigs. 
 
 " And I have been," added Nicholas, " already in town for some days 
 without having had an opportunity of doing so." 
 
 " It's no matter sir," said Mr. Kenwigs. " I dare say it's none the 
 worse for keeping cold. Message from the country !" said Mr. Kenwigs, 
 ruminating ; " that's curious. I don't know any body in the country." 
 
 " Miss Petowker," suggested Nicholas. 
 
 " Oh ! from her, is it ?" said Mr. Kenwigs. " Oh dear, yes. Ah ! 
 Mrs. Kenwigs will be glad to hear from her. Henrietta Petowker, 
 eh ? How odd things come about, now ! That you should have met 
 her in the country — Well 1" 
 
 Hearing this mention of their old friend's name, the four Miss 
 Kenwigses gathered round Nicholas, open eyed and mouthed, to liear 
 more. Mr. Kenwigs looked a little curious too, but quite comfortable 
 and unsuspecting. 
 
■-*»*' •*' 
 
 n*^ 
 
 **- 
 
 *! 
 
ev^y/^- 
 
 ^^^///f'//r// y. // '- ^//■////•/^r.'> M/^ /of////^/ ■//<■/ rfy////// /^' - -^, ' ■ ^ ' 
 
 a;. 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 351 
 
 " The message relates to family matters," said Nicholas, hesitating. 
 " Oh, never mind," said Kenwigs, glancing at Mr. Lumbey, who 
 having rashly taken charge of little Lillyvick, found nobody disposed 
 to relieve him of his precious burden. " All friends here." 
 
 Nicholas hemmed once or twice, and seemed to have some difficulty 
 in proceeding. 
 
 " At Portsmouth Henrietta Petowker is," observed Mr. Kenwigs. 
 " Yes," said Nicholas. " Mr. Lillyvick is there." 
 Mr. Kenwigs turned pale, but he recovered and said, that was an 
 odd coincidence also. 
 
 " The message is from him," said Nicholas. 
 
 Mr. Kenwigs appeared to revive. He knew that his niece was in a 
 delicate state, and had no doubt sent word that they were to forward 
 full particulars : — Yes. That was very kind of him — so like him too 1 
 " He desired me to give his kindest love," said Nicholas. 
 " Very much obliged to him, I'm sure. Your great-uncle, Lillyvick, 
 my dears," interposed Mr. Kenwigs, condescendingly explaining it to 
 the children. 
 
 " E[is kindest love," resumed Nicholas ; " and to say that^ he had no 
 time to write, but that he was married to Miss Petowker." 
 
 Mr. Kenwigs started from his seat with a petrified stare, caught his 
 second daughter by the flaxen tail, and covered his face with his pocket- 
 handkerchief. Morleena fell, all stiff and rigid, into the baby's chair, 
 as she had seen her mother fall when she fainted away, and the two 
 remaining little Kenwigses shrieked in affright. 
 
 " My children, my defrauded, swindled infants!" cried Mr. Kenwigs, 
 pulling so hard, in his vehemence, at the flaxen tail of his second 
 daughter, that he lifted her up on tiptoe, and kept her for some seconds 
 in that attitude. " Villain, ass, traitor !" 
 
 " Drat the man!" cried the nurse, looking angrily round. "What 
 does he mean by making that noise here ? " 
 
 "Silence, woman!" said Mr. Kenwigs fiercely. 
 " I won't be silent," returned the nurse. " Be silent yourself, you 
 wretch. Have you no regard for your baby ?" 
 " No !" returned Mr. Kenwigs. 
 
 " More shame for you," retorted the nurse. " Ugh ! you unnatural 
 monster." • 
 
 "Let him die," cried Mr. Kenwigs, in the torrent of his wrath. 
 "Let him die. He has no expectations, no property to come into. 
 We want no babies here," said Mr. Kenwigs recklessly. " Take 'em 
 away, take 'em away to the Fondling !" 
 
 With these awful remarks Mr. Kenwigs sat himself down in a chair, 
 and defied the nurse, who made the best of her way into the adjoining 
 room, and returned with a stream of matrons : declaring that Mr. 
 Kenwigs had spoken blasphemy against his family, and must be raving 
 mad. 
 
 Appearances were certainly not in Mr. Kenwigs's favour, for the 
 exertion of speaking with so much vehemence, and yet in such a tone 
 as should prevent his lamentations reaching the ears of Mrs. Kenwigs, 
 had made him very black in the face ; besides which, the excitement of 
 
352 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 the occasion, and an unwonted indulgence in various strong cordials to 
 celebrate it, had swollen and dilated his features to a most unusual 
 extent. But Nicholas and the doctor — who had been passive at first, 
 doubting very much whether Mr. Kenwigs could be in earnest — inter- 
 fering to explain the immediate cause of his condition, the indignation 
 of the matrons was changed to pity, and they implored him with much 
 feeling to go quietly to bed. 
 
 " The attention," said Mr. Kenwigs, looking around with a plaintive 
 air, " the attention that I've shown to that man. The hyseters he has 
 eat, and the pints of ale he has drank, in this house—!" 
 
 " It's very trying, and very hard to bear, we know," said one of the 
 married ladies ; " but think of your dear darling wife." 
 
 " Oh yes, and what she's been a undergoing of, only this day," cried 
 a great many voices. *' There's a good man, do." 
 
 " The presents that have been made to him," said Mr. Kenwigs, 
 reverting to his calamity, " the pipes, the snuff-boxes — a pair of india- 
 rubber goloshes, that cost six and sixpence — " 
 
 " Ah ! it won't bear thinking of, indeed," cried the matrons generally ; 
 " but it '11 all come home to him, never fear." 
 
 Mr. Kenwigs looked darkly upon the ladies as if he would prefer its 
 all coming home to him, as there was nothing to be got by it ; but he 
 said nothing, and resting his head upon his hand, subsided into a kind 
 of doze. 
 
 Then the matrons again expatiated on the expediency of taking the 
 good gentleman to bed ; observing that he would be better to-morrow, 
 and that they knew what was the wear and tear of some men s minds 
 when their wives were taken as Mrs. Kenwigs had been that day, and 
 that it did him great credit, and there was nothing to be ashamed of in 
 it ; far from it : they liked to see it, they did, for it showed a good 
 heart. And one lady observed, as a case bearing upon the present, that 
 her husband was often quite light-headed from anxiety on similar 
 occasions, and that once, when her little Johnny was born, it was 
 nearly a week before he came to himself again, during the whole of 
 which time he did nothing but cry " Is it a boy, is it a boy ?" in a 
 manner which went to the hearts of all his hearers. 
 
 At length Morleena (who quite forgot she had fainted, -when she 
 found she was not noticed) announced that a chamber was ready for 
 her afflicted parent ; and Mr. Kenwigs, having partially smothered his 
 four daughters in the closeness of his embrace, accepted the doctor's 
 arm on one side, and the support of Nicholas on the other, and w\as 
 conducted up-stairs to a bedroom which had been secured for the 
 occasion. 
 
 Having seen him sound asleep and heard him snore most satisfactorily, 
 and having further presided over the distribution of the toys, to the 
 perfect contentment of all the little Kenwigses, Nicholas took his leave. 
 The matrons dropped off one by one, with the exception of six or eight 
 particular friends, who had determined to stop all night ; the lights in 
 the houses gradually disappeared ; the last bulletin was issued that 
 Mrs. Kenwigs was as well as could be expected ; and the whole family 
 were left to their repose. 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 353 
 
 CHAPTER XXXYII. 
 
 KICHOLAS FINDS FURTHER FAVOUR IN THE EYES OF THE BROTHERS 
 CHEERYBLB AND MR. TIMOTHY LINKINWATER. THE BROTHERS 
 GIVE A BANQUET ON A GREAT ANNUAL OCCASION; NICHOLAS, ON 
 RETURNING HOME FROM IT, RECEIVES A MYSTERIOUS AND IM- 
 PORTANT DISCLOSURE FROM THE LIPS OF MRS. NICKLEBY. 
 
 The Square in which the counting-house of the brothers Cheeryble 
 was situated, although it might not wholly realize the very sanguine 
 expectations which a stranger would be disposed to form on hearing 
 the fervent encomiums bestowed upon it by Tim Linkinwater, was, 
 nevertheless, a sufficiently desirable nook in the heart of a busy town 
 like London, and one which occupied a high place in the affectionate 
 remembrances of several grave persons domiciled in the neighbourhood, 
 whose recollections, however, dated from a much more recent period, 
 and whose attachment to the spot was far less absorbing than were the 
 recollections and attachment of the enthusiastic Tim. 
 
 And let not those whose eyes have been accustomed to tlie aristo- 
 cratic gravity of Grosvenor Square and Hanover Square, the dowager 
 barrenness and frigidity of Fitzroy Square, or the gravel walks and 
 garden seats of the Squares of Russell and Euston, suppose that the 
 affections of Tim Linkinwater, or the inferior lovers of this particular 
 locality, had been awakened and kept alive by any refreshing asso- 
 ciations with leaves however dingy, or grass, however bare and thin. 
 The City square has no inclosure, save the lamp-post in the middle, 
 and no grass but the weeds which spring up round its base. It is a 
 quiet, little- frequented, retired spot, favourable to melancholy and con- 
 templation, and appointments of long- waiting ; and up and down its 
 every side the Appointed saunters idly by the hour together, wakening 
 the echoes with the monotonous sound of his footsteps on the smooth 
 worn stones, and counting first the windows and then the very bricks 
 of the tall silent houses that hem him round about. In winter-time the 
 snow will linger there, long after it has melted from the busy streets 
 and highways. The summer's sun holds it in some respect, and while 
 he darts his cheerful rays sparingly into the square, he keeps his fiery 
 heat and glare for noisier and less-imposing precincts. It is so quiet 
 that you can almost hear the ticking of your own watch when you 
 stop to cool in its refreshing atmosphere. There is a distant hum — of 
 coaches, not of insects — but no other sound disturbs the stillness of the 
 square. The ticket-porter leans idly against the post at the comer, 
 comfortably warm, but not hot, although the day is broiling. His 
 white apron flaps languidly in the air, his head gradually droops upon 
 his breast, he takes very long winks with both eyes at once ; even he 
 is unable to withstand the soporific influence of the place, and is 
 gradually falling asleep. But now he starts into full wakefulness, 
 recoils a step or two, and gazes out before him wdth eager wildness in 
 
 A A 
 
354 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 his eye. Is it a job, or a boy at marbles ? Does he see a ghost, or 
 hear an organ ? No ; sight more unwonted still — there is a butterfly 
 in the square — a real, live, butterfly ! astray from flowers and sweets, 
 and fluttering among the iron heads of tlie dusty area railings ! 
 
 But if there were not many matters immediately "without the doors 
 of Chceryble Brothers, to engage the attention or distract the thoughts 
 of the young clerk, there were not a few within to interest and amuse 
 him. There was scarcely an object in the place, animate or inanimate, 
 which did not partake in some degree of the scrupulous method and 
 punctuality of Mr. Timothy Linkinwater. Punctual as the counting- 
 house dial, which he maintained to be the best time -keeper in London 
 next after the clock of some old, hidden, unknown church hard by, 
 (for Tim held the fabled goodness of that at the Horse Guards to be a 
 pleasant fiction, invented by jealous West-enders,) the old clerk per- 
 formed the minutest actions of the day, and arranged the minutest arti- 
 cles in the little room, in a precise and regular order, which could not 
 have been exceeded if it had actually been a real glass case fitted with 
 the choicest curiosities. Paper, pens, ink, ruler, sealing-wax, wafers, 
 pounce-box, string-box, fire-box, Tim's hat, Tim's scrupulously-folded 
 gloves, Tim's other coat — looking precisely like a back view of himself 
 as it hung against the wall — all had their accustomed inches of space. 
 Except the clock, there was not such an accurate and unimpeachable 
 instrument in existence as the little thermometer which hung behind the 
 door. There was not a bird of such methodical and business-like 
 habits in all the world as the blind blackbird, who dreamed and dozed 
 away his days in a large snug cage, and had lost his voice from old age 
 years before Tim first bought him. There was not such an eventful 
 story in the whole range of anecdote as Tim could tell concerning the 
 acquisition of that very bird : how, compassionating his starved and 
 suffering condition, he had purchased him with the view of humanely 
 terminating his wretched life ; how he determined to wait three days 
 and see whether the bird revived ; how, before half the time was out, 
 the bird did revive ; and how he went on reviving and picking up his 
 appetite and good looks until he gradually became what — "• what you 
 see him now. Sir" — Tim would say, glancing proudly at the cage. And 
 with tliat, Tim would utter a melodious chirrup, and cry " Dick ;" and 
 Dick, who, for any sign of life he had previously given, might have 
 been a wooden or stuffed representation of a blackbird indifferently 
 executed, would come to the side of the cage in three small jumps, and, 
 thrusting his bill between the bars, turn his sightless head towards his 
 old master — and at that moment it would be very difiicult to determine 
 which of the two was the happier, the bird, or Tim Linkinwater. 
 
 Nor was this all. Everything gave back, besides, some reflection 
 of the kindly spirit of the brothers. The warehousemen and porters 
 were such sturdy jolly fellows that it was a treat to see them. Among 
 the shipping -announcements and steam-packet lists which decorated 
 the counting-house wall, were designs for alms-houses, statements of 
 charities, and plans for new hospitals. A blunderbuss and two swords 
 hung above the chimney-piece for the terror of evil-doers, but the 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY^ 355 
 
 "blunderlmss was rusty and shattered, and tlie swords were broken 
 and edgeless. Elsewhere, their open display in such a condition would 
 have raised a smile, but there it seemed as though even violent and 
 offensive weapons partook of the reigning influence, and became 
 emblems of mercy and forbearance. 
 
 Such thoughts as these, occurred to Nicholas very strongly on the 
 morning when he first took possession of the vacant stool, and looked 
 about him more freely and at ease than he had before enjoyed an oppor- 
 tunity of doing. Perhaps they encouraged and stimulated him to exer- 
 tion, for, during the next two weeks, all his spare hours, late at liight 
 and early in the morning, were incessantly devoted to acquiring the 
 mysteries of book-keeping and some other forms of mercantile account. 
 To these he applied himself with such steadiness and perseverance that, 
 although he brought no greater amount of previous knowledge to the 
 subject than certain dim recollections of two or three very long sums 
 entered into a cyphering-book at school, and relieved for parental 
 inspection by the effigy of a fat swan tastefully flourished by the 
 writing-master's own hand, he found himself, at the end of a fortnight, 
 in a condition to report his proficiency to Mr. Linkinwater, and to 
 claim his promise that he, Nicholas Nickleby, sliould now be allowed 
 to assist him in his graver labours. 
 
 It was a sight to behold Tim Linkinwater slowly bring out a 
 massive ledger and day-book, and, after turning them over and over 
 and affectionately dusting their backs and sides, open the leaves here 
 and there, and cast his eyes half-mournfuUy, half-proudly, iipon the fair 
 and unblotted entries. 
 
 " Four-and-forty year, next May !" said Tim. " Many new ledgers 
 since then. Four-and-forty year ! " 
 
 Tim closed the book again. 
 
 " Come, come," said Nicholas, " I am all impatience to begin." 
 
 Tim Linkinwater shook his head with an air of mild reproof. 
 Mr. Nickleby W3s not sufficiently impressed with the deep and awful 
 nature of his undertaking. Suppose there should be any mistake — 
 any scratching out 
 
 Young men are adventurous. It is extraordinary what they will 
 rush upon sometimes. Without even taking the precaution of sitting 
 himself down upon his stool, but standing leisurely at the desk, and 
 with a smile upon his face — actually a smile ; (there was no mistake 
 about it ; Mr. Linkinwater often mentioned it afterwards ;) Nicholas 
 dipped his pen into the inkstand before him, and plunged into the 
 books of Cheeryble Brothers ! 
 
 Tim Linkinwater turned pale, and tilting up his stool on the two 
 legs nearest Nicholas, looked over his shoulder in breathless anxiety. 
 Brother Charles and brother Ned entered the counting-house together; 
 but Tim Linkinwater, without looking round, impatiently waved his 
 hand as a caution that profound silence .must be observed, and followed 
 the nib of the inexperienced pen with strained and eager eyes. 
 
 The brothers looked on with smiling faces, but Tim Linkinwater 
 smiled not, nor moved for some minutes. At length he drew a long 
 
 A A 2 
 
956 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 slow breath, and still maintaining his position on the tilted stool, 
 glanced at brother Charles, secretly pointed with the feather of his pen 
 towards Nicholas, and nodded his head in a grave and resolute manner, 
 plainly signifying " He'll do." 
 
 Brother Charles nodded again, and exchanged a laughing look with 
 brother Ned ; but just then Nicholas stopped to refer to some other 
 page, and Tim Linkinwater, unaible to contain his satisfaction any 
 longer, descended from his stool and caught him rapturously by the 
 hand. 
 
 " He has done it," said Tim, looking round at his employers and 
 shaking his head triumphantly. " His capital B's and D's are exactly 
 like mine ; he dots all his small i's and crosses every t as he writes it. 
 There an t such a young man as this in all London," said Tim, clapping 
 Nicholas on the back ; " not one. Don't tell me. The City can't 
 produce his equal. I challenge the City to do it !" 
 
 With this casting down of his gauntlet, Tim Linkinwater struck the 
 desk such a blow with his clenched fist, that the old blackbird tumbled 
 off his perch with the start it gave him, and actually uttered a feeble 
 croak in the extremity of his astonishment. 
 
 " "Well said, Tim — well said, Tim Linkinwater ! " cried Brother 
 Charles, scarcely less pleased tlian Tim himself, and clapping his hands 
 gently as he spoke, " I knew our young friend would take great 
 pains, and I was quite certain he would succeed, in no time. Didn't I 
 say so, brother Ned ?" 
 
 " You did, my dear brother — certainly, my dear brother, you said 
 so, and you were quite right," replied Ned. " Quite right. Tim 
 Linkinwater is excited, but he is justly excited, properly excited. Tim 
 is a fine fellow. Tim Linkinwater, Sir — you're a fine fellow." 
 
 " Here's a pleasant thing to think of," said Tim, wholly regardless 
 of this address to himself, and raising his spectacles from the ledger to 
 the brothers. " Here's a pleasant thing. Do you suppose I haven't 
 often thought what would become of these books when I was gone ? 
 Do you suppose I haven't often thought that things might go on 
 irregular and untidy here, after I was taken away ? But now," said 
 Tim, extending his fore-finger towards Nicholas, " now, when I've 
 shown him a little more, I'm satisfied. The business will go on when 
 I'm dead as well as it did when I was alive — just the same ; and I 
 shall have the satisfaction of knowing that there never were such 
 books — never were such books ! No, nor never will be such books— 
 as the books of Cheeryble Brothers." 
 
 Having thus expressed his sentiments, Mr. Linkinwater gave vent 
 to a short laugh, indicative of defiance to the cities of London and 
 Westminster, and turning again to his desk quietly carried seventy- 
 six from the last column he had added up, and went on with his 
 work. 
 
 " Tim Linkinwater, Sir," said brother Charles ; " give me your 
 hand. Sir. This is your birth-day. How dare you talk about any- 
 thing else till you have been wished many happy returns of the day, 
 Tim Linkinwater ? God bless you, Tim ! God bless you I " 
 
///''/■-' //'-"// 
 
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 itt 
 
 m. 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 357 
 
 " My dear brother," said the other, seizing Tim's disengaged fist, 
 ** Tim Linkinwater looks ten years younger than he did on liis last 
 birth-day." 
 
 " Brother Ned, my dear boy," returned the other old fellow, " I 
 believe that Tim Linkinwater was born a hundred-and-iifty years old, 
 and is gradually coming down to five-and-twenty ; for he's younger 
 every birth-day than he was the year before." 
 
 " So he is, brother Charles, so he is," replied brother Ned. " There's 
 not a doubt about it." 
 
 " Remember, Tim," said brother Charles, " that we dine at half-past 
 five to-day instead of two o'clock ; we always depart from our usual 
 custom on this anniversary, as you very well know, Tim Linkinwater. 
 Mr. Nickleby, my dear sir, you will make one. Tim Linkinwater, 
 give me your snuff-box as a remembrance to brother Charles and 
 myself of an attached and faithful rascal, and take that in exchange as 
 a feeble mark of our respect and esteem, and don't open it until you go 
 to bed, and never say another word upon the subject, or I'll kill the 
 blackbird. A dog ! He should have had a golden cage half-a-dozen 
 years ago, if it would have made him or his master a bit the happier. 
 Now, brother Ned, my dear fellow, I'm ready. At half-past five, 
 remember, Mr. Nickleby. Tim Linkinwater, sir, take care of Mr. 
 Nickleby at half -past five. Now, brother Ned." 
 
 Chattering away thus, according to custom, to prevent the possibility 
 of any thanks or acknowledgment being expressed on the other side, 
 the twins trotted off arm in arm, having endowed Tim Linkinwater 
 with a costly gold snuff-box, inclosing a bank-note worth more than its 
 value ten times told. 
 
 At a quarter past five o'clock, punctual to the minute, arrived, 
 according to annual usage, Tim Linkinwater's sister ; and a great to-do 
 there was between Tim Linkinwater's sister and the old house-keeper 
 respecting Tim Linkinwater's sister's cap, which had been despatched, 
 per boy, from the house of the family where Tim Linkinwater's sister 
 boarded, and had not yet come to hand : notwithstanding that it had 
 been packed up in a bandbox, and the bandbox in a handkerchief, and 
 the handkerchief tied on to the boy's arm ; and notwithstanding, too, 
 that the place of its consignment had been duly set forth at full length 
 on the back of an old letter, and the boy enjoined, under pain of divers 
 horrible penalties, the full extent of which the eye of man could not 
 foresee, to deliver the same with all possible speed and not to loiter by 
 the way. Tim Linkinwater's sister lamented ; the housekeeper con- 
 doled, and both kept thrusting their heads out of the second-floor 
 window to see if the boy was " coming," — which would have been 
 highly satisfactory, and, upon the whole, tantamount to his being come, 
 as the distance to the corner was not quite five yards — when all of a 
 sudden, and when he was least expected, the messenger, carrying the 
 bandbox with elaborate caution, appeared in an exactly opposite direc- 
 tion, puffing and panting for breath, and flushed with recent exercise, 
 as well he might be ; for he had taken the air, in the first instance, be- 
 hind a hackney-coach that went to Camber well, and had followed two 
 
358 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 Punches afterwards, and had seen tlie Stilts home to their own door. 
 The cap was all safe, however — that was one comfort — and it was no 
 use scolding him — that was another ; so the boy went upon his way 
 rejoicing, and Tim Linkinwater's sister presented herself to the company 
 below stairs just five minutes after the half-hour had struck by Tim 
 Linkinwater's own infallible clock. 
 
 The company consisted of the brothers Cheeryble, Tim Linkin water, 
 a ruddy-faced white-headed friend of Tim's, (who was a superannuated 
 bank clerk,) and Nicholas, who was presented to Tim Linkinwater's 
 sister with much gravity and solemnity. The party being now com- 
 plete, brother Ned rang for dinner, and, dinner being shortly afterwards 
 announced, led Tim Linkinwater's sister into the next room where it 
 was set forth with great preparation. Then brother Ned took the 
 head of the table and brother Charles the foot ; and Tim Linkinwater's 
 sister sat on the left-hand of brother Ned, and Tim Linkin water him- 
 self on his right ; and an ancient butler of apoplectic appearance, and 
 with very short legs, took up his position at the back of brother Ned's 
 arm-chair, and, waving his right arm preparatory to taking off the 
 covers with a flourish, stood bolt upright and motionless. 
 
 "JFor these and all other blessings, brother Charles," said Ned. 
 
 " Lord, make us truly thankful, brother Ned," said Charles. 
 
 Whereupon the apoplectic butler whisked off the top of the soup 
 tureen, and shot all at once into a state of violent activity. 
 
 There was abundance of conversation, and little fear of its ever flag- 
 ging, for the good-humour of the glorious old twins drew everybody 
 out, and Tim Linkinwater's sister went off' into a long and circumstan- 
 tial account of Tim Linkinwater's infancy, immediately after the very 
 first glass of chamjDagne — taking care to premise that she was very 
 much Tim's junior, and had only become acquainted with the facts from 
 their being preserved and handed down in the family. This history 
 concluded, brother Ned related how that, exactly thirty -five years ago, 
 Tim Linkinwater was suspected io have received a love-letter, and how 
 that vague information had been brought to the counting-house of his 
 having been seen walking down Cheapside with an uncommonly hand- 
 some spinster ; at which there was a roar of laughter, and Tim Linkin- 
 water being cliarged with blushing, and called upon to explain, denied 
 that the accusation was true ; and further, that there would have been 
 any harm in it if it had been ; which last position occasioned, the super- 
 annuated bank clerk to laugh tremendously, and to declare that it was 
 the very best thing he had ever heard in his life, and that Tim Linkin- 
 water might say a great many things before he said anytliing which 
 would beat that. 
 
 There was one little ceremony peculiar to the day, both the matter 
 and manner of which made a very strong impression upon Nicholas. 
 The cloth having been removed and the decanters sent round for the 
 first time, a profound silence succeeded, and in the cheerful faces of the 
 brothers there appeared an expression, not of absolute melancholy, but 
 of quiet thoughtfulness very unusual at a festive table. As Nicholas, 
 struck by this sudden alteiation, was wondering what it could portend, 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 359 
 
 the brothers rose together, and the one at the top of the table leaning 
 forward towards the other, and speaking in a low voice as if he were 
 addressing him individually, said — 
 
 " Brother Charles, my dear fellow, there is another association con- 
 nected with this day which must never be forgotten, and never can be 
 forgotten, by you and me. This day, which brought into the world a 
 most faithful and excellent and exemplary fellow, took from it the kind- 
 est and very best of parents — the very best of parents to us both. I 
 wish that she could have seen us in our prosperity, and shared it, and 
 had the happiness of knowing how dearly we loved her in it, as we did 
 when we were two poor boys — but that was not to be. My dear 
 brother — The Memory of our Mother." 
 
 " Good God ! " thought Nicholas, " and there are scores of people of 
 their own station, knowing all this, and twenty thousand times more, 
 who wouldn't ask these men to dinner because they eat with their 
 knives and never went to school ! " 
 
 But there was no time to moralize, for the joviality again became 
 very brisk, and the decanter of port being nearly out, brother Ned 
 pulled the bell, which was instantly answered by the apoplectic butler. 
 " David," said brother Ned. 
 " Sir," replied the butler. 
 
 " A magnum of the double-diamond, David, to drink the health of 
 Mr. Linkinwater." 
 
 Instantly, by a feat of dexterity, which was the admiration of all the 
 company, and had been annually for some years past, the apoplectic 
 butler bringing his left hand from behind the small of his back, pro- 
 duced the bottle with the corkscrew already inserted ; uncorked it at a 
 jerk, and placed the magnum and the cork before his master with the 
 dignity of conscious cleverness. 
 
 *' Ha ! " said brother Ned, first examining the cork and afterwards 
 filling his glass, while the old butler looked complacently and amiably 
 on, as if it were all his own property but the company were quite 
 welcome to make free with it, " this looks well, David." 
 
 " It ought to, sir," replied David. " You'd be troubled to find suck 
 a glass of wine as is our double-diamond, and that Mr. Linkinwater 
 knows very well. That was laid down when Mr. Linkinwater first 
 come, that wine was, gentlemen." 
 
 " Nay, David, nay," interposed brother Charles. 
 " I wrote the entry in the cellar-book myself, sir, if you please," said 
 David, in the tone of a man, quite confident in the strength of his facts. 
 *' Mr. Linkinwater had only been here twenty year, sir, when that pipe 
 of double-diamond was laid down." 
 
 " David is quite right — quite right, brother Charles," said Ned: "are 
 the people here, David ? " 
 
 " Outside the door, sir," replied the butler. 
 " Show 'em in, David, show 'em in." 
 
 At this bidding, the old butler placed before his master a small tray 
 of clean glasses, and opening the door admitted the joUy porters and 
 warehousemen whom Nicholas had seen below. There were four in all. 
 
360 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 and as they came in, bowing, and grinning, and blushing, the house- 
 keeper and cook and housemaid brought up the rear. 
 
 " Seven," said brother Ned, filling a corresponding number of glasses 
 with the double-diamond, " and David, eight — There. Now, you're all 
 of you to drink the health of your best friend Mr. Timothy Linkin- 
 water, and wish him health and long life and many happy returns 
 of this day, both for his own sake and that of your old masters, who 
 consider him an inestimable treasure. Tim Link in water, sir, your 
 health. Devil take you, Tim Linkin water, sir, God bless you." 
 
 With this singular contradiction of terms, brother Ned gave Tim 
 Linkinwater a slap on the back which made him look for the moment 
 almost as apoplectic as the butler : and tossed off the contents of his glass 
 in a twinkling. 
 
 The toast was scarcely drunk with all honour to Tim Linkinwater, 
 when the sturdiest and j oiliest subordinate elbowed himself a little in 
 advance of his fellows, and exhibiting a very hot and flushed counte- 
 nance, pulled a single lock of grey hair in the middle of his forehead as 
 a respectful salute to the company, and delivered himself as follows— 
 rubbing the palms of his hands very hard on a blue cotton handkerchief 
 as he did so : 
 
 " We 're allowed to take a liberty once a year, gen'lemen, and if you 
 please we'll take it now ; there being no time like the present, and no 
 two birds in the hand worth one in the bush, as is well known — least- 
 ways in a contrairy sense, which the meaning is the same. (A pause— 
 the butler unconvinced.) What we mean to say is, that there never 
 was (looking at the butler) — such — (looking at the cook) noble — excel- 
 lent— (looking everywhere and seeing nobody) free, generous, spirited 
 masters as them as has treated us so handsome this day. And here's 
 thanking 'em for all their goodness as is so constancy a diffusing of itself 
 over everywhere, and wishing they may live long and die happy ! " 
 
 When the foregoing speech waa over, and it might have been much 
 more elegant and much less to the purpose, the whole body of subordi- 
 nates under command of the apoplectic butler gave three soft cheers ; 
 which, to that gentleman's great indignation, were not very regular, 
 inasmuch as the women persisted in giving an immense number of little 
 shrill hurrahs among themselves, in utter disregard of the time. This 
 done, they withdrew ; shortly afterwards, Tim Linkinwater's sister 
 withdrew ; and in reasonable time after that, the sitting was broken up 
 for tea and coffee and a round game of cards. 
 
 At half- past ten — late hours for the square — there appeared a little 
 tray of sandwiches and a bowl of bishop, which bishop coming on the 
 top of the double- diamond, and other excitements, had such an effect 
 upon Tim Linkinwater, that he drew Nicholas aside, and gave him to 
 understand confidentially that it was quite true about the uncommonly 
 handsome spinster, and that she was to the full as good-looking as she 
 had been described — more so, indeed — but that she was in too much of 
 a hurry to change her condition, and consequently, while Tim was 
 courting her and thinking of changing his, got married to somebody 
 else. " After all, I dare say it was my fault," said Tim. " I'll show 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 361 
 
 you a print I liave got up stairs, one of these days. It cost me five- 
 and-twenty shillings. I bought it soon after we were cool to each 
 other. Don't mention it, but it's the most extraordinary accidental 
 likeness you ever saw — her very portrait, sir !" 
 
 By this time it was past eleven o'clock, and Tim Linkinwater's sister 
 declaring that she ought to have been at home a full hour ago, a coach 
 was procured, into which she was handed with great ceremony by 
 brother Ned, while brother Charles imparted the fullest directions to 
 the coachman, and, besides paying the man a shilling over and above 
 his fare in order that he might take the utmost care of the lady, all 
 but choked him with a glass of spirits of uncommon strength, and 
 then nearly knocked all the breath out of his body in his energetic 
 endeavours to knock it in again. 
 
 At length the coach rumbled ofif, and Tim Linkinwater's sister being 
 now fairly on her way home, Nicholas and Tim Linkinwater's friend 
 took their leaves together, and left old Tim and the worthy brothers 
 to their repose. 
 
 As Nicholas had some distance to walk, it was considerably past 
 midnight by the time he reached home, where he found his mother 
 and Smike sitting up to receive him. It was long after their usual 
 hour of retiring, and they had expected him at the very latest two 
 hours ago ; but the time had not hung heavily on their hands, for Mrs. 
 Nickleby had entertained Smike with a genealogical account of her 
 family by the mother's side, comprising biographical sketches of the 
 principal members, and Smike had sat wondering what it was all 
 about, and whether it was learnt from a book, or said out of Mrs. 
 Nickleby's own head,; so that they got on together very pleasantly. 
 
 Nicholas could not go to bed without expatiating on the excellences 
 and munificence of the Brothers Cheeryble, and relating the great 
 success which had attended his efforts that day. But before he had 
 said a dozen words, Mrs. Nickleby with many sly winks and nods, 
 observed, that she was sure Mr. Smike must be quite tired out, and 
 that she positively must insist on his not sitting up a minute longer. 
 
 " A most biddable creature he is, to be sure," said Mrs. Nickleby, 
 when Smike had wished them good night and left the room. " I know 
 you'll excuse me, Nicholas, my dear, but I don t like to do this before 
 a third person ; indeed, before a young man it would not be quite 
 proper, though really after all, I don't know what harm there is in it, 
 except that to be sure it's not a very becoming thing, though some people 
 say it is very much so, and really I don't know why it should not be, 
 if it's well got up, and the borders are small-plaited ; of course, a good 
 deal depends upon that." 
 
 With which preface Mrs. Nickleby took her night-cap from between 
 the leaves of a very large prayer-book where it had been folded up 
 small, and proceeded to tie it on : talking away in her usual discursive 
 manner all the time. 
 
 " People may say what they like," observed Mrs. Nickleby, " but 
 there's a great deal of comfort in a night-cap, as I'm sure you would 
 confess, Nicholas my dear, if you would only have strings to yours, 
 
LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 and wear it like a christian, instead of sticking it upon tlie very top of 
 your head hke a blue-coat boy ; you needn't think it an unmanly or 
 quizzical thing to be particular about your night-cap, for I have often 
 heard your poor dear papa, and the reverend Mr. what's his name, who 
 used to read prayers in that old church with the curious little steeple 
 that the weathercock was blown off the night week before you were 
 born, I have often heard them say, that the young men at college are 
 uncommonly particular about their nightcaps, and that the Oxford 
 nightcaps are quite celebrated for their strength and goodness ; so much 
 so, indeed, that the young men never dream of going to bed without 
 'em, and I believe it's admitted on all hands that tliey know what'a 
 good, and don't coddle themselves." 
 
 Nicholas laughed, and entering no further into the subject of this 
 lengthened harangue, reverted to the pleasant tone of the little birth- 
 day party. And as Mrs. Nickleby instantly became very curious 
 respecting it, and made a great number of inquiries touching what they 
 had had for dinner, and how it was put on table, and whether it was 
 overdone or underdone, and who was there, and what " the Mr. 
 Cherrybles " said, and what Nicholas said, and what the Mr. Cherry- 
 bles said when he said that ; Nicholas described the festivities at full 
 length, and also the occurrences of the morning. 
 
 " Late as it is," said Nicholas, " I am almost selfish enough to wish 
 that Kate had been up ; to hear all this. I was all impatience, as I 
 came along, to tell her." 
 
 "Why, Kate" said Mrs. Nickleby, putting her feet upon the 
 fender, and drawing her chair close to it, as if settling herself for a long 
 talk. " Kate has been in bed — oh ! a couple of hours — and I'm very 
 glad, Nicholas my dear, that I prevailed upon her not to sit up, for I 
 wished very much to have an opportunity of saying a few words to 
 you. I am naturally anxious about it, and of course it's a very delight- 
 ful and consoling thing to have a grown-up son that one can put 
 confidence in, and advise with — indeed I don't know any use there 
 would be in having sons at all, unless people could put confidence in 
 them." 
 
 Nicholas stopped in the middle of a sleepy yawn, as his mother 
 began to speak, and looked at her with fixed attention. 
 
 " There was a lady in our neighbourhood," said Mrs. Nickleby, 
 *' speaking of sons puts me in mind of it — a lady in our neighbourhood 
 when we lived near Dawlish, I think her name was Rogers ; indeed I 
 am sure it was if it wasn't Murphy, which is the only doubt I 
 have — " 
 
 "Is it about her, mother, that you wished to speak to me ? " said 
 Nicholas, quietly. 
 
 " About her ! " cried Mrs. Nickleby. " Good gracious, Nicholas, my 
 dear, how can you be so ridiculous ? But that was always the way 
 with your poor dear papa, — ^just his way, always wandering, never abl« 
 to fix his thoughts on any one subject for two minutes together. I 
 think I see him now ! " said Mrs. Nickleby, wiping her eyes, " looking 
 at me while I was talking to him about his affairs, just as if his ideas 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 363 
 
 were in a state of perfect conglomeration ! Anybody who had come 
 in upon us suddenly, would have supposed I was confusing and dis- 
 tracting him instead of making things plainer ; upon my word they 
 would ! " 
 
 " I am very sorry, mother, that I should inherit this unfortunate 
 slowness of apprehension," said Nicholas, kindly, " but 111 do my best 
 to understand you if you'll only go straight on, indeed I will." 
 
 " Your poor papa ! " said Mrs. Nickleby, pondering. " He never 
 knew, 'till it was too late, what I would have had him do ! " 
 
 This was undoubtedly the case, inasmuch as the deceased Mr. 
 Nickleby had not arrived at the knowledge when he died. Neither 
 had Mrs. Nickleby herself j which is in some sort an explanation of 
 the circumstance. 
 
 " However," said Mrs. Nickleby, drying her tears, " this has nothing 
 to do — certainly, nothing whatever to do — with tho gentleman in the 
 next house." 
 
 " I should suppose that the gentleman in the next house has as little 
 to do with us," returned Nicholas. 
 
 " There can be no doubt," said Mrs. Nickleby, " that he is a gentle - 
 man, and has the manners of a gentleman, and the appearance of a. 
 gentleman, although he docs wear smalls and grey worsted stockings. 
 That may be eccentricity, or he may be proud of his legs. I don't see 
 why he shouldn't be. The Prince Regent was proud of his legs, and 
 so was Daniel Lambert, who was also a fat man ; he was proud of his 
 legs. So was Miss Biffin : she was — no," added Mrs. Nickleby, cor- 
 recting herself, " I think she had only toes, but the principle is the 
 same." 
 
 Nicholas looked on, quite amazed at the introduction of this new 
 theme, which seemed just what Mrs. Nickleby had expected him to be. 
 
 " You may well be surprised, Nicholas, my dear," she said, " I am 
 sure / was. It came upon me like a flash of fire, and almost froze 
 my blood. The bottom of his garden joins the bottom of ours, 
 and of course I had several times seen him sitting among the scarlet- 
 beans in his little arbour, or working at his little hot-beds. I used to 
 think he stared rather, but I didn't take any particular notice of that, 
 as we were new-comers, and he might be curious to see what we were 
 like. But when he began to throw his cucumbers over our wall — " 
 
 " To throw his cucumbers over our wall ! " repeated Nicholas, in great 
 astonishment. 
 
 "Yes, Nicholas, my dear," replied Mrs. Nickleby, in a very serious 
 tone ; " his cucumbers over our wall. And vegetable-marrows like- 
 wise." 
 
 " Confound his impudence ! " said Nicholas, firing immediately. 
 " What does he mean by that ? " 
 
 "I don't think he means it impertinently at all," replied Mrs. 
 Nickleby. 
 
 " What ! " said Nicholas, " cucumbers and vegetable-marrows flying 
 at the heads of the family as they walk in their own garden, and not 
 meant impertinently I Why, mother — " 
 
364 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 Nicholas stopped short, for there was an indescribable expression of 
 placid triumph, mingled with a modest confusion, lingering between 
 the borders of Mrs. Nickleby's nightcap which arrested his attention 
 suddenly. 
 
 " He must be a very weak, and foolish, and inconsiderate man," said 
 Mrs. Nickleby ; " blameable indeed — at least I suppose other people 
 would consider him so ; of course I can't be expected to express any 
 opinion on that point, especially after always defending your poor dear 
 papa when other people blamed him for making proposals to me ; and 
 to be sure there can be no doubt that he has taken a very singular way 
 of showing it. Still at the same time, his attentions are — that is, as 
 far as it goes, and to a certain extent of course — a flattering sort of 
 thing ; and although I should never dream of marrying again with a 
 dear girl like Kate still unsettled in life — " 
 
 " Surely, mother, such an idea never entered your brain for an 
 instant ? " said Nicholas. 
 
 " Bless my heart, Nicholas my dear," returned his mother in a 
 peevish tone, " isn't that precisely what I am saying, if you would 
 only let me speak ? Of course, I never gave it a second thought, and 
 I am surprised and astonished that you should suppose me capable of 
 such a thing. All I say, is, what step is the best to take so as to 
 reject these advances civilly and delicately, and without hurting his 
 feelings too much, and driving him to despair, or anything of that kind ? 
 My goodness me ! " exclaimed Mrs. Nickleby, with a half simper, 
 *' suppose he was to go doing anything rash to himself, could I ever 
 be happy again Nicholas ? " . 
 
 Despite his vexation and concern, Nicholas could scarcely help 
 smiling, as he rejoined, " Now, do you think, mother, that such a 
 result would be likely to ensue from the most cruel repulse ? " 
 
 " Upon my word, my dear, I don't know," returned Mrs. Nickleby ; 
 *' really, I don't know. I am sure there was a case in the day before yes- 
 terday's paper, extracted from one of the French newspapers, about a jour- 
 neyman shoemaker who was jealous of a young girl in an adjoining 
 village, because she wouldn't shut herself up in an air-tight three-pair-of 
 stairs and charcoal herself to death with him, and who went and hid himself 
 in a "Wood with a sharp -pointed knife, and rushed out as she was passing 
 by with a few friends, and killed himself first, and then 2^11 the friends, 
 and then her — no, killed all the friends first, and then herself, and then 
 Mm^fM. — which it is quite frightful to think of. Somehow or other,** 
 added Mrs. Nickleby, after a momentary pause, " they always are 
 journeyman shoemakers who do these things in France, according to the 
 papers. I don't know how it is — something in the leather, I suppose." 
 
 " But this man, who is not a shoemaker — what has he done, mother, 
 what has he said ? " inquired Nicholas, fretted almost beyond endur- 
 ance, but looking nearly as resigned and patient as Mrs. Nickleby 
 herself. " You know, there is no language of vegetables which con- 
 verts a cucumber into a formal declaration of attachment." 
 
 " My dear," replied Mrs. Nickleby, tossing her head and looking at 
 the ashes in the grate, " he has done and said all sorts of things." 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 365 
 
 "Is there no mistake on your part? " asked Nicholas. 
 
 " Mistake ! " cried Mrs. Nickleby. " Lord, Nicholas my dear, do 
 you suppose I don't know when a man's in earnest ? " 
 
 " Well, well !" muttered Nicholas. 
 
 " Every time I go to the window," said Mrs. Nickleby, " he kisses 
 one hand, and lays the other upon his heart — of course it's very foolish 
 of him to do so, and I dare say you'll say it's very wrong, but he does 
 it very respectfully — very respectfully indeed — and very tenderly, 
 extremely tenderly. So far he deserves the greatest credit : there can 
 be no doubt about that. Then there are the presents which come 
 pouring over the wall every day, and very fine they certainly are, very 
 fine ; we had one of the cucumbers at dinner yesterday, and think of 
 pickling the rest for next winter. And last evening," added Mrs. 
 Nickleby, with increased confusion, " he called gently over the wall, 
 as I was walking in the garden, and proposed marriage and an elope- 
 ment. His voice is as clear as a bell or a musical glass — very like a 
 musical glass indeed — but of course I didn't listen to it. Then the 
 question is, Nicholas my dear, what am I to do ? " 
 
 " Does Kate know of this ? " asked Nicholas. 
 
 " I have not said a word about it yet," answered his mother. 
 
 " Then for Heaven's sake," rejoined Nicholas, rising, " do not, for 
 it would make her very unhappy. And with regard to what you 
 should do, my dear mother, do what your better sense and feeling, and 
 respect for my father's memory, would prompt. There are a thousand 
 ways in which you can show your dislike of these preposterous and 
 doting attentions. If you act as decidedly as you ought, and they are 
 still continued, and to your annoyance, I can speedily put a stop to 
 them. But I should not interfere in a matter so ridiculous, and attach 
 importance to it, until you have vindicated yourself. Most women can 
 do that, but especially one of your age and condition in circumstances 
 like these, which are unworthy of a serious thought. I would not 
 shame you by seeming to take them to heart, or treat them earnestly 
 for an instant. Absurd old idiot ! " 
 
 So saying, Nicholas kissed his mother and bade her good night, and 
 they retired to their respective chambers. 
 
 To do Mrs. Nickleby justice, her attachment to her children would 
 have prevented her seriously contemplating a second marriage, even if 
 she could have so far conquered her recollections of her late husband as 
 to have any strong inclinations that way. But, although there was no 
 evil and little real selfishness in Mrs. Nickleby's heart, she had a weak 
 head and a vain one ; and there was something so flattering in being 
 sought (and vainly sought) in marriage at this time of day, that she 
 could not dismiss the passion of the unknown gentleman quite so sum- 
 marily or lightly as Nicholas appeared to deem becoming. 
 
 " As to its being preposterous, and doting, and ridiculous," thought 
 Mrs. Nickleby, communing with herself in her own room, " I don't 
 see that at all. It's hopeless on his part, certainly; but why he should 
 be an absurd idiot, I confess I don't see. He is not to be supposed to 
 know it's hopeless. Poor fellow, he is to be pitied, / think ! " 
 
9q9 life and adventures op 
 
 Having made these reflections, Mrs. Nicklcby looked in her little 
 dressing-glass, and walking backward a few steps from it tried to 
 remember who it was who used to say that when Nicholas was onc- 
 and-twenty he would have more the appearance of her brother than her 
 son. Not being able to call the authority to mind, she extinguished 
 her candle, and drew up the window-blind to admit the light of morning 
 •which had by this time begun to dawn. 
 
 " It's a bad light to distinguish objects in," murmured Mrs. Nickleby, 
 peering into the garden, " and my eyes are not very good — I was short- 
 sighted from a child — but, upon my word, I think there's another large 
 vegetable-marrow sticking at this moment on the broken glass bottles 
 at the top of the wall !" 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVIII. 
 
 COMPRISES CERTAIN PARTICULARS ARISING OUT OP A VISIT OP CON- 
 DOLENCE, WHICH MAY PROVE IMPORTANT HEREAFTER. SMIKE 
 UNEXPECTEDLY ENCOUNTERS A VERY OLD FRIEND, WHO INVITES 
 HIM TO HIS HOUSE, AND WILL TAKE NO DENIAL. 
 
 Quite unconscious of the demonstrations of their amorous neigh- 
 bour, or their effects upon the susceptible bosom of her mama, Kate 
 Nickleby had, by this time begun to enjoy a settled feeling of tran- 
 quillity and happiness, to which, even in occasional and transitory 
 glimpses, she had long been a stranger. Living under the same roof 
 with the beloved brother from whom she had been so suddenly and 
 hardly separated ; with a mind at ease, and free from any persecutions 
 which could call a blush into her cheek, or a pang into her heart, she 
 seemed to have passed into a new state of being. Her former cheerful- 
 ness was restored, her step regained its elasticity and lightness, the 
 colour which had forsaken her cheek visited it once again, and Kate 
 Nickleby looked more beautiful than ever. 
 
 Such was the result to wliich Miss La Cree\^'s ruminations and 
 observations led her, when the cottage Iiad been, as she emphatically 
 said, *' thoroughly got to rights, from the chimney-pots to the street- 
 door scraper," and the busy little woman had at length a moment's 
 time to think about its inmates. 
 
 " Which I declare I haven't had since I first came down here," said 
 Miss La Creevy, "for I have thovight of nothing but hammers, nails, 
 screw-drivers and gimlets, morning, noon, and night." 
 
 " You never bestow one thought upon yourself, I believe," returned 
 Kate, smiling. 
 
 " Upon my word, my dear, when there are so many pleasanter 
 things to think of, I sliould be a goose if I did," said Miss La Creevy. 
 " By the bye, I have thought of somebody too. Do you know, that 
 I observe a great cliange in one of this family — a very extraordinary 
 change ? " 
 
NICHOLAS NK3KLEBT. 367 
 
 " In wliom ? " asked Kate, anxiously. " Not in — '* 
 
 " Not in yonr brother, my dear," returned Miss La Crcevy, antici- 
 pating the close of the sentence, " for he is always the same affectionate 
 good-natured clever creature, with a spice of the — I won't say who — 
 in him when there's any occasion, that he was when I first knew yon. 
 No. Smike, as he will be called, poor fellow I for he won't hear of a 
 Mr. before his name, is gTeatly altered, even in this short time." 
 
 " How ? " asked Kate. " Not in health ? " 
 
 " N-n-o ; perhaps not in health exactly," said Miss La Creevy, 
 pausing to consider, " although he is a worn and feeble creature, and 
 has that in his face which it would wring my heart to see in yours. 
 No ; not in health." 
 
 "How then?" 
 
 " I scarcely know," said the miniature-painter. " But I have 
 watched him, and he has brought the tears into my eyes many times. 
 It is not a very difficult matter to do that, certainly, for I am very 
 easily melted ; still, I think these came with good cause and reason. I 
 am sure that since he has been here, he has grown, from some strong 
 cause, more conscious of his weak intellect. He feels it more. It 
 gives him greater pain to know that he wanders sometimes, and cannot 
 understand very simple things. I have watched him when you have 
 not been by, my dear, sit brooding by himself with such a look of pain 
 as I could scarcely bear to see, and then get up and leave the room : so 
 sorrowfully, and in such dejection, that I cannot tell you how it has 
 hurt me. Not three weeks ago, he was a light-hearted busy creature, 
 overjoyed to be in a bustle, and as happy as the day was long. Now, 
 he is another being — the same willing, harmless, faithful, loving 
 creature — but the same in nothing else." 
 
 " Surely this will all pass off," said Kate. " Poor felTow ! " 
 
 "I hope," returned her little friend, with a gravity very unusual in her, 
 *' it may. I hope, for the sake of that poor lad, it may. However," said 
 Miss La Creevy, relapsing into the cheerful, chattering tone, which 
 was habitual to her, " I have said my say, and a very long say it is, 
 and a very wrong say too, I shouldn't wonder at all. I shall cheer 
 him up to-night at all events, for if he is to be my squire all the way 
 to the Strand, I shall talk on, and on, and on, and never leave off, till 
 I have roused him into a laugh at something. So the sooner he goes 
 the better for him, and the sooner I go, the better for me, I am sure, 
 or else I shall have my maid gallivanting with somebody who may 
 rob the house — though what there is to take away besides tables and 
 chairs, I don't know, except the miniatures, and he is a clever thief 
 who can dispose of them to any great advantage, for / can't, I know, 
 and that's the honest truth." 
 
 So saying, little Miss La Creevy hid her face in a very flat bonnet, and 
 herself in a very big shawl, and fixing herself tightly into the latter by 
 means of a large pin, declared that the omnibus might come as soon as 
 it pleased, for she was quite ready. 
 
 But there was still Mrs. Nickleby to take leave of; and long before 
 that good lady had concluded some reminiscences, bearing upon and 
 
368 LIFE ANB ADYENTIJRES OF 
 
 appropriate to the occasion, the omnibus arrived. This put Miss La 
 Creevy in a great bustle, in consequence whereof, as she secretly re- 
 warded the servant-girl with eighteen-pence behind the street-door, she 
 pulled out of her reticule ten-pennyworth of halfpence which rolled 
 into all possible corners of the passage, and occupied some considerable 
 time in the picking-up. This ceremony had, of course, to be succeeded 
 by a second kissing of Kate and Mrs. Nickleby, and a gathering toge- 
 ther of the little basket and the brown-paper parcel, during which 
 proceedings, " the omnibus," as Miss La Creevy protested, " swore so 
 dreadfully, that it was quite awful to hear it." At length and at last, 
 it made a feint of going away, and then Miss La Creevy darted out 
 and darted in, apologising with great volubility to all the passengers, 
 and declaring that she wouldn't purposely have kept them waiting 
 on any account whatever. While she was looking about for a con- 
 venient seat, the conductor pushed Smike in, and cried that it was 
 all right — though it wasn't — and away went the huge vehicle, with 
 the noise of half a dozen brewers' drays at least. 
 
 Leaving it to pursue its journey at the pleasure of the conductor 
 afore-mentioned, who lounged gracefully on his little shelf behind, 
 smoking an odoriferous cigar ; and leaving it to stop, or go on, or 
 gallop, or crawl, as that gentleman deemed expedient and advisable, 
 this narrative may embrace the opportunity of ascertaining the condi- 
 tion of Su* Mulberry Hawk, and to what extent he had by this time 
 recovered from the injuries consequent upon being flung violently from 
 his cabriolet, under the circumstances already detailed. 
 
 With a shattered limb, a body severely bruised, a face disfigured by 
 half-healed scars, and pallid from the exhaustion of recent pain and 
 fever, Sir Mulberry Hawk lay stretched upon his back, on the couch 
 to which he was doomed to be a prisoner for some weeks yet to come. 
 Mr. Pyke and Mr. Pluck sat drinking hard in the next room, now and 
 then varying the monotonous murmurs of their conversation with a 
 half-smothered laugh, while the young lord — the only member of the 
 party who was not thoroughly irredeemable, and who really had a 
 kind heart — sat beside his Mentor, with a cigar in his mouth, and read 
 to him, by the light of a lamp, such scraps of intelligence from a paper 
 of the day as were most likely to yield him interest or amusement. 
 
 " Curse those hounds!" said the invalid, turning his head impatiently 
 towards the adjoining room ; " will nothing stop their infernal 
 throats ? " 
 
 Messrs. Pyke and Pluck heard the exclamation, and stopped imme- 
 diately, winking to each other as they did so, and filling tlieir glasses 
 to the brim, as some recompense for the deprivation of speech. 
 
 " Damn ! " muttered the sick man between his teeth, and writhing 
 impatiently in his bed. " Isn't this mattrass hard enough, and the room 
 dull enough, and the pain bad enough, but they must torture me ? 
 What's the time ? " 
 
 " Half-past eight," replied his friend. 
 
 " Here, draw the table nearer, and let us have the cards again," 
 said Sir Mulberry. " More piquet. Come." 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 369 
 
 It was curious to see how eagerly the sick man, debarred from any 
 change of position save the mere turning of his head from side to side, 
 watched every motion of his friend in the progress of the game ; and 
 with what eagerness and interest he played, and yet how warily and 
 coolly. His address and skill were more than twenty times a match 
 for his adversary, who could make little head against them, even when 
 fortune favoured him with good cards, which was not often the case. 
 Sir Mulberry won every game ; and when his companion threw down 
 the cards, and refused to play any longer, thrust forth his wasted arm 
 and caught up the stakes with a boastful oath, and the same hoarse 
 laugh, though considerably lowered in tone, that had resounded in 
 Ralph Nickleby's dining-room months before. 
 
 While he was thus occupied, his man appeared, to announce that 
 Mr. Ralph Nickleby was below, and wished to know how he was 
 to-night. 
 
 " Better," said Sir Mulberry, impatiently. 
 
 " Mr. Nickleby wishes to know, sir " 
 
 " I tell you, better," replied Sir Mulberry, striking his hand upon 
 the table. 
 
 The man hesitated for a moment or two, and then said that Mr. 
 Nickleby had requested permission to see Sir Mulberry Hawk, if it 
 was not inconvenient. 
 
 " It is inconvenient. I can't see him. I can't see anybody," said his 
 master, more violently than before. " You know that, you block- 
 head." 
 
 " I am very sorry, sir," returned the man. " But Mr. Nickleby 
 pressed so much, sir " 
 
 The fact was, that Ralph Nickleby had bribed the man, who, being 
 anxious to earn his money with a view to future favours, held the door 
 in his hand, and ventured to linger still. 
 
 " Did he say whether he had any business to speak about ?" inquired 
 Sir Mulberry, after a little impatient consideration. 
 
 " No, sir. He said he wished to see you, sir. Particularly, Mr. 
 Nickleby said, sir." 
 
 " Tell him to come up. Here," cried Sir Mulberry, calling the man 
 back, as he passed his hand over his disfigured face, "move that 
 lamp, and put it on the stand behind me. Wheel that table away, 
 and place a chair there — further oflf. Leave it so." 
 
 The man obeyed these directions as if he quite comprehended the 
 motive with which they were dictated, and left the room. Lord 
 Verisopht, remarking that he would look in presently, strolled into the 
 adjoining apartment, and closed the folding-door behind him. 
 
 Then was heard a subdued footstep on the stairs ; and Ralph 
 Nickleby, hat in hand, crept softly into the room, with his body bent 
 forward as if in profound respect, and his eyes fixed upon the face of 
 his worthy client. 
 
 " Well, Nickleby," said Sir Mulberry, motioning him to the chair 
 by the couch side, and waving his hand in assumed carelessness, " I 
 have had a bad accident, you see." 
 
 B B 
 
870 Lira and adventuiies op 
 
 • " I see,** rejoined Kalph, with tlie same steady gaze. " Bad, indeed! 
 I should not have known you, Sir Mulberry. Dear, dear. This u 
 bad." 
 
 Ralph's manner was one of profound humility and respect ; and the 
 low tone of voice was that which the gentlest consideration for a sick 
 man would have taught a visitor to assume. But the expression of 
 his face, Sir Mulberry's being averted, was in extraordinary contrast ; 
 and as he stood, in his usual attitude, calmly looking on the prostrate 
 form before him, all that part of his features which was not cast into 
 shadow by his protruding and contracted brows, bore the impress of a 
 sarcastic smile. 
 
 " Sit down," said Sir Mulberry, turning towards him as though by 
 a violent eflbrt. " Am I a sight, that you stand gazing there ? " 
 
 As he turned his face, Ralph recoiled a step or two, and making as 
 though he were irresistibly impelled to express astonishment, but was 
 determined not to do so, sat down with well-acted confusion. 
 
 " I have inquired at the door, Sir Mulberry, every day," said Ralph, 
 *' twice a day, indeed, at first — and to-night, presuming upon old 
 acquaintance, and past transactions by which we have mutually bene- 
 fited in some degree, I could not resist soliciting admission to your 
 chamber. Have you — have you suffered much ? " said Ralph, bending 
 forward, and allowing the same harsh smile to gather upon his face, as 
 the other closed his eyes. 
 
 • " More than enough to please me, and less than enough to please 
 some broken-down hacks that you and I know of, and who lay their 
 ruin between us, I dare say," returned Sir Mulberry, tossing his arm 
 restlessly upon the coverlet. 
 
 Ralph shrugged his shoulders in deprecation of the intense irritation 
 with which this had been said, for there was an ao;gravating cold dis- 
 tinctness in his speech and manner which so grated on the sick man 
 that he could scarcely endure it. 
 
 " And what is it in these ' past transactions,' that brought you here 
 to-night ? " asked Sir Mulberry. 
 
 " Nothing," replied Ralph. " There are some bills of my lord's 
 which need renewal, but let them be till you are well. I — I — came," 
 said Ralph, speaking more slowly, and with harsher emphasis, " I 
 came to say how grieved I am that any relative of mine, although 
 disowned by me, should have inflicted such punishment on. you as " 
 
 " Punishment !" interposed Sir Mulberry. 
 
 " I know it has been a severe one," said Ralph, wilfully mistaking 
 the meaning of the inten'uption, " and that has made me the more 
 anxious to tell you that I disown this vagabond — that I acknowledge 
 him as no kin of mine — and that I leave him to take his deserts 
 from you and every man besides. You may wring his neck if you 
 please. / shall not interfere." 
 
 "This story that they tell me here, has got abroad then, has it?" 
 asked Sir Mulberry, clenching his hands and teeth. 
 
 " Noised in all directions," replied Ralph. " Every club and gaming- 
 room has rung with it. There has been a good song made about it, as 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 371 
 
 I am told," said Ralph, looking eagerly at his questioner. ''I have 
 not heard it myself, not being in the way of such things, but I have 
 been told it's even printed — for private circulation, but that's all over 
 town, of course." 
 
 " It's a lie !" said Sir Mulberry ; "I tell you it's all a lie. The 
 mare took fright." 
 
 " They say he frightened her," observed Ralph, in the same un- 
 ,moved and quiet manner. " Some say he frightened you, but thais a 
 lie, I know. I have said that boldly — oh, a score of times ! I am a 
 peaceable man, but I can't hear folks tell that of you — No, no." 
 
 When Sir Mulberry found coherent words to utter, Ralph bent 
 -forward with his hand to his ear, and a face as calm as if its every 
 line of sternness had been cast in iron. 
 
 " When I am off this cursed bed," said the invalid, actually striking 
 at his broken leg in the eestacy of his passion, " I'll have such revenge 
 ^as never man had yet. By G — I will ! Accident favouring him, he 
 has marked me for a week or two, but I'll put a mark on him that he 
 shall carry to his grave. I'll slit his nose and ears — flog him— maim 
 him for life. I'll do more than that ; I'll drag that pattern of chastity, 
 
 that pink of prudery, the delicate sister, through " 
 
 . It might have been that even Ralph's cold blood tingled in his 
 cheeks at that moment. It might have been that Sir Mulberry re- 
 membered that, knave and usurer as he was, he must, in some early 
 time of infancy, have twined his arm about her father's neck. He 
 stopped, and, menacing with his hand, confirmed the unuttered threat 
 with a tremendous oath. 
 
 " It is a galling thing," said Ralph, after a short term of silence, 
 during which he had eyed the sufferer keenly, " to think that the 
 man about town, the rake, the roue^ the rook of twenty seasons, should 
 be brought to this pass by a mere boy 1" 
 
 Sir Mulberry darted a wrathful look at him, but Ralph's eyes were 
 bent upon the ground, and his face wore no other expression than one 
 of thoughtfulness. 
 
 " A raw slight stripling," continued Ralph, " against a man whose 
 very weight might crush him ; to say nothing of his skill in — I am 
 right, I think," said Ralph, raising his eyes, " you icere a patron 
 of the ring once, were you not ? " 
 
 The sick man made an impatient gesture, which Ralph chose to 
 consider as one of acquiescence. 
 
 " Ha !" he said, " I thought so. That was before I knew you, but 
 I was pretty sure I couldn't be mistaken. He is light and active, I 
 suppose. But those were slight advantages compared with yours. 
 Luck, luck — these hangdog outcasts have it." 
 
 " He'll need the most he has when I am well again," said Sir Mul- 
 berry Hawk, *' let him fly where he will." 
 
 "Oh!" returned Ralph quickly, "he doesn't dream of that. He 
 is here, good Sir, waiting your pleasure — here in London, walking the 
 streets at noonday, carrying it off jauntily ; looking for you. I swear," 
 said Ralph, his face darkening, and his own hatred getting the upper 
 
 B B 2 
 
i872 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 hand of him for the first time, as this gay picture of Nicholas pre- 
 sented itself ; " if we were only citizens of a country where it could 
 be safely done, I'd give good money to have him stabbed to the heart 
 and rolled into the kennel for the dogs to tear." 
 
 As Ralph, somewhat to the surprise of his old client, vented this 
 little piece of sound family feeling and took up his hat preparatory to 
 departing. Lord Frederick Verisopht looked in. 
 
 ' *' Why what in the deyvle's name, Hawk, have you and Nickleby 
 been talking about?" said the young man. " I neyver heard such an 
 insufferable riot. Croak, croak, croak. Bow, wow, wow. What 
 has it all been about ?" 
 
 " Sir Mulberry has been angry, my Lord," said Ralph, looking 
 towards the couch. 
 
 " Not about money, I hope. Nothing has gone wrong in business, 
 hasit, Nickleby?" 
 
 " No, my Lord, no," returned Ralph. " On that point we always 
 agree. Sir Mulberry has been calling to mind the cause of " 
 
 There was neither necessity nor opportunity for Ralph to proceed ; 
 for Sir Mulberry took up the theme, and vented his threats and oaths 
 against Nicholas almost as ferociously as before. 
 
 Ralph, who was no common observer, was surprised to see that as 
 this tirade proceeded, the manner of Lord Verisopht, who at the com- 
 mencement had been twirling his whiskers with a most dandified and 
 listless air, underwent a complete alteration. He was still more sur- 
 prised when. Sir Mulberry ceasing to speak, the young lord angrily, 
 and almost unaffectedly, requested never to have the subject renewed 
 in his presence. 
 
 " Mind that. Hawk," he added with unusual energy, " I never will 
 be a party to, or permit, if I can help it, a cowardly attack upon this 
 young fellow." 
 
 " Cowardly, Lord Yerisopbt!" interrupted his friend. 
 
 " Ye-es," said the other, turning full upon him. " If you had told 
 him who you were ; if you had given him your card, and found out 
 afterwards that his station or character prevented your fighting him, 
 it would have been bad enough then ; upon my soul it would have 
 been bad enough then. As it is, you did wrong. I did wrong too, 
 not to interfere, and I am sorry for it. What happened to you after- 
 wards was as much the consequence of accident as design, and more 
 your fault than his ; and it shall not, with my knowledge, be cruelly 
 visited upon him — it shall not indeed." 
 
 With this emphatic repetition of his concluding words, the young 
 lord turned upon his heel, but before he had reached the adjoining 
 room he turned back again, and said, with even greater vehemence than 
 he had displayed before, 
 
 " I do believe now, upon my honour I do believe, that the sister is as 
 virtuous and modest a young lady as she is a handsome one ; and of the 
 brother, I say this, that he acted as her brother should, and in a manly 
 and spirited manner. And I only wish with all my heart and soul that 
 any one of us came out of this matter half as well as he does." 
 
m 
 
 
 
 ■:&W'-m!:is^' 
 
 ♦. 
 
 
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 ♦ « 
 
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 /.. 
 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 373 
 
 So saying, Lord Frederick Yerisopht walked out of the room, 
 leaving Ralph Nickleby and Sir Mulberry in most unpleasant astonish- 
 ment. 
 
 " Is this your pupil ?" asked Ralph, softly, " or has he come fresh 
 from some country parson ? " 
 
 " Green fools take these fits sometimes," replied Sir Mulberry Hawk, 
 biting his lip, and pointing to the door. " Leave him to me." 
 
 Ralph exchanged a familiar look with his old acquaintance, for 
 they had suddenly grown confidential again in this alarming surprise, 
 and took his way home thoughtfully and slowly. 
 
 While these things were being said and done, and long before they 
 were concluded, the omnibus had disgorged Miss La Creevy and her 
 escort, and they had arrived at her own door. Now, the good-naturo 
 of the little miniature-painter would by no means allow of Smike's 
 walking back again, until he had been previously refreshed with just 
 a sip of something comfortable and a mixed biscuit or so ; and Smike 
 entertaining no objection either to the sip of something comfortable or 
 the mixed biscuit, but considering on the contrary that they would be 
 a very pleasant preparation for a walk to Bow, it fell out that he 
 delayed much longer than he originally intended, and that it was some 
 half hour after dusk when he set forth on his journey home. 
 
 There was no likelihood of his losing his way, for it lay quite 
 straight before him, and he had walked into town with Nicholas, and 
 back alone, almost every day. So, Miss La Creevy and he shook 
 hands with mutual confidence, and being charged with more kind 
 remembrances to Mrs. and Miss Nickleby, Smike started ofi*. 
 
 At the foot of Ludgate Hill, he turned a little out of the road to 
 satisfy his curiosity by having a look at Newgate. After staring up 
 at the sombre walls from the opposite side of the way with gi'eat care 
 and dread for some minutes, he turned back again into the old track, 
 and walked briskly through the city ; stopping now and then to gaze 
 in at the window of some particularly attractive shop, then running for 
 a little way, then stopping again, and so on, as any other country lad 
 might do. 
 
 He had been gazing for a long time through a jeweller s window, 
 wishing he could take some of the beautiful trinkets home as a present, 
 and imagining what delight they would aflbrd if he could, when the 
 blocks struck three-quarters past eight; roused by the sound, he 
 hurried on at a very quick pace, and was crossing the comer of a bye 
 street when he felt himself violently brought to, with a jerk so sudden 
 that he was obliged to cling to a lamp-post to save himself from 
 falling. At the same moment, a small boy clung tight round his leg, 
 and a shrill cry of " Here he is, father, — Hooray ! " vibrated in his 
 ears. 
 
 Smike knew that voice too well. He cast his despairing eyes down- 
 wards towards the form from which it had proceeded, and shuddering 
 from head to foot, looked round. Mr. Squeers had hooked him in the 
 coat-collar with the handle of his umbrella, and was hanging on at the 
 other end with all his might and main. The cry of triumph proceeded 
 
374 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 from Master "Wackford, who, regardless of all his kicks and straggles^ 
 dung to him with the tenacity of a bull-dog ! 
 
 One glance showed him this ; and in that one glance the terrified 
 <jreature became utterly powerless and unable to utter a sound. 
 
 *' Here's a go !" cried Mr. Squeers, gradually <;oming hand-over- 
 hand down the umbrella, and only unhooking it when he had got tight 
 hold of the victim's collar. " Here's a delicious go ! Wackford, my 
 boy, call up one of them coaches." - 
 
 " A coach, father ! " cried little Wackford. " 
 
 " Yes, a coach, sir," replied Squeers, feasting his eyes upon the coun-^ 
 tcnance of Smike. " Damn the expense. — Let's have him in a coach." 
 
 "What's he been a doing of?" asked a labourer, with a hod of 
 bricks, against whom and a fellow-labourer Mr. Squeers had backed,' 
 on the first jerk of the umbrella. 
 
 " Everything !" replied Mr. Squeers, looking fixedly at his old 
 pupil in a sort of rapturous trance. " Everything — running away, 
 sir — joining in blood-thirsty attacks upon his master, sir — there** 
 nothing that's bad that he hasn't done. Oh, what a delicious go is- 
 this here, good Lord ! " 
 
 The man looked from Squeers to Smike ; but such mental faculties 
 as the poor fellow possessed had utterly deserted him. The coach 
 came up; Master Wackford entered; Squeers pushed in his prize, 
 and following close at his heels, pulled up the glasses. The coachman 
 mounted his box and drove slowly off, leaving the two bricklayers, 
 and an old apple- woman, and a town-made little boy returning from 
 an evening school, who had been the only witnesses of the scene, tO' 
 meditate upon it at their leisure. 
 
 Mr. Squeers sat himself down on the opposite seat to the unfortu- 
 nate Smike, and planting his hands firmly on his knees looked ok- 
 him for some five minutes, when, seeming to recover from his trance, he 
 Tittered a loud laugh, and slapped his old pupil's face several times — 
 taking the right and left sides alternately. 
 
 " It isn't a dream!" said Squeers. "That's real flesh and blood, 
 I know the feel of it ;" and being quite assured of his good fortune by 
 tiiese experiments, Mr. Squeers administered a few boxes on the ear, 
 lest the entertainments should seem to partake of sameness, and laughed 
 louder and longer at every one. 
 
 " Your mother will be fit to jump out of her skin, my boy, whe» 
 she hears of this," said Squeers to his son. 
 
 " Oh, won't she though, father?" replied Master Wackford. 
 
 " To think," — said Squeers, " that you and me should be turning 
 out of a street, and come upon him at the very nick ; and that I 
 should have him tight at only one cast of the umbrella, as if I had 
 hooked him with a grappling-iron ! — Ha, ha !" 
 
 " Didn't I catch hold of his leg, neither, father?" said little Wack- 
 ford. 
 
 " You did ; like a good 'un, my boy," said Mr. Squeers, patting 
 his son's head, "and you shall have the best button-ovor jacket and 
 waistcoat that the next new boy brings down, as a reward of morit — ' 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 375 
 
 mind that. You always keep on in the same path, and do them things 
 that you see your father do, and when you die you'll go right slap to 
 Heaven and be asked no questions." 
 
 Improving the occasion in these words, Mr. Squeers patted his son's 
 head again, and then patted Smike's — ^but harder ; and inquired in a 
 bantering tone how he found himself by this time. 
 
 " I must go home," replied Smike, looking wildly round. 
 
 "To be sure you must. You're about right there," replied Mr. 
 Squeers. " You'll go home very soon, you will. You'll find yourself 
 at the peaceful village of Dotheboys, in Yorkshire, in something 
 under a week's time, my young friend ; and the next time you get away 
 from there, I give you leave to keep aw^ay. Where's tlie clothes you 
 run off in, you ungrateful robber?" said Mr. Squeers, in a severe 
 voice. 
 
 Smike glanced at the neat attire which the care of Nicholas had 
 provided for him, and wrung his hands. 
 
 " Do you know that I could hang you up outside of the Old Bailey, 
 for making away with them articles of property ? " said Squeers. "Do 
 you know that it's a hanging matter — and I an't quite certain whether 
 it an't an anatomy one besides — to w^alk off with up'ards of the valley 
 of five pound from a dwelling-house ? Eh — do you know that ? What 
 do you suppose was the worth of them clothes you had ? Do you know 
 that that Welling-ton-boot you wore, cost eight-and-twenty shillings 
 when it was a pair, and the shoe seven-and-six ? But you came to the 
 right shop for mercy when you came to me, and thank your stars that 
 it is me as has got to serve you with the article." 
 
 Anybody not in Mr. Squeers's confidence would have supposed that 
 be was quite out of the article in question, instead of having a large 
 stock on hand ready for all comers ; nor would the opinion of sceptical 
 persons have undergone much alteration when he followed up the 
 remark by poking Smike in the chest with the ferrule of his umbrella, 
 and dealing a smart shower of blows with the ribs of the same instru- 
 ment upon his head and shoulders. 
 
 "I never threshed a boy in a hackney-coach before," said Mr. 
 Squeers, when he stopped to rest. " There's inconveniency in it, but 
 the novelty gives it a sort of relish too ! " 
 
 Poor Smike ! He warded off the blows as w^ell as he could, and now 
 shrunk into a corner of the coach, with his head resting on his hands, 
 and his elbows on his knees ; he was stunned and stupefied, and had no 
 more idea that any act of his would enable him to escape from the 
 all-powerful Squeers, now that he had no friend to speak to or advise 
 with, than he had had in all the weary years of his Yorkshire life 
 which preceded the arrival of Nicholas. 
 
 The journey seemed endless ; street after street was entered and left 
 behind, and still they went jolting on. At last Mr. Squeers began to 
 thrust his head out at the window every half-minute, and to bawl a- 
 variety of directions to the coachman ; and after passing, with some 
 difficulty, through several mean streets which the appearance of the 
 houses and the bad state of the road denoted to have been recently built, 
 
876 LIPB AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 Mr. Squeers suddenly tugged at the check string with all his might, 
 and cried, " Stop !" 
 
 " What are you pulling a man's arm oflf for ? " said the coachman, 
 looking angrily down. 
 
 " That's the house," replied Squeers. " The second of them four 
 little houses, one story high, with the green shutters — there's a brass 
 plate on the door with the name of Snawley." 
 
 " Couldn't you say that, without wrenching a man's limbs off his 
 body?" inquired the coachman. 
 
 " No !" bawled Mr. Squeers. " Say another word, and I'll summons 
 you for having a broken winder. Stop ! " 
 
 Obedient to this direction, the coach stopped at Mr. Snawley's door. 
 Mr. Snawley may be remembered as the sleek and sanctified gentleman 
 who confided two sons {in law) to the parental care of Mr. Squeers, as 
 narrated in the fourth chapter of this history. Mr. Snawley's house 
 was on the extreme borders of some new settlements adjoining Somers 
 Town, and Mr. Squeers had taken lodgings therein for a short time 
 as his stay was longer than usual, and the Saracen, having expe- 
 rience of Master Wackford's appetite, had declined to receive him on 
 any other terms than as a full-grown customer. 
 
 " Here we are ! " said Squeers, hurrying Smike into the little parlour, 
 where Mr. Snawley and his wife were taking a lobster supper. " Here's 
 the vagrant — the felon — the rebel — the monster of unthankfulness." 
 
 " What ! The boy that run away !" cried Snawley, resting his knife 
 and fork upright on the table, and opening his eyes to their full width. 
 
 " The very boy," said Squeers, putting his fist close to Smike's nose, 
 and drawing it away again, and repeating the process several times 
 with a vicious aspect. "• If there wasn't a lady present, I'd fetch him 
 such a : never mind, I'll owe it him." 
 
 And here Mr. Squeers related how, and in what manner, and when 
 and where, he had picked up the runaway. 
 
 " It's clear that there has been a Providence in it,- sir," said Mr. 
 Snawley, casjring down his eyes with an air of humility, and elevating 
 his fork with a bit of lobster on the top of it towards the ceiling. 
 
 " Providence is against him, no doubt," replied Mr. Squeers, scratch- 
 ing his nose. " Of course, that was to be expected. Anybody might 
 have known that." 
 
 " Ilard-heartedness and evil-doing will never prosper, sir," said Mr. 
 Snawley. 
 
 " Never was such a thing known," rejoined Squeers, taking a roll of 
 notes from his pocket-book, to see that they were all safe. 
 
 " I have been, Mrs. Snawley," said Mr. Squeers, when he had 
 satisfied himself upon this point, " I have been that chap's benefactor, 
 feeder, teacher, and clother. I have been that chap's classical, com- 
 mercial, mathematical, philosophical, and trigonomical friend. My son 
 — my only son, Wackford — has been his brother; Mrs. Squeers has 
 been his mother, grandmother, aunt, — Ah ! and I may say uncle too, 
 all in one. She never cottoned to anybody except them two engaging 
 and delightful boys of yours, as sho cottoned to this chap. What's my 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 377 
 
 return ? What's come of my milk of human kindness ? It turns into 
 curds and whey when I look at him." 
 
 " Well it may, sir," said Mrs. Snawley. " Oh ! Well it may, sir." 
 
 "Where has he been all this time?" inquired Snawley. " Has he 
 been living with ? " 
 
 " Ah, sir !" interposed Squeers, confronting him again. " Have you 
 been a living with that there devilish Nickleby, sir ?" 
 
 But no threats or cuffs could elicit from Smike one word of reply tp 
 this question, for he had internally resolved that he would rather perish 
 in the wretched prison to which he was again about to be consigned, 
 than utter one syllable which could involve his first and true friend. 
 He had already called to mind the strict injunctions of secrecy as to his 
 past life, which Nicholas had laid upon him when they travelled from 
 Yorkshire; and a confused and perplexed idea that his benefactor 
 might have committed some terrible crime in bringing him away, 
 which would render him liable to heavy punishment if detected, had 
 contributed in some degree to reduce him to his present state of apathy 
 and terror. 
 
 Such were the thoughts — if to visions so imperfect and undefined as 
 those which wandered through his enfeebled brain, the term can be 
 applied — which were present to the mind of Smike, and rendered him 
 deaf alike to intimidation and persuasion. Finding every effort useless, 
 Mr. Squeers conducted him to a little back room up-stairs where he 
 was to pass the night ; and taking the precaution of removing his shoes, 
 and coat and waistcoat, and also of locking the door on the outside, 
 lest he should muster up sufficient energy to make an attempt at escape, 
 that worthy gentleman left him to his meditations. 
 
 And what those meditations w^ere, and how the poor creature's heart 
 sunk within him when he thought — when did he, for a moment, cease 
 to think ? — of his late home, and the dear friends and familiar faces 
 with which it was associated, cannot be told. To prepare the mind for 
 such a heavy sleep, its growth must be stopped by rigour and cruelty 
 in childhood ; there must be years of misery and suffering lightened by 
 no ray of hope ; the chords of the heart, which beat a quick response 
 to the voice of gentleness and affection, must have rusted and broken 
 in their secret places, and bear the lingering echo of no old word of 
 love or kindness. Gloomy, indeed, must have been the short day, and 
 dull the long, long twilight, which precedes such a night of intellect as 
 his. 
 
 There were voices which would have roused him, even then, but 
 their welcome tones could not penetrate there ; and he crept to bed the 
 same listless, hopeless, blighted creature, that Nicholas had first found 
 him at the Yorkshire school. 
 
378 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIX. 
 
 IN WHICH ANOTHER OLD FRIEND ENCOUNTERS SMIKE, VERY OPPOR- 
 TUNELY AND TO SOME PURPOSE. 
 
 The night fraught with so ranch bitterness to one poor soul had 
 given place to a bright and cloudless summer morning, when a north- 
 country mail-coach traversed with cheerful noise the yet silent streets 
 of Islington, and, giving brisk note of its approach with the lively 
 winding of the guard's horn, clattered onward to its halting-place hard 
 by the Post-office. 
 
 The only outside passenger was a burly honest-looking countryman 
 upon the box, who, with his eyes fixed upon the dome of Saint Paul's 
 Cathedral, appeared so wrapt in admiring wonder, as to be quite insen- 
 sible to all the bustle of getting out the bags and parcels, until one of 
 the coach windows being let sharply down, he looked round and 
 encountered a pretty female face which was just then thrust out. 
 
 " See there, lass ! " bawled the countryman, pointing towards the 
 object of his admiration. " There be Paul's Church. 'Ecod, he be a 
 soizable 'un, he be." 
 
 " Goodness, John ! I shouldn't have thought it could have been half 
 the size. What a monster ! " 
 
 *' Monsther ! — Ye're aboot right there, I reckon, Mrs. Browdie," said 
 the countryman good-humouredly, as he came slowly down in his huge 
 top-coat, " and wa'at dost thee tak yon place to be noo — thot 'un 
 ower the wa'. Ye'd never coora near it 'gin ye thried for twolve 
 moonths. It's na' but a Poast-office. Ho ! ho ! They need to charge 
 for dooble-latthers. A Poast-office ! Wa'at dost thee think o' thot ? 
 'Ecod, if thot's on'y a Poast-office, I'd loike to see where the Lord 
 Mayor o' Lunnun lives." 
 
 So saying, John Browdie — fof he it was — opened the coach-door, 
 and tapping ^(Irs. Browdie, late Miss Price, on the cheek as he looked 
 in, burst into a boisterous fit of laughter. 
 
 " Weel ! " said John — " Dang my bootuns if she bea'nt asleep agean ! " 
 
 " She's been asleep all night, and was all yesterday, except for a 
 minute or two now and then," replied John Browdie's choice, " and I 
 was very sorry when she woke, for she has been so cross ! " 
 
 The subject of these remarks was a slumbering figure, so muffled in. 
 shawl and cloak that it would have been matter of impossibility to 
 guess at its sex but for a brown-beaver bonnet and green veil which 
 ornamented the head, and which, having been crushed and flattened for 
 two hundred and fifty miles in that particular angle of the vehicle from 
 which the lady's snores now proceeded, presented an appearance suffi- 
 ciently ludicrous to have moved less risible muscles than those of John 
 Browdie's ruddy face. 
 
 " Hollo ! " cried John, twitching one end of the dragged veil. " Coom, 
 wakken oop, will 'ee." 
 
 After several burrowings into the old comer, and many exclamations 
 
NICHOLAS NIGKLEBY. 37S^ 
 
 of impatience and fatigue, the figure struggled into a sitting posture ; 
 and there, under a mass of crumpled beaver, and surrounded by a 
 semicircle of blue curl-papers, were the delicate features of Miss Fanny 
 Squeers. 
 
 " Oh, 'Tilda ! " cried Miss Squeers, " How you have been kicking 
 of me through this blessed night ! " 
 
 " Well, 1 do like that," replied her friend, laughing, " when you 
 have had nearly the whole coach to yourself." 
 
 " Don't deny it^ 'Tilda," said Miss Squeers, impressively, " because 
 you have, and it's no use to go attempting to say you haven't. You 
 mightn't have known it in your sleep, 'Tilda, but I haven't closed my^ 
 eyes for a single wink, and so I think I am to be believed." 
 
 With which reply. Miss Squeers adjusted the bonnet and veil, which 
 nothing but supernatural interference and an utter suspension of na- 
 ture's laws could have reduced to any shape or form ; and evidently 
 flattering herself that it looked uncommonly neat, brushed off the 
 sandwich-crumbs and bits of biscuit, which had accumulated in her 
 lap, and availing herself of John Browdie's proffered arm, descended 
 from the coach. 
 
 " Noo," said John, when a hackney-coach had been called, and the 
 ladies and the luggage hurried in, " gang to the Sarah's Head, mun." 
 
 " To the vere ? " cried the coachman. 
 
 " Lawk, Mr. Browdie ! " interrupted Miss Squeers. " The idea ! 
 Saracen's Head." 
 
 " Sure-ly," said John, " I know'd it was summut aboot Sarah— 
 to the Sarah Son's Head. Dost thou know thot ? " 
 
 " Oh, ah — I know that," replied the coachman, gruffly, as he banged 
 the door. 
 
 " 'Tilda, dear — really," remonstrated Miss Squeers, " we shall be 
 taken for I don't know what." 
 
 " Let 'em tak us as they foind us ; " said John Browdie, " we 
 dean't come to Lunnun to do nought but 'joy oursel, do we ? " 
 
 " I hope not, Mr. Browdie," replied Miss Squeers, looking singu- 
 larly dismal. 
 
 " Well, then," said John, " it's no matther. I've only been a 
 married mun fower days, 'account of poor old feyther deein' and puttin 
 it off". Here be a weddin' party — broide and broide'smaid, and the 
 groom — if a mun dean't 'joy himsel noo, when ought he, hey ? Draat 
 it all, thot's what I wont to know." 
 
 So, in order that he might begin to enjoy himself at once, and lose 
 no time, Mr. Browdie gave his wife a hearty kiss, and succeeded in 
 wresting another from Miss Squeers after a maidenly resistance of 
 scratching and struggling on the part of that young lady, which was 
 hot quite over when they reached the Saracen's Head. 
 
 Here the party straightway retired to rest, the refreshment of sleep 
 being necessary after so long a journey ; and here they met again, about 
 noon, to a substantial breakfast, spread by direction of Mr. John 
 Browdie, in a small private room up-stairs commanding an uninter- 
 rupted view of the stables. 
 
380 LIPE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 To have seen Miss Squeers now, divested of the brown beaver, the 
 green veil, and the blue curl-papers, and arrayed in all the virgin 
 splendour of a white frock and spencer, with a white muslin bonnet, 
 and an imitative damask rose in full bloom on the inside thereof : her 
 luxuriant crop of hair arranged in curls so tight that it was impossible 
 they could come out by any accident, and her bonnet-cap trimmed 
 with little damask roses, which might be supposed to be so many pro- 
 mising scions of the big one — to have seen all this, and to have seen 
 the broad damask belt, matching both the family rose and the little 
 ones, which encircled her slender waist, and by a happy ingenuity took 
 off from the shortness of the spencer behind, — to have beheld aU this, 
 and to have taken further into account the coral bracelets (rather short 
 of beads, and with a very visible black string) which clasped her 
 wrists, and the coral necklace which rested on her neck, supporting 
 outside her frock a lonely cornelian heart, typical of her own dis- 
 engaged affections — ^to have contemplated all these mute but expressive 
 appeals to the purest feelings of our nature, might have thawed the 
 frost of age, and added new and inextinguishable fuel to the fire of 
 youth. 
 
 The waiter was touched. Waiter as he was, he had human 
 passions and feelings, and he looked very hard at Miss Squeers as he 
 handed the muffins. 
 
 " Is my pa in, do you know?" asked Miss Squeers with dignity. 
 
 " Beg your pardon. Miss." 
 . " My pa," repeated Miss Squeers ; " is he in ?" 
 
 ** In where, Miss ?" 
 
 "In here — in the house!" replied Miss Squeers. " My pa — Mr. 
 Wackford Squeers — he's stopping here. Is he at home ?" 
 
 " I didn't know there was any gen'lman of that name in the house, 
 Miss," replied the waiter. " There may be, in the coffee-room." 
 
 May he. Very pretty this, indeed ! Here was Miss Squeers, who 
 had been depending all the way to London upon showing her friends 
 how much at home she w^ould be, and how much respectful notice her 
 name and connexions would excite, told that her father might be there ! 
 "As if he was a feller!" observed Miss Squeers, with emphatic 
 indignation. 
 
 " Ye'd betther inquire, mun," said John Browdie. " An' bond up 
 another pigeon-pie, will 'ee ? Dang the chap," muttered John, looking 
 into the empty dish as the waiter retired ; " Does he ca' this a pie- 
 three yoong pigeons and a troifling matther o' steak, and a crust so 
 loight that you doant know when it's in your mooth and when it's 
 gane ? I wonder boo many pies goes to a breakfast !" 
 
 After a short interval, which John Browdie employed upon the ham 
 and a cold round of beef, the waiter returned with another pie, and the 
 information that Mr. Squeers was not stopping in the house, but that 
 he came there every day, and that directly he arrived he should be 
 shown up- stairs. With this he retired ; and he had not retired two 
 minutes, when he returned with Mr. Squeers and his hopeful son. 
 
 " Why, who'd have thought of this?" said Mr. Squeers, when ho 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 381 
 
 had saluted the party, and received some private family intelligence 
 from his daughter. 
 
 " AVho, indeed, pa!" replied that young lady, spitefully. "But 
 you see 'Tilda is married at last." 
 
 " And I stond threat for a soight o' Lunnun, schoolmeasther," said 
 John, vigorously attacking the pie. 
 
 " One of them things that young men do when they get married," 
 returned Squeers ; " and as runs through with their money like nothing 
 at all. How much better wouldn't it be now, to save it up for the 
 eddication of any little boys, for instance. They come on you," said 
 Mr. Squeers in a moralizing way, " before you're aware of it ; mino 
 did upon me." 
 
 " Will 'ee pick a bit ?" said John. 
 
 " I won't myself," returned Squeers ; " but if you'll just let little 
 Wackford tuck into something fat, I'll be obliged to you. Give it 
 him in his fingers, else the waiter charges it on, and there's lot of profit 
 on this sort of vittles without that. If you hear the waiter coming, 
 sir, shove it in your pocket and look out of the window, d'ye hear ?" 
 
 " I'm awake, father," replied the dutiful Wackford. 
 
 " Well," said Squeers, turning to his daughter, " It's your turn to 
 be married next. You must make haste." 
 
 " Oh, I'm in no hurry," said Miss Squeers, very sharply. 
 
 " No, Fanny ? " cried her old friend with some archness. 
 
 " No, 'Tilda," replied Miss Squeers, shaking her head vehemently. 
 " / — can wait." 
 
 " So can the young men, it seems, Fanny," observed Mrs. Browdie. 
 
 " They an't draw'd into it by me, 'Tilda," retorted Miss Squeers. 
 
 " No," returned her friend ; " that's exceedingly true." 
 
 The sarcastic tone of this reply might have provoked a rather 
 acrimonious retort from Miss Squeers, who, besides being of a con- 
 stitutionally vicious temper — aggravated just now by travel and recent 
 jolting — was somewhat irritated by old recollections and the failure of 
 her own designs upon Mr. Browdie ; and the acrimonious retort might 
 have led to a great many other retorts, which might have led to 
 Heaven knows what, if the subject of conversation had not been at 
 that precise moment accidentally changed by Mr. Squeers himself. 
 
 " What do you think ?" said that gentleman; " who do you sup- 
 pose we have laid hands on, Wackford and me ? " 
 
 " Pa ! not Mr. ^ ? " Miss Squeers was unable to finish the 
 
 sentence, but Mrs. Browdie did it for her, and added, " Nickleby ?" 
 
 " No," said Squeers. " But next door to him though." 
 
 " You can't mean Smike?" cried Miss Squeers, clapping her hands. 
 
 " Yes, I can though," rejoined her father. " I've got him hard and 
 fast." 
 
 " Wa'at !" exclaimed John Browdie, pushing away his plate. " Got 
 thot poor — dom'd scoondrel, — where ?" 
 
 " Why, in the top back room, at my lodging," replied Squeers, 
 " with him on one side and the key on the other." 
 
 " At thy loodgin' ! Thee'st gotten him at thy loodgin ? Ho ! ho ! 
 
$89 LIFB AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 The schoolnicastlier agin all England. Give us thee hond, mun ;— 
 I'm darned but I must shak thee by the hond for tliot. — Gotten him 
 fA thy loodgin' ?" 
 
 " Yes," replied Squeers, staggering in his chair under the congratu- 
 latory blow on the chest which the stout Yorkshireman dealt him — 
 " thankee. Don't do it again. You mean it kindly, I know, but it 
 hurts rather — yes, there he is. That's not so bad, is it ?" 
 
 " Ba'ad!" repeated John Browdie. " It's eneaf to scare a mun to 
 hear tell on." 
 
 " I thought it would surprise you a bit," said Squeers, rubbing his 
 hands. " It was pretty neatly done, and pretty quick too." 
 
 " Hoo wor it ? " inquired John, sitting down close to him. " Tell us 
 all aboot it, mun ; coom, quick." 
 
 Although he could not keep pace with John Browdie's impatience, 
 Mr. Squeers related the lucky chance by which Smike had fallen into 
 his hands, as quickly as he could, and, except when he was interrupted 
 by the admiring remarks of his auditors, paused not in the recital until 
 he had brought it to an end. 
 
 " For fear he should give me the slip by any chance," observecl 
 Squeers, when he had finished, looking very cunning, " I've taken 
 three outsides for to-morrow morning, for Wackford and him and me, 
 and have arranged to leave the accounts and the new boys to the agent, 
 don't you see ? So it's very lucky you come to-day, or you'd have 
 missed us ; and as it is, unless you could come and tea with me to- 
 night, we shan't see anything more of you before we go away." 
 
 *' Deant say anoother wurd," returned the Yorkshireman, shaking 
 him by the hand. " We'd coom if it was twenty mile." 
 
 " No, would you though ?" returned Mr. Squeers, who had not 
 expected quite such a ready acceptance of his invitation, or he would 
 have considered twice before he gave it. 
 
 John Browdie's only reply was another squeeze of the hand, and an 
 assurance that they would not begin to see London till to-morrow, so 
 that they might be at Mr. Snawley's at six o'clock without fail ; and 
 after some further conversation, Mr. Squeers and his son departed. 
 
 During the remainder of the day Mr. Browdie was in a very odd and 
 excitable state, bursting occasionally into an explosion of laughter, and 
 then taking up his hat and running into the coach-yard to have it out by 
 himself. He was very restless too, constantly walking in and out, and 
 snapping his fingers, and dancing scraps of uncouth country dances, 
 and, in short, conducting himself in such a very extraordinary manner, 
 that Miss Squeers opined he was going mad, and, begging her dear 
 'Tilda not to distress herself, communicated her suspicions in so many 
 words. Mrs. Browdie, however, without discovering any great alarm, 
 observed that she had seen him so once before, and that although he was 
 almost sure to be ill after it, it would not be anything very serious, and 
 therefore he was better left alone. 
 
 The result proved her to be perfectly correct ; for while they were all 
 sitting in Mr. Snawley's parlour that night, and just as it was begin- 
 ning to get dusk, John Browdie was taken so ill, and seized with such 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 383 
 
 •an alarming dizziness in the head, that the whole conjpany were thrown 
 into the utmost consternation. His good lady, indeed, was the only 
 person present who retained presence of mind enough to observe that if he 
 were allowed to lie down on Mr. Squeers's bed for an hour or so, and 
 left entirely to himself, he would be sure to recover again almost as 
 quickly as he had been taken ill. Nobody could refuse to try the 
 effect of so reasonable a proposal before sending for a surgeon. Ac- 
 cordingly, John was supported up-stairs with great difficulty, being 
 a monstrous weight, and regularly tumbling down two steps every 
 time they hoisted him up three ; and being laid on the bed, was left in 
 charge of his wife, who, after a short interval, re-appeared in the par- 
 lour with the gratifying intelligence that he had fallen fast asleep. 
 
 Now, the fact was, that, at that particular moment, John Brow die 
 was sitting on the bed with the reddest face ever seen, cramming the 
 corner of the pillow into his mouth to prevent his roaring out loud with 
 laughter. He had no sooner succeeded in suppressing this emotion, than 
 he slipped off his shoes, and creeping to the adjoining room where the 
 prisoner was confined, turned the key, which was on the outside, and 
 darting in, covered Smike's mouth with his huge hand before he could 
 utter a sound. 
 
 " Ods-bobs, dost thee not know me, mun ?" whispered the York- 
 shireman to the bewildered lad. " Browdie, — chap as met thee eftlier 
 schoolmeasther was banged ? " 
 
 " Yes, yes," cried Smike. '* Oh ! help me." 
 
 " Help thee I" replied John, stopping his mouth again the instant he 
 had said thus much. " Thee didn't need help if thee war'nt as silly 
 yoongster as ever draw'd breath. Wa'at did 'ee come here for, then V 
 
 "• He brought me; oh ! he brought me," cried Smike. 
 
 "Brout thee !" replied John. "Why didn't'ee punch his head, or 
 lay theeself doon and kick, and squeal out for the pollis ? I'd ha' 
 licked a doozen such as him when I was yoong as thee. But thee 
 be'est a poor broken-doon chap," said John, sadly, " and God for^' 
 me for bragging ower yan o' his weakest creeturs." 
 
 Smike opened his mouth to speak, but John Browdie stopped him. " 
 
 " Stan still," said the Yorkshireman, " and doant'ee speak a morsel 
 o' talk till I tell'ee." 
 
 With this caution, John Browdie shook his head significantly, and 
 drawing a screw-driver from his pocket, took off the box of the lock 
 in a very deliberate and workmanlike manner, and laid it, together 
 with tlie implement, on the floor. 
 
 " See thot ?" said John. " Thot be thy doin. Noo, coot awa'." 
 
 Smike looked vacantly at him, as if unable to comprehend his 
 meaning. 
 
 " I say, coot awa'," repeated John, hastily. " Dost thee know 
 where thee livest ? Thee dost ? Weel. Are yon thy clothes, or school- 
 measther s?" 
 
 " Mine," replied Smike, as the Yorkshireman hurried him to the 
 adjoining room, and pointed out a pair of shoes and a coat which weiQ 
 lying on a chair. 
 
384 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 " On wi' *eTn," said John, forcing the wrong arm into the wrong 
 sleeve, and winding the tails of the coat round the fugitive's neck. 
 " Noo, foller me, and when thee get'st ootside door, turn to the right, 
 and they wean't see thee pass." 
 
 « But — but— he'll hear me shut the door," replied Smike, trembling 
 from head to foot. 
 
 " Then dean't shut it at all," retorted John Browdie. " Dang it, 
 thee bean't afeard o' schoolmeasther's takkin' cold, I hope?" 
 
 " N-no," said Smike, his teeth chattering in his head. " But he 
 brought me back before, and will again. He will, he will indeed." 
 
 " He wuU, he wull ! " replied John impatiently. " He wean't, he 
 wean't. Looke'e. I wont to do this neighbourly loike, and let them 
 think thee's gotten awa' o' theeself, but if he cooms oot o' thot parlour 
 awhiles theer't clearing off, he mun have mercy on his oun boans, for 
 I wean't. If he foinds it oot soon efther, I'll put 'un on a wrong 
 scent, I warrant'ee. But if thee keeps't a good hart, thee'lt be at 
 whoam afore they know thees't gotten off. Coom." 
 
 Smike, who comprehended just enough of this to know it was 
 intended as encouragement, prepared to follow with tottering steps, 
 ■when John whispered in his ear. 
 
 " The'lt just tell yoong Measther, that I'm sploiced to 'Tilly Price, and 
 to be heerd^on at the Saracen by latther, and that I bee'nt jealous of 
 'un — dang it, I'm loike to boost when I think o' that neight ; 'cod, I 
 think I sec 'un now, a powderin' awa' at the thin bread an butther ! '* 
 
 It was rather a ticklish recollection for John just then, for he was 
 within an ace of breaking out into a loud guffaw. Restraining himself, 
 however, just in time by a great effort, he glided down stairs, hauling 
 Smike behind him ; and placing himself close to the parlour-door, to 
 confront the first person that might come out, signed to him to make 
 off. 
 
 Having got so far, Smike needed no second bidding. Opening the 
 house-door gently, and casting a look of mingled gratitude and terror 
 at his deliverer, he took the direction which had been indicated to 
 him, and sped away like the wind. 
 
 The Yorkshireman remained on his post for a few minutes, but, 
 finding that there was no pause in the conversation inside, crept 
 back again unheard, and stood listening over the stair-rail for a full 
 hour. Everything remaining perfectly quiet, he got into Mr. Squeers's 
 bed once more, and drawing the clothes over his head, laughed till he 
 was nearly smothered. 
 
 If there could only have been somebody by, to see how the bed- 
 clothes shook, and to see the Yorkshireman's great red face and round 
 head appear above the sheets every now and then, like some jovial 
 monster coming to the surface to breathe, and once more dive down 
 convulsed with the laughter which came bursting forth afresh — that 
 somebody would have been scarcely less amused than John Browdie 
 himself. 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 885 
 
 CHAPTER XL. 
 
 IN WHICH NICHOLAS FALLS IN LOVE. HE EMPLOYS A MEDIATOR, 
 WHOSE PROCEEDINGS ARE CROWNED WITH UNEXPECTED SUCCESS, 
 EXCEPTING IN ONE SOLITARY PARTICULAR. 
 
 Once more out of the clutches of liis old persecutor, it needed no 
 fresh stimulation to call forth the utmost energy and exertion that 
 Smike was capable of summoning to his aid. Without pausing for a 
 moment to reflect upon the course he was taking, or the probability of 
 its leading him homewards or the reverse, he fled away with surprising 
 swiftness and constancy of purpose, borne upon such wings as only 
 Fear can wear, and impelled by imaginary shouts in the well-remem- 
 bered voice of Squeers, who, with a host of pursuers, seemed to the 
 poor fellow's disordered senses to press hard upon his track ; now left at 
 a greater distance in the rear, and now gaining faster and faster upon 
 him, as the alternations of hope and terror agitated him by turns. 
 
 Lonof after he had become assured that these sounds were but the 
 
 ..... 
 creation of his excited brain, he still held on at a pace, which even 
 
 weakness and exhaustion could scarcely retard ; and it was not until 
 
 the darkness and quiet of a country road recalled him to a sense of 
 
 external objects, and the starry sky above warned him of the rapid 
 
 flight of time, that, covered with dust and panting for breath, he 
 
 stopped to listen and look about him. 
 
 All was still and silent. A glare of light in the distance, casting a 
 warm glow upon the sky, marked where the huge city lay. Solitary 
 fields, divided by hedges and ditches, through many of which he had 
 crashed and scrambled in his flight, skirted the road, both by the way 
 he had come and upon the opposite side. It was late now. They 
 could scarcely trace him by such paths as he had taken, and if he 
 could hope to regain his own dwelling, it must surely be at such a 
 time as that, and under cover of the darkness. This by degrees became 
 pretty plain even to the mind of Smike. He had at first entertained, 
 some vague and childish idea of travelling into the country for ten or 
 a dozen miles, and then returning homewards by a wide circuit, 
 which should keep him clear of London — so great was his apprehension 
 of traversing the streets alone, lest hc' should again encounter his. 
 dreaded enemy — but, yielding to the conviction which these thoughts: 
 inspired, he turned back, arid taking the open road, though not without 
 many fears and misgivings, made for London again with scarcely less 
 speed of foot than that with which he had left the temporary abode of 
 Mr. Squeers. 
 
 By the time he re-entered it at the western extremity, the greater 
 part of the shops were closed; of the throngs of people who had been 
 tempted abroad after the heat of the day, but few remained in the 
 streets, and they were lounging home. But of these he asked his way 
 
 c c 
 
386 LIFE AND ADVENTTJUBS OP 
 
 from time to time, and by dint of repeated inquiries he at length 
 readied the dwelling of Newman Noggs. 
 
 All that evening Newman had been hunting and searching in by- 
 ways and corners for the very person who now knocked at his door, 
 while Nicholas had been pursuing the same inquiry in other directions. 
 He was sitting with a melancholy air, at his poor supper, whenSmike'a 
 timorous and uncertain knock reached his ears. Alive to every sound 
 in his anxious and expectant state, Newman hurried down stairs, and, 
 uttering a cry of joyful surprise, dragged the welcome visitor into the 
 passage and up the stairs, and said not a word until he had him safe in 
 his own garret and the door was shut behind them, when he mixed a 
 great mug-full of gin and water, and holding it to Smike's mouth, as 
 one might hold a bowl of medicine to the lips of a refractory child, 
 commanded him to drain it to the very last drop. 
 
 Newman looked uncommonly blank when he found that Smike did 
 little more than put his lips to the precious mixture ; he was in the 
 act of raising the mug to his own mouth with a deep sigh of com- 
 passion for his poor friend's weakness, when Smike, beginning to relate 
 the adventures which had befallen him, arrested him half-way, and he 
 stood listening with the mug in his hand. 
 
 It was odd enough to see the change that came over Newman as 
 Smike proceeded. At first he stood rubbing his lips with the back of 
 his hand, as a preparatory ceremony towards composing himself for a 
 draught ; tlien, at the mention of Squeers, he took the mug under his 
 arm, and opening his eyes very wide, looked on in the utmost astonish- 
 ment. When Smike came to the assault upon himself in tlie hackney- 
 coach, he hastily deposited the mug upon the table, and limped up and 
 down the room in a state of the greatest excitement, stopping himself 
 with a jerk every now and then as if to listen more attentively. When 
 John Browdie came to be spoken of, he dropped by slow and gradual 
 degrees into a chair, and rubbing his hands upon his knees — quicker 
 and quicker as the story reached its climax — burst at last into a laugh 
 composed of one loud sonorous " Ila ! Ila ! " having given vent to 
 wdiich, his countenance immediately fell again as he inquired, with the 
 utmost anxiety, whether it was probable that John Browdie and 
 Squeers had come to blows. 
 
 " No ! I think not," replied Smike. " I don't think he could have 
 missed me till I had got quite away." 
 
 Newman scratched his head with a show^ of great disappointment, 
 and once more lifting up the mug, applied himself to the contents, 
 smiling meanwhile over the rim with a grim and ghastly smile at Smike. 
 
 " You shall stay here," said Newman ; " you're tired — fagged. I'll 
 tell them you're come back. They liavc been half mad about you. 
 Mr. Nicholas — " 
 
 " God bless him !" cried Smike. 
 
 " Amen !" returned Newman. " He hasn't had a minute's rest or 
 peace ; no more has the old lady, nor Miss Nickleby." 
 
 " No, no. Has she thought about me?" said Smike. " Has she 
 though ? oh, has she — has she ? Don't tell me so, if she has not." 
 
NICHOLAS NIGKLEBY. SS7 
 
 " She has," cried Newman. " She is as noble-hearted as she is 
 beautiful." 
 
 *' Yes, yes !" cried Smike. " Well said !" 
 
 *' So mild and gentle," said Newman. 
 
 *' Yes, yes !" cried Smike, with increasing eagerness. 
 
 " And yet with such a true and gallant spirit," pursued Newman. 
 
 He was going on in his enthusiasm, when chancing to look at his 
 companion, he saw that he had covered his face with his hands, and 
 that tears were stealing out between his fingers. 
 
 A moment before, the boy's eyes were sparkling with unwonted 
 fire, and every feature had been lighted up with an excitement which 
 made him appear for the moment quite a different being. 
 
 " Well, well," muttered Newman, as if he were a little puzzled. 
 ^' It has touched me more than once, to think such a nature should 
 have been exposed to such trials ; this poor fellow — yes, yes, — he feels 
 that too — it softens him — makes him think of his former misery. 
 Hah ! That's it ! Yes, that's— hum !" 
 
 It w^as by no means clear from the tone of these broken reflections 
 that Newman Noggs considered them as explaining, at all satisfactorily, 
 the emotion which had suggested them. He sat in a musing attitude 
 for some time, regarding Smike occasionally with an anxious and 
 doubtful glance, which sufficiently showed that he was not very 
 remotely connected with his thoughts. 
 
 At length he repeated his proposition that Smike should remain 
 where he was for that night, and that he (Noggs) should straightway 
 repair to the cottage to relieve the suspense of the family. But as 
 Smike would not hear of this, pleading his anxiety to see his friends 
 again, they eventually sallied forth together ; and the niglit being by 
 this time far advanced, and Smike Ijeing besides so footsore that he 
 could hardly crawl along, it was within an hour of sunrise when they 
 reached their destination. 
 
 At the first sound of their voices outside the house, Nicholas, who 
 had passed a sleepless night, devising schemes for the recovery of his 
 lost charge, started from his bed and joyfully admitted them. There 
 was so much noisy conversation and congratulation and indignation, 
 that the remainder of the family were soon awakened, and Smike 
 received a warm and cordial welcome, not only from Kate, but from 
 Mrs. Nickleby also, who assured him of her future favour and regard ; 
 and was so obliging as to relate, for his entertainment and that of the 
 assembled circle, a most remarkable account extracted from some work 
 the name of which she had never kno^vn, of a miraculous escape from 
 some prison, but what one she couldn't remember, effected by an officer 
 whose name she had forgotten, confined for some crime which she didn't 
 clearly recollect. 
 
 At first Nicholas was disposed to give his uncle credit for some 
 portion of this bold attempt (which had so nearly proved successful) 
 to carry off Smike, but on more mature consideration he was in- 
 clined to think that the full merit of it rested with Mr. Squeers. De- 
 termined to ascertain if he could, through John Browdie, how the case 
 
 c c 2 
 
388 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 really stood, lie betook himself to his daily occupation : meditating as 
 he went on a great variety of schemes for the punishment of the 
 Yorkshire schoolmaster, all of which had their foundation in the strictest 
 principles of retributive justice, and had but the one drawback of being 
 wholly impracticable. 
 
 " A fine morning, Mr. Linkin water," said Nicholas, entering the office. 
 ' *' Ah ! " replied Tim, " talk of the country, indeed ! What do you 
 think of this now for a day — a London day — eh ? " 
 
 " It's a little clearer out of town," said Nicholas. 
 
 " Clearer ! " echoed Tim ]jinkinwatcr. " You should see it from my 
 bed -room window." 
 
 " You should see it from mine" replied Nicholas, with a smile. 
 
 " Pooh ! pooh ! " said Tim Linkinwater, " don't tell me. Country !" 
 (Bow was quite a rustic place to Tim,) " Nonsense. What can you 
 get in the country but new-laid eggs and flowers ? I can buy new- 
 laid eggs in Leadenhall market any morning before breakfast ; and as 
 to flowers, it's worth a run up-stairs to smell my mignionette, or to 
 see the double -wallflower in the back- attic window, at No. 6, in the 
 court." 
 
 " There is a double- wallflower at No. G, in the court, is there ? " 
 said Nicholas. 
 
 " Yes, is there," replied Tim, " and planted in a cracked jug, with- 
 out a spout. There were hyacinths there this last spring, blossoming 
 in but you'll laugh at that, of course." 
 
 " At what ? " 
 
 " At their blossoming in old blacking-bottles," said Tim. 
 
 " Not I, indeed," returned Nicholas. 
 
 Tim looked wistfully at him for a moment, as if he were encouraged 
 by the tone of this reply to be more communicative on the subject ; 
 and sticking behind his ear a pen that he had been making, and shutting 
 up his knife with a smart click, said, 
 
 " They belong to a sickly bed-ridden hump-backed boy, and seem 
 to be the only pleasures, Mr. Nickleby, of his sad existence. How 
 many years is it," said Tim, pondering, " since I first noticed 
 him quite a little child, dragging himself about on a pair of tiny 
 crutches ? Well ! Well ! not many ; but though they would appear 
 nothing, if I thought of other things, they seem a long, long time, 
 when I think of him. It is a sad thing," said Tim, breaking ofl^, "to 
 see a little deformed child sitting apart from other children, who are 
 active and merry, watching the games he is denied the power to share 
 in. He made my heart ache very often." 
 
 " It is a good heart," said Nicholas, " that disentangles itself from 
 the close avocations of every day, to heed such things. You were 
 saying " 
 
 " That the flowers belonged to this poor boy," said Tim, " that's 
 all. When it is fine weather, and he can crawl out of bed, he draws 
 a chair close to the window, and sits there looking at them, and 
 arranging them all day long. Wo used to nod at first, and then we 
 came to speak. Formerly, when I called to him of a morning, and 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 389 
 
 dsked him how he was, he would smile, and say, ' better ; ' but now 
 he shakes his head, and only bends more closely over his old plants. It 
 must be dull to watch the dark house-tops and the flying clouds for so 
 many months ; but he is very patient." 
 
 " Is there nobody in the house to cheer or help him? " asked Nicholas. 
 . " His father lives there I believe," replied Tim," and other people too; 
 but no one seems to care much for the poor sickly cripple. I have asked 
 him very often if I can do nothing for him ; his answer is always the 
 same, — ' Nothing.' His voice has grown weak of late, but I can see 
 that he makes the old reply. lie can't leave his bed now, so they have 
 moved it close beside the window, and there he lies all day : now look- 
 ing at the sky, and now at his flowers, which he still makes shift to 
 trim and water with his own thin hands. At night, when he sees my 
 candle, he draws back his curtain, and leaves it so till I am in bed. It 
 seems such company to him to know that I am there, that I often sit 
 at my window for an hour and more, that he may see I am still awake ; 
 and sometimes I get up in the night to look at the dull melancholy 
 light in his little room, and wonder whether he is awake or sleeping. 
 
 The night will not be long coming," said Tim, " when he will 
 sleep and never wake again on earth. We have never so much as 
 shaken hands in all our lives ; and yet I shall miss him like an old 
 friend. Are there any country flowers that could interest me like these, 
 do you think ? Or do you suppose that the withering of a hundred kinds 
 of the choicest flowers that blow, called by the hardest Latin names 
 that were ever invented, would give me one fraction of the pain that I 
 shall feel when these old jugs and bottles are swept away as lumber ? 
 Country ! " cried Tim, w4th a contemptuous emphasis ; " don't you 
 know that I couldn't have such a court under my bed-room window 
 anywhere but in London ? " 
 
 With which inquiry, Tim turned his back, and pretending to be 
 absorbed in his accounts, took an opportunity of hastily wiping his eyes 
 when he supposed Nicholas was looking another way. 
 
 Whether it was that Tim's accounts were more than usually intri- 
 cate that morning, or whether it was that his habitual serenity had 
 been a little disturbed by these recollections, it so happened that when 
 Nicholas returned from executing some commission, and inquired whe- 
 ther Mr. Charles Cheeryble was alone in his room, Tim promptly, and 
 without the smallest hesitation, replied in the aflirmative, although 
 somebody had passed into the room not ten minutes before, and Tim 
 took especial and particular pride in preventing any intrusion on 
 either of the brothers when they were engaged with any visitor 
 whatever. 
 
 " I'll take this letter to him at once," said Nicholas, " if that's the 
 case." And with that he walked to the room and knocked at the door. 
 
 No answer. 
 
 Another knock and still no answer. 
 
 " He can't be here," thought Nicholas. " I'll lay it on his table." 
 
 So Nicholas opened the door and walked in ; and very quickly he 
 turned to walk out again, when he saw to his great astonishment and 
 
390 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 discomfiture a young lady upon her knees at Mr. Cheeryble's feet, and 
 Mr. Cheeryble begcecliing her to rise, and entreating a third person, 
 •who had the appearance of the young lady's female attendant, to add 
 her persuasions to his to induce- her to do so. 
 
 Nicholas stammered out an awkward apology, and was precipitately 
 retiring, when the young lady, turning her head a little, presented to 
 his view the features of the lovely girl whom he had seen at the register- 
 office on his first visit long before. Glancing from her to the attendant, 
 he recognised the same clumsy servant who had accompanied her then; 
 and between his admiration of the young lady's beauty, and the con- 
 fusion and surprise of this unexpected recognition, he stood stock-still, 
 in such a bewildered state of surprise and embarrassment that for the 
 moment he was quite bereft of the power either to speak or move. 
 
 " My dear ma'am — my dear young lady," cried brother Charles in 
 violent agitation, " pray don't — not another word, I beseech and entreat 
 you. I implore you — I beg of you — to rise. AVe — we — are not alone." 
 
 As he spoke he raised the young lady, who staggered to a chair and 
 swooned away. 
 
 " She has fiiinted, sir," said Nicholas, darting eagerly forward. 
 
 "Poor dear, poor dear!" cried brother Charles. "Where is my 
 brother Ned ? Ned, my dear brother, come here pray," 
 
 " Brother Charles, my dear fellow," replied his brother, huiTying 
 into the room, " what is the ah ! what " 
 
 " Hush ! hush ! — not a word for your life, brother Ned," returned 
 the other. "Ring for the housekeeper, my dear brother — call Tim 
 Linkinwater. Here, Tim Linkin water, sir — Mr. Nickleby, my dear 
 sir, leave the room, I beg and beseech of you." 
 
 " I think she is better now," said Nicholas, who had been watching 
 the patient so eagerly that he had not heard the request. 
 
 " Poor bird !" cried brother Charles, gently taking her hand in his, 
 and laying her head upon his arm. " Brother Ned, my dear fellow, 
 you will be surprised, I know% to witness this in business hours ; but — " 
 here he was again reminded of the presence of Nicholas, and shaking 
 him by the hand, earnestly requested him to leave the room, and to 
 send Tim Linkinwater without an instant's delay. 
 
 Nicholas immediately withdrew, and on his way to the counting- 
 house met both the old housekeeper and Tim Linkinwater, jostling^ 
 each other in the passage, and hurrying to the scene of action with 
 extraordinary speed. Without waiting to hear his message, Tim Link- 
 inwater darted into the room, and presently afterwards Nicholas heard 
 the door shut and locked on the inside. 
 
 He had abundance of time to ruminate on this discovery, for Tim 
 Linkinwater was absent during the greater part of an hour, during the 
 whole of which time Nicholas thought of nothing but the young lady 
 and her exceeding beauty, and what could possibly have brought her 
 there, and why they made such a mystery of it. The more he thought 
 of all this, the more it perplexed him, and the more anxious he became 
 to know who and what she was. " I should have known her among 
 ten thousand," thought Nicholas. And witii that he walked up and 
 
^'^5^^ 
 
 c/:. 
 
 ^////// // ///'//rw 
 
 M 
 

 
 ' V 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY, 391 
 
 down the room, and recalling her face and figure (of which he had a 
 peculiarly vivid remembrance), discarded all other subjects of reflection 
 and dwelt upon that alone. 
 
 At length Tim Linkinwater came back — provokingly cool, and with 
 papers in his hand, and a pen in his mouth, as if nothing had happened. 
 
 " Is she quite recovered ? " said Nicholas, impetuously. 
 
 " Who ?" returned Tim Linkinwater. 
 
 " Who !" repeated Nicholas. " The young lady." 
 
 " What do you make, Mr. Nickleby," said Tim, takirg his pen out 
 of his mouth, " what do you make of four hundred and twenty-seven 
 times three thousand two hundred and thirty-eight?" 
 
 " Nay," returned Nicholas, " what do you make of my question 
 first ? I asked you " 
 
 " About the young lady," said Tim Linkinwater, putting on his 
 jspectacles. " To be sure. Yes. Oh ! she's very well." 
 
 " Very well, is she?" returned Nicholas. 
 
 44 Y^f^ well," replied Mr. Linkinwater, gravely. 
 
 " Will she be able to go home to-day ?" asked Nicholas. 
 
 " She's gone," said Tim. 
 
 " Gone!" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " I hope she has not far to go ?" said Nicholas, looking earnestly at 
 the other. 
 
 "Ay," replied the immoveable Tim, " I hope she hasn't." 
 
 Nicholas hazarded one or two further remarks, but it was evident 
 that Tim Linkinwater had his own reasons for evading the subject, 
 and that he was determined to afford no further information respecting 
 the fiiir unknown, who had awakened so much curiosity in the breast 
 of his young friend. Nothing daunted by this repulse, Nicholas 
 returned to the charge next day, embohlened by the circumstance of 
 Mr. Linkinwater being in a very talkative and communicative mood ; 
 but directly he resumed the theme, Tim relapsed into a state of most 
 provoking taciturnity, and from answering in monosyllables, came to 
 returning no answers at all, save such as were to be inferred from 
 several grave nods, and shrugs which only served to whet that appetite 
 for intelligence in Nicholas, which had already attained a most un- 
 reasonable heioht. 
 
 Foiled in these attempts, he was fain to content himself with watch- 
 ing for the young lady's next visit, but here again he was disappointed. 
 Day after day passed, and she did not return. He looked eagerly at 
 the superscription of all the notes and letters, but tliere was not one 
 among them which he could fancy to be in her hand-writing. On two 
 or three occasions he w^as employed on business which took him to a 
 distance^ and had formerly been transacted by Tim Linkinwater. 
 Nicholas could not help suspecting that for some reason or other he 
 was sent out of the way on purpose, and that the young lady was there 
 in his absence. Nothing transpired, however, to confirm this suspicion, 
 and Tim could not be entrapped into any confession or admission 
 tending to support it in the smallest degree. 
 
392 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 Mystery and disappointment are not absolutely indispensable to tlie 
 growth of love, but they are very often its powerful auxiliaries. " Out 
 of si^ht, out of mind," is well enough as a proverb applicable to cases of 
 friendship, though absence is not always necessary to hollowness of heart 
 even between friends, and truth and honesty, like precious stones, are per- 
 haps most easily imitated at a distance, when the counterfeits often pass 
 for real. Love, however, is very materially assisted by a warm and active 
 imagination, which has a long memory, and will thrive for a consider- 
 able time on very slight and sparing food. Thus it is that it often 
 attains its most luxuriant growth in separation and under circumstances 
 of the utmost difficulty ; and tlms it was that Nicholas, thinking of 
 nothing but the unknown young lady from day to day and from hour 
 to hour, began at last to think that he was very desperately in love with 
 her, and that never was such an ill-used and persecuted lover as he. 
 
 Still, though he loved and languished after the most orthodox models, 
 and Avas only deterred from making a confidante of Kate by the slight 
 considerations of having never, in all his life, spoken to the object of 
 his passion, and having never set eyes upon her except on two occa- 
 sions, on both of which she had come and gone like a flash of light- 
 ning — or, as Nicholas himself said, in the numerous conversations he 
 held with himself, like a vision of youth and beauty much too bright 
 to last — his ardour and devotion remained without its reward. The 
 young lady appeared no more ; so that there was a great deal of love 
 wasted (enough indeed to have set up half-a-dozen young gentlemen, 
 as times go, with the utmost decency) and nobody was a bit the 
 wiser for it ; not even Nicholas himself, who, on the contrary, be- 
 came more dull, sentimental, and lackadaisical every day. 
 
 While matters were in this state, the failure of a correspondent of 
 the Brothers Cheeryble, in Germany, imposed upon Tim Linkinwater 
 and Nicholas the necessity of going through some very long and com- 
 plicated accounts extending over a, considerable space of time. To get 
 through them with the greater despatch, Tim Linkinwater proposed 
 that they should remain at the counting-house for a week or so, until 
 ten o'clock at night ; to this, as nothing damped the zeal of Nicholas 
 in the service of his kind patrons — not even romance, which has seldom 
 business habits — he cheerfully assented. On the veiy first night of 
 those later hours, at nine exactly, there came : not the young lady 
 herself, but her servant, who being closeted with brother Charles for 
 some time, went away, and returned next night at the same hour, and 
 on the next, and on the next again. 
 
 These repeated visits inflamed the curiosity of Nicholas to the very 
 highest pitch. Tantalized and excited beyond all bearing, and unable 
 to fathom the mystery without neglecting his duty, he confided the 
 whole secret to Newman Noggs, imploring him to be on the watch 
 next night, to follow' the girl home, to set on foot such inquiries 
 relative to the name, condition, and history of her mistress, as he 
 could without exciting suspicion ; and to report the result to him with 
 the least possible delay. 
 
 Beyond all measure proud of this commission, Newman Noggs took 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 393 
 
 Up his post in the square on the following evening, a full hour be- 
 fore the needful time, and planting himself behind the pump and 
 pulling his hat over his eyes, began his watch with an elaborate ap- 
 pearance of mystery admirably calculated to excite the suspicion of 
 all beholders. Indeed, divers servant-girls who came to draw water, 
 and sundry little boys who stopped to drink at the ladle, were almost 
 scared out of their senses by the apparition of Newman Noggs look- 
 ing stealthily round the pump, w4th nothing of him visible but his 
 face, and that wearing the expression of a meditative Ogre. 
 
 Punctual to her time, the messenger came again, and after an inter- 
 view of rather longer duration than usual, departed. Newman had 
 made two appointments with Nicholas, one for the next evening con- 
 ditional on his success, and one the next night following which was 
 to be kept under all circumstances. The first night he was not at 
 the place of meeting (a certain tavern about half-way between the 
 Oity and Golden Square), but on the second night he was there before 
 Nicholas, and received him with open arms. 
 
 " It's all right," whispered Newman. "Sit down — sit down, there's 
 a dear young man, and let me tell you all about it." 
 
 Nicholas needed no second invitation, and eagerly inquired what was 
 the news. 
 
 *' There's a great deal of news," said Newman, in a flutter of 
 exultation. " It's all right. Don't be anxious. I don't know where 
 to begin. Never mind that. Keep up your spirits. It's all right." 
 
 " Well ?" said Nicholas eagerly. " Yes ?" 
 
 " Yes," replied Newsman. " That's it." 
 
 " What's it ?" said Nicholas. " The name — the name, my dear 
 fellow." 
 
 " The name's Bobster," replied Newman. 
 , " Bobster !" repeated Nicholas, indignantly. 
 
 " That's the name," said Newman. " I remembered it by lobster." 
 
 "Bobster!" repeated Nicholas, more emphatically than before, 
 *' That must be the servant's name." 
 
 " No, it an't," said Newman, shaking his head with great positive- 
 ness. " Miss CeciHa Bobster." 
 
 " Cecilia, eh ?" returned Nicholas, muttering the two names together 
 over and over again in every variety of tone, to try the effect. " Well, 
 Cecilia is a pretty name." 
 
 " Yery. And a pretty creature too," said Newsman. 
 
 "Who?" said Nicholas. 
 
 " Miss Bobster." 
 
 "Why, where have you seen her?" demanded Nicholas. 
 
 " Never mind, my dear boy," retorted Noggs, clapping him on the 
 shoulder. " I have seen her. You shall see her. I have managed 
 it all." 
 
 " My dear Newman," cried Nicholas, grasping his hand, " are you 
 serious ?" 
 
 " I am," rei)lied Newman. " I mean it all. Every word. You 
 shall see her to-morrow night. She consents to hear you speak: for 
 
S94 LIPB AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 yourself. I persuaded her. She is all affability, goodness, sweetnesi, 
 and beauty." 
 
 " I know she is ; I know she must be, Newman," said Nicholas, 
 wringing his hand. 
 
 " You are right," returned Newman. 
 
 "Where does she live?" cried Nicholas. "What have you learnt 
 of her liistory ? Has she a father — mother — any brothers — sisters ? 
 What did she say? How came you to see her? Was she not very much 
 svirprised? Did you say how passionately I have longed to speak to her? 
 Did you tell her where I had seen her? Did you tell her how, and when, 
 and where, and how long and how often I have thought of that sweet 
 face which came upon me in my bitterest distress like a glimpse of 
 some better world — did you, Newman — did you ?" 
 
 Poor Noggs literally gasped for breath as this flood of questions 
 rushed upon him, and moved spasmodically in his chair at every fresh 
 inquiry, staring at Nicholas meanwhile with a most ludicrous expres- 
 sion of perplexity. 
 
 " No," *aid Newman, " I didn't tell her that." 
 
 " Didn't tell her which ?" asked Nicholas. 
 
 " About the glimpse of the better world," said Newman. " I didn't 
 tell her who you were, either, or where you'd seen her. I said you 
 loved her to distraction." 
 
 " Tliat's true, Newman," replied Nicholas, with his characteristic 
 vehemence. " Heaven knows 1 do ! " 
 
 " I said too, that you had admired her for a long time in secret," 
 said Newman. 
 ' " Yes, yes. What did she say to that?" asked Nicholas. 
 
 " Blushed," said Newman. 
 
 " To be sure. Of course she would," said Nicholas, approvingly. 
 
 Newman then went on to say that the young lady was an only child, 
 that her mother was dead, and that she resided with her father ; and 
 that she had been induced to allow her lover a secret interview at the 
 intercession of her servant, who had great influence with her. He 
 further related how it had required much moving and gi'eat eloquence 
 to bring the young lady to this pass ; how it was expressly understood 
 that she merely afforded Nicholas an opportunity of declaring his 
 passion, and how she by no means pledged herself to be favourably 
 impressed with his attentions. The mystery of her visits to the Brothers 
 Cheery ble remained wholly unexplained, for Newman had not alluded 
 to them, either in his preliminary conversations w4th the servant or 
 his subsequent interview with the mistress, merely remarking that he 
 had been instructed to watch the girl home and plead his young friend's 
 cause, and not saying how far he had followed her, or from what point. 
 But Newman hinted that from what had fallen from the confidante, 
 he had been led to suspect that the young lady led a very miserable and 
 unhappy life, under the strict control of her only parent, who was of 
 a violent and brutal temper — a circumstance which he thought might 
 in some degree account, both for her having sought the protection and 
 friendship of the brothers, and her suffering herself to be prevailed upon 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 395 
 
 to grant the promised interview. The last he held to be a very logical 
 deduction from the premises, inasmuch as it was but natural to suppose 
 that a young lady, whose present condition was so unenviable, would 
 be more than commonly desirous to change it. 
 
 It appeared on further questioning — for it was only by a very long 
 and arduous process that all this could be got out of Newman Noggs — 
 that Newman, in explanation of his shabby appearance, had represented 
 himself as being, for certain wise and indispensable purposes connected 
 with that intrigue, in disguise; and being questioned how he had come 
 to exceed his commission so far as to procure an interview, he responded, 
 that the lady appearing willing to grant it, he considered himself 
 bound, both in duty and gallantry, to avail himself of such a golden 
 means of enabling Nicholas to prosecute his addresses. After these 
 and all possible questions had been asked and answered twenty times 
 over, they parted, undertaking to meet on the following night at half- 
 past ten, for the purpose of fulfilling the appointment, which was for 
 eleven o'clock. 
 
 " Things come about very strangely," thought Nicholas, as he walked 
 home. " I never contemplated anything of this kind ; never dreamt 
 of the possibility of it. To know something of the life of one in whom. 
 I felt such interest ; to see her in the street, to pass the house in which 
 she lived, to meet her sometimes in her walks, to hope that a day might 
 come when I might be in a condition to tell her of my love ; this was 
 the utmost extent of my thoughts. Now, however — but I should be a 
 fool, indeed, to repine at my own good fortune." 
 
 Still Nicholas was dissatisfied; and there was more in the dissatisfac- 
 tion than mere revulsion of feeling. He was angry with the young 
 lady for being so easily won, " because," reasoned Nicholas, " it is not 
 as if she knew it was I, but it might have been anybody," — which was 
 certainly not pleasant. The next moment he was angry with himself 
 for entertaining such thoughts, arguing that nothing but goodness could 
 dwell in such a temple, and that the behaviour of the brothers suffici- 
 ently showed the estimation in which they held her. " The fact is, she's 
 a mystery altogether," said Nicholas. This was not more satisfactory 
 than his previous course of reflection, and only drove him out upon a 
 new sea of speculation and conjecture, where he tossed and tumbled in 
 great discomfort of mind until the clock struck ten, and the hour of 
 meeting drew nigh. 
 
 Nicholas had dressed himself with great care, and even Newman 
 Noggs had trimmed himself up a little : his coat presenting the pheno- 
 menon of two consecutive buttons, and the supplementary pins being 
 inserted at tolerably regular intervals. He wore his hat, too, in the 
 newest taste, with a pocket handkerchief in the crown, and a twisted 
 end of it straggling out behind, after the fashion of a pigtail, though he 
 could scarcely lay claim to the ingenuity of inventing this latter decora- 
 tion, inasmuch as he was utterly unconscious of it : being in a nervous 
 and excited condition which rendered him quite insensible to everything 
 but the great object of the expedition. 
 
 They traversed the streets in profound silence ; and after walking at 
 
89S LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 a round pace for some distance, arrived in one of a gloomy appearance 
 and very little frequented, near the Edgeware-road. 
 
 " Number twelve," said Newman. 
 
 " Oh ! " replied Nicholas, looking about him. 
 
 " Good street ? " said Newsman. 
 
 *' Yes," returned Nicholas, " rather dull." 
 
 Newman made no answer to this remark, but halting abniptly, 
 planted Nicholas with his back to some area railings, and gave him to 
 understand that he was to wait there, without moving hand or foot, 
 until it was satisfactorily ascertained that the coast was clear. This 
 done, Noggs limped away with great alacrity, looking over his shoulder 
 every instant, to make quite certain that Nicholas was obeying his 
 directions ; and ascending the steps of a house some half-dozen doors off, 
 was lost to view. 
 
 After a short delay, he re-appeared, and limping back again, halted 
 midway, and beckoned Nicholas to follow him. 
 
 " Well I " said Nicholas, advancing towards him pn tiptoe. ' 
 
 " All right," replied Newman, in high glee. " All ready ; nobody 
 at home. Couldn't be better. Ha ! ha ! " 
 
 With this fortifying assurance, he stole past a street-door, on which 
 Nicholas caught a glimpse of a brass plate, with " Bobsteii," in very 
 large letters ; and stopping at the area-gate, which was open, signed 
 to his young friend to descend. 
 
 " What the devil ! " cried Nicholas, drawing back. " Are we to 
 sneak into the kitchen as if we came after the forks ? " 
 
 *' Hush ! " replied Newman. " Old Bobster — ferocious Tiu-k. He'd 
 kill 'em all — box the young lady's ears — he does — often." 
 
 " What ! " cried Nicholas, in high wrath, " do you mean to tell me 
 that any man would dare to box the ears of such a " 
 
 He had no time to sing the praises of his mistress just then, for News- 
 man gave him a gentle push which had nearly precipitated him to the 
 bottom of the area steps. Thinking it best to take the hint in good part, 
 Nicholas descended without further remonstrance ; but with a counte- 
 nance bespeaking anything rather than the hope and rapture of a pas- 
 sionate lover. Newman followed — he would have followed head first, 
 but for the timely assistance of Nicholas — and taking his hand, led him 
 through a stone passage, profoundly dark, into a back kitchen or cellar 
 of the blackest and most pitchy obscurity, where they stopped. 
 ; " Well ! " said Nicholas, in a discontented whisper, " this is not all, 
 I suppose, is it ? " 
 
 " No, no," rejoined Noggs ; " they'll be here directly. It's all right." 
 
 " I am glad to hear it," said Nicholas. " I shouldn't have thought 
 it, I confess." 
 
 They exchanged no further words, and there Nicholas stood, listen- 
 ing to the loud breathing of Newman Noggs, and imagining that his 
 nose seemed to glow like a red-hot coal, even in the midst of the dark- 
 ness which enshrouded them. Suddenly the sound of cautious foot- 
 steps attracted his ear, and directly afterwards a female voice inquired 
 if the gentleman were there. 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 897 
 
 " Yes," replied Nicholas, turning towards the corner from which the 
 voice proceeded. " Who is that ? " 
 
 " Only me, sir," replied the voice. " Now if you please, ma'am." 
 
 A gleam of light shone into the place, and presently the servant-girl 
 appeared, bearing a light, and followed by her young mistress, who 
 seemed to be overwhelmed by modesty and confusion. 
 
 At sight of the young lady, Nicholas started and changed colour ; 
 his heart beat violently, and he stood rooted to the spot. At that in- 
 stant, and almost simultaneously with her arrival and that of the 
 candle, there was heard a loud and furious knocking at the street-door, 
 which caused Newman Noggs to jump up with great agility from a 
 beer-barrel, on which he had been seated astride, and to exclaim 
 abruptly, and w^itli a face of ashy paleness, " Bobster, by the Lord ! " 
 
 The young lady shrieked, the attendant wrung her hands, NicholaSr 
 gazed from one to the other in apparent stupefaction, and Newman 
 hurried to and fro, thrusting his hands into all his pockets successively, 
 and drawing out the linings of every one in the excess of his irresolu- 
 tion. It was but a moment, but the confusion crowded into that one 
 moment no imagination can exaggerate. 
 
 " Leave the house, for Heaven's sake ! We have done wrong — we 
 deserve it all," cried the young lady. " Leave the house, or I am ruined' 
 and undone for ever." 
 
 " Will you hear me say but one word?" cried Nicholas. " Only one. 
 I will not detain you. Will you hear me say one word in explanation 
 of this mischance ?" 
 
 But Nicholas might as well have spoken to the wind, for the 
 young lady with distracted looks hurried up the stairs. He would have 
 followed her, but Newman twisting his hand in his coat collar, dragged 
 him towards the passage by which they had entered. 
 
 " Let me go, Newman, in the Devil's name," cried Nicholas. " I 
 must speak to her — I will ; I will not leave this house without." 
 
 " Reputation — character — violence — consider," said Newman, clinging 
 roimd him with both arms, and hurrying him away. " Let them open the 
 door. We'll go as we came directly it's shut. Come. This way. Here." 
 
 Overpowered by the remonstrances of Newman and the tears and 
 prayers of the girl, and the tremendous knocking above, which had 
 never ceased, Nicholas allowed himself to be hurried off ; and precisely 
 as Mr. Bobster made his entrance by the street-door, he and Noggs 
 made their exit by the area-gate. 
 
 They hurried away through several streets without stopping or 
 speaking. At last they halted and confronted each other with blank 
 and rueful faces. 
 
 " Never mind," said Newman, gasping for breath. " Don't be cast 
 down. It's all right. More fortunate next time. It couldn't be helped. 
 I did my part." 
 
 " Excellently," replied Nicholas, taking his hand. " Excellently, 
 and like the true and zealous friend you are. Only — mind, I am not 
 disappointed, Newman, and feel just as much indebted to you — only it 
 was the lorong lady." 
 
398 LIFB AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 " Eh ?" cried Newman Noggs. " Taken in by the servant ?" 
 
 " Newman, Newman," said Nicliolas, laying his hand upon hi» 
 shoulder ; " it was the wrong servant too." 
 
 Newman's under-jaw dropped, and he gazed at Nicholas with his 
 sound eye fixed fast and motionless in his head. 
 
 " Don't take it to heart," said Nicholas ; " it's of no consequence ; 
 jou see I don't care about it ; you followed the wrong person, that's all." 
 
 That was all. Whether Newman Noggs had looked round the 
 pump in a slanting direction so long, that his sight became impaired, or 
 whether, finding that there was time to spare, he had recruited himself 
 with a few drops of something stronger than the pump could yield — 
 by whatsoever means it had come to pass, this was his mistake. 
 And Nicholas went home to brood upon it, and to meditate upon the 
 channs of the unknown young lady, now as far beyond his reach as ever. 
 
 CHAPTER XLI. 
 
 CONTAINING SOME liOMANTIC PASSAGES BETWEEN MRS. NICKLEBY AND 
 THE GENTLEMAN IN THE SMALL-CLOTIIES NEXT DOOR. 
 
 Ever since her last momentous conversation with her son, Mrs. 
 Nickleby had by little and little begun to display unusual care in tlie 
 adornment of her person, gradually superadding to those staid and 
 matronly habiliments, which had up to that time formed her ordinary 
 attire, a variety of embellishments and decorations, slight perhaps in 
 themselves, but, taken together, and considered with reference to the 
 subject of her disclosure, of no mean importance. Even her black dress 
 assumed something of a deadly-lively air from the jaunty style in which 
 it was worn ; and, eked out as its lingering attractions were, by a prudent 
 disposal here and there of certain juvenile ornaments of little or no 
 value,, which had for that reason alone escaped the general wTcck and 
 been permitted to slumber peacefully in odd comers of old drawers and 
 boxes where daylight seldom shone, her mourning garments assumed 
 quite a new character, and from being the outward tokens of respect 
 and sorrow for the dead, were converted into signals of very slaughterous 
 and kilhng designs upon the living. 
 
 Mrs. Nickleby might have been stimulated to this proceeding by a 
 lofty sense of duty, and impulses of unquestionable excellence. She 
 might by this time have become impressed with the sinfulness of long 
 indulgence in unavailing woe, or the necessity of setting a proper 
 example of neatness and decorum to her blooming daughter. Considera- 
 tions of duty and responsibility apart, the change might have taken its 
 rise in feelings of the purest and most disinterested charity. The 
 gentleman next door had been vilified by Nicholas; rudely stigmatised 
 as a dotard and an idiot ; and for these attacks upon his understanding, 
 Mrs. Nickleby was in some sort accountable. She might have felt that 
 it was the act of a good Christian to show, by all means in her power, 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 399 
 
 that the abused gentleman was neither the one Ror the other. And 
 what better means could she adopt towards so virtuous and laudable aa 
 end, than proving to all men, in her own person, that his passion W3» 
 the most rational and reasonable in the world, and just the very result of 
 all others which discreet and thinking persons might have foreseen, from 
 her incautiously displaying her matured charms, without reserve, under 
 the very eye, as it were, of an ardent and too-susceptible man ? 
 
 " Ah ! " said Mrs. Nickleby, gravely shaking her head ; " if 
 Nicholas knew what his poor dear papa suffered before we were 
 engaged, when I used to hate him, he would have a little more feeling. 
 Shall I ever forget the morning I looked scornfully at him when he 
 offered to carry my parasol ? Or that night when I frowned at him ? 
 It was a mercy he didn't emigTate. It very nearly drove him to it." 
 
 Whether the deceased might not have been better off if he had emi- 
 grated in his bachelor days, was a question which his relict did not 
 stop to consider, for Kate entered the room with her work-box in this 
 stage of her reflections ; and a much slighter interruption, or no inter^ 
 ruption at all, would have diverted Mrs. Nickleby's thoughts into a new 
 channel at any time. 
 
 " Kate, my dear," said Mrs. Nickleby ; " I don't know how it is, 
 but a fine warm summer day like this, with the birds singing in every 
 direction, always puts me in mind of roast pig, with sage and onion 
 sauce and made gravy." 
 
 " That's a curious association of ideas, is it not, mama ? " 
 
 " Upon my word, my dear, I don't know," replied Mrs. Nickleby. 
 *' Roast pig — let me see. On the day five weeks after you were christ- 
 ened, we had a roast — no that couldn't have been a pig, either, because 
 I recollect there were a pair of them to carve, and your poor papa and I 
 could never have thought of sitting down to two pigs — they must have 
 been partridges. Roast pig ! I hardly think we ever could have had 
 one, now I come to remember, for your papa could never bear the sight 
 of them in the shops, and used to say tlmt they always put him in mind 
 of very little babies, only the pigs had much fairer complexions ; and he 
 had a horror of little babies, too, because he couldn't very well afford 
 any increase to his family, and had a natural dislike to the subject. It's 
 very odd now, what can put that in my head. I recollect dining once 
 at Mrs. Bevan's, in that broad street, round the corner by the coach- 
 maker's, where the tipsy man fell through the cellar-flap of an empty 
 house nearly a week before quarter-day, and wasn't found till the new 
 tenant went in — and we had roast pig there. It nmst be that, I think, 
 that reminds me of it, especially as there was a little bird in the room 
 that would keep on singing all the time of dinner — at least, not a little 
 bird, for it was a parrot, and he didn't sing exactly, for he talked and 
 swore dreadfully ; but I think it must be that. Indeed I am sure it 
 must. Shouldn't you say so, my dear ? " 
 
 " I should say there was not a doubt about it, mama," returned Kate, 
 with a cheerful smile. 
 
 " No ; but do you think so, Kate," said Mrs. Nickleby, with as much 
 gravity as if it were a question of the most imminent and thrilling interest. 
 
400 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 •' If you don't, say so at once, you linow ; because it's just as well to be 
 correct, particularly on a point of this kind, which is very curious and 
 ■worth settling while one thinks about it." 
 
 Kate laughingly replied that she was quite convinced ; and as her 
 mama still appeared undetermined whether it was not absolutely essential 
 that the subject should be renewed, proposed that they should take their 
 work into the summer-house and enjoy the beauty of the afternoon. 
 Mrs. Nickleby readily assented, and to the summer-house they repaired 
 without further discussion. 
 
 " Well, I will say," observed Mrs. Nickleby, as she took her scat, 
 " that there never was sucli a good creature as JSmike. Upon my word, 
 the pains he has taken in putting this little arbour to rights and training 
 
 the sweetest flowers about it, are beyond anything I could have 1 
 
 wish he wouldn't put all the gravel on your side, Kate, my dear, though, 
 and leave nothing but mould for me." 
 
 " Dear mama," returned Kate, hastily, " take this seat— do — to 
 oblige me, mama." 
 
 " No. indeed, my dear. I shall keep mv own side," said Mrs, 
 Nickleby. " Well ! I declare!" • 
 
 Kate looked up inquiringly. 
 
 " If he hasn't been," said Mrs. Nickleby, " and got, from somewhere 
 or other, a couple of roots of those flowers that I said I was so fond 
 of the other night, and asked you if you were not — no, that i/ou 
 said you were so fond of, the other night, and asked me if I wasn't — it's 
 the same thing — now, upon my word, I take that as very kind and 
 attentive indeed ! I don't see," added Mrs. Nickleby, looking narrowly 
 about her, " any of them on my side, but I suppose they grow best 
 near the gravel. You may depend upon it they do, Kate, and that's 
 the reason they are all near you, and he has put the gravel there 
 because it's the sunny side. Upon my word, that's very clever now. 
 I shouldn't have had half as much thought myself!" 
 
 *' Mama," said Kate hurriedly, bending over her work so that her 
 face was almost hidden, " before you were married " 
 
 " Dear me, Kate," interrupted Mrs. Nickleby, " what in the name 
 of goodness graciousness makes you fly ott to tlie time before I Avas 
 married, when I'm talking to you about his thoughtfulness and atten- 
 tion to me ? You don't seem to take the smallest interest in the garden." 
 
 " Oh ! mama," said Kate, raising her face again, " you know I do." 
 
 " Well then, my dear, why don't you praise the neatness and pretti- 
 ness with whicli it's kept," said Mrs. Nickleby. " How very odd you 
 are, Kate !" 
 
 " I do praise it, mama," answered Kate, gently. " Poor fellow ! " 
 
 " I scarcely ever hear you, my dear," retorted M rs. Nickleby ; " that's 
 all I've got to say." By this time the good lady had been a long Avhile 
 upon one topic, so she fell at once into her daughter's little trap for 
 changing it—if trap it were — and inquired what she had been going 
 to say. 
 
 "About what, mama?" said Kate, who had apparently quite for- 
 gotten her diversion. 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 401 
 
 " Lor, Kate, my dear," returned her mother, " why, yoii're asleep or 
 stupid. About the time before I was married." 
 
 " Oh yes !" said Kate, " I remember. I was going to ask, mama, 
 before you were married, had you many suitors ?" 
 
 " Suitors, my dear !" cried Mrs. Nickleby, with a smile of wonderful 
 complacency. " First and last, Kate, I must have had a dozen at least." 
 
 " Mama !" returned Kate, in a tone of remonstrance. 
 
 " I had indeed, my dear," said Mrs. Nickleby ; " not including your 
 poor papa, or a young gentleman who used to go at that time to the 
 same dancing -school, and who would send gold watches and bracelets to 
 . our house in gilt-edged paper, (which were always returned), and who 
 afterwards unfortunately went out to Botany Bay in a cadet ship — a 
 convict ship I mean — and escaped into a bush and killed sheep, (I don't 
 know how they got there) and was going to be hung, only he acci- 
 dentally choked himself, and the government pardoned him. Then 
 there was young Lukin," said Mrs. Nickleby, beginning with her left 
 thumb and checking off the names on her fingers — " Mogley — Tipslark 
 — Cabbery — Smifser " 
 
 Having now reached her little finger, Mrs. Nickleby was carrying 
 the account over to the other hand, when a loud " Hem !" which 
 appeared to come from the very foundation of the garden wall, gave 
 both herself and her daughter a violent start. 
 
 " Mama ! what was that ?" said Kate, in a low tone of voice. 
 
 " Upon my word, my dear," returned Mrs. Nickleby, considerably 
 startled, " unless it was the gentleman belonging to the next house, I 
 don't know what it could possibly — " 
 
 " A — hem !" cried the same voice ; and that not in the tone of an 
 ordinary clearing of the throat, but in a kind of bellow, which woke up 
 all the echoes in the neighbourhood, and was prolonged to an extent 
 which must have made the unseen bellower quite black in the face. 
 
 " I understand it now, my dear," said Mrs. Nickleby, laying her 
 hand on Kate's ; "don't be alarmed, my love, it's not directed to you, and 
 1*8 not intended to frighten anybody. Let us give everybody their 
 due Kate ; I am bound to say that." 
 
 So saying, Mrs. Nickleby nodded her head, and patted the back of 
 her daughter s hand a great many times, and looked as if she could tell 
 something vastly important if she chose, but had self-denial, thank God ! 
 and wouldn't do it. 
 
 " What do you mean, mama ?" demanded Kate, in evident surprise. 
 
 " Don't be flurried, my dear," replied Mrs. Nickleby, looking towards 
 the garden-wall, " for you see I'm not, and if it would be excusable in 
 anybody to be flurried, it certainly would — under all the circumstances- 
 be excusable in me, but I am not, Kate — not at all." 
 
 "'It seems designed to attract our attention, mama," said Kate. 
 
 " It IS designed to attract our attention, my dear — at least," rejoined 
 Mrs. Nickleby, drawing herself up, and patting her daughter's hand 
 more blandly than before, " to attract the attention of one of us. Hem I 
 you needn't be at all uneasy, my dear/' 
 
 Kate looked very much perplexed, and was apparently about to ask for 
 
 D D 
 
 \ 
 
402 LIFE AND ADVENTTTRES OP 
 
 further explanation, when a shouting and scuffling noise, as of an elderly 
 gentleman wliooping, and kicking up his legs on loose gravel with great 
 violence, was heard to proceed from the same direction as the former 
 sounds ; and, before they liad subsided, a large cucumber was seen to 
 shoot up in the air with the velocity of a sky-rocket, whence it 
 descended, tumbling over and over, until it fell at Mrs. Nickleby's feet. 
 
 This remarkable appearance was succeeded by anotlier of a pre- 
 cisely similar description ; then a fine vegetable marrow, of unusually 
 large dimensions, was seen to whirl aloft, and come toppling down ; 
 then several cucumbers shot up together; and, finally, the air was 
 darkened by a shower of onions, turnip-radishes, and other small vege- 
 tables, which fell rolling and scattering and bumping about in all 
 directions. 
 
 As Kate rose from her seat in some alarm, and caught her mother s 
 hand to run with her into the house, she felt herself rather retarded than 
 assisted in her intention; and, following the direction of Mrs. Nickleby's 
 eyes, was quite terrified by the apparition of an old black velvet cap, 
 which, by slow degrees, as if its wearer were ascending a ladder or pair 
 of steps, rose above the wall dividing their garden from that of the next 
 cottage, (which, like their own, was a detached building,) and was 
 gradually followed by a very large head, and an old face, in which were 
 a pair of most extraordinary grey eyes, very wild, very wide open, and 
 rolling in their sockets with a dull, languishing, and leering look, most 
 ugly to behold. 
 
 " Mama !" cried Kate, really terrified for the moment, " why do you 
 stop, why do you lose an instant ? — Mama, pray come in !" 
 
 " Kate, my dear," returned her mother, still holding back, " how 
 can you be so foolish ? I'm ashamed of you. How do you suppose 
 you are ever to get through life, if you're such a coward as this ! What 
 do you want, sir ?" said Mrs. Nickleby, addressing the intruder with a 
 sort of simpering displeasure. " How dare you look into this garden ?" 
 
 " Queen of my soul," replied the stranger, folding his hands together, 
 " this goblet sip." 
 
 " Nonsense, sir," said Mrs. Nickleby. " Kate, my love, pray be quiet.** 
 
 " Won't you sip the goblet ?" urged the stranger, with his head 
 imploringly on one side, and his right hand on his breast. " Oh, do sip 
 the goblet !" 
 
 " I shall not consent to do any thing of the kind, sir," said Mrs. 
 Nickleby, with a haughty air. " Pray, begone." 
 
 " Why is it," said the old gentleman, coming up a step higher, and 
 leaning his elbows on the wall, with as much complacency as if he were 
 looking out of window, " why is it that beauty is always obdurate, 
 even when admiration is as honourable and respectful as mine ?" Here 
 he smiled, kissed his hand, and made several low bows. " Is it owin^ 
 to the bees, who, when the honey season is over, and they are supposed 
 to have been killed with brimstone, in reality fly to Barbary and lull 
 the captive Moors to sleep with their drowsy songs? Or is it," he 
 added, dropping his voice almost to a whisper, " in consequence of the 
 statue at Charing Cross having been lately seen on the Stock Exchange 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 403 
 
 at midnight, walking arm-in-arm -with the Pump from Aldgate, in a 
 riding-habit ?" 
 
 " Mama*" murmured Kate, " do you hear him ?" 
 " Hush, my dear !" replied Mrs. Nickleby, in the same tone of voice, 
 "he is very polite, and I think that was a quotation from the poets. 
 Pray, don't worry me so — you'll pinch my arm black and blue. Go 
 away, sir." 
 
 " Quite away ?" said the gentleman, with a languishing look, " Oh ! 
 quite away ?" 
 
 " Yes," returned Mrs. Nickleby, " certainly. You have no business 
 here. This is private property, sir ; you ought to know that." 
 
 " i do know," said the old gentleman, laying his finger on his nose 
 with an air of familiarity most reprehensible, " that this is a sacred 
 and enchanted spot, where the most divine charms" — here he kissed his 
 hand and bowed again — " waft mellifluousness over the neighbours' 
 gardens, and force the fruit and vegetables into premature existence. 
 That fact I am acquainted with. But will you permit me, fairest 
 creature, to ask you one question, in the absence of the planet Yenus, 
 who has gone on business to the Horse Guards, and would otherwise- 
 jealous of your superior charms — interpose between us ? " 
 
 " Kate," observed Mrs. Nickleby, turning to her daughter, " it's very 
 awkward, positively. I really don't know what to say to this gentle- 
 man. One ought to be civil, you know." 
 
 " Dear mama," rejoined Kate, " don't say a word to him, but let us 
 run away as fast as we can, and shut ourselves up till Nicholas comes 
 home." 
 
 Mrs. Nickleby looked very grand, not to say contemptuous, at this 
 humiliating proposal ; and turning to the old gentleman, who had 
 watched them during these whispers with absorbing eagerness, said — 
 
 " If you will conduct yourself, sir, like the gentleman which I should 
 imagine you to be from your language and — and — appearance, (quite 
 the counterpart of your grand-papa, Kate, my dear, in his best days,) 
 and will put your question to me in plain words, I will answer it." 
 
 If Mrs. Nickleby's excellent papa had borne, in his best days, a 
 resemblance to the neighbour now looking over the wall, he must have 
 been, to say the least, a very queer-looking old gentleman in his prime. 
 Perhaps Kate thought so, for she ventured to glance at his living por- 
 trait with some attention, as he took off his black velvet cap, and, 
 exhibiting a perfectly bald head made a long series of bows, each 
 accompanied with a fresh kiss of the hand. After exhausting himself, 
 to all appearance, with this fatiguing performance, he covered his head 
 once more, pulled the cap very carefully over the tips of his ears, and 
 resuming his former attitude, said, 
 
 " The question is " 
 
 Here he broke off to look round in every direction, and satisfy him- 
 self beyond all doubt that there were no listeners near. Assured that 
 there were not, he tapped his nose several times, accompanying the 
 action with a cunning look, as though congratulating himself on his 
 caution ; and stretching out his neck, said in a loud whisper, 
 
 D d2 
 
404 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 *' Are you a princess ?" 
 
 " You are mocking me, sir," replied Mrs. Nickleby, making a feint 
 of retreating towards the house. * 
 
 " No, but are you ?" said tlie old gentleman. 
 
 " You know I am not, sir," replied Mrs. Nickleby. 
 
 " Then are you any relation to the Archbishop of Canterbury ?" 
 inquired the old gentleman with great anxiety, "or to the Pope of Rome? 
 or the Speaker of the House of Commons ? Forgive me, if I am wrong, 
 but I was told you were niece to the Commissioners of Paving, and 
 daughter-in-law to the Lord Mayor and Court of Common Council, 
 •which would account for your relationship to all three." 
 
 " Whoever has spread such reports, sir," returned Mrs. Nickleby, 
 with some warmth, " has taken great liberties with my name, and one 
 which I am sure my son Nicholas, if he was aware of it, would not 
 allow for an instant. The idea !" said Mrs. Nickleby, drawing herself 
 up, " niece to the Commissioners of Paving !" 
 
 " Pray, mama, come away !" whispered Kate. 
 
 " * Pray, mama I' Nonsense, Kate," said Mrs. Nickleby, angrily, 
 " but that's just the way. If they had said I was niece to a piping 
 bullfinch, what would you care ! But I have no sympathy" — whim- 
 pered Mrs. Nickleby, " I don't expect it, that's one thing." 
 
 " Tears !" cried the old gentleman, with such an energetic jump, 
 that he fell down two or three steps, and gTated his chin against the 
 wall. " Catch the crystal globules- — catch 'em — bottle 'em up — cork 
 'em tight — put sealing-wax on the top — seal 'em with a cup id — label 
 'em * Best quality' — and stow 'em away in the fourteen binn, with a bar 
 of iron on the top to keep the thunder oiF !" 
 
 i.t Issuing these commands, as if there w^ere a dozen attendants all 
 actively engaged in their execution, he turned his velvet cap inside out, 
 put it on with great dignity so as to obscure his right eye and three- 
 fourths of his nose, and sticking his arms a-kimbo, looked very fiercely 
 at a sparrow hard by, till the bird flew away, when he put his cap in 
 his pocket with an air of great satisfaction, and addressed himself with 
 a respectful demeanour to Mrs. Nickleby. 
 
 " Beautiful madam," such were his words — " if I have made any 
 mistake with regard to your family or connexions, I humbly beseech 
 you to pardon me. If I supposed you to be related to Foreign Powers 
 or Native Boards, it is because you have a manner, a carriage, a dignity, 
 which you will excuse my saying that none but yourself (with the 
 single exception perhaps of the tragic muse, when playing extempora- 
 neously on the barrel organ before the Fiast India Company) can 
 parallel. I am not a youth, ma'am, as you see ; and although beings 
 like you can never grow old, I venture to presume that we are fitted 
 for each other." 
 
 " Really, Kate, my love ! " said Mrs. Nickleby faintly, and looking 
 another way. 
 
 " I have estates, ma'am," said the old gentleman, flourishing his right 
 hand negligently, ^s if he made very light of such matters, and speaking 
 very fast; "jewels, light-houses, fish-ponds, a whalery of my own in the 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 405 
 
 North Sea, and several oyster-beds of great profit in the Pacific Ocean. 
 If you will have the kindness to step down to the Royal Exchange and 
 to take the "bocked hat off the stoutest beadle's head, you will find ray 
 card in the lining of the crown, wrapped up in a piece of blue paper. 
 My walking-stick is also to be seen on application to the chaplain of 
 the House of Commons, who is strictly forbidden to take any money 
 for showing it. I have enemies about me, ma'am," he looked towards 
 his house and spoke very low, " who attack me on all occasions, and 
 wish to secure my property. If you bless me with your hand and 
 heart, you can apply to the Lord Chancellor or call out the military if 
 necessary — sending my toothpick to the commander-in-chief will be 
 sufficient — and so clear the house of them before the ceremony is per- 
 formed. After that, love blis« and rapture; rapture love and bliss. 
 Be mine, be mine!" 
 
 Repeating these last words with great rapture and enthusiasm, the 
 old gentleman put on his black velvet cap again, and looking up into the 
 sky in a hasty manner, said something that was not quite intelligible 
 concerning a balloon he expected, and which was rather after its time, 
 
 " Be mine, be mine ! " repeated the old gentleman. 
 
 " Kate, my dear," said Mrs. Nickleby, " I have hardly the power to 
 speak ; but it is necessary for the happiness of all parties that this 
 matter should be set at rest for ever." 
 
 " Surely there is no necessity for you to say one word, mama ?" 
 reasoned Kate. 
 
 " You will allow me, my dear, if you please, to judge for myself," 
 said Mrs. Nickleby. 
 
 " Be mine, be mine !" cried the old gentleman. 
 
 " It can scarcely be expected, sir," said Mrs. Nickleby, fixing her 
 eyes modestly on the ground, " that I should tell a stranger whether I 
 feel flattered and obliged by such proposals, or not. They certainly are 
 made under very singular circumstances ; still at the same time, as far 
 as it goes, and to a certain extent of course, " (Mrs. Nickleby's customary 
 qualification,) " they must be gratifying and agreeable to one's feelings." 
 
 " Be mine, be mine," cried the old gentleman. *' Gog and Magog, 
 Gog and Magog. Be mine, be mine ! " 
 
 " It will be sufficient for me to say, sir," resumed Mrs. Nickleby, 
 "with perfect seriousness — " and I am sure you'll see the propriety of 
 taking an answer and going away — that I liave made up my mind to 
 remain a widow, and to devote myself to my children. You may not 
 suppose I am the mother of two children — indeed many people have 
 doubted it, and said that nothing on earth could ever ^make 'em believe 
 it possible — but it is the case, and they are both grown up. We shall 
 be very glad to have you for a neighbour — very glad ; delighted, I'm 
 sure — but in any other character it's quite impossible, quite. As to my 
 being young enough to marry again, that perhaps may be so, or it may 
 not be ; but I couldn't think of it for an instant, not on any account 
 whatever. I said I never would, and I never will. It's a very paiaful 
 thing to have to reject proposals, and I would much rather that none 
 were made ; at the same time this is the answer that I determined long 
 ago to make, and this is the answer I shall always give/* 
 
406 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 These observations were partly addressed to the old gentleman, partly 
 to Kate, and partly delivered in soliloquy. Towards their conclusion, 
 the suitor evinced a very irreverent degree of inattention* and Mrs. 
 Nickleby had scarcely finished speaking, when, to the great terror 
 both of that lady and her daughter, he suddenly flung off his coat, and 
 springing on the top of the wall, threw himself into an attitude which 
 displayed his small-clothes and grey worsteds to the fullest advantage, 
 and concluded by standing on one leg, and repeating his favourite bellow 
 with increased vehemence. 
 
 While he was still dwelling on the last note, and embellishing it with 
 a prolonged flourish, a dirty hand was observed to glide stealthily and 
 swiftly along the top of the wall, as if in pursuit of a fly, and then to 
 clasp with the utmost dexterity one of the old gentleman's ancles.This 
 done, the companion hand appeared, and clasped the other ancle. 
 
 Thus encumbered the old gentleman lifted his legs awkwardly once 
 or twice, as if they were very clumsy and imperfect pieces of machi- 
 nery, and then looking down on his own side of the wall, burst into a 
 loud laugh. 
 
 " It's you, is it ? " said the old gentleman. 
 
 " Yes, it's me," replied a gruff voice. 
 
 " How's the Emperor of Tartary ? " said the old gentleman. 
 
 " Oh ! he's much the same as usual," was the reply. " No better 
 and no worse." 
 
 " The young Prince of China," said the old gentleman, with much 
 interest. " Is he reconciled to his father-in-law, the great potato 
 salesman ?" 
 
 " No," answered the gruff voice ; " and he says he never will be, 
 that's more." 
 
 " If that's the case," observed the old gentleman, ''perhaps I'd better 
 come down." 
 
 " Well," said the man on the other side, " I think you had, 
 perhaps." 
 
 One of the hands being then cautiously unclasped, the old gentleman 
 dropped into a sitting posture, and was looking round to smile and bow 
 to Mrs. Nickleby, w^hen he disappeared with some precipitation, as if 
 his legs had been pulled from below. 
 
 Yery much relieved by his disappearance, Kate was turning to speak 
 to her mama, when the dirty hands again became visible, and were 
 immediately followed by the flgiire of a coarse squat man, who ascended 
 by the steps which had been recently occupied by their singular 
 neighbour. 
 
 " Beg your pardon, ladies," said this new comer, grinning and touch- 
 ing his hat. " Has he been making love to either of you ? " 
 
 " Yes," said Kate. 
 
 " Ah ! " rejoined the man, taking his handkerchief out of his hat and 
 wiping his face, " he always will, you know. Nothing will prevent 
 his making love." 
 
 *' I need not ask you if he is out of his mind, poor creature," said 
 Kate. 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 407; 
 
 "Why no," replied the man, looking into his hat, throwing his 
 handkerchief in at one dab, and putting it on again. " That's pretty 
 plain, that is." 
 
 " Has he been long so ? " asked Kate. 
 
 " A long while." 
 
 " And is there no hope for him ? " said Kate, compassionately. 
 
 " Not a bit, and don't deserve to be," replied the keeper. " He's a 
 deal pleasanter without his senses than with 'cm. He was the crudest, 
 wickedest, out-and-outerest old flint that ever drawed breath." 
 
 " Indeed ! " said Kate. 
 
 " By George !" replied the keeper, shaking his head so emphatically 
 that he was obliged to frown to keep his hat on, " I never come 
 across such a vagabond, and my mate says the same. Broke his poor 
 wife's heart, turned his daughters out of doors, drove his sons into the 
 streets — it was a blessing he went mad at last, through evil tempers, 
 and covetousness, and selfishness, and guzzling, and drinking, or he'd 
 have drove many others so. Hope for /^^m, an old rip ! There isn't 
 too much hope going, but I'll bet a crown that what there is, is saved 
 for more deserving chaps than him, anyhow." 
 
 With which confession of his faith, the keeper shook his head again, 
 as much as to say that nothing short of this would do, if things were 
 to go on at all; and touching his hat sulkily — not that he was in an ill 
 humour, but that his subject rufiled him— -descended the ladder, and 
 took it away. 
 
 During this conversation, Mrs. Nickleby had regarded the man with 
 a severe and stedfast look. She now heaved a profound sigh, and 
 pursing up her lips, shook her head in a slow and doubtful manner. 
 
 " Poor creature ! " said Kate. 
 
 " Ah ! poor indeed !" rejoined Mrs. Nickleby. "It's shameful that 
 such things should be allowed. — Shameful ! " 
 
 " How can they be helped, mama?" said Kate, mournfully. " The 
 infirmities of nature " 
 
 " Nature!" said Mrs. Nickleby. " What I Do you suppose this 
 poor gentleman is out of his mind ?" 
 
 " Can anybody who sees him entertain any other opinion, mama ? " 
 
 " Why then, I just tell you this, Kate," returned Mrs. Nickleby, 
 " that he is nothing of the kind, and I am surprised you can be so 
 imposed upon. It's some plot of these people to possess themselves 
 of his property — didn't he say so himself? He may be a little 
 odd and flighty, perhaps, many of us are that ; but downright mad ! 
 and express himself as he does, respectfully, and in quite poetical lan- 
 guage, and making offers with so much thought, and care, and prudence 
 — not as if he ran into the streets, and went down upon^ his knees to 
 the first chit of a girl he met, as a madman would ! No, no, Kate, 
 there's a great deal too much method in Ids madness ; depend upon 
 that, my dear." 
 
408 LIFE AND ADTENTURES OP 
 
 CHAPTER XLII. 
 
 ILLUSTRATIVE OP THE CONVIVIAL SENTIMENT, THAT THE BEST OP 
 FRIENDS MUST SOMETIMES PART. 
 
 The pavement of Snow Hill had been baking and frying all day in 
 the heat, and the twain Saracens' heads guarding the entrance to the 
 hostelry of whose name and sign they are the duplicate presentments, 
 looked — or seemed in the eyes of jaded and foot-sore passers by, to 
 look — more vicious than usual, after blistering and scorching in the sun, 
 when, in one of the inn's smallest sitting-rooms, through whose open 
 window there rose, in a palpable steam, wholesome exhalations from 
 reeking coach-horses, the usual furniture of a tea-table w^s displayed 
 in neat and inviting order, flanked by large joints of roast and boiled, a 
 tongue, a pigeon-pie, a cold fowl, a tankard of ale, and other little 
 matters of the like kind, which, in degenerate towns and cities are 
 generally understood to belong more particularly to solid lunches, stage- 
 coach dinners, or unusually substantial breakfasts. 
 
 Mr. John Browdie, with his hands in his pockets, hovered restlessly 
 about these delicacies, stopping occasionally to whisk the flies out of the 
 sugar-basin with his wife's pocket-handkerchief, or to dip a tea-spoon 
 in the milkpot and carry it to his mouth, or to cut ofl* a little knob of 
 crust, and a little corner of meat, and swallow them at two giilps like a 
 couple of pills. After every one of these flirtations with the eatables, 
 he pulled out his watch, and declared with an earnestness quite pathetic 
 that he couldn't undertake to hold out two minutes longer. 
 
 " 'Tilly !" said John to his lady, who was reclining half awake and 
 half asleep upon a sofa. 
 
 " Well, John !" '■ 
 
 " Weel, John !" retorted her husband, impatiently. " Dost thou feel 
 hoongry, lass ?" 
 
 " Not very," said Mrs. Browdie. 
 
 " Not vary !" repeated John, raising his eyes to the ceiling. " Hear 
 her say not vary, and us dining at three, and loonching off*pasthry thot 
 aggravates a mon 'stead of pacifying him ! Not vary \" 
 
 " Here's a gcn'lman for you, sir," said the waiter, looking in. 
 
 " A wa'at, for me?" cried John, as though he thought it "must be a 
 letter, or a parcel. 
 
 " A gen'lman, sir." 
 
 " Stars and garthers, chap !" said John, " wa'at dost thou coom and 
 say thot for. In wi' 'un." 
 
 " Are you at home, sir ?" 
 
 " At whoam !" cried John, " I wish I wur ; I'd ha tea'd two hour 
 ago. Why, I told t'oother chap to look sharp ootside door, and tell 'un 
 d'rectly he coom, thot we war faint wi* hoonger. In wi' 'un. Aha J 
 Thee bond, 3listher Nickleby. This is nigh to be the proodest day o* 
 my life, sir. IIoo be all wi' ye? Ding! ,But, I'm glod o' this!" 
 
 Quite forgetting even his hunger in the heartiness of his salutation. 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 4(f9 
 
 John Browdie shook Nicholas by the hand again and again, slapping 
 his palm with great violence between each shake, to add warmth to the 
 reception. 
 
 " Ah ! there she be," said John, observing the look which Nicholas 
 directed towards his wife. " There she be — we shan't quarrel about 
 her noo — Eh ? Ecod, when I think o' thot — but thou want'st soom'at to 
 eat. Fall to, mun, fall to, and for wa'at we're aboot to receive " 
 
 No doubt the grace was properly finished, but nothing more was 
 heard, for John had already begun to play such a knife and fork, that 
 his speech was, for the time, gone. 
 
 " I shall take the usual licence, Mr. Browdie," said Nicholas, as he 
 placed a chair for the bride. 
 
 " Tak' whatever thou like'st," said John, " and when a's gane, ca' for 
 more." 
 
 Without stopping to explain, Nicholas kissed the blushing Mrs. 
 Browdie, and handed her to her seat. 
 
 " I say," said John, rather astounded for the moment, " mak' theeself 
 quite at whoam, will 'ee?" 
 
 " You may depend upon that," replied Nicholas ; " on one condition." 
 
 " And wa'at may thot be ?" asked John. 
 
 " That you make me a godfather the very first time you have occasion 
 for one." 
 
 " Eh ! d'ye hear thot !" cried John, laying down his knife and fork. 
 *' A godfeyther ! Ha ! ha ! ha ! Tilly — hear till 'un — a godfeyther ! 
 Divn't say a word more, ye'll never beat thot. Occasion for 'un — a 
 godfeyther ! Ha ! ha ! ha ! " 
 
 Never was man so tickled with a respectable old joke, as John- 
 Browdie was with this. He chuckled, roared, half suftbcated himself 
 by laughing large pieces of beef into his windpipe, roared again, per- 
 sisted in eating at the same time, got red in the face and black in the 
 forehead, coughed, cried, got better, went off again laughing inwardly, 
 got worse, choked, had his back thumped, stamped about, frightened 
 his wife, and at last recovered in a state of the last exhaustion and with 
 the water streaming from his eyes, but still faintly ejaculating " A 
 godfeyther — a godfeyther, Tilly ! " in a tone bespeaking an exquisite 
 relish of the sally, which no suffering could diminish. 
 
 " You remember the night of our first tea-drinking?" said Nicholas. 
 
 " Shall I e'er forget it, mun ?" replied John Browdie. 
 
 " He was a desperate fellow that night though, was he not, Mrs. 
 Browdie?" said Nicholas. " Quite a monster?" 
 
 " If you had only heard him as we were going home, Mr. Nickleby, 
 you'd have said so indeed," returned the bride. " I never was so 
 frightened in all my life." 
 
 " Coom, coom," said John, with a broad grin ; " thou know'st betther 
 than thot, Tilly." 
 
 " So I was," replied Mrs. Browdie. " I almost made up my mind 
 never to speak to you again." 
 
 >' A'most 1" said John, with a broader grin than the last. " A'most 
 made up her mind ! And she wur coaxin , and coaxin', and wheedlin', ' 
 
410 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 and wheedlin', a' the blessed wa'. ' Wa'at diii'st thou let yon chap mak' 
 oop tiv'ee for ?' says I. 'I deedn't, John/ says she, a squeedgin my am;, 
 ' You dcedn't V says I. * Noa,' says she, a squeedgin of me agean." 
 
 " Lor, John \" interposed his pretty wife, colouring very much. 
 *' How can you talk such nonsense ? As if I should have dreamt of 
 such a thing!" 
 
 " I dinnot know whether thou'd ever dreamt of it, though I think 
 that's loike eneaf, mind," retorted John ; " but thou didst it. ' Ye're a 
 feeckle, changeable weathercock, lass,' says I. ' Not feeckle, John,' 
 says she. ' Yes,' says I, ' feeckle, dom'd feeckle. Dinnot tell me thou 
 bean't, efther yon chap at schoolmcasther's,' says I. ' Him ! ' says she, 
 quite screeching. ' Ah ! him I ' says I. ' Why, John,' says she — and 
 she coom a deal closer and squeedged a deal harder than she'd deane 
 afore — ' dost thou think it's nat'ral noo, that having such a proper mun 
 as thou to keep company wi', I'd ever tak' oop wi' such a leetle scanty 
 whipper-snapper as yon ?' she says. Ha ! ha ! ha ! She said whipper- 
 snapper ! ' Ecod !' I says, ' efther thot, neame the day, and let's have it 
 ower ! ' Ha ! ha ! ha ! " 
 
 Nicholas laughed very heartily at this story, both on account of its 
 telling against himself, and his being desirous to spare the blushes of 
 Mrs. Browdie, whose protestations were drowned in peals of laughter 
 from her husband. Ilis good-nature soon put her at her ease; and 
 although she still denied the charge, she laughed so heartily at it, that 
 Nicholas had the satisfaction of feeling assured that in all essential 
 respects it was strictly true. • 
 
 " This is the second time," said Nicholas, " that we have ever taken 
 a meal together, and only the third I have ever seen you ; and yet it 
 really seems to me as if I were among old friends." 
 
 " Weel !" observed the Yorkshireman, " so I say." 
 
 " And I am sure I do," added his young wife. 
 
 " I have the best reason to be impressed with the feeling, mind," said 
 Nicholas ; " for if it had not been for your kindness of heart, my good 
 friend, when I had no right or reason to expect it, I know not what 
 might have become of me or what plight I should have been in by 
 this time." 
 
 " Talk aboot soom'at else," replied John, gruffly, "and dinnot bother." 
 
 " It must be a new song to the same tune then," said Nicholas, 
 smiling. " I told you in my letter that I deeply felt and admired your 
 sympathy with that poor lad, whom you released at the risk of involving 
 yourself in trouble and difficulty ; but I can never tell you how grateful 
 he and I, and others whom you don't know, are to you for taking pity 
 on him." 
 
 " Ecod ! " rejoined John Browdie, drawing up his chair ; " and I 
 can never tell ^ou hoo gratful soom folks that we do know would bo 
 loikewise, if the?/ know'd I had takken pity on him." 
 
 " Ah ! " exclaimed Mrs. Browdie, " what a state I was in, that 
 night ! " 
 
 " Were they at all disposed to give you credit for assisting in tho 
 ■escape ? " inquired Nicholas of John Browdie. 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 411 
 
 " Not a bit," replied the Yorkshireman, extending his mouth from 
 ear to ear. " There I lay, snoog in sclioolmeasther s bed long efther it 
 was dark, and nobody coom nigh the pleace. ' Weel !' thinks I, 'he's 
 got a pretty good start, and if he bean't whoam by noo, he never will 
 be ; so you may coom as quick as you loike, and foind us reddy ' — ^that 
 is, you know, schoolmeasther might coom." 
 
 " I understand," said Nicholas. 
 
 " Presently," resumed John, " he did coom. I heerd door shut doon- 
 stairs, and him a warking oop in the daark. ' Slow and steddy,' I 
 says to myself, ' tak' your time, sir — no hurry.' He cooms to the door, 
 turns the key — turns the key when there warn t nothing to hoold the 
 lock — and ca's oot ' Hallo there ! ' — * Yes,' thinks I, ' you may do thot 
 agean, and not wakken anybody, sir.' ' Hallo, there,' he says, and then 
 he stops. 'Thou'd betthernot aggravate me,' says schoolmeasther, efther 
 a little time. ' I'll brak' every boan in your boddy, Smike,' he says, 
 efther another little time. Then all of a soodden, he sings oot for a 
 loight, and when it cooms — ecod, such a hoorly-boorly ! ' Wa'ats the 
 matter ? ' says I. ' He's gane,' says he, — stark mad wi' vengeance. 
 ' Have you heerd nought ? ' ' Ees,' says I, ' I heerd street door shut, 
 no time at a' ago. I heerd a person run doon there' (pointing t'other 
 wa' — eh?) ' Help ! ' he cries. * I'll help you,' says I ; and off we 
 set — the wrong wa' ! Ho ! ho ! ho ! " 
 
 " Did you go far ? " asked Nicholas. 
 
 " Far ! " replied John ; " I run him clean off his legs in quarther of 
 an hoor. To see old schoolmeasther wi'out his hat, skimming along oop 
 to his knees in mud and wather, tumbling over fences, and rowling into 
 ditches, and bawling oot like mad, wi' his one eye looking sharp out 
 for the lad, and his coat-tails flying out behind, and him spattered wi' 
 mud all ower, face and all ; — I thot I should ha' dropped doon, and 
 killed myself wi' laughing." 
 
 John laughed so heartily at the mere recollection, that he commu- 
 nicated the contagion to both his hearers, and all three burst into peals 
 of laughter, which were renewed again and again, until they could laugh 
 no longer. 
 
 " He's a bad 'un," said John, wiping his eyes ; " a vary bad 'un, is 
 schoolmeasther." 
 
 " I can't bear the sight of him, John," said his wife. 
 
 " Coom," retorted John, " thot's tidy in you, thot is. If it wa'nt 
 along o' you, we shouldn't know nought aboot 'un. Thou know'd 'un 
 -first, Tilly, didn't thou?" 
 
 " I couldn't help knowing Fanny Squeers, John," returned his wife ; 
 *' she was an old playmate of mine, you know." 
 
 ' * " Weel," replied John, " dean't I say so, lass ? It's best to be 
 neighbourly, and keep up old acquaintance loike ; and what I say is, 
 dean't quarrel if 'ee can help it. Dinnot think so, Mr. Nickleby ? " 
 
 " Certainly," returned Nicholas ; " and you acted upon that prin- 
 ciple when I met you on horseback on the road, after our memorable 
 evening." 
 
 " Sure-ly," said John. *' Wa'at I say, I stick by." 
 
412 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 *' And that's a fine thing to do, and manly too," said Nicholas, 
 " though it's not exactly what we understand by ' coming Yorkshire 
 over us ' in London. Miss Squeers is stopping with you, you said in 
 your note." 
 
 ** Yes," replied John, " Tilly's bridesmaid ; and a queer bridesmaid 
 she be, too. She wean't be a bride in a hurry, I reckon." 
 
 *' For shame, John," said Mrs. Browdie ; with an acute perception of 
 the joke though, being a bride herself. 
 
 " The groom will be a blessed mun," said John, his eyes twinkling at 
 the idea. " He'll be in luck, he will." 
 
 ** You see, Mr. Nicklebly," said his wife, " that it was in consequence 
 of her being here, that John wrote to you and fixed to-niglit, because 
 we thought that it wouldn't be pleasant for you to meet, after what has 
 
 " Unquestionably. You were quite right in that," said Nicholas, 
 interrupting. 
 
 " Especially," observed Mrs. Browdie, looking very sly, " after what 
 we know about past and gone love matters." 
 
 " We know, indeed ! " said Nicholas, shaking his head. " You 
 behaved rather wickedly there, I suspect." 
 
 " O' course she did," said John Browdie, passing his huge fore-finger 
 through one of his wife's pretty ringlets, and looking very proud of her. 
 " She wur always as skittish and full o' tricks a« a " 
 
 " Well, as a what ? " said his wife. 
 
 '* As a woman," returned John, " Ding ! But I dinnot know 
 ought else that cooms near it." 
 
 " You were speaking about Miss Squeers," said Nicholas, with the 
 view of stopping some slight connubialities which had begun to pass 
 between Mr. and Mrs. Browdie, and which rendered the position of a 
 third party in some degree embarrassing, as occasioning him to feel 
 rather in the way than otherwise. 
 
 " Oh yes," rejoined Mrs. Browdie. " John, ha' done John fixed 
 
 to-night, because she had settled that she would go and drink tea with 
 her father. And to make quite sure of there being nothing amiss, and 
 of your being quite alone with us, he settled to go out there and fetch 
 her home. " 
 
 " That was a very good arrangement," said Nicholas ; " though I 
 am sorry to be the occasion of so much trouble." 
 
 " Not the least in the world," returned Mrs. Browdie ; " for we have 
 looked forward to seeing you — John and I have — with the greatest 
 possible pleasure. Do you know, Mr. Nickleby," said Mrs. Browdie, 
 with her archest smile, " that I really think Fanny Squeers was very • 
 fond of you ?" 
 
 " I am very much obliged to her," said Nicholas ; " but, upon my 
 word, I never aspired to making any impression upon her virgin heart.'* 
 
 " How you talk !" tittered Mrs. Browdie. " No, but do you know 
 that really — seriously now and without any joking — I was given ta , 
 understand by Fanny herself, that you had made an olFcr to her, and 
 that you two were going to be engaged quite solemn and regular." 
 
' NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 413 
 
 ' ** Was you, ma'am — was you ?" cried a shrill female voice, " was you 
 given to understand that I — I — was going to be engaged to an assassi- 
 nating thief that shed the gore of my pa? Do you — do you think, 
 ma'am — that I was very fond of such dirt beneath my feet, as I 
 couldn't condescend to touch with kitchen tongs, without blacking and 
 crocking myself by the contract ? Do you, ma'am — do you ? Oh ! base 
 and degrading 'Tilda !" 
 
 With these reproaches Miss Squeers flung the door wide open, and 
 disclosed to the eyes of the astonished Browdies and Nicholas, not only 
 her own symmetrical form, arrayed in the chaste white garments before 
 described, (a little dirtier) but the form of her brother and father, the 
 pair of Wackfords. 
 
 " This is the hend, is it ?" continued Miss Squeers, who, being excited, 
 aspirated her h's strongly; " this is the hend, is it, of all my forbearance 
 and friendship for that double-faced thing — that viper, that — that— 
 mermaid ?" (Miss Squeers hesitated a long time for this last epithet, 
 and brought it out triumphantly at last, as if it quite clinched the 
 business.) " This is the hend, is it, of all my bearing with her deceit- 
 fulness, her lowness, her falseness, her laying herself out to catch the 
 admiration of vulgar minds, in a way which made me blush for my— 
 for my " 
 
 " Gender," suggested Mr. Squeers, regarding the spectators with a 
 malevolent eye — literally a malevolent eye. 
 
 '' Yes," said Miss Squeers ; " but I thank my stars that my ma* is of 
 the same " 
 
 " Hear, hear !" remarked Mr.' Squeers; " and I wish she was here to 
 have a scratch at this company." 
 
 " This is the hend, is it," said Miss Squeers, tossing her head, and 
 looking contemptuously at the floor, " of my taking notice of that rub- 
 bishing creature, and demeaning myself to patronise her ?" 
 
 "^Oh, come," rejoined Mrs. Browdie, disregarding all the endeavours 
 of her spouse to restrain her, and forcing herself into a front row, 
 *' don't talk such nonsense as that." 
 
 " Have I not patronised you, ma'am ?" demanded Miss Squeers, 
 
 " No," returned Mrs. Browdie. 
 
 " I will not look for blushes in such a quarter," said Miss Squeers, 
 haughtily, *' for that countenance is a stranger to everything but higno- 
 miniousness and red-faced boldness." 
 
 " I say," interposed John Browdie, nettled by these accumulated 
 attacks on his wife, " dra' it mild, dra' it mild." 
 
 " You, Mr. Browdie," said Miss Squeers, taking him up very quickly, 
 ^ I pity. I have no feeling for you, sir, but one of unliquidated pity." 
 
 « Oh !" said John. 
 
 " No," said Miss Squeers, looking sideways at her parent, " although 
 I am a queer bridesmaid, and shan't be a bride in a hurry, and although 
 my husband will be in luck, I entertain no sentiments towards you, sir, 
 but sentiments of pity." 
 
 Here Miss Squeers looked sideways at her father again, who looked 
 sideways at her, as much as to say, ' There you had him/ 
 
414 LIFE AND ADTENTURES OP 
 
 " / know what you've got to go through," said Miss Squeers, shaking 
 her curls violently. " / know what life is before you, and if you was 
 my bitterest and deadliest enemy, I could wish you nothing worse." 
 
 " Couldn't you wish to be married to him yourself, if that was th» 
 case ?" inquired Mrs. Browdie, with great suavity of manner. 
 
 " Oh, ma'am, how witty you are !" retorted Miss Squeers, with a low 
 curtsey, " almost as witty, ma'am, as you are clever. How very clever 
 it was in you, ma'am, to choose a time when I had gone to tea with my 
 pa', and was sure not to come back without being fetched ! What a 
 pity you never thought that other people might be as clever as yourself, 
 and spoil your plans !" 
 
 " You won't vex me, child, with such airs as these," said the late Miss 
 Price, assuming the matron. 
 
 ^' Don't Missis me, ma'am, if you please," returned Miss Squeers, 
 sharply. " I'll not bear it. Is this the hend " 
 
 " Dang it a'," cried John Browdie, impatiently. " Say thee say out, 
 Fanny, and mak' sure it's the end, and dinnot ask nobody whether it is 
 or not." 
 
 " Thanking you for your advice which was not required, Mr. Browdie," 
 returned Miss Squeers, with laborious politeness, " have the goodness 
 not to presume to meddle with my christian name. Even my pity 
 shall never make me forget what's due to myself, Mr. Browdie. 'Tilda," 
 said Miss Squeers, with such a sudden accession of violence that John 
 started in his boots, " I throw you off for ever. Miss. I abandon you, 
 I renounce you. I wouldn't," cried Miss Squeers in a solemn voice, 
 " have a child named 'Tilda — not to save it from its grave." 
 
 " As for the matther o' that," observed John, '• it'll be time eneaf to 
 think aboot neaming of it when it cooms." 
 
 " John !" interposed his wife, " don't tease her." 
 
 " Oh! Tease, indeed!" cried Miss Squeers, bridling up. " Tease, 
 indeed I He ! he ! Tease, too !, No, don't tease her. Consider her 
 feelings, pray." 
 
 " If it's fated that listeners are never to hear any good of themselves," 
 said Mrs. Browdie, " I can't help it, and I am very sorry for it. But 
 I will say, Fanny, that times out of number I have spoken so kindly of 
 you behind your back, that even you could have found no fault with 
 what I said." 
 
 " Oh, I dare say not, ma'am !" cried Miss Squeers, with another 
 curtsey. " Best thanks to you for your goodness, and begging and 
 praying you not to be hard upon me another time !" 
 
 " I don't know," resumed Mrs. Browdie, " that I have said anything 
 very bad of you, even now — at all events, what I did say was quite 
 true ; but if I have, I am very sorry for it, and I beg your pardon. 
 You have said much worse of me, scores of times, Faiuiy ; but I have 
 never borne any malice to you, and I hope you'll not bear any to me." 
 
 Miss Squeers made no more direct reply than surveying her former 
 friend from top to toe, and elevating her nose in the air with ineffable 
 disdain. But some indistinct allusions to a * puss,' and a ' minx,' and 
 a * contemptible creature,' escaped her ; and this, together with a severe 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBT. 415 
 
 biting of the lips, great difficulty in swallowing, and very frequent 
 comings and goings of breatli, seemed to imply that feelings were swelling 
 in Miss Squeers's bosom too great for utterance. 
 
 While the foregoing conversation was proceeding. Master Wackford, 
 finding himself unnoticed, and feeling his preponderating inclinations 
 strong upon him, had by little and little sidled up to the table and 
 attacked the food with such slight skirmishing as drawing his fingers 
 round and round the inside of the plates, and afterwards sucking them 
 with infinite relish — picking the bread, and dragging the pieces over 
 the surface of the butter — pocketing lumps of sugar, pretending all the 
 time to be absorbed in thought — and so forth. Finding that no inter- 
 ference was attempted with these small liberties, he gradually mounted 
 to greater, and, after helping himself to a moderately good cold collation, 
 was, by this time, deep in the pie. 
 
 Nothing of this had been unobserved by Mr. Squeers, who, so long aJ? 
 the attention of the company was fixed upon other objects, hugged him- 
 self to think that his son and heir should be fattening at the enemy's 
 expense. But there being now an appearance of a temporary calm, in 
 which the proceedings of little Wackford could scarcely fail to be 
 observed, he feigned to be aware of the circumstance for the first time, 
 and inflicted upon the face of that young gentleman a slap that made 
 the very tea-cups ring. 
 
 " Eating ! " cried Mr. Squeers, " of what his father's enemies has left! 
 It's fit to go and poison you, you unnat'ral boy." 
 
 " It wean't hurt him," said John, apparently very much relieved by 
 the prospect of having a man in the quarrel ; " let 'un eat. I wish 
 the whole school was here. I'd give 'em soom'ut to stay their un- 
 fort'nate stomachs wi', if I spent the last penny I had ! " 
 
 Squeers scowled at him with the worst and most malicious expression 
 of which his face was capable — it was a face of remarkable capability, 
 too, in that way — and shook his fist stealthily. 
 
 " Coom, coom, schoolmeasther," said John, " dinnot make a fool o*^ 
 thyself ; for if I was to sheake mine — only once — thou'd fa' doon wi' 
 the wind o' it." 
 
 " It was you, was it," returned Squeers, " that helped off my run- 
 away boy ? It was you, was it ? " 
 
 " Me ! " returned John, in a loud tone. " Yes, it wa' me, coom ; 
 wa'at o' that ! It w^a' me. Noo then ! " 
 
 " You hear him say he did it, ray child ! " said Squeers, appealing to 
 his daughter. " You hear him say he did it ! " 
 
 " Did it ! " cried John. " I'll tell'ee more; hear this, too. If thou'd 
 get another runaway boy, I'd do it agean. If thou'd got twenty roon- 
 away boys, I'd do it twenty times ower, and twenty more to thot ; and 
 I tell thee more," said John, " noo my blood is oop, that thou'rt an old 
 ra'ascal ; and that it's weel for thou, thou be'st an old 'un, or I'd hn 
 poonded thee to flour, when thou told an honest mun hoo* thou'd licked 
 that poor chap in t' coorch." 
 
 " An honest man ! " cried Squeers, with a sneer. 
 
 " Ah ! an honest man," replied John ; " honest in ought but ever 
 putting legs under seame table wi' such as thou." 
 
416 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 " Scandal ! " said Squecrs, exultingly. " Two \Yitnesse3 to it ; 
 Wackford knows the nature of an oath, he does — we shall have you 
 there, Sir. Rascal, eh ? " Mr. Squeers took out his pocket-book and 
 made a note of it. — " Very good. I should say that was worth full 
 twenty pound at the next assizes, without the honesty, sir." 
 
 " 'Soizes," cried John," thou'd betther not talk to me o' 'Soizes. York- 
 shire schools have been shown up at 'Soizes afore noo, mun, and it's a 
 ticklish soobjact to revive, I can tell ye." 
 
 Mr. Squeers shook liis head in a threatening manner, looking very 
 white with passion ; and taking his daughter's arm, and dragging little 
 Wackford by the hand, retreated towards the door. 
 
 " As for you," said Squeers, turning round and addressing Nicholas, 
 who, as he had caused him to smart pretty soundly on a former occa- 
 sion, purposely abstained from taking any part in the discussion, " see 
 if I ain't down upon you before long. " You'll go a kidnapping of 
 boys, will you ? Take care their fathers don't turn up — mark that— 
 take care their fathers don't turn up, and send 'cm back to me to do as I 
 like with, in spite of you." 
 
 " I am not afraid of that," replied Nicholas, shrugging his shoulders 
 contemptuously, and turning away. 
 
 " Ain't you !" retorted Squeers, with a diabolical look. " Now then, 
 come along." 
 
 " I leave such society, with my pa', for ^ever," said Miss Squeers, 
 looking contemptuously and loftily round. " I am defiled by breathing 
 the air with such creatures. Poor Mr. Browdie ! He ! he ! he ! I do 
 
 pity him, that I do ; he's so deluded ! He ! he ! he ! Artful and 
 
 designing 'Tilda !" 
 
 With this sudden relapse into the sternest and most majestic wrath. 
 Miss Squeers swept from the room ; and having sustained her dignity 
 until the last possible moment, was heard to sob and scream and 
 struggle in the passage. 
 
 John Browdie remained standing behind the table, looking from his 
 wife to Nicholas, and back again, with his mouth wide open, until his 
 hand accidentally fell upon the tankard of ale, when he took it up, and 
 having obscured his features therewith for some time, drew a long breath, 
 handed it over to Nicholas, and rang the bell. 
 
 " Here, waither," said John, briskly. '* Look alive here. Tak' these 
 things awa', and let's have soomat broiled for sooper — vary comfortable 
 and plenty o' it — at ten o'clock. Bring soom brandy and soom wather, 
 and a pair o' slippers — the largest pair in the house — and be quick aboot 
 it. Dash ma' wig!" said John, rubbing his hands, ••' there's no ganging oot 
 to neeght, noo, to fetch anybody whoam, and ecod, we'll begin to spend 
 the evening in airnest." 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 417 
 
 CHAPTER XLIII. 
 
 OFFICIATES AS A KIND OF GENTLEMAN USHER, IN BRINGING VARIOUS 
 PEOPLE TOGETHER. 
 
 The storm had long given place to a calm the most profound, and 
 the evening was pretty far advanced — indeed supper was over, and the 
 process of digestion proceeding as favourably as, under the influence of 
 complete tranquillity, cheerful conversation, and a moderate allowance of 
 brandy and water, most wise men conversant with the anatomy and 
 functions of the human frame will consider that it ought to have pro- 
 ceeded, when the three friends, or as one might say, both in a civil and 
 religious sense, and with proper deference and regard to the holy state 
 of matrimony, the two friends, (Mr. and Mrs. Browdie counting as no 
 more than one,) were stai-tled by the noise of loud and angry threatenings 
 below -stairs, which presently attained so high a pitch, and were con- 
 veyed besides in language so towering sanguinary and ferocious, that 
 it could hardly have been surpassed, if there had actually been a 
 Saracen's head then present in the establishment, supported on the 
 shoulders and surmounting the trunk of a real, live, furious, and most 
 unappeasable Saracen. 
 
 This turaioil, instead of quickly subsiding after the first outburst, 
 (as tunnoils not unfrequently do, whether in taverns, legislative assem- 
 blies, or elsewhere,) into a mere grumbling and growling squabble, 
 increased every moment ; and although the whole din appeared to be 
 raised by but one .pair of lungs, yet that one pair was of so powerful 
 a quality, and repeated such words as " scoundrel," " rascal," " insolent 
 puppy," and a variety of expletives no less flattering to the party ad- 
 dressed, with such great relish and strength of tone, that a dozen voices 
 raised in concert under any ordinary circumstances would have made 
 far less uproar and created much smaller consternation. 
 
 " Why, what's tlie matter ? " said Nicholas, moving hastily towards 
 the door. 
 
 John Browdie was striding in the same direction when Mrs. Browdie 
 turned pale, and, leaning back in her chair, requested him with a faint 
 voice to take notice, that if he ran into any danger it was her intention 
 to fall into hysterics immediately, and that the consequences might be 
 more serious than he thought for. John looked rather disconcerted by 
 this intelligence, though there was a lurking grin on his face at the 
 same time ; but, being quite unable to keep out of the fray, he compro- 
 mised the matter by tucking his wife's arm under his own, and, thus 
 accompanied, following Nicholas down stairs with all speed. 
 
 The passage outside the coffee-room door was the scene of disturb- 
 ance, and here were congregated the coffee-room customers and waiters, 
 together with two or three coachmen and helpers from the yard. These 
 
 E E 
 
^^$ LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 had hastily assembled round a young man who from his appearance 
 might have been a year or two older than Nicholas, and who, besides 
 having given utterance to the defiances just now described, seemed to 
 have proceeded to even greater lengths in his indignation, inasmuch as 
 his feet had no other covering than a pair of stockings, while a couple 
 of slippers lay at no great distance from the head of a prostrate figure 
 in an opposite corner, who bore the appearance of having been shot into 
 his present retreat by means of a kick, and complimented by having 
 the slippers flung about his ears afterwards. 
 
 The coflTee-room customers, and the waiters, and the coachmen, and 
 the helpers — not to mention a bar-maid who was looking on from behind 
 an open sash window — seemed at that moment, if a spectator might 
 judge from their winks, nods, and muttered exclamations, strongly 
 disposed to take part against the young gentleman in the stockings. 
 Observing this, and that the young gentleman was nearly of his own 
 age and had in nothing the appearance of an habitual brawler, 
 Nicholas, impelled by such feelings as will influence young men some- 
 times, felt a very strong disposition to side with the weaker party, and 
 so thrust himself at once into the centre of the group, and in a more 
 emphatic tone perhaps than circumstances might seem to warrant, 
 demanded what all that noise was about. 
 
 '^ Hallo ! " said one of the men from the yard, " this is somebody in 
 disoTiise, this is." 
 
 " Room for the eldest son of the Emperor of Roosher, gen Imen ! " 
 cried another fellow. 
 
 Disregarding these sallies, which were uncommonly well received, as 
 sallies at the expense of the best-dressed persons in a crowd usually 
 are, Nicholas glanced carelessly round, and addressing the young gen- 
 tleman, who had by this time picked up his slippers and thrust his feet 
 into them, repeated his inquiries with a courteous air. 
 
 " A mere nothing ! " he replied. 
 
 At this a murmur was raised by the lookers-on, and some of the 
 boldest cried, " Oh, indeed ! — Wasn't it though ? — Nothing, eh ? — He 
 called that nothing, did he ? Lucky for him if he found it nothing." 
 These and many other expressions of ironical disapprobation having 
 been exhausted, two or three of the out-af-door fellows began to hustle 
 Nicholas and the young gentleman who had made the noise : stumbling 
 against them by accident, and treading on their toes, arid so forth. 
 But this being a round game, and one not necessarily limited to three 
 or four players, was open to John Browdie too, who, bursting into the 
 little crowd — to the great terror of his wife — and falling about in all 
 directions, now to the right, now to the left, now forwards, now back - 
 wards, and accidentally driving his elbow through the hat of the tallest 
 helper, who had been particularly active, speedily caused the odds 
 to wear a very different appearance ; while more than one stout fellow 
 limped away to a respectful distance, anathematising with tears 
 in his eyes the heavy tread and ponderous feet of the burly York- 
 shireman. 
 
 '' Let me 3ee him do it again," said he who had been kicked into the 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 419 
 
 corner, rising as he spoke, apparently more from the fear of John 
 Browdie's inadvertently treading upon him, than from any desire to 
 place himself on equal terms with his late adversary. " Let me see 
 him do it again. That's all." 
 
 " Let me hear you make those remarks again," said the young man, 
 " and I'll knock that head of yours in among the v^rine-glasses behind 
 you there." 
 
 Here a w^aiter who had been rubbing his hands in excessive enjoy- 
 ment of the scene, so long as only the breaking of heads was in question, 
 adjured the spectators with great earnestness to fetch the police, declar- 
 ing that otherwise murder would be surely done, and that he was 
 responsible for all the glass and china on the premises. 
 
 " No one need trouble himself to stir," said the young gentleman, 
 " I am going to remain in the house all night, and shall be found here 
 in the morning if there is any assault to answer for." 
 
 " What did you strike him for ? " asked one of the bystanders. 
 
 " Ah ! what did you strike him for ?" demanded the others. 
 
 The unpopular gentleman looked coolly round, and addressing himself 
 to Nicholas, said : — 
 
 " You inquired just now what was the matter here. The matter is 
 simply this. Yonder person, who was drinking with a friend in the 
 coffee-room when I took my seat therefor half an hour before going to bed, 
 (for I have just come off a journey, and preferred stopping here to-night, 
 to going home at this hour, where I was not expected until to-morrow,) 
 chose to express himself in very disrespectful, and insolently familiar 
 terms, of a young lady, whom I recognised from his description and 
 other circumstances, and whom I have the honour to know. As he 
 spoke loud enough to be overheard by the other guests who were pre- 
 sent, I informed him most civilly that he was mistaken in his conjec- 
 tures, which were of an offensive nature, and requested him to forbear. 
 He did so for a little time, but as he chose to renew his conversation 
 when leaving the room, in a more offensive strain than before, I could 
 not refrain from making after him, and facilitating his departure by a 
 kick, which reduced him to the posture in which you saw him just now. 
 I am the best judge of my own affiilrs, I take it," said the young man,, 
 who had certainly not quite recovered from his recent heat, " if any- 
 body here thinks proper to make this quarrel his own, I have not the 
 smallest earthly objection, I do assure him." 
 
 Of all possible courses of proceeding under the circumstances detailed, 
 there was certainly not one which, in his then state of mind, could have 
 appeared more laudable to Nicholas than this. There were not many 
 subjects of dispute which at that moment could have come home to his 
 own breast more powerfully, for having the unknown uppermost in his 
 thoughts, it naturally occurred to him that he would have done just 
 the same if any audacious gossiper durst have presumed in his hearing 
 to speak lightly of her. Influenced by these considerations, he espoused 
 the young gentleman's quarrel with great warmth, protesting that he 
 had done quite right, and that he respected him for it ; which John 
 
 Eb2 
 
420 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 Browdie (albeit not quite clear as to the merits) immediately protested 
 too, with not inferior vehemence. 
 
 " Let him take care, that's all," said the defeated party, who was 
 being rubbed down by a waiter, after his recent fall on the dusty boards. 
 " He don't knock me about for nothing, I can tell him that. A pretty 
 state of things, if a man isn't to admire a handsome girl without being 
 beat to pieces for it !" 
 
 This reflection appeared to have great weight with the young lady 
 in the bar, who (adjusting her cap as she spoke, and glancing at a 
 mirror) declared that it would be a very pretty state of things indeed ; 
 and that if people were to be punislied for actions so innocent and 
 natural as that, there would be more people to be knocked down than 
 there would be people to knock them down, and that she wondered 
 what the gentleman meant by it, that she did. 
 
 " My dear girl," said the young gentleman in alow voice, advancing 
 towards the sash window. 
 
 "Nonsense, sir!" replied the young lady sharply, smiling though as 
 she turned aside, and biting her lip, (whereat Mrs. Browdie, who was 
 still standing on the stairs, glanced at her with disdain, and called to her 
 husband to come away). 
 
 " No, but listen to me," said the young man. " If admiration of a 
 pretty face were criminal, I should be the most hopeless person alive, 
 for I cannot resist one. It has the most extraordinary effect upon me, 
 checks and controls me in the most furious and obstinate mood. You 
 see what an effect yours has had upon me already." 
 
 " Oh, .that's very pretty," replied the young lady, tossing her head, 
 *' "but—" 
 
 " Yes, I know it's very pretty," said the young man, looking with 
 an air of admiration in the bar-maid's face, " I said so, you know, just 
 this moment. But beauty should be spoken of respectfully — respect- 
 fully, and in proper terms, and with a becoming sense of its worth and 
 
 excellence, whereas this fellow has no more notion " 
 
 The young lady interrupted the conversation at this point, by thrust- 
 ing her head out of the bar-window, and inquiring of the waiter in a 
 shrill voice whether that young man who had been knocked down was 
 going to stand in the passage all night, or whether the entrance was to 
 be left clear for other people. The waiters taking the hint, and com- 
 municating it to the hostlers, were not slow to change their tone too, and 
 the result was, that the unfortunate victim was bundled out in a 
 twinkling. 
 
 " I am sure I have seen that fellow before," said Nicholas. 
 *' Indeed !" replied his new acquaintance. 
 
 " I am certain of it," said Nicholas, pausing to reflect. " Where can 
 I have — stop ! — yes, to be sure — he belongs to a register-office up at 
 the west end of the town. I knew I recollected the face." 
 It was, indeed, Tom — the ugly clerk. 
 
 " That's odd enough !" said Nicholas, ruminating upon the strange 
 manner in which that register-office seemed to start up and stare him in 
 the face every now and then, and when he least expected it. 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 421 
 
 " I am mucli obliged to you for your kind advocacy of my cause when 
 it most needed an advocate," said the young man, laughing, and drawing 
 a card from his pocket. " Perhaps you'll do me the favour to let me 
 know where I can thank you." 
 
 Nicholas took the card, and glancing at it involuntarily as he re- 
 turned the compliment, evinced very great surprise. 
 
 " ' Mr. Frank Cheeryble !' " said Nicholas. " Surely not the nephew 
 of Cheeryble Brothers, who is expected to-morrow !" 
 
 " I don't usually call myself the nephew of the firm," returned Mr. 
 Frank, good-humouredly, " but of the two excellent individuals who 
 compose it, I am proud to say I am the nephew. And you, I see, are 
 Mr. Nickleby, of whom I have heard so much ! This is a most un- 
 expected meeting, but not the less welcome I assure you." 
 
 Nicholas responded to these compliments with others of the same 
 kind, and they shook hands warmly. Then he introduced John 
 Browdie, who had remained in a state of great admiration ever since 
 the young lady in the bar had been so skilfully won over to the right 
 side. Then Mrs. John Browdie was introduced, and finally they all 
 went up-stairs together and spent the next half hour with great satis- 
 faction and mutual entertainment ; Mrs. John Browdie beginning the 
 conversation by declaring that of all the made-up things she ever saw, 
 that young woman below-stairs was the vainest and the plainest. 
 
 This Mr. Frank Cheeryble, although, to judge from what had re- 
 cently taken place, a hot-headed young man, (which is not an absolute 
 miracle and phenomenon in nature) was a sprightly, good-humoured, 
 pleasant fellow, with much both in his countenance and disposition that 
 reminded Nicholas very strongly of the kind-hearted brothers. His 
 manner was as unaffected as theirs, and his demeanour full of that 
 heartiness which, to most people who have anything generous in their 
 composition, is peculiarly prepossessing. Add to this, that he was good- 
 looking and intelligent, had a plentiful share of vivacity, was extremely 
 cheerful, and accommodated himself in five minutes' time to all John 
 Browdie's oddities with as much ease as if he had known him from a 
 boy; and it will be a source of no great wonder that, when they 
 parted for the night, he had produced a most favourable impression, 
 not only upon the worthy Yorkshireman and his wife, but upon Nicholas 
 also, who, revolving all these things in his mind as he made the best of 
 his way home, arrived at the conclusion that he had laid the foundation 
 of a most agreeable and desirable acquaintance. 
 
 " But it's a most extraordinary thing about that register-office fellow!" 
 thought Nicholas. " Is it likely that this nephew can know anything 
 about that beautiful girl ? "When Tim Linkinwater gave me to under- 
 stand the other day that he was coming to take a share in the business 
 here, he said he had been superintending it in Germany for four years, 
 and that during the last six months he had been engaged in establishing 
 an agency in the north of England. That's four years and a half — four 
 years and a half. She can't be more than seventeen — say eighteen at 
 the outside. She was quite a child when he went away, then. I should 
 say he knew nothing about her and had never seen her, so he can give 
 
422 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 me no information. At all events," thought Nicholas, coming to the 
 real point in his mind, " there can be no danger of any prior occupation 
 of her affections in that quarter ; that's quite clear." 
 
 Is selfishness a necessary ingredient in the composition of that passion 
 called love, or does it deserve all the fine things which poets, in the 
 exercise of their undoubted vocation, have said of it ? There are, no 
 doubt, autlienticated instances of gentlemen having given up ladies and 
 ladies having given up gentlemen to meritorious rivals, under circum- 
 stances of great high-mindedness ; but is it quite established that the 
 majority of such ladies and gentlemen have not made a virtue of neces- 
 sity, and nobly resigned what was beyond their reach ; as a private 
 soldier might register a vow never to accept the order of the Garter, or 
 a poor curate of great piety and learning, but of no family — save a very 
 large family of children — might renounce a bishopric ? 
 
 Here was Nicholas Nickleby, who would have scorned the thought 
 of counting how the chances stood of his rising in favour or fortune with 
 the Brothers Oheeryble, now that their nephew had returned, already 
 deep in calculations whether that same nephew was likely to rival him 
 in the affections of the fair unknown — discussing the matter with him- 
 self too, as gravely as if, with that one exception, it were all settled; and 
 recurring to the subject again and again, and feeling quite indignant 
 and ill-used at the notion of anybody else making love to one with 
 whom he had never exchanged a word in all his life. To be sure, he 
 exaggerated rather than depreciated the merits of his new acquaintance ; 
 but still he took it as a kind of personal offence that he should have 
 any merits at all — in the eyes of this particular young lady, that is ; for 
 elsewhere he was quite welcome to have as many as he pleased. There 
 was undoubted selfishness in all this, and yet Nicholas was of a most 
 free and generous nature, with as few mean or sordid thoughts, perhaps, 
 as ever fell to the lot of any man ; and there is no reason to suppose 
 that, being in love, he felt and thought differently from other people in 
 the like sublime condition. 
 
 He did not stop to set on foot an inquiry into his train of thought or 
 state of feeling, however, but went thinking on all the way home, and 
 continued to dream on in the same strain all night. For, having satisfied 
 himself that Frank Cheeryble could have no knowledge of, or acquaint- 
 ance with the mysterious young lady, it began to occur to him that 
 even he himself might never see her again ; upon which hypothesis he 
 built up a very ingenious succession of tormenting ideas which answered 
 his purpose even better than the vision of Mr. Frank Cheeryble, and 
 tantalized and worried him, waking and sleeping. 
 
 Notwithstanding all that has been said and sung to the contrary, 
 there is no well-established case of morning having either deferred or 
 hastened its approach by the term of an hour or so for the mere gratifi- 
 cation of a splenetic feeling against some unoffending lover : tlie sun 
 having, in the discharge of his public duty, as the books of precedent 
 report, invariably risen according to the almanacks, and without suffering 
 himself to be swayed by any private considerations. So, morning came 
 as usual and with it business-hours, and with them Mr. Frank 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 423 
 
 Cheeryble, and with him a long train of smiles and welcomes from the 
 worthy brothers, and a more grave and clerk- like, but scarcely less 
 hearty reception, from Mr. Timothy Linkinwater. 
 
 " That Mr. Frank and Mr. Nickleby should have met last night," 
 said Tim Linkinwater, getting slowly off his stool, and looking round 
 the counting-house with his back planted against the desk, as was his 
 custom when he had anything very particular to say — " that those two 
 young men should have met last night in that manner is, I say, a coin- 
 cidence — a remarkable coincidence. Why, I don't believe now," added 
 Tim, taking off his spectacles, and smiling as with gentle pride, " that 
 there's such a place in all the world for coincidences as London is !" 
 
 " I don't know about that," said Mr. Frank ; " but " 
 
 " Don't know about it, Mr. Francis ! " interrupted Tim, with an 
 obstinate air. " Well, but let us know. If there is any better place 
 for such things, where is it ? Is it in Europe ? No, that it isn't. Is it 
 in Asia ? Why, of course it's not. Is it in Africa ? Not a bit of it. 
 Is it in America ? You know better than that, at all events. Well, 
 then," said Tim, folding his arms resolutely, " where is it ?" 
 
 " I was not about to dispute the point, Tim," said young Cheeryble, 
 laughing. " I am not such a heretic as that. All I was going to 
 say was, that I hold myself under an obligation to the coincidence, 
 that's all." 
 
 " Oh 1 if you don't dispute it," said Tim, quite satisfied, " that's 
 another thing. I'll tell you what though — I wish you had. I wish 
 you or anybody would. I would so put that man down," said Tim, 
 tapping the forefinger of his left hand empliatically with his spectacles, 
 " so put that man down by argument " 
 
 It was quite impossible to find language to express the degree of 
 mental prostration to which such an adventurous wight would be 
 reduced in the keen encounter with Tim Linkinwater, so Tim gave up 
 the rest of his declaration in pure lack of words, and mounted his stool 
 again. 
 
 " We may consider ourselves, brother Ned," said Charles, after he 
 had patted Tim Linkinwater approvingly on the back, " very fortunate 
 in having two such young men about us as our nephew Frank and 
 Mr. Nickleby. It should be a source of great satisfaction and pleasure 
 to us." 
 
 " Certainly, Charles, certainly," returned the other. 
 
 " Of Tim," added brother Ned, " I say nothing whatever, because 
 Tim is a mere child — an infant — a nobody — that we never think of or 
 take into account at all. Tim, you villain, what do you say to that, sir ? " 
 
 " I am jealous of both of 'em," said Tim, " and mean to look out for 
 another situation ; so provide yourselves, gentlemen, if you please." 
 
 Tim thought this such an exquisite, unparalleled, and most extraor- 
 dinary joke, that he laid his pen upon the inkstand, and rather tumbling 
 off his stool than getting down with his usual deliberation, laughed till 
 he was quite faint, shaking his head all the time so that little particles 
 of powder flew palpably about the office. Nor were the brothers at all 
 behind-hand, for they laughed almost as heartily at the ludicrous idea 
 
424 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 of any voluntary separation between themselves and old Tim. Nicholas 
 and Mr. Frank laughed quite boisterously, perhaps to conceal some 
 other emotion awakened by this little incident, (and, so indeed, did the 
 three old fellows after the first burst,) so perhaps there was as much 
 keen enjoyment and relish in that laugh altogether, as the politest 
 assembly ever derived from the most poignant witticism uttered at any 
 one person's expense. 
 
 " Mr. Nickleby," said brother Charles, calling him aside, and taking 
 him kindly by the hand, " I — I — am anxious, my dear sir, to see that 
 you are properly and comfortably settled in the cottage. We cannot 
 allow those who serve us well to labour under any privation or discom- 
 fort that it is in our power to remove. I wish, too, to see your mother 
 and sister — to know them, Mr. Nickleby, and have an opportunity of 
 relieving their minds by assuring them that any trifling service we have 
 been able to do them is a great deal more than repaid by the zeal and 
 ardour you display. — Not a word, my dear sir, I beg. To-morrow is 
 Sunday. I shall make bold to come out at tea-time, and take the 
 chance of finding you at home ; if you are not, you know, or the 
 ladies should feel a delicacy in being intruded on, and would rather not 
 be known to me just now, why I can come again another time, any 
 other time would do for me. Let it remain upon that understanding. 
 Brother Ned, my dear fellow, let me have a word with you this way. ' 
 
 The twins went out of the office arm in arm, and Nicholas, who 
 saw in this act of kindness, and many others of which he had been the 
 subject that morning, only so many delicate renewals on the arrival of 
 their nephew of the kind assurances which the brothers had given him 
 in his absence, could scarcely feel sufficient admiration and gratitude for 
 such extraordinary consideration. 
 
 The intelligence that they were to have a visitor— and such a visitor 
 ■ — next day, awakened in the breast of Mrs. Niekleby mingled feelings 
 of exultation and regret ; for whereas on the one hand she hailed it as 
 an omen of her speedy restoration to good society and the almost-for- 
 gotten pleasures of morning calls and evening tea-drinkings, she could 
 not, on the other, but reflect with bitterness of spirit on the absence of 
 a silver teapot with an ivory knob on the lid, and a milk-jug to match, 
 which had been the pride of her heart in days of yore, and had been 
 kept from year s end to year's end wrapped up in wash-leather on a 
 certain top shelf which now presented itself in lively colours to her 
 sorrowing imagination. 
 
 " I wonder who's got that spice-box," said Mrs. Nickleby, shaking 
 her head. " It used to stand in the left-hand comer, next but two 
 to the pickled onions. You remember that spice-box, Kate ? " 
 
 " Perfectly well, mama." 
 
 " I shouldn't think you did, Kate," returned Mrs. Nickleby, in a 
 severe manner, '' talking about it in that cold and unfeeling way ! If 
 there is any one thing that vexes me in these losses more than the losses 
 themselves, I do protest and declare," said Mrs. Nickleby, rubbing her 
 nose with an impassioned air, " that it is to have people about me who 
 take things with such provoking calmness." 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBT. 425 
 
 " My dear mama,'* said Kate, stealing her arm round her mother's 
 nect, " why do you say what I know you cannot seriously mean or 
 think, or why be angry with me for being happy and content ? You 
 and Nicholas are left to me, we are together once again, and what regard 
 can I have for a few trifling things of which we never feel the want ? 
 When I have seen all the misery and desolation that death can 
 bring, and known the lonesome feeling of being solitary and alone in 
 crowds, and all the agony of separation in grief and poverty when we 
 most needed comfort and support from each other, can you wonder that 
 I look upon this as a place of such delicious quiet and rest, that with 
 you beside me I have nothing to wish for or regret ? There was a 
 time, and not long since, when all the comforts of our old home did 
 come back upon me, I owti, very often — oftener than you would think 
 perhaps — but I afibcted to care nothing for them, in the hope that you 
 would 80 be brought to regret them less. I was not insensible, indeed. 
 I might have felt happier if I had been. Dear mama," said Kate, in 
 great agitation, " I know no difference between this home and that in 
 which we were all so happy for so many years, except that the kindest 
 and gentlest heart that ever ached on earth has passed in peace to 
 heaven." 
 
 "Kate my dear, Kate," cried Mrs. Nickleby, folding her in her 
 arms. 
 
 " I have so often thought," sobbed Kate, " of all his kind words — of 
 the last time he looked into my little room, as he passed up-stairs to 
 bed, and said, ' God bless you, darling.' There was a paleness in his 
 face, mama — the broken heart — I know it was — I little thought so- 
 then — " 
 
 A gush of tears came to her relief, and Kate laid her head upon her 
 mother's breast, and wept like a little child. 
 
 It is an exquisite and beautiful thing in our nature, that when the 
 heart is touched and softened by some tranquil happiness or affectionate 
 feeling, the memory of the dead comes over it most powerfully and 
 irresistibly. It would almost seem as though our better thoughts and 
 sympathies were charms, in virtue of which the soul is enabled to hold 
 some vague and mysterious intercourse with the spirits of those whom 
 we dearly loved in life. Alas ! how often and how long may those 
 patient angels hover above us, watching for the spell which is so seldom 
 nttered, and so soon forgotten ! 
 
 Poor Mrs. Nickleby, accustomed to give ready utterance to whatever 
 came uppermost in her mind, had never conceived the possibility of her 
 daughter's dwelling upon these thoughts in secret, the more especially 
 as no hard trial or querulous reproach had ever drawn them from her. 
 But now, when the happiness of all that Nicholas had just told them, 
 and of their new and peaceful life, brought these recollections so strongly 
 upon Kate that she could not suppress them, Mrs. Nickleby began to 
 have a glimmering that she had been rather thoughtless now and then, 
 and was conscious of something like self-reproach as she embraced her 
 daughter, and yielded to the emotions which such a conversation natu- 
 rally awakened. 
 
4am- LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 There wasamiglity bustle that night, and a vast quantity of preparation 
 for the expected visitor, and a very large nosegay was brought from a 
 gardener's hard by and cut up into a number of very small ones with 
 which Mrs. Nickleby would have garnished the little sitting-room, in a 
 style that certainly could not have failed to attract anybody's attention, 
 if Kate had not offered to spare her the trouble, and arranged them in 
 the prettiest and neatest manner possible. If the cottage ever looked 
 pretty, it must have been on such a bright and sunshiny day as the 
 next day was. But Smike's pride in the garden, or Mrs. Nickleby's in 
 the condition of the furniture, or Kate's in everything, was nothing to 
 the pride with which Nicholas looked at Kate herself ; and surely the 
 costliest mansion in all England might have found in her beautiful face 
 and graceful form its most exquisite and peerless ornament. 
 
 About six o'clock in the afternoon Mrs. Nickleby was thrown into a 
 great flutter of spirits by the long-expected knock at the door, nor was 
 this flutter at all composed by the audible tread of two pair of boots in 
 the passage, which Mrs. Nickleby augured, in a breathless state, must 
 be " the two Mr. Cheerybles ;" as it certainly was, though not the two 
 Mrs. Nickleby expected, because it was Mr. Charles Cheeryble, and his 
 nephew, Mr. Frank, who made a thousand apologies for his intrusion, 
 •which Mrs. Nickleby (having tea-spoons enough and to spare for all) 
 most graciously received. Nor did the appearance of this unexpected 
 visitor occasion the least embarrassment, (save in Kate, and that only to 
 the extent of a blush or two at first,) for the old gentleman was so kind 
 and cordial, and the young gentleman imitated him in this respect so well, 
 that the usual stiffness and formality of a first meeting showed no signs 
 of appearing, and Kate really more than once detected herself in the very 
 act of wondering when it was going to begin. 
 
 At the tea-table there was plenty of conversation on a great variety 
 of subjects, nor were there wanting jocose matters of discussion, such as 
 they were ; for young Mr. Cheeryble's recent stay in Germany happening 
 to be alluded to, old Mr. Cheeryble informed the company that the 
 aforesaid young Mr. Cheeryble was suspected to have fallen deeply in 
 love with the daughter of a certain German burgomaster. This accusa- 
 tion young Mr. Cheeryble most indignantly repelled, upon which Mrs. 
 Nickleby slily remarked, that she suspected, from the very warmth of 
 the denial, there must be something in it. Young Mr. Cheeryble then 
 earnestly entreated old Mr. Cheeryble to confess that it was all a jest, 
 which old Mr. Cheeryble at last did, young Mr. Cheeryble being so 
 much in earnest about it, that — as Mrs. Nickleby said many thousand 
 times afterwards in recalling the scene — he "quite coloured," which she 
 rightly considered a memorable circumstance, and one worthy of remark, 
 young men not being as a class remarkable for modesty or self-denial, 
 especially when there is a lady in the case, when, if they colour at all, 
 it is rather their practice to colour the story, and not themselves. 
 
 After tea there was a walk in the garden, and the evening being very 
 fine they strolled out at the garden gate into some lanes and bye-roads, 
 and sauntered up and down until it grew quite dark. The time seemed 
 to pass very quickly with all the party. Kate went first, leaning upon 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 427 
 
 her brother's arm, and talking with him and Mr. Frank Cheeryble; and 
 Mrs. Nickleby and the elder gentleman followed at a short distance, the 
 kindness of the good merchant, his interest in the welfare of Nicholas, 
 and his admiration of Kate, so operating upon the good lady's feelings, 
 that the usual current of her speech was confined within very narrow 
 and circumscribed limits. Smike (who, if he had ever been an object 
 of interest in his life, had been one that day) accompanied them, joining 
 sometimes one group and sometimes the other, as brother Charles, laying 
 his hand upon his shoulder, bade him walk with him, or Nicholas, 
 looking smilingly round, beckoned him to come and talk with the old 
 friend who understood him best, and who could win a smile into his 
 care-worn face when none else could. 
 
 Pride is one of the seven deadly sins ; but it cannot be the pride of 
 a mother in her children, for that is a compound of two cardinal virtues 
 —faith and hope. This was the pride which swelled Mrs. Nickleby's 
 heart that night, and this it was which left upon her face, glistening 
 in the light when they returned home, traces of the most grateful tears 
 she had ever shed. 
 
 There was a quiet mirth about the little supper, which harmonized 
 exactly with this tone of feeling, and at length the two gentlemen took 
 their leave. There was one circumstance in the leave-taking which 
 occasioned a vast deal of smiling and pleasantry, and that was, that Mr. 
 Frank Cheeryble ofiered his hand to Kate twice over, quite forgetting 
 that he had bade her adieu already. This was held by the elder Mr. 
 Cheeryble to be a convincing proof that he was thinking of his German 
 flame, and the jest occasioned immense laughter. So easy is it to mova 
 light hearts. 
 
 In short, it was a day of serene and tranquil happiness ; and as we 
 all have some bright day — many of us, let us hope, among a crowd of 
 others — to which we revert with particular delight, so this one was 
 often looked back to afterwards, as holding a conspicuous place in the 
 calendar of those who shared it. 
 
 Was there one exception, and that one he who needed to have been 
 most happy? 
 
 Who was that who, in the silence of his own chamber, sunk upon his 
 knees to pray as his first friend had taught him, and folding his hands 
 and stretching them wildly in the air, fell upon his face in a passion 
 of bitter grief? 
 
 CHAPTER XLIY. 
 
 MR. RALPH NICKLEBY CUTS AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE. IT WOULD ALSO 
 APPEAR FROM THE CONTENTS HEREOF, THAT A JOKE, EVEN BETWEEN 
 HUSBAND AND WIFE, MAY BE SOMETIMES CARRIED TOO FAR. 
 
 There are some men, who, living with the one object of enriching 
 themselves, no matter by what means, and being perfectly conscious of 
 the baseness and rascahty of the means which they will use every day 
 
428 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 towards this end, affect nevertheless — even to themselves — a high tone of 
 moral rectitude, and shake their heads and sigh over the depravity of the 
 world. Some of the craftiest scoundrels that ever walked this earth, or 
 rather — for walking implies, at least, an erect position and the bearing 
 of a man — that ever crawled and crept through life by its dirtiest and 
 narrowest ways, will gravely jot down in diaries the events of every 
 day, and keep a regular debtor and creditor account with heaven, 
 which shall always show a floating balance in their own favour. 
 Whether this is a gratuitous (the only gratuitous) part of the false- 
 hood and trickery of such men's lives, or whether they really hope to 
 cheat heaven itself, and lay up treasure in the next world by the same 
 process which has enabled them to lay up treasure in this — not to 
 question how it is, so it is. And, doubtless, sucli book-keeping (like 
 certain autobiographies which have enlightened the world) cannot fail 
 to prove serviceable, in the one respect of sparing the recording Angel 
 some time and labour. 
 
 Ralph Nickleby was not a man of this stamp. Stem, unyielding, 
 dogged, and impenetrable, Ralph cared for nothing in life, or beyond it, 
 save the gratification of two passions, avarice, the first and predominant 
 appetite of his nature, and hatred, the second. Afix:?cting to consider 
 himself but a type of all humanity, he was at little pains to conceal his 
 true character from the world in general, and in his own heart he 
 exulted over and cherished every bad design as it had birth. The 
 only scriptural admonition that Ralph Nickleby heeded, in the letter, 
 was " know thyself." He knew himself well, and choosing to imagine 
 that all mankind were cast in the same mould, hated them ; for, though 
 no man hates himself, the coldest among us having too much self-love 
 for that, yet, most men unconsciously judge the world from themselves, 
 and it will be very generally found that those who sneer habitually at 
 human nature, and affect to despise it, are among its worst and least 
 pleasant samples. 
 
 But the present business of these adventures is with Ralph himself, 
 who stood regarding Newman Noggs with a heavy frown, while that 
 worthy took off his fingerless gloves, and spreading them carefully on 
 the palm of his left hand, and flattening them with his right to take 
 the creases out, proceeded to roll them up with an absent air as if he 
 were utterly regardless of all things else, in the deep interest of the 
 ceremonial. 
 
 " Gone out of town !" said Ralph, slowly. " A mistake of yours. 
 Go back again." 
 
 " No mistake," returned Newman. " Not even going ; — gone." 
 
 " Has he turned girl or baby ?" muttered Ralph, with a fretful 
 gesture. 
 
 " I don't know," said Newman, " but he's gone." 
 
 The repetition of the word, " gone," seemed to afford Newman Noggs 
 inexpressible delight, in proportion as it annoyed Ralph Nickleby. He 
 uttered the word with a full round emphasis, dwelling upon it as long 
 as he decently could, and when he could hold out no longer without 
 attracting observation, stood gasping it to himself, as if even that were 
 a satisfaction. 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 429 
 
 " And where has he gone ?" said Ralph. 
 
 " France," replied Newman. "Danger of another attack of erysipelas 
 —a worse attack — in the head. So the doctors ordered him off. And 
 he*s gone." 
 
 " And Lord Frederick ?" began Ralph. 
 
 " He's gone too," replied Newman. 
 
 " And he carries his drubbing with him, does he !" said Ralph, turn- 
 ing away — " pockets his bruises, and sneaks off without the retaliation 
 of a word, or seeking the smallest reparation !" 
 
 " He's too ill," said Newman. 
 
 "Too ill!" repeated Ralph. "Why/ would have it if I were 
 dying ; in that case I should only be the more determined to have it, 
 and that without delay — I mean if I were he. But he's too ill ! Poor 
 Sir Mulberry ! Too ill!" 
 
 Uttering these words with supreme contempt and great irritation of 
 manner, Ralph signed hastily to Newman to leave the room; and 
 throwing himself into his chair, beat his foot impatiently upon the 
 ground. 
 
 " There is some spell about that boy," said Ralph, grinding his 
 teeth. " Circumstances conspire to help him. Talk of fortune's favours ! 
 What is even money to such Devil's luck as this ! " 
 
 He thrust his hands impatiently into his pockets, but notwithstanding 
 his previous reflection there was some consolation there, for his face 
 relaxed a little ; and although there was still a deep frown upon the 
 contracted brow, it was one of calculation, and not of disappointment. 
 
 " This Hawk will come back, however," muttered Ralph ; " and if I 
 know the man — and I should by this time — his wrath will have lost 
 nothing of its violence in the meanwhile. Obliged to live in retirement 
 — the monotony of a sick room to a man of his habits — no life — no 
 drink — no play — nothing that he likes and lives by. He is not likely 
 to forget his obligations to the cause of all this. Few men would; but 
 he of all others — no, no !" 
 
 He smiled and shook his head, and resting his chin upon his hand 
 fell a musing, and smiled again. After a time he rose and rang the bell. 
 
 " That Mr. Squeers; has he been here?" said Ralph. 
 
 " He was here last night. I left him here when I went home," 
 returned Newman. 
 
 " I know that, fool, do I not ?" said Ralph, irascibly. " Has he 
 been here since ? Was he here this morning ?" 
 
 " No," bawled Newman, in a very loud key. 
 
 " If he comes while I am out — he is pretty sure to be here by nine to- 
 night, let him wait. And if there's another man with him, as there 
 will be — perhaps," said Ralph, checking himself, " let him wait too." 
 
 " Let 'em both wait T said Newman. 
 
 " Ay," replied Ralph, turning upon him with an angry look. " Help 
 me on with this spencer, and don't repeat after me, like a croaking 
 parrot." 
 
 " I wish I was a parrot," said Newman, sulkily. 
 
 " I wish you were," rejoined Ralph, drawing his spencer on ; " I'd 
 have wrung your neck long ago." 
 
r 
 
 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 Newman returned no answer to this compliment, bnt looked over 
 Ralph's shoulder for an instant, (he was adjusting the collar of the 
 spencer behind, just then,) as if he were strongly disposed to tweak him 
 by the nose. Meeting Ralph's eye, however, he suddenly recalled his 
 wandering fingers, and rubbed his own red nose with a vehemence qtiite 
 astonishing. 
 
 Bestowing no further notice upon his eccentric follower than a 
 threatening look, and an admonition to be careful and make no mistake, 
 Ralph took his hat and gloves, and walked out. 
 
 He appeared to have a very extraordinary and miscellaneous con- 
 nexion, and very odd calls he made — some at great rich houses, and 
 some at small poor ones — but all upon one subject : money. His face 
 was a talisman to the porters and servants of his more dashing clients-, 
 and procured him ready admission, though he trudged on foot, and 
 others, who were denied, rattled to the door in carriages. Here he was 
 all softness and cringing civility ; his step so light, that it scarcely pro- 
 duced a sound upon the thick carpets ; his voice so soft, that it was not 
 audible beyond the person to whom it was addressed. But in the poorer 
 habitations Ralph was another man ; his boots creaked upon the passage 
 floor as he walked boldly in, his voice was harsh and loud as he 
 demanded the money that was overdue ; his threats were coarse and 
 angry. "With another class of customers, Ralph was again another 
 man. These were attorneys of more than doubtful reputation, who 
 helped him to new business, or raised fresh profits upon old. With 
 them Ralph was familiar and jocose — humorous upon the topics of the 
 day, and especially pleasant upon bankruptcies and pecuniary difficulties 
 that made good for trade. In short, it would have been difficult to 
 have recognised the same man under these various aspects, but for the 
 bulky leather case full of bills and notes which he drew from his pocket 
 at every house, and the constant repetition of the same complaint, (varied 
 only in tone and style of delivery^) that the world thought him rich, and 
 that perhaps he might be if he had his own ; but there was no getting 
 money in when it was once out, either principal or interest, and it was 
 a hard matter to live — even to live from day to day. 
 
 It was evening before a long round of such visits (interrupted only 
 by a scanty dinner at an eating-house) terminated at Pimlico, and Ralph 
 walked along Saint James's Park, on his way home. 
 
 There were some deep schemes in his head, as the puckerdd brow and 
 firmly-set mouth would have abundantly testified, even if they had been 
 unaccompanied by a complete indifference to, or unconsciousness of, the 
 objects about him. So complete was his abstraction, however, that 
 Ralph, usually as quick- sighted as any man, did not obscrs^e that he 
 was followed by a shambling figure, which at one time stole behind him 
 with noiseless footsteps, at another crept a few paces before him, and at 
 another glided along by his side ; at all times regarding him with an eye 
 ^o keen, and a look so eager and attentive, that it was more like the 
 expression of an intrusive face in some powerful picture or strongly-* 
 marked dream, than the scrutiny even of a most interested and anxious 
 observer. 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 431 
 
 The sky had been lowering and dark for some time, and the com- 
 mencement of a violent storm of rain drove Ralph for shelter to a 
 tree. He was leaning against it with folded arms, still buried in 
 thought, when, happening to raise his eyes, he suddenly met those of a 
 man who, creeping round the trunk, peered into his face with a search- 
 ing look. There was something in the usurer's expression at the 
 moment, which the man appeared to remember well, for it decided him; 
 and stepping close up to Ralph, he pronounced his name. 
 
 Astonished for the moment, Ralph fell back a couple of paces, and 
 surveyed him from head to foot. A spare, dark, withered man, 
 of about his own age, with a stooping body, and a very sinister face 
 rendered more ill-favoured by hollow and hungry cheeks, deeply sun- 
 burnt, and thick black eye-brows, blacker in contrast with the perfect 
 whiteness of his hair ; roughly clothed in shabby garments, of a strange 
 and uncouth make ; and having about him an indefinable manner of 
 depression and degradation ; — this, for a moment, was all he saw. But 
 he looked again, and the face and person seemed gradually to grow less 
 strange ; to change as he looked, to subside and soften into lineaments 
 that were familiar, until at last they resolved themselves, as if by some 
 strange optical illusion, into those of one whom he had known for many 
 years, and forgotten and lost sight of for nearly as many more. 
 
 The man saw that the recognition was mutual, and beckoning to 
 Ralph to take his former place under the tree, and not to stand in the 
 falling rain, of which, in his first surprise, he had been quite regard- 
 less, addressed him in a hoarse, faint tone. 
 
 " You would hardly have known me from my voice, I suppose, Mr. 
 Nickleb^^ ? " he said. 
 
 " No, ' returned Ralph, bending a severe look upon him. " Though 
 there is something in that, that I remember now." 
 
 " There is little in me that you can call to mind as having been there 
 eight years ago, I dare say ? " observed the other. 
 
 " Quite enough," said Ralph, carelessly, and averting his face. 
 " More than enough." 
 
 " If I had remained in doubt about you^ Mr. Nickleby," said the 
 other, " this reception, and your manner, would have decided me very 
 soon." 
 
 " Did you expect any other ? " asked Ralph, sharply. 
 
 " No ! " said the man. 
 
 " You were right," retorted Ralph ; " and as you feel no surprise, 
 need express none." 
 
 " Mr. Nickleby," said the man, bluntly, after a brief pause, during 
 which he had seemed to struggle with an inclination to answer him by 
 some reproach, " will you hear a few words that I have to say ? " 
 
 " I am obliged to wait here till the rain holds a little," said Ralph, 
 looking abroad. " If you talk, sir, I shall not put my fingers in my 
 ears, though your talking may have as much efi*ect as if I did." 
 
 " I was once in your confidence — ," thus his companion began. Ralph 
 looked round, and smiled involuntarily. 
 
 " Well," said the other, " as. much in your confidence as you ever 
 chose to let anybody be." . . 
 
482 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 " Ah ! '* rejoined Ralph, folding his arms ; " that's another thing— 
 quite another thing." 
 
 " Don't let us play upon words, Mr. Nickleby, in the name of 
 humanity." 
 
 "Of what?" said Ralph. 
 
 « Of humanity," replied the other, sternly. " I am hungry and in 
 want. If the change that you must see in me after «o long an absence 
 
 must see, for I, upon whom it has come by slow and hard degrees, see 
 
 it and know it well — will not move you to pity, let the knowledge that 
 bread ; not the daily bread of the Lord's Prayer, which, as it is offered 
 up in cities like this, is understood to include half the luxuries of the 
 world for the rich and just as much coarse food as will support life for 
 the poor — not that, but bread, a crust of dry hard bread, is beyond my 
 reach to-day — let that have some weight with you, if nothing else has." 
 
 " If this is the usual form in which you beg, sir," said Ralph, " you 
 have studied your part well ; but if you will take advice from one who 
 knows something of the world and its ways, I should recommend a lower 
 tone — a little lower tone, or you stand a fair chance of being starved in 
 good earnest." 
 
 As he said this, Ralph clenched his left wrist tightly with his right 
 hand, and inclining his head a little on one side and dropping his clim 
 upon his breast, looked at him whom he addressed with a frowning, 
 sullen face : the very picture of a man whom nothing could move or 
 soften. 
 
 " Yesterday was my first day in London," said the old man, glancii^ 
 at his travel-stained dress and worn shoes. 
 
 " It would have been better for you, I think, if it had been your lasi 
 also," replied Ralph. 
 
 " I have been seeking you these two days, where I thought you were 
 most likely to be found," resumed the other more humbly, " and I met 
 you here at last, when I had almost given up the hope of encountering 
 you, Mr. Nickleby." 
 
 He seemed to wait for some reply, but Ralph giving him none, hb 
 continued — 
 
 " I am a most miserable and wretched outcast, nearly sixty years 
 old, and as destitute and helpless as a child of six." 
 
 " I am sixty years old, too," replied Ralph, "and am neither destitute 
 nor helpless. Work. Don't make fine play-acting speeches about 
 bread, but earn it." 
 
 " How ?" cried the other. " Where ? Show me the means. Will 
 you give them to me — will you ?" 
 
 " I did once," replied Ralph, composedly, " you scarcely need ask me 
 whether I will again." 
 
 " It's twenty years ago, or more," said the man, in a suppressed voice, 
 " since you and I fell out. You remember that ? I claimed a share in 
 the profits of some business I brought to you, and, as I persisted, you 
 arrested me for an old advance of ten pounds, odd shillings — including 
 interest at fifty per cent., or so." 
 
 " I remember something of it," replied Ralph, carelessly. *' What 
 then r 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 433 
 
 " That didn't part us," said the man. " I made submission, being on 
 the wrong side of the bolts and bars ; and as you were not the made man 
 then that you are now, you were glad enough to take back a clerk 
 who wasn't over nice, and who knew something of the trade you drove." 
 
 " You begged and prayed, and I consented," returned Ralph. " That 
 was kind of me. Perhaps I did want you — I forget. I should think 
 I did, or you would have begged in vain. You were useful — not too 
 honest, not too delicate, not too nice of hand or heart — but useful." 
 
 " Useful, indeed !" said the man. " Come. You had pinched and 
 gTOund me down for some years before that, but I had served you 
 faithfully up to that time, in spite of all your dog's usage — had I ?" 
 
 Ralph made no reply. 
 
 " Had I ?" said the man again. 
 
 " You had had your wages," rejoined Ralph, " and had done your 
 work. We stood on equal ground so far, and could both cry quits." 
 
 " Then, but not afterwards," said the other. 
 
 " Not afterwards, certainly, nor even then, for (as you have just 
 said) you owed me money, and do still," replied Ralph. 
 
 " That's not all," said the man, eagerly. " That's not all. Mark 
 that. I didn't forget that old sore, trust me. Partly in remembrance 
 of that, and partly in the hope of making money some day by the 
 scheme, I took advantage of my position about you, and possessed 
 myself of a hold upon you, which you would give half of all you have, 
 to know, and never can know but through me. I left you — long after 
 that time, remember — and, for some poor trickery that came within 
 the law, but was nothing to what you money-makers daily practise 
 just outside its bounds, was sent away a convict for seven years. I 
 have returned what you see me. Now, Mr. Nickleby," said the man, 
 with a strange mixture of humility and sense of power, " what help 
 and assistance will you give me — what bribe, to speak out plainly ? 
 My expectations are not monstrous, but I must live, and to live I must 
 eat and drink. Money is on your side, and hunger and thirst on 
 mine. You may drive an easy bargain." 
 
 " Is that all ?" said Ralph, still eyeing his companion with the same 
 steady look, and moving nothing but his lips. 
 
 " It depends on you, Mr. Nickleby, whether that's all or not," was 
 the rejoinder. 
 
 " Why then, harkye, Mr. , I don't know by what name I am 
 
 to call you," said Ralph. 
 
 " By my old one, if you like." 
 
 " Why, then, harkye, Mr. Brooker," said Ralph, in his harshest 
 accents, " and don't expect to draw another speech from me — harkye, 
 sir. I know you of old for a ready scoundrel, but you never had a stout 
 heart ; and hard work, with (maybe) chains upon those legs of yours, 
 and shorter food than when I ' pinched' and ' ground' you, has blunted 
 your wits, or you would not come with such a tale as this to me. You 
 a hold upon me ! Keep it, or publish it to the world, if you like." 
 
 " I can't do that," interposed Brooker. " That wouldn't serve me." 
 
 *' Wouldn't it ?" said Ralph. " It will serve you as much as bringing 
 
 p p 
 
434 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 it to me, I promise you. To be plain with you, I am a careful man, 
 and know my affairs thoroughly. I know the world, and the world 
 knows me. Whatever you gleaned, or heard, or saw, when you served 
 me, the world knows and magnifies already. You could tell it nothing 
 that would surprise it — unless, indeed, it redounded to my credit or 
 honour, and then it would scout you for a liar. And yet I don't find 
 business slack, or clients scrupulous. Quite the contrary. I am reviled 
 or threatened every day by one man or another," said Ralph ; " but 
 things roll on just the same, and I don't grow poorer either." 
 
 " I neither revile nor threaten," rejoined the man. '' I can tell you 
 of what you have lost by my act, what I only can restore, and what, if 
 I die without restoring, dies with me, and never can be regained." 
 
 '* I tell my money pretty accurately, and generally keep it in my 
 own custody," said Ralph. " I look sharply after most men that I 
 deal with, and most of all I looked sharply after you. You are wel- 
 come to all you have kept from me." 
 
 " Are those of your own name dear to you?" said the man empha- 
 tically. " If they are " 
 
 " They are not," returned Ralph, exasperated at this perseverance, and 
 the thought of Nicholas, which the last question awakened. " They 
 are not. If you had come as a common beggar, I might have thrown 
 a sixpence to you in remembrance of the clever knave you used to be ; 
 but since you try to palm these stale tricks upon one you might have 
 known better, I'll not part with a halfpenny — nor would I to save you 
 from rotting. And remember this, 'scape- gallows," said Ralph, menac- 
 ing him with his hand, " that if we meet again, and you so much as 
 notice me by one begging gesture, you shall see the inside of a jail once 
 more, and tighten this hold upon me in Intervals of the hard labour that 
 vagabonds are put to. There's my answer to your trash. Take it." 
 
 With a disdainful scowl at the object of his anger, who met his eye 
 but uttered not a word, Ralph \valked away at his usual pace, without 
 manifesting the slightest curiosity to see what became of his late com- 
 panion, or indeed once looking behind him. The man remained on the 
 same spot with his eyes fixed upon his retreating figure until it was lost 
 to view, and then drawing his arms about his chest, as if the damp and 
 lack of food struck coldly to him, lingered with slouching steps by the 
 wayside, and begged of those who passed along. 
 
 Ralph, in no-wise moved by what had lately passed, further than as 
 he had already expressed himself, walked deliberately on, and turning 
 out of the Park and leaving Golden Square on his right, took his way 
 through some streets at the west end of the town until he arrived in 
 that particular one in which stood the residence of Madame Mantalini. 
 The name of that lady no longer appeared on the flaming door-plate, 
 that of Miss Knag being substituted in its stead ; but the bonnets and 
 dresses were still dimly visible in the first-floor windows by the decaying 
 light of a summer's evening, and, excepting this ostensible alteration in 
 the proprietorship, the establishment wore its old appearance. 
 
 " Humph !" muttered Ralph, drawing his hand across his mouth with 
 a connoisseur-like air, and surveying tlie house from top to bottom ; 
 
*J 
 
 i-m --^^^ 
 
 
 it 
 
 ■ IT 
 
 •s 
 
%:^<:^. 
 
 fA///^// //fu,fr/f-j / / ///^c^/o'l'm/f^Jtfve^/y^^ 
 
 fA 
 
 A 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. ' 435 
 
 " these people look pretty well. They can't last long ; but if I know 
 of their going, in good time, I am safe, and a fair profit too. I must 
 keep them closely in view — that's all." 
 
 So, nodding his head very complacently, Ralph was leaving the spot, 
 when his quick ear caught the sound of a confused noise and hubbub of 
 voices, mingled with a great running up and down stairs, in the very 
 house which had been the subject of his scrutiny ; and while he was 
 hesitating whether to knock at the door or listen at the key-hole a 
 little longer, a female servant of Madame Mantalini's (whom he had 
 often seen) opened it abruptly and bounced out, with her blue cap- 
 ribands streaming in the air. 
 
 "Hallo here. Stop!" cried Ralph. "What's the matter. Here 
 am I. Didn't you hear me knock?" 
 
 " Oh ! Mr. Nickleby, sir," said the girl. " Go up, for the love of 
 Gracious. Master's been and done it again." 
 
 " Done what ? " said Ralph, tartly. " What d'ye mean ? " 
 
 " I knew he would if he was drove to it," cried the girl. " I said 
 so all along." 
 
 " Come here, you silly wench," said Ralph, catching her by the 
 wrist ; " and don't carry family matters to the neighbours, destroying 
 the credit of the establishment. Come here ; do you hear me, girl ? " 
 
 Without any further expostulation, he led or rather pulled the fright- 
 ened hand-maid into the house, and shut the door ; then bidding her 
 walk up-stairs before him, followed without more ceremony. 
 
 Guided by the noise of a great many voices all talking together, and 
 passing the girl in his impatience, before they had ascended many steps, 
 Ralph quickly reached the private sitting-room, when he was rather 
 amazed by the confused and inexplicable scene in which he suddenly 
 found himself. 
 
 There were all the young-lady workers, some with bonnets and some 
 without, in various attitudes expressive of alarm and consternation; 
 some gathered round Madame Mantalini, who w^as in tears upon one 
 chair ; and others round Miss Knag, who was in opposition tears upon 
 another ; and others round Mr. Mantalini, who was perhaps the most 
 striking figure in the whole group, for Mr. Mantalini's legs were ex- 
 tended at full length upon the floor, and his head and shoulders were 
 supported by a very tall footman, who didn't seem to know what to 
 do with them, and Mr. Mantalini's eyes were closed, and his face was 
 pale, and his hair was comparatively straight, and his whiskers and 
 moustache were limp, and his teeth were clenched, and he had a little 
 bottle in his right hand, and a little tea-spoon in his left ; and his hands, 
 arms, legs, and shoulders, were all stiff and powerless. And yet Madame 
 Mantalini was not weeping upon the body, but was scolding violently 
 upon her chair ; and all this amidst a clamour of tongues, perfectly 
 deafening, and which really appeared to have driven the unfortunate 
 footman to the uttermost verge of distraction. 
 
 " What is the matter here ? " said Ralph, pressing forward. 
 
 At this inquiry, the clamour was increased twenty-fold, and an 
 astounding string of such shrill contradictions as " He's poisoned him- 
 
 F F 2 
 
436 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 self"—" He hasn't "— " Send for a doctor "—"Don't "— " He s dying " 
 — " He isn't, he's only pretending " — with various other cries, poured 
 forth with bewildering volubility, until Madame Mantalini was seen to 
 address herself to Ralph, when female curiosity to know what she 
 would say, prevailed, and, as if by general consent, a dead silence, un- 
 broken by a single whisper, instantaneously succeeded. 
 
 " Mr. Nickleby," said Madame Mantalini ; " by what chance you 
 came here, I don't know." 
 
 Here a gurgling voice was heard to ejaculate — as part of the wander- 
 ings of a sick man — the words " Demnition sweetness ! " but nobody 
 heeded them except the footman, who, being startled to hear such awful 
 tones proceeding, as it were, from between his very fingers, dropped his 
 master's head upon the floor with a pretty loud crash, and then, with- . 
 out an effort to lift it up, gazed upon the bystanders, as if he had done 
 something rather clever than otherwise. 
 
 " I will, however," continued Madame Mantalini, drying her eyes, 
 and speaking with great indignation, " say before you, and before every- 
 body here, for the first time, and once for all, that I never will supply 
 that man's extravagances and viciousness again. I have been a dupe 
 and a fool to him long enough. In future, he shall support himself if lie^' 
 can, and then he may spend what money he pleases, upon whom and 
 how he pleases ; but it shall not be mine, and therefore you had better 
 pause before you trust him further." 
 
 Thereupon Madame Mantalini, quite unmoved by some most pathetic 
 lamentations on the part of her husband, that the apothecary had not 
 mixed the prussic acid strong enough, and that he must take another 
 bottle or two to finish the work he had in hand, entered into a cata- 
 logue of that amiable gentleman's gallantries, deceptions, extravagances, 
 and infidelities (especially the last), winding up with a protest against 
 being supposed to entertain the smallest remnant of regard for him ; 
 and adducing, in proof of the altered state of her affections, the circum- 
 stance of his having poisoned himself in private no less than six times 
 within the last fortnight, and her not having once interfered by word or 
 deed to save his life. 
 
 " And I insist on being separated and left to myself," said Madame 
 Mantalini, sobbing. " If he dares to refuse me a separation, I'll have 
 one in law — I can — and I hope this will be a warning to all girls who 
 have seen this disgraceful exhibition.'* 
 
 Miss Knag, who was unquestionably the oldest girl in company, said 
 with great solemnity, that it would be a warning to her^ and so did the 
 young ladies generally, with the exception of one or two who appeared 
 to entertain some doubts whether such whiskers could do wrong. 
 
 " Why do you say all this before so many listeners ? " said Ralph, in 
 a low voice. " You know you are not in earnest." 
 
 " I am in earnest," replied Madame Mantalini, aloud, and retreating 
 towards Miss Knag. 
 
 " Well, but consider," reasoned Ralph, who had a great interest in 
 the matter. " It would be well to reflect. A married woman has no 
 property." 
 
laCHOLAS NICKLEBY. 437 
 
 " Not a solitary single individual dem, my soul," said Mr. Mantalini, 
 raising himself upon his elbow. 
 
 " I am quite aware of that," retorted Madame Mantalini, tossing her 
 head ; " and / have none. The business, the stock, this house, and 
 everything in it, all belong to Miss Knag." 
 
 " That's quite true, Madame Mantalini," said Miss Knag, with whom 
 her late employer had secretly come to an amicable understanding on this 
 point. " Very true, indeed, Madame Mantalini — hem — very true. 
 And I never was more glad in all my life, that I had strength of mind 
 to resist matrimonial offers, no matter how advantageous, than I am 
 when I think of my present position as compared with your most unfor- 
 tunate and most undeserved one, Madame Mantalini." 
 
 " Demmit ! " cried Mr. Mantalini, turning his head towards his wife. 
 " Will it not slap and pinch the envious dowager, that dares to reflect 
 upon its own delicious?" 
 
 But the day of Mr. Mantalini's blandishments had departed. " Miss 
 Knag, sir," said his wife, " is my particular friend ;" and although Mr. 
 Mantalini leered till his eyes seemed in danger of never coming back to 
 their right places again, Madame Mantalini showed no signs of softening. 
 
 To do the excellent Miss Knag justice, she had been mainly instru- 
 mental in bringing about this altered state of things, for, finding by 
 daily experience, that there was no chance of the business thriving, or 
 even continuing to exist, while Mr. Mantalini had any hand in the ex- 
 penditure, and having now a considerable interest in its well-doing, she 
 had sedulously applied herself to the investigation of some little matters 
 connected with that gentleman's private character, which she had so 
 well elucidated, and artfully imparted to Madame Mantalini, as to open 
 her eyes more effectually than the closest and most philosophical reason- 
 ing could have done in a series of years. To which end, the accidental 
 discovery by Miss Knag of some tender correspondence, in which 
 Madame Mantalini was described as " old" and " ordinary," had most 
 providentially contributed. 
 
 However, notwithstanding her firmness, Madame Mantalini wept 
 very piteously ; and as she leant upon Miss Knag, and signed towards 
 the door, that young lady and all the other young ladies with sympa- 
 thising faces, proceeded to bear her out. 
 
 " Nickleby," said Mr. Mantalini, in tears, " you have been made a wit- 
 ness to this demnition cruelty, on the part of the demdest enslaver and 
 captivater that never was, oh dem ! I forgive that woman." 
 
 " Forgive !" repeated Madame Mantalini, angrily. 
 
 " I do forgive her, Nickleby," said Mr. Mantalini. " You will blamo 
 me, the world will blame me, the women will blame me ; everybody 
 will laugh, and scoff, and smile, and grin most demnebly. They will 
 say, ' She had a blessing. She did not know it. He was too weak ; 
 he was too good ; he was a dem'd fine fellow, but he loved too strong ; 
 he could not bear her to be cross, and call him wicked names. It was 
 a dem'd case, there never was a demder. — But I forgive her." 
 
 With this affecting speech Mr. Mantalini fell down again very flat, 
 and lay to all appearance without sense or motion, until all the females 
 
436 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 had left the room, when he came cautiously into a sitting posture, and 
 confronted Ralph with a very blank face, and the little bottle still in 
 4)ne hand and the tea-spoon in the other. 
 
 " You may put away those fooleries now, and live by your wits 
 again," said Ralph, coolly putting on his hat. 
 
 " Demmit, Nickleby, you're not serious ?" 
 
 *' I seldom joke," said Ralph. " Good night." 
 
 " No, but Nickleby — " said Mantalini. 
 
 " I am wrong, perhaps," rejoined Ralph. " I hope so. Yon should 
 know best. Good night." 
 
 Affecting not to hear his entreaties that he would stay and advise 
 with him, Ralph left the crest-fallen Mr. Mantalini to his meditations, 
 and left the house quietly. 
 
 " Oho !" he said, " sets the wind that way so soon ? Half knave 
 and half fool, and detected in both characters — hum — I think your day 
 is over, sir." 
 
 As he said this, he made some memorandum in his pocket-book in 
 which Mr. Mantalini's name figured conspicuously, and finding by his 
 watch that it was between nine and ten o'clock, made all speed home. 
 
 " Are they here ?" was the first question he asked of Newman. 
 
 Newman nodded. " Been here half-an-hour." 
 ; " Two of them ? one a fat sleek man ?" 
 
 " Ay," said Newman. " In your room now." 
 
 " Good," rejoined Ralph. " Get me a coach." 
 
 " A coach ! "What you — going to — Eh ?" stammered Newman. 
 
 Ralph angrily repeated his orders, and Noggs, who might well have 
 been excused for wondering at such an unusual and extraordinary cir- 
 cumstance — for he had never seen Ralph in a coach in his life — departed 
 on his errand, and presently returned with the conveyance. 
 
 Into it went Mr. Squeers, and Ralph, and the third man, whom 
 Newman Noggs had never seen. , Newman stood upon the door step to 
 see them off, not troubling himself to wonder where or upon what 
 business they were going, until he chanced by mere accident to hear 
 Ralph name the address whither the coachman was to drive. 
 
 Quick as lightning and in a state of the most extreme wonder, New- 
 man darted into his little ofiice for his hat, and limped after the coach 
 as if with the intention of getting up behind ; but in this design he was 
 balked, for it had too much the start of him and was soon hopelessly 
 ahead, leavhig him gaping in the empty street. 
 
 " I don't know though," said Noggs, stopping for breath, '* any good 
 that I could have done by going too. He would have seen me if I had. 
 Drive there! "What can come of this! If I had only known it yes- 
 terday I could have told — drive there ! There's mischief in it. There 
 must be." 
 
 His reflections were interrupted by a grey-haired man of a very 
 remarkable, though far from prepossessing appearance, who, coming 
 stealthily towards him, solicited relief. 
 
 Newman, still cogitating deeply, turned away ; but the man followed 
 him, and pressed him with such a tale of misery that Newman (who 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 439 
 
 might have been considered a hopeless person to beg from, and who 
 had little enough to give) looked into his hat for some halfpence which 
 he usually kept screwed up, when he had any, in a corner of his pocket 
 handkerchief. 
 
 While he was busily untwisting the knot with his teeth, the man said 
 something which attracted his attention ; whatever that something was, 
 it led to something else, and in the end he and Newman walked away 
 side by side — the strange man talking earnestly, and Newman listening. 
 
 CHAPTER XLY. 
 
 CONTAINING MATTER OF A SURPRISING KIND. 
 
 " As we gang awa' fra' Lunnun tomorrow neeght, and as I dinnot 
 know that I was e'er so happy in a' my days, Mistlier Nickleby, Ding 1 
 but I will tak' anoother glass to our next merry meeting ! " 
 
 So said John Browdie, rubbing his hands with great joyousness, and 
 looking round him with a ruddy shining face, quite in keeping with the 
 declaration. 
 
 The time at which John found himself in this enviable condition, was 
 the same evening to which the last chapter bore reference ; the place 
 was the cottage; and the assembled company were Nicholas, Mrs. 
 Nickleby, Mrs. Browdie, Kate Nickleby, and Smike. 
 
 A very merry party they had been. Mrs. Nickleby, knowing of her 
 son's obligations to the honest Yorkshireman, had, after some demur, 
 yielded her consent to Mr. and Mrs. Browdie being invited out to tea ; 
 in the way of which arrangement, there were at first sundry difficulties 
 and obstacles, arising out of her not having had an opportunity of " call- 
 ing" upon Mrs. Browdie first ; for although Mrs. Nickleby very often 
 observed with much complacency (as most punctilious people do), that 
 she had not an atom of pride or formality about her, still she was a great 
 stickler for dignity and ceremonies ; and as it was manifest that, until a 
 call had been made, she could not be (politely speaking, and according 
 to the laws of society) even cognizant of the fact of Mrs. Browdie's ex- 
 istence, she felt her situation to be one of peculiar delicacy and difficulty. 
 
 " The call must originate with me, my dear," said Mrs. Nickleby, 
 " that's indispensable. The fact is, my dear, that it's necessary there 
 should be a sort of condescension on my part, and that I should show 
 this young person that I am wiUing to take notice of her. There's 
 a very respectable-looking young man," added Mrs. Nickleby, after a 
 short consideration, " who is conductor to one of the omnibuses that go 
 by here, and who wears a glazed hat — your sister and I have noticed 
 him very often — he has a wart upon his nose, Kate, you know, exactly 
 like a gentleman's servant." 
 
 " Have all gentlemen's servants warts upon their noses, mother?" 
 asked Nicholas. 
 
440 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 " Nicholas, my dear, how very absurd you are," returned his mo- 
 ther ; " of course I mean that his glazed liat looks like a gentleman's 
 servant, and not the wart upon his nose — though even that is not so 
 ridiculous as it may seem to you, for we had a footboy once, who had 
 not only a wart, but a wen also, and a very large wen too, and he 
 demanded to have his wages raised in consequence, because he found it 
 came very expensive. Let me see, what was I — oh yes, I know. The 
 best way that I can think of, would be to send a card, and my compli- 
 ments, (I've no doubt he'd take 'em for a pot of porter,) by this young 
 man, to the Saracen with Two Necks — if the waiter took him for a gen- 
 tleman's servant, so much the better. Then all Mrs. Browdie would 
 have to do, would be to send her card back by the carrier (he could 
 easily come with a double knock), and there's an end of it." 
 
 " My dear mother," said Nicholas, " I don't suppose such unsophis- 
 ticated people as these ever had a card of their own, or ever will have." 
 
 " Oh that, indeed, Nicholas, my dear," returned Mrs. Nicklcby, 
 " that's another thing. If you put it upon that ground, why, of course, 
 I have no more to say, than that I have no doubt they are very good 
 sort of persons, and that I have no kind of objection to their coming 
 here to tea if they like, and shall make a point of being very civil to 
 them if they do." 
 
 The point being thus eflPectually set at rest, and Mrs. NIckleby duly 
 placed in the patronising and mildly-condescending position which 
 became her rank and matrimonial years, Mr. and Mrs. Browdie were 
 invited and came ; and as they were very deferential to Mrs. Nickleby, 
 and seemed to have a becoming appreciation of her greatness, and were 
 very much pleased with everything, the good lady had more than once 
 given Kate to understand, in a whisper, that she thought they were the 
 very best-meaning people she had ever seen, and perfectly well behaved. 
 
 And thus it came to pass, that John Browdie declared, in the parlour 
 after supper, to wit, at twenty niinutes before eleven o'clock, p.m., that 
 he had never been so happy in all his days. 
 
 Nor was Mrs. Browdie much behind her husband in this respect, for 
 that young matron — whose rustic beauty contrasted very prettily with 
 the more delicate loveliness of Kate, and without suffering by the con- 
 trast either, for each served as it were to set off and decorate the other 
 — could not sufficiently admire the gentle and winning manners of the 
 young lady, or the engaging affability of the elder one. Then Kate had 
 the art of turning the conversation to subjects upon which the country 
 girl, bashful at first in strange company, could feel herself at home ; 
 and if Mrs. Nickleby was not quite so felicitous at times in the selection 
 of topics of discourse, or if she did seem, as Mrs. Browdie expressed it, 
 " rather high in her notions," still nothing could be kinder, and that she 
 took considerable interest in the young couple was manifest from the 
 very long lectures on housewifery with which she was so obliging as to 
 entertain Mrs. Browdie's private ear, which were illustrated by various 
 references to the domestic economy of the cottage, in which (those 
 duties falling exclusively upon Kate) the good lady had about as much 
 share, either in theory or practice, as any one of the statues of 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 441 
 
 the Twelve Apostles which embellish the exterior of Saint Paul's 
 cathedral. 
 
 " Mr. Browdie," said Kate, addressing his young wife, " is the best 
 humoured, the kindest and heartiest creature I ever saw. If I were 
 oppressed with I don't know how many cares, it would make me happy 
 only to look at him." 
 
 " He does seem indeed, upon my word, a most excellent creature, 
 Kate," said Mrs. Nickleby ; " most excellent. And I am sure that at 
 all times it will give me pleasure — really pleasure now — to have you, 
 Mrs. Browdie, to see me in tliis plain and homely manner. We make 
 no display," said Mrs. Nickleby, with an air which seemed to insinuate 
 that they could make a vast deal if they were so disposed — " no fuss, 
 no preparation ; I wouldn't allow it. I said ' Kate, my dear, you will 
 only make Mrs. Browdie feel uncomfortable, and how very foolish and 
 inconsiderate that would be!'" 
 
 " I am very much obliged to you, I am sure, ma'am," returned Mrs. 
 Browdie, gratefully. " It's nearly eleven o'clock, John. I am afraid 
 we are keeping you up very late, ma'am." 
 
 " Late !" cried Mrs. Nickleby, with a sharp thin laugh, and one little 
 cough at the end, like a note of admiration expressed. " This is quite 
 early for us. We used to keep such hours ! Twelve, one, two, three 
 o'clock was nothing to us. Balls, dinners, card-parties — never were 
 such rakes as the people about where we used to live. I often think 
 now, I am sure, that how we ever could go through with it is quite 
 astonishing — and that is just the evil of having a large connexion and 
 being a great deal sought after, which I would recommend all young 
 married people steadily to resist ; though of course, and it's perfectly 
 clear, and a very happy thing too, / think, that very few young married 
 people can be exposed to such temptations. There was one family in 
 particular, that used to live about a mile from us — not straight down 
 the road, but turning sharp off to the left by the turnpike where the 
 Plymouth mail ran over the donkey — that were quite extraordinary 
 people for giving the most extravagant parties, with artificial flowers 
 and champagne, and variegated lamps, and, in short, every delicacy of 
 eating and drinking that the most singular epicure could possibly re- 
 quire — I don't think there ever were such people as those Peltiroguses. 
 You remember the Peltiroguses, Kate ?" 
 
 Kate saw that for the ease and comfort of the visitors it was high 
 time to stay this flood of recollection, so answered that she entertained 
 of the Peltiroguses a most vivid and distinct remembrance ; and then 
 said that Mr. Browdie had half promised, early in the evening, that he 
 would sing a Yorkshire song, and that she was most impatient that he 
 should redeem his promise, because she was sure it would afford her 
 mama more amusement and pleasure than it was possible to express. 
 
 Mrs. Nickleby confirming her daughter with the best possible grace 
 — for there was patronage in that too, and a kind of implication that 
 she had a discerning taste in such matters, and was something of a critic 
 — John Browdie proceeded to consider the words of some north-country 
 ditty, and to take his wife's recollection respecting the same. This done, 
 
442 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 he made divers ungainly movements in his chair, and singling out one 
 particular fly on the ceiling from the other flies there asleep, fixed his 
 eyes upon him, and began to roar a meek sentiment (supposed to be 
 uttered by a gentle swain fast pining away with love and despair) in a 
 voice of thunder. 
 
 At the end of the first verse, as though some person without had 
 waited until then to make himself audible, was heard a loud and violent 
 knocking at the street-door — so loud and so violent, indeed, that the 
 ladies started as by one accord, and John Browdie stopped. 
 
 " It must be some mistake," said Nicholas, carelessly. " We know 
 nobody who would come here at this hour." 
 
 Mrs. Nickleby surmised, however, that perhaps the counting-house 
 was burnt down, or perhaps ' the Mr. Cheerybles ' had sent to take 
 Nicholas into partnership (which certainly appeared highly probable at 
 that time of night) or perhaps Mr. Linkinwater had nm away with 
 the property, or perhaps Miss La Creevy was taken ill, or perhaps 
 
 But a hasty exclamation from Kate stopped her abruptly in her con- 
 jectures, and Ralph Nickleby walked into the room. 
 
 " Stay," said Ralph, as Nicholas rose, and Kate, making her way 
 towards him, threw herself upon his arm. " Before that boy says a 
 word, hear me." 
 
 Nicholas bit his lip and shook his head in a threatening manner, but 
 appeared for the moment unable to articulate a syllable. Kate clung 
 closer to his arm, Smike retreated behind them, and John Browdie, who 
 had heard of Ralph, and appeared to have no great difficulty in recog- 
 nising him, stepped between the old man and his young friend, as if with 
 the intention of preventing either of them from advancing a step further. 
 
 " Hear me, I say," said Ralph, "and not him." 
 
 " Say what thou'st gotten to say then, sir," retorted John ; " and tak' 
 care thou dinnot put up angry bluid which thou'dst betther try to 
 quiet." 
 
 " I should know you" said Ralph, " by your tongue ; and Jdm " 
 (pointing to Smike) " by his looks." 
 
 " Don't speak to him," said Nicholas, recovering his voice. " I will 
 not have it. I will not hear him. I do not know that man. I cannot 
 breathe the air that he corrupts. His presence is an insult to my sister. 
 It is shame to see him. I will not bear it, by " 
 
 " Stand !" cried John, laying his heavy hand upon his chest. 
 
 " Then let him instantly retire," said Nicholas, struggling. " I am 
 not going to lay hands upon him, but he shall withdraw. I will not 
 have him here. John — John Browdie — is this my house — am I a child ? 
 If he stands there," cried Nicholas, burning with fury, " looking so 
 calmly upon those who know his black and dastardly heart, he'll drive 
 me mad." 
 
 To all these exclamations John Browdie iinswercd not a word, but 
 he retained his hold upon Nicholas; and when he was silent again, 
 spoke. 
 
 " There's more to say and hear than thou think'st for," said John. 
 " I tell'ee I ha' gotten scent o' thot already. Wa'at be that shadow 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 443 
 
 ootside door there ? Noo sclioolmeasther, show thyself, mun ; dinnot 
 be sheame-feaced. Noo, auld gen'lm'n, let's have schoolmeasther, 
 coom." 
 
 Hearing this adjuration, Mr. Squeers, who had been lingering in the 
 passage until such time as it should be expedient for him to enter and 
 he could appear with effect, was fain to present himself in a somewhat 
 undignified and sneaking way ; at which John Browdie laughed with 
 such keen and heartfelt delight, that even Kate, in all the pain anxiety 
 and surprise of the scene, and though the tears were in her eyes, felt a 
 disposition to join him. 
 
 *' Have you done enjoying yourself, sir ?" said Ralph, at length. 
 
 " Pratty nigh for the prasant time, sir," replied John. 
 
 " I can wait," said Ralph. " Take your own time, pray." 
 
 Ralph waited until there was a perfect silence, and then turning to 
 Mrs. Nickleby, but directing an eager glance at Kate, as if more anxious 
 to watch his effect upon her, said : — 
 
 " Now, ma'am, listen to me. I don't imagine that you were a party 
 to a very fine tirade of words sent me by that boy of yours, because I 
 don't believe that under his control, you have the slightest will off 
 your own, or that your advice, your opinion, your wants, your wishes 
 — anything which in nature and reason (or of what use is your great 
 experience ?) ought to weigh with him — has the slightest influence or 
 weight whatever, or is taken for a moment into account." 
 
 Mrs. Nickleby shook her head and sighed, as if there were a good 
 deal in that, certainly. 
 
 " For this reason," resumed Ralph, "I address myself to you ma'am. 
 For this reason, partly, and partly because I do not wish to be dis- 
 graced by the acts of a vicious stripling whom / was obliged to disown, 
 and who, afterwards, in his boyish majesty, feigns to — ha ! ha ! — to 
 disown me^ I present myself here to-night. I have another motive in 
 coming — a motive of humanity. I come here," said Ralph, looking 
 round with a biting and triumphant smile, and gloating and dwelling 
 upon the words as if he were loath to lose the pleasure of saying them, 
 " to restore a parent his child. Ay, sir," he continued, bending eagerly 
 forward, and addressing Nicholas, as he marked the change of his 
 countenance, " to restore a parent his child — his son, sir — trepanned, 
 waylaid, and guarded at every turn by you, with the base design of 
 robbing him some day of any little wretched pittance of which he 
 might become possessed." 
 
 " In that, you know you lie," said Nicholas, proudly. 
 
 " In this, I know I speak the truth — I have his father here," re- 
 torted Ralph. 
 
 " Here !" sneered Squeers, stepping forward. " Do you hear that ? 
 Here ! Didn't I tell you to be careful that his father didn't turn up, 
 and send him back to me ? Why, his father's my friend ; he's to come 
 back to me directly, he is. Now, what do you say — eh ! — now — come — 
 what do you say to that — an't you sorry you took so much trouble for 
 nothing ? an't you ? an't you ?" 
 
 " You bear upon your body certain marks I gave you," said Nicholas, 
 
444 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 looking quietly away, " and may talk in acknowledgment of them as 
 much as you please. You'll talk a long time before you rub them out, 
 Mr. Squeers." 
 
 The estimable gentleman last-named, cast a hasty look at the table, 
 as if he were prompted by this retort to throw a jug or bottle at the head 
 of Nicholas, but he was interrupted in this design (if such design he 
 had) by Ralph, who, touching him on the elbow, bade him tell the father 
 that he might now appear and claim his son. 
 
 This being purely a labour of love, Mr. Squeers readily complied, 
 and leaving the room for the purpose, almost immediately returned, 
 supporting a sleek personage with an oily face, who, bursting from him, 
 and giving to view the form and face of Mr. Snawley, made straight up 
 to Smike, and tucking that poor fellow's head under his arm in a most 
 uncouth and awkward embrace, elevated his broad-brimmed hat at 
 arm's length in the air as a token of devout thanksgiving, exclaiming, 
 meanwhile, " How little did I think of this here joyful meeting, when 
 I saw him last ! Oh, how little did I think it !" 
 
 " Be composed, sir," said Ralph, with a gruff expression of sympathy, 
 '* you have got him now." 
 
 " Got him ! Oh, havn t I got him ! Have I got him, though V 
 cried Mr. Snawley, scarcely able to believe it. " Yes, here he is, 
 flesh and blood, flesh and blood." 
 
 " Vary little flesh," said John Browdie. 
 
 Mr. Snawley was too much occupied by his parental feelings to notice 
 this remark ; and, to assure himself more completely of the restoration of 
 his child, tucked his head under his arm again, and kept it there. 
 
 " What was it," said Snawley, " that made me take such a strong 
 interest in him, when that worthy instructor of youth brought him to 
 my house ? What was it that made me burn all over with a wish to 
 chastise him severely for cutting away from his best friends — his pastors 
 and masters ? " 
 
 " It was parental instinct, sir," observed Squeers. 
 
 " That's what it was, sir," rejoined Snawley ; " the elevated feeling 
 — the feeling of the ancient Romans and Grecians, and of the beasts 
 of the field and birds of the air, with the exception of rabbits and tom- 
 cats, which sometimes devour their ofispring. My heart yearned towards 
 him. I could have — I don't know what I couldn't have done to 
 him in the anger of a father." 
 
 " It only shows what Natur is, sir," said Mr. Squeers. " She's a 
 rum 'un, is Natur." 
 
 " She is a holy thing, sir," remarked Snawley. 
 
 " I believe you," added Mr. Squeers, with a moral sigh. " I should 
 like to know how we should ever get on without her. Natur," said Mr. 
 Squeers, solemnly, " is more easier conceived than described. Oh what 
 a blessed thing, sir, to be in a state of natur !" 
 
 Pending this philosophical discourse, the bystanders had been quite stu- 
 pified with amazement, while Nicholas had looked keenly from Snawley 
 to Squeers, and from Squeers to Ralph, divided between his feelings of 
 disgust, doubt, and surprise. At this juncture, Smiko escaping from 
 
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NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 445 
 
 his father fled to Nicholas, and implored him, in most moving terms, 
 never to give him up, but to let him live and die beside him. 
 
 " If you are this boy's father," said Nicholas, " look at the wreck he 
 is, and tell me that you purpose to send him back to that loathsome den 
 from which I brought him." 
 
 "Scandal again ! " cried Squeers. "Recollect, you an't worth powder 
 and shot, but I'll be even with you one way or another." 
 
 " Stop," interposed Ralph, as Snawley was about to speak. " Let us 
 cut this matter short, and not bandy words here with hare-brained pro- 
 fligates. This is your son, as you can prove — and you, Mr. Squeers, you 
 know this boy to be the same that was with you for so many years 
 under the name of Smike — Do you ? " 
 
 " Do I ! " returned Squeers. " Don't I ? " 
 
 " Good," said Ralph ; " a very few words will be sufficient here. 
 You had a son by your first wife, Mr. Snawley ? " 
 
 " I had," replied that person, " and there he stands." 
 
 " We'll show that presently," said Ralph. " You and your wife 
 were separated, and she had the boy to live with her, when he was a 
 year old. You received a communication from her, when you had 
 lived apart a year or two, that the boy was dead ; and you believed 
 it?" 
 
 " Of course I did ! " returned Snawley. " Oh the joy of " 
 
 " Be rational, sir, pray," said Ralph. " This is business, and trans- 
 ports interfere with it. This wife died a year and a half ago, or there- 
 abouts — not more — in some obscure place, where she was house- 
 keeper in a family. Is that the case ?" 
 
 " That's the case," replied Snawley. 
 
 " Having written on her death-bed a letter or confession to you, 
 about this very boy, which, as it was not directed otherwise than in 
 your name, only reached you, and that by a circuitous course, a few 
 days since ? " 
 
 " Just so," said Snawley. " Correct in every particular, sir." 
 
 " And this confession," resumed Ralph, " is to the eff*ect that his 
 death was an invention of hers to wound you — was a part of a system 
 of annoyance, in short, which you seem to have adopted towards each 
 other — that the boy lived, but was of weak and imperfect intellect— 
 that she sent him by a trusty hand to a cheap school in Yorkshire — 
 that she had paid for his education for some years, and then, being poor, 
 and going a long way ofi^, gradually deserted him, for which she prayed 
 forgiveness ? " 
 
 Snawley nodded his head, and wiped his eyes ; the first slightly, the 
 last violently. 
 
 " The school was Mr. Squeers's," continued Ralph ; " the boy was 
 left there in the name of Smike ; every description was fully given, 
 dates tally exactly with Mr. Squeers's books, Mr. Squeers is lodging 
 with you at this time ; you have two other boys at his school : you 
 communicated the whole discovery to him, he brought you to me as the 
 person who had recommended to him the kidnapper of his child ; and 
 I brought you here. Is that so ?" 
 
446 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 " You talk like a good book, sir, that's got nothing in its inside but 
 what's the truth," replied Snawley. 
 
 " This is your pocket-book," said Ralph, producinjr one from his 
 coat ; " the certificates of your first marriage and of the boy's birth, and 
 your wife's two letters, and every other j)aper that can support these 
 statements directly or by implication, are here, are they?" 
 
 '* Every one of 'em, sir." 
 
 " And you don't object to their being looked at here, so that these 
 people may be convinced of your power to substantiate your claim at 
 once in law and reason, and you may resume your controul over your 
 own son without more delay. Do I understand you?" 
 
 " I couldn't have understood myself better, sir." 
 
 " There, then," said Ilalph, tossing the pocket-book upon the table. 
 '^ Let them see them if they like ; and as those are the original papers, 
 I should recommend you to stand near while they are being examined, 
 or you may chance to lose some." 
 
 With these words Ralph sat down unbidden, and compressing his 
 lips, which were for the moment slightly parted by a smile, folded his 
 arms, and looked for the first time at his nephew. 
 
 Nicholas, stung by the concluding taunt, darted an indignant glance 
 at him ; but commanding himself as well as he could, entered upon a 
 close examination of the documents, at which John Browdie assisted. 
 There was nothing about them which could be called in question. The 
 certificates were regularly signed as extracts from the parish books, the 
 first letter had a genuine appearance of having been written and pre- 
 served for some yc-ars, the hand-writing of the second tallied with it 
 exactly, (making proper allowance for its having been written by a 
 person in extremity,) and there were several other corroboratory scraps 
 of entries and memoranda which it was equally difficult to question. 
 
 " Dear Nicholas," whispered Kate, who had been looking anxiously 
 over his shoulder, " can this be really the case ? Is this statement true ?" 
 
 " I fear it is," answered Nicholas. " What say you, John ?" 
 
 John scratched his head and shook it, but said nothing at all. 
 
 " You will observe, ma'am," said Ralph, addressing himself to Mrs. 
 Nickleby, " that this boy being a minor and not of strong mind, we 
 might have come here to-night, armed with the powers of the law, and 
 backed by a troop of its myrmidons. I should have done so, ma'am, 
 unquestionably, but for my regard for the feelings of yourself — and 
 your daughter." 
 
 " You have shown your regard for her feelings well," said Nicholas, 
 drawing his sister towards him. 
 
 " Thank you," replied Ralph. " Your praise, sir, is commendation, 
 indeed." 
 
 " Well," said Squeers, " whaf s to be done ? Them hackney-coach 
 horses will catch cold if we don't think of moving ; there's one of 'em a- 
 sneezing now, so that he blows the street door right open. What's the 
 order of the day — eh ? Is Master Snawley to come along with us ?" 
 
 " No, no, no," replied Smike, drawing back, and clinging to Nicholas. 
 " No. Pray, no. I will not go from you with him. No, no." 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 447 
 
 " This is a cruel tiling," said Snawley, looking to his friends for sup- 
 port. " Do parents bring children into the world for this V 
 
 " Do parents bring children into the world for thot ?" said John 
 Browdie bluntly, pointing, as he spoke, to Squeers. 
 
 "Never you mind," retorted that gentleman, tapping his nose, 
 derisively. 
 
 " Never I mind !" said John, " no, nor never nobody mind, say'st 
 thou, schoolmeasther. It's nobody's minding that keeps sike men as 
 thou afloat. Noo then, where be'st thou coomin to ? Dang it, dinnot 
 coom treadin' ower me, mun." 
 
 Suiting the action to the word, John Browdie just jerked his elbow 
 into the chest of Mr. Squeers who was advancing upon Smike ; with so 
 much dexterity that the schoolmaster reeled and staggered back upon 
 Ralph Nickleby, and being unable to recover his balance, knocked that 
 gentleman off his chair, and stumbled heavily upon him. 
 
 This accidental circumstance was the signal for some very decisive 
 proceedings. In the midst of a great noise, occasioned by the prayers 
 and entreaties of Smike, the cries and exclamations of the women, and 
 the vehemence of the men, demonstrations were made of carrying off 
 the lost son by violence : and Squeers had actually begun to haul him 
 out, when Nicholas (who, until then, had been evidently undecided how 
 to act) took him by the collar, and shaking him so that such teeth as 
 he had, chattered in his head, politely escorted him to the room door, 
 and thrusting him into the passage, shut it upon him. 
 
 " Now" said Nicholas, to the other two, " have the kindness to follow 
 your friend." ^ 
 
 " I want my son," said SnaMey. 
 
 " Your son," replied Nicholas, " chooses for himself. He chooses to 
 remain here, and he shall." 
 
 " You won't give him up ?" said Snawlcy. 
 
 " I w^ould not give him up against his will, to be the victim of such 
 brutality as that to which you would consign him," replied Nicholas, 
 " if he were a dog or a rat." 
 
 " Knock that Nickleby down with a candlestick," cried Mr. Squeers, 
 through the keyhole, " and bring out my hat, somebody, will you, unless 
 he wants to steal it." 
 
 " I am very sorry, indeed," said Mrs. Nickleby, who, with Mrs. 
 Browdie, had stood crying and biting her fingers in a corner, while 
 Kate — very pale, but perfectly quiet — had kept as near her brother as 
 she could. " I am very sorry, indeed, for all this. I really don't know 
 what would be best to do, and that's the truth. Nicholas ought to be 
 the best judge, and I hope he is. Of course, it's a hard thing to have 
 to keep other people's children, though young Mr. Snawley is certainly 
 as useful and willing as it's possible for anybody to be ; but, if it could 
 be settled in any friendly manner — if old Mr. Snawley, for instance, 
 would settle to pay something certain for bis board and lodging, and 
 some fair arrangement was come to, so that we undertook to have fish 
 twice a-week, and a pudding twice, or a dumpling, or something of that 
 sort, I do think that it might be very satisfactory and pleasant for all 
 parties." 
 
448 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 This compromise, which was proposed with abundance of tears and 
 sighs, not exactly meeting the point at issue, nobody took any notice of 
 it ; and poor Mrs. Nickleby accordingly proceeded to enlighten Mrs. 
 Browdie upon the advantages of such a scheme, and the unhappy 
 results flowing on all occasions, from her not being attended to when 
 she proffered her advice. 
 
 " You, sir," said Snawley, addressing the terrified Smike, " are an 
 unnatural, ungrateful, unloveable boy. You won't let me love you 
 ■when I want to. Won't you come home — won't you ? " 
 
 " No, no, no," cried Smike, shrinking back. 
 
 " He never loved nobody," bawled Squeers, through the keyhole. 
 '* He never loved me ; he never loved Wackford, who is next door but 
 one to a cherubim. How can you expect that he'll love his father ? 
 He'll never love his father, he won't. He don't know what it is to have 
 a father. He don't understand it. It an't in him." 
 
 Mr. Snawley looked stedfastly at his son for a full minute, and 
 then covering his eyes with his hand, and once more raising his hat in 
 the air, appeared deeply occupied in deploring his black ingratitude. 
 Then drawing his arm across his eyes, he picked up Mr. Squeers's hat, 
 and taking it under one arm, and his own under the other, walked 
 slowly and sadly out. 
 
 " Your romance, sir," said Ralph, lingering for a moment, " is de- 
 stroyed, I take it. No unknown ; no persecuted descendant of a man of 
 high degree ; but the weak, imbecile son of a poor, petty tradesman. 
 "We shall see how your sympathy melts before plain matter of fact." 
 
 " You shall," said Nicholas, motioning towards the door. 
 
 " And trust me, sir," added Ralph, " that I never supposed you 
 would give him up to-night. Pride, obstinacy, reputation for fine feel- 
 ing, were all against it. These must be brought down, sir, lowered, 
 crushed, as they shall be soon. The protracted and wearing anxiety 
 and expense of the law in its most oppressive form, its torture from 
 hour to hour, its weary days and sleepless nights — with these I'll prove 
 you, and break your haughty spirit, strong as you deem it now. And 
 when you make this house a hell, and visit these trials upon yonder 
 wretched object (as you will; I know you), and those who think you 
 now a young-fledged hero, we'll go into old accounts between us two, 
 and see who stands the debtor, and comes out best at last — even before 
 the world." 
 
 Ralph Nickleby withdrew. But Mr. Squeers, who had heard a 
 portion of this closing address, and was by this time wound up to a 
 pitch of impotent malignity almost unprecedented, could not refrain 
 from returning to the parlour-door, and actually cutting some dozen 
 capers with various wry faces and hideous grimaces, expressive of his 
 triumphant confidence in the downfall and defeat of Nicholas. 
 
 Having concluded this war-dance, in which his short trousers and 
 large boots had borne a very conspicuous figure, Mr. Squeers followed 
 his friends, and the family were left to meditate upon recent occurrences. 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 449 
 
 CHAPTER XLVI. 
 
 THROWS SOME LIGHT UPON NICHOLAS'S LOVE; BUT WHETHER FOR 
 GOOD OR EVIL THE READER MUST DETERMINE. 
 
 After an anxious consideration of the painful and embarrassing 
 position in which he was placed, Nicholas decided that he ought to 
 lose no time in frankly stating it to the kind brothers. Availing himself 
 of the first opportunity of being alone with Mr. Charles Cheeryble at 
 the close of next day, he accordingly related Smike's little liistory, and 
 modestly but firmly expressed his hope that the good old gentleman 
 would, under such circumstances as he described, hold him justified in 
 adopting the extreme course of interfering between parent and child, and 
 upholding the latter in his disobedience ; even though his horror and 
 dread of his father might seem, and would doubtless be represented as, 
 a thing so repulsive and unnatural, as to render those who countenanced 
 him in it, fit objects of general detestation and abhorrence. 
 
 " So deeply-rooted does this horror of the man appear to be," said 
 Nicholas, "that I can hardly believe he really is his son. Nature 
 does not seem to have implanted in his breast one lingering feeling of 
 affection for him, and surely she can never err." 
 
 " My dear sir," replied brother Charles, " you fall into the very 
 common mistake of charging upon Nature, matters with which she has 
 not the smallest connexion, and for which she is in no way responsible. 
 Men talk of nature as an abstract thing, and lose sight of what is 
 natural while they do so. Here is a poor lad who has never felt a 
 parent's care, who has scarcely known anything all his life but suffering 
 and sorrow, presented to a man who he is told is his father, and whose 
 first act is to signify his intention of putting an end to his short term of 
 happiness : of consigning him to his old fate, and taking him from the 
 only friend he has ever had — which is yourself. If Nature, in such a 
 case, put into that lad's breast but one secret prompting which urged 
 him towards his father and away from you, she would be a liar and an 
 idiot." 
 
 Nicholas was delighted to find that the old gentleman spoke so 
 warmly, and in the hope that he might say something more to the same 
 purpose made no reply. 
 
 " The same mistake presents itself to me, in one shape or other, 
 at every turn," said brotlier Charles. " Parents who never showed 
 their love, complain of want of natural affection in their children — chil- 
 dren who never showed their duty, complain of want of natural feeling 
 in their parents — law-makers who find both so miserable that their 
 affections have never had enough of life's sun to develop them, are loud 
 in their moralisings over parents and children too, and cry that the very 
 ties of nature are disregarded. Natural affections and instincts, my dear 
 
 Q a 
 
450 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 sir, are the most beautiful of the Almighty's works, but like other beau- 
 tiful works of His, they must be reared and fostered, or it is as natural 
 that they should be wholly obscured, and that new feelings should usurp 
 their place, as it is that the sweetest productions of the earth, left un- 
 tended, should be choked with weeds and briars. I wish we could be 
 brought to consider this, and remembering natural obligations a little 
 more at the right time, talk about them a little less at the wrong one." 
 
 After this, brother Charles, who had talked himself into a great heat, 
 stopped to cool a little, and then continued : — 
 
 " I dare say you are surprised, my dear sir, that I have listened to 
 your recital with so little astonishment. That is easily explained — your 
 uncle has been here this morning." 
 
 Nicholas coloured, and drew back a step or two. 
 
 " Yes," said the old gentleman, tapping his desk emphatically, "here 
 —in this room. He would listen neither to reason, feeling, nor justice. 
 But brother Ned was hard upon him — brother Ned, sir, might have 
 melted a paving -stone." 
 
 " He came to " said Nicholas. 
 
 " To complain of you," returned brother Charles, " to poison our 
 ears with calumnies and falsehoods ; but he came on a fruitless errand, 
 and went away with some wholesome truths in his ear besides. 
 Brother Ned, my dear Mr. Nickleby — brother Ned, sir, is a perfect 
 lion. So is Tim Linkinwater — Tim is quite a lion. We had Tim in 
 to face him at first, and Tim was at him, sir, before you could say 
 ' Jack Robinson.' " 
 
 "How can I ever thank you, for all the deep obligations you 
 impose upon me every day ?" said Nicholas. 
 
 " By keeping silence upon the subject, my dear sir," returned brother 
 Charles. " You shall be righted. At least you shall not be wronged. 
 Nobody belonging to you shall be wronged. They shall not hurt a 
 hair of your head, or the boy's head, or your mother's head, or your 
 sister's head. I have said it, brother Ned has said it, Tim Linkinwater 
 has said it. We have all said it, and we'll all do it. I have seen the 
 father — if he is the father — and I suppose he must be. He is a barba- 
 rian and a hypocrite, Mr. Nickleby. I told him, ' You are a barbarian, 
 sir.' I did. I said, ' You're a barbarian, sir.' And I'm glad of it — 
 I am 'cery glad I told him he was a barbarian — very glad, indeed !" 
 
 By this time brother Charles was in such a very warm stJite of indig- 
 nation, that Nicholas thought he might venture to put in a word, but 
 the moment he essayed to do so, Mr. Cheeryble laid his hand softly 
 upon his arm, and pointed to a chair. 
 
 " The subject is at an end for the present," said the old gentleman, 
 wiping his face. " Don't revive it by a single word. I am going to 
 speak upon another subject — a confidential subject, Mr. Nickleby. We 
 must be cool again, we must be cool." 
 
 After two or three turns across the room he resumed his seat, and 
 drawing his chair nearer to that on which Nicholas was seated, said— 
 
 "I am about to employ you, my dear sir, on a confidential and deli- 
 cate mission/* 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 451 
 
 " You might employ many a more able messenger, sir," said Nicholas, 
 " but a more trustworthy or zealous one, I may be bold to say, you 
 could not find." 
 
 " Of that I am well assured," returned brother Charles, " well 
 assured. You will give me credit for thinking so, when I tell you, that 
 the object of this mission is a young lady." 
 
 " A young lady, sir !" cried Nicholas, quite trembling for the moment 
 with his eagerness to hear more. 
 
 " A very beautiful young lady," said Mr. Cheeryble, gravely. 
 
 " Pray go on, sir," returned Nicholas. 
 
 " I am thinking how to do so," said brother Charles — sadly, as it 
 seemed to his young friend, and with an expression allied to pain. 
 " You accidentally saw a young lady in this room one morning, my 
 dear sir, in a fainting fit. Do you remember ? Perhaps you have 
 forgotten " 
 
 " Oh no," replied Nicholas, hurriedly. " I — I — remember it very 
 well indeed." 
 
 '"'She is the lady I speak of," said brother Charles. Like the 
 famous parrot, Nicholas thought a great deal but was unable to utter 
 a word. 
 
 " She is the daughter," said Mr. Cheeryble, " of a lady who, when 
 she was a beautiful girl herself, and I was very many years younger, 
 I — it seems a strange word for me to utter now — I loved very dearly. 
 You will smile, perhaps, to hear a grey-headed man talk about such 
 things : you will not offend me, for when I was as young as you, I 
 dare say I should have done the same." 
 
 " I have no such inclination, indeed," said Nicholas. 
 
 " My dear brother Ned," continued Mr. Cheeryble, " was to have 
 married her sister^, but she died. She is dead too now, and has been 
 for many years. She married — her choice ; and I wish I could 
 add that her after-life was as happy, as God knows I ever prayed 
 it might be !" 
 
 A short silence intervened, which Nicholas made no effort to break. 
 
 " If trial and calamity had fallen as lightly on his head, as in the 
 deepest truth of my own heart I ever hoped (for her sake) it would, 
 his life would have been one of peace and happiness," said the old 
 gentleman, calmly. " It will be enough to say that this was not the 
 case — that she was not happy — that they fell into complicated distresses 
 and difficulties — that she came, twelve months before her death, to 
 appeal to my old friendship ; sadly changed, sadly altered, broken- 
 spirited from suffering and ill usage, and almost broken-hearted. Ho 
 readily availed himself of the money which, to give her but one 
 hour's peace of mind, I would have poured out as freely as water — 
 nay, he often sent her back for more — and yet even while he squandered 
 it, he made the very success of these, her applications to me, the 
 ground-work of cruel taunts and jeers, protesting that he knew she 
 thought with bitter remorse of the choice she had made, that she had 
 married him from motives of interest and vanity (he was a gay young 
 man with great friends abotit him when she chose him for her husband) , 
 
 G G 2 
 
452 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 and venting in short upon h^, by every vmjust and unkind means, the 
 bitterness of that ruin and disappointment wliich had been brought 
 about by his profligacy alone. In those times this young lady was a 
 mere child. I never saw her again until that morning when you saw 
 her also, but my nephew, Frank " 
 
 Nicholas started, and indistinctly apologising for the interruption, 
 begged his patron to proceed. 
 
 " My nephew, Frank, I say," resumed Mr. Cheeryble, " encountered 
 her by accident, and lost sight of her almost in a minute afterwards, 
 within two days after he returned to England. Her father lay in 
 some secret place to avoid his creditors, reduced, between sickness and 
 poverty, to the verge of death, and she, a child, — we might almost 
 think, if we did not know the wisdom of all Heaven's decrees — who 
 should have blessed a better man, was steadily braving privation, 
 degradation, and every thing most terrible to such a young and 
 delicate creature's heart, for the purpose of supporting him. She 
 was attended, sir," said brother Charles, " in these reverses, by one 
 faithful creature, who had been, in old times, a poor kitchen wench 
 in the family, who was then their solitary servant, but who might 
 have been, for the truth and fidelity of her heart — who might have 
 been — ah! the wife of Tim Linkinwater himself, sir!" 
 
 Pursuing this encomium upon the poor follower with such energy 
 and relish as no words can describe, brother Charles leant back in 
 his chair, and delivered the remainder of his relation with greater 
 composure. 
 
 It was in substance this : — That proudly resisting all offers of per- 
 manent aid and support from her late mother's friends, because they 
 were made conditional upon her quitting the wretched man, her father, 
 who had no friends left, and shrinking with instinctive delicacy from 
 appealing in their behalf to that true and noble heart which he hated, 
 and had. through its greatest and purest goodness, deeply wronged by 
 misconstruction and ill report, this young girl had struggled alone 
 and unassisted to maintain him by the labour of her hands. That 
 through the utmost depths of poverty and afliiction she had toiled, 
 never turning aside for an instant from her task, never wearied by the 
 petulant gloom of a sick man sustained by no consoling recollections 
 of the past or hopes of the future ; never repining for the comforts she 
 had rejected, or bewailing the hard lot she had volumarify incurred. 
 That every little accomplishment she had acquired in happier days had 
 been put into requisition for this purpose, and directed to this one end. 
 That for two long years, toiling by day and often too by night, working 
 at the needle, the pencil, and the pen, and submitting, as a daily gover- 
 ness, to such caprices and indignities as women (with daughters too) too 
 often love to inflict upon their own sex when theyserve in such capacities, 
 as though in jealousy of the superior intelligence which they are neces- 
 sitated to employ, — indignities, in ninety-nine cases out of every hundred, 
 heaped upon persons inmieasurably and incalculably their betters, but 
 outweighing in comparison any that the most heartless blackleg would 
 put upon his groom — that for two long years, by dint of labouring in 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 453 
 
 all these Ccapaclties and wearjing in none, she had not succeeded in the 
 sole aim and object of her life, but that, overwhelmed by accumulated 
 difficulties and disappointments, she had been compelled to seek out 
 her mother's old friend, and, with a bursting heart, to confide in him 
 at last. 
 
 " If I had been poor," said brother Charles, with sparkling eyes ; 
 " If I had been poor, Mr. Nickleby, my dear sir, which thank God I 
 am not, I would have denied myself — of course anybody would under 
 such circumstances — the commonest necessaries of life, to help her. 
 As it is, the task is a difficult one. If her father were dead, nothing 
 could be easier, for then she should share and cheer the happiest home 
 that brother Ned and I could have, as if she were our child or sister. 
 But he is still alive. Nobody can help him — that has been tried a 
 thousand times ; he was not abandoned by all without good cause, 
 I know." 
 
 " Cannot she be persuaded to " Nicholas hesitated when he had 
 
 got thus far. 
 
 " To leave him ?" said brother Charles. " Who could entreat a child 
 to desert her parent ? Such entreaties, limited to her seeing him oc- 
 casionally, have been urged upon her — not by me — but always with 
 the same result." 
 
 *' Is he kind to her?" said Nicholas. "Does he requite her 
 affection?" 
 
 " True kindness, considerate self-denying kindness, is not in his 
 nature," returned Mr. Cheeryble. " Such kindness as he knows, he 
 regards her with, I believe. The mother was a gentle, loving, confiding 
 creature, and although he wounded her from their marriage till her 
 death as cruelly and wantonly as ever man did, she never ceased to love 
 him. She commended him on her death-bed to her child's care. Her 
 child has never forgotten it, and never will." 
 
 " Have you no influence over him ?" asked Nicholas. 
 
 " I, my dear sir ! The last man in the world. Such is his jealousy 
 and hatred of me, that if he knew his daughter had opened her heart 
 to me, he would render her life miserable with his reproaches ; although 
 — this is the inconsistency and selfishness of his character — although 
 if he knew that every penny she had came from me, he would not 
 relinquish one personal desire that the most reckless expenditure of 
 her scanty stock could gratify." 
 
 " An unnatural scoundrel !" said Nicholas, indignantly. 
 
 " We will use no harsh terms," said brother Charles, in a gentle 
 voice ; " but accommodate ourselves to the circumstances in which this 
 young lady is placed. Such assistance as I have prevailed upon her to 
 accept, I have been obliged, at her own earnest request, to dole out in 
 the smallest portions, lest he, finding how easily money was procured, 
 should squander it even more lightly than he is accustomed to do. She 
 has come to and fro, to and fro, secretly and by night, to take even 
 this ; and I cannot bear that things should go on in this way, Mr. 
 Nickleby — I really cannot bear it." 
 
 Then it came out by little and little, how that the twins had been 
 
454 LIFE AND ADTENTURES OP 
 
 revolving in their good old heads manifold plans and schemes for 
 helping this young lady in the most delicate and considerate way, and 
 so that her father should not suspect the source whence the aid was 
 derived ; and how they had at last come]to the conclusion, that the best 
 course would be to make a feint of purchasing her little drawings and 
 ornamental work at a high price, and keeping up a constant demand 
 for the same. For the furtherance of which end and object it was 
 necessary that somebody should represent the dealer in such commodi- 
 ties, and after great deliberation they had pitched upon Nicholas to 
 support this character. 
 
 " He knows me," said brother Charles, " and he knows my t)rother 
 Ned. Neither of us would do. Frank is a very good fellow — a very 
 fine fellow — but we are afraid that he might be a little flighty and 
 thoughtless in such a delicate matter, and that he might, perhaps — 
 that he might, in short, be too susceptible (for she is a beautiful 
 creature, Sir; just what her poor mother was), and falling in love 
 with her before he well knew his own mind, carry pain and sorrow 
 into that innocent breast, which we would be the humble instruments 
 of gradually making happy. Fie took an extraordinary interest in her 
 fortunes when he first happened to encounter her ; and we gather from 
 the inquiries we have made of him, tliat it was she in whose behalf he 
 made that turmoil which led to your first acquaintance." 
 
 Nicholas stammered out that he had before suspected the possibility 
 of such a thing ; and in explanation of its having occurred to him, 
 described when and where he had seen the young lady himself. 
 
 " Well ; then you see," continued brother Charles, " that he wouldn't 
 do. Tim Linkinwater is out of the question ; for Tim, Sir, is such a 
 tremendous fellow, that he could never contain himself, but would go 
 to loggerheads with the father before he had been in the place five 
 minutes. You don't know what Tim is. Sir, when he is roused by 
 anything that appeals to his feelings very strongly — then he is terrific, 
 Sir, is Tim Linkinwater — absolutely terrific. Now, in you we can repose 
 the strictest confidence ; in you we have seen- — or at least / have seen, 
 and that's the same thing, for there's no difference between me and my 
 brother Ned, except that he is the finest creature that ever lived, and 
 that there is not, and never will be, anybody like him in all the world 
 — in you we have seen domestic virtues and affections, and delicacy of 
 feeling, which exactly qualify you for such an office. And you are the 
 man, Sir." 
 
 " The young lady. Sir," said Nicholas, who felt so embarrassed that 
 he had no small difficulty in saying anything at all — " Does — is — is 
 she a party to this innocent deceit?" 
 
 " Yes, yes," returned Mr. Cheeryble ; " at least she knows you 
 come from us ; she does not know, however, but that we shall dispose 
 of these little productions that you'll purchase from time to time ; and, 
 perhaps, if you did it very well (that is, very well indeed), perhaps 
 she might be brought to believe that we — that we made a profit of 
 them. Eh?--Eh?" 
 
 In this guileless and most kind simplicity, brother Charles was so 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 455 
 
 happy, and in this possibility of the young lady being led to think 
 that she was under no obligation to him, he evidently felt so sanguine 
 and had so much delight, that Nicholas would not breathe a doubt 
 upon the subject. 
 
 All this time, however, there hovered upon the tip of his tongue a 
 confession that the very same objections which Mr. Cheeryble had 
 stated to the employment of his nephew in this commission applied 
 with at least equal force and validity to himself, and a hundred times 
 had he been upon the point of avowing the real state of his feelings, 
 and entreating to be released from it. But as often, treading upon the 
 heels of this impulse, came another which urged him to refrain, and to 
 keep his secret to his own breast. " Why should I," thought Nicholas, 
 " why should I throw difficulties in the way of this benevolent and 
 high-minded design ? What if I do love and reverence this good and 
 lovely creature — should I not appear a most arrogant and shallow 
 coxcomb if I gravely represented that there was any danger of her 
 falling in love with me ? Besides, have I no confidence in myself ? 
 Am I not now bound in honour to repress these thoughts ? Has not 
 this excellent man a right to my best and heartiest services, and should 
 any considerations of self deter me from rendering them ?" 
 
 Asking himself such questions as these, Nicholas mentally answered 
 with great emphasis " No \" and persuading himself that he was a 
 most conscientious and glorious martyr, nobly resolved to do what, if 
 he had examined his own heart a little more carefully, he would have 
 found, he could not resist. Such is the sleight of hand by which we 
 juggle with ourselves, and change our very weaknesses into stanch 
 and most magnanimous virtues ! 
 
 Mr. Cheeryble, being of course wholly unsuspicious that such reflec- 
 tions were presenting themselves to his young friend, proceeded to give 
 him the needful credentials and directions for his first visit, which was 
 to be made next morning ; and all preliminaries being arranged, and 
 the strictest secrecy enjoined, Nicholas walked home for the night very 
 thoughtfully indeed. 
 
 The place to which Mr. Cheeryble had directed him was a row of 
 mean and not over-cleanly houses, situated within " the rules" of the 
 King's Bench Prison, and not many hundred paces distant from the 
 obelisk in Saint George's Fields. The Rules are a certain liberty 
 adjoining the prison, and comprising some dozen streets in which 
 debtors who can raise money to pay large fees, from which their 
 creditors do not derive any benefit, are permitted to reside by the wise 
 provisions of the same enlightened laws which leave the debtor who 
 can raise no money to starve in jail, without the food, clothing, 
 lodging, or warmth, which are provided for felons convicted of the 
 most atrocious crimes that can disgrace humanity. There are many 
 pleasant fictions of the law in constant operation, but there is not 
 one so pleasant or practically humorous as that which supposes every 
 man to be of equal value in its impartial eye, and the benefits of all 
 laws to be equally attainable by all men, without the smallest reference 
 to the furniture of their pockets. 
 
456 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 To the row of houses indicated to him by Mr. Charles Cheeryble, 
 Nicholas directed his steps, without much troubling his head with such 
 matters as these ; and at this row of houses — after traversing a very- 
 dirty and dusty suburb, of which minor theatricals, shell- fish, ginger- 
 beer, spring vans, green-grocery, and brokers' shops, appeared to com- 
 pose the main and most prominent features — he at length arrived with 
 a palpitating heart. There were small gardens in front which, being 
 wholly neglected in all other respects, served as little pens for the dust 
 to collect in, until the wind came round the comer and blew it down 
 tlie road. Opening the rickety gate which, dangling on its broken 
 hinges before one of these, half admitted and half repulsed the visitor, 
 Nicholas knocked at the street door with a faltering hand. 
 
 It was in truth a shabby house outside, with very dim parlour 
 windows and very small show of blinds, and very dirty muslin curtains 
 dangling across the lower panes on very loose and limp strings. 
 Neither, when the door was opened, did the inside appear to belie 
 the outward promise, as there was faded carpeting on the stairs and 
 faded oil-cloth in the passage; in addition to which discomforts a 
 gentleman Ruler was smoking hard in the front parlour (though it 
 was not yet noon), while the lady of the house was busily engaged in 
 turpentining the disjointed fragments of a tent-bedstead at the door of 
 the back parlour, as if in preparation for the reception of some new 
 lodger who had been fortunate enough to engage it. 
 
 Nicholas had ample time to make these observations while the little 
 boy, who went on errands for the lodgers, clattered down the kitchen 
 stairs and was heard to scream, as in some remote cellar, for Miss- 
 Bray's servant, who, presently appearing and requesting him to follow 
 her, caused him to evince greater symptoms of nervousness and disorder 
 than so natural a consequence of his having inquired for that young^ 
 lady would seem calculated to occasion. 
 
 Up-stairs he went, however, and into a front room he was shown, and 
 there, seated at a little table by the window, on which were drawing 
 materials with which she was occupied, sat the beautiful girl who had 
 so engrossed his thoughts, and who, surrounded by all the new and 
 strong interest which Nicholas attached to her story, seemed now, in 
 his eyes, a thousand times more beautiful than he had ever yet 
 supposed her. 
 
 But how the graces and elegancies which she had dispersed ab®ut 
 the poorly-furnished room, went to the heart of Nicholas ! Flowers, 
 plants, birds, the harp, the old piano whose notes had sounded so 
 much sweeter in bygone times — how many struggles had it cost her to 
 keep these two last links of that broken chain which bound her yet to 
 home ! With every slender ornament, the occupation of her leisure 
 hours, replete with that graceful charm which lingers in every little 
 tasteful work of woman's hands, how much patient endurance and 
 how many gentle affections were entwined ! He felt as though the 
 smile of Heaven were on the little chamber ; as though the beautiful 
 devotion of so young and weak a creature, had shed a ray of its own 
 on the inanimate things around and made them beautiful as itself ; aa 
 
4 \ ■ .'^ 
 
 m 
 
ylQ^^,/,^ .^^.j.,./a>/^^/ ^,.'^//^'d /^ 
 
 ' yrf^t^fJ^/^?^/. 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 457 
 
 though the halo with which old painters surround the bright angels of 
 a sinless world played about a being akin in spirit to them, and its 
 light were visibly before him. 
 
 And yet Nicholas was in the rules of the King's Bench Prison ! If 
 he had been in Italy indeed, and the time had been sunset, and the 
 scene a stately terrace ; — but, there is one broad sky over all the 
 world, and whether it be blue or cloudy, the same heaven beyond it, 
 so, perhaps, he had no need of compunction for thinking as he did. 
 
 It is not to be supposed that he took in everything at one glance, 
 for he had as yet been unconscious of the presence of a sick man propped 
 up with pillows in an easy-chair, who moving restlessly and impa- 
 tiently in his seat, attracted his attention. 
 
 He was scarce fifty, perhaps, but so emaciated as to appear much 
 older. His features presented the remains of a handsome countenance, 
 but one in which the embers of strong and impetuous passions were 
 easier to be traced than any expression which would have rendered a 
 far plainer face much more prepossessing. His looks were very 
 haggard, and his limbs and body literally worn to the bone, but there 
 was something of the old fire in the large sunken eye notwithstanding, 
 and it seemed to kindle afresh as he struck a thick stick, with which 
 he seemed to have supported himself in his seat, impatiently on the 
 floor twice or thrice, and called liis daughter by her name. 
 
 " Madeline, who is this — what does anybody want here — who told 
 a stranger we could be seen ? What is it V 
 
 " I believe " the young lady began, as she inclined her head 
 
 with an air of some confusion, in reply to the salutation of Nicholas. 
 
 " You always believe," returned her father, petulantly. " What 
 is it?" 
 
 By this time Nicholas had recovered sufiicient presence of mind to 
 speak for himself, so he said (as it had been agreed he should say) that 
 he had called about a pair of hand-screens, and some painted velvet for 
 an ottoman, both of which were required to be of the most elegant 
 design possible, neither time nor expense being of the smallest con- 
 sideration. He had also to pay for the two drawings, with many 
 thanks, and, advancing to the little table, he laid upon it a bank note, 
 folded in an envelope and sealed. 
 
 " See that the money is right, Madeline," said the father, " open 
 the paper, my dear." 
 
 *' It's quite right, papa, I am sure." 
 
 " Here ! " said Mr. Bray, putting out his hand, and opening and 
 shutting his bony fingers with irritable impatience. "Let me see. 
 What are you talking about, Madeline — you're sure — how can you 
 be sure of any such thing — five pounds — well, is that right ?" 
 
 " Quite," said Madeline, bending over him. She was so busily 
 employed in arranging the pillows that Nicholas could not see her 
 face, but as she stooped he thought he saw a tear fall. 
 
 " Ring the bell, ring the bell," said the sick man, with the same 
 nervous eagerness, and motioning towards it with such a quivering 
 hand that the bank note rustled in the air. " Tell her to get it changed 
 
458 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 — to get me a newspaper — to buy me some grapes — another bottle of 
 the wine that I had last week — and — and — I forget half I want just now, 
 but she can go out again. Let her get those first — those first. Now, 
 Madeline my love, quick, quick ! Good God, how slow you are I " 
 
 " He remembers nothing that she wants ! " thought Nicholas. 
 Perhaps something of what he thought was expressed in his coun- 
 tenance, for the sick man turning towards him with great asperity, 
 demanded to know if he waited for a receipt. 
 
 " It is no matter at all," said Nicholas. 
 
 " No matter ! what do you mean, sir ? " was the tart rejoinder. 
 " No matter ! Do you think you bring your paltry money here as a 
 favour or a gift ; or as a matter of business, and in return for value 
 received? D — n you, sir, because you cant appreciate the time and 
 taste which are bestowed upon the goods you deal in, do you think 
 you give your money away ? Do you know that you are talking to a 
 gentleman, sir, who at one time could have bought up fifty such men 
 as you and all you have ? What do you mean ? " 
 
 " I merely mean that as I shall have many dealings with this lady, 
 if she will kindly allow me, I will not trouble her with such forms," 
 said Nicholas. 
 
 " Then / mean, if you please, that we'll have as many forms as we 
 can," returned the father. " My daughter, sir, requires no kindness 
 from you or anybody else. Have the goodness to confine your dealings 
 strictly to trade and business, and not to travel beyond it. Every 
 petty tradesman is to begin to pity her now, is he ? Upon my soul ! 
 Very pretty. Madeline, my dear, give him a receipt ; and mind you 
 always do so." 
 
 While she was feigning to write it, and Nicholas was ruminating 
 upon the extraordinary, but by no means uncommon character thus 
 presented to his observation, the invalid, who appeared at times to 
 suffer great bodily pain, sank back in his chair and moaned out a feeble 
 complaint that the girl had been gone an hour, and that everybody 
 conspired to goad him. 
 
 " When," said Nicholas, as he took the piece of paper, " when shall 
 I — call again ?" 
 
 This was addressed to the daughter, but the father answered imme- 
 diately — 
 
 " When you're requested to call, sir, and not before. D6n t worry 
 and persecute. Madeline, my dear, when is this person to call again V 
 
 " Oh, not for a long time — not for three or four weeks — it is not 
 necessary, indeed — I can do without," said the young lady, with great 
 eagerness. 
 
 " Why, how are we to do without ?" urged her father, not speaking 
 above his breath. " Three or four weeks, Madeline ! Three or four 
 weeks!" 
 
 " Then sooner — sooner, if you please," said the young lady, turning 
 to Nicholas. 
 
 " Three or four weeks !" muttered the father. " Madeline, what on 
 earth — do nothing for three or four weeks !" 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 459 
 
 " It is a long time, ma'am," said Nicholas. 
 
 " You think so, do you ?" retorted the father, angrily. " If I chose 
 to beg, sir, and stoop to ask assistance from people I despise, three or 
 four months would not be a long time — three or four years would not 
 be a long time. Understand, sir, that is if I chose to be dependent ; 
 but as I don't, you may call in a week." 
 
 Nicholas bowed low to the young lady and retired, pondering upon 
 Mr. Bray's ideas of independence, and devoutly hoping that there might 
 be few such independent spirits as he mingling with the baser clay of 
 humanity. 
 
 He heard a light footstep above him as he descended the stairs, and 
 looking round saw that the young lady was standing there, and glancing 
 timidly towards him, seemed to hesitate whether she should call him 
 back or no. The best way of settling the question was to turn back at 
 once, which Nicholas did. 
 
 " I don't know whether I do right in asking you, sir," said Madeline, 
 hurriedly, " but pray — pray — do not mention to my poor mother's dear 
 friends what has passed here to-day. He has suffered much, and is 
 worse this morning. I beg you, sir, as a boon, a favour to myself." 
 
 " You have but to hint a wish," returned Nicholas fervently, " and 
 I would hazard my life to gratify it." 
 
 " You speak hastily, sir." 
 
 " Truly and sincerely," rejoined Nicholas, his lips trembling as he 
 formed the words, " if ever man spoke truly yet. I am not skilled in 
 disguising my feelings, and if I were, I could not hide my heart from 
 you. Dear madam, as I know your history, and feel as men and 
 angels must who hear and see such things, I do entreat you to 
 believe that I would die to serve you." 
 
 The young lady turned away her head, and was plainly weeping. 
 
 " Forgive me," said Nicholas, with respectful earnestness, " if I seem 
 to say too much, or to presume upon the confidence which has been 
 intrusted to me. But I could not leave you as if my interest and 
 sympathy expired with the commission of the day. I am your faithful 
 servant, humbly devoted to you from this hour — devoted in strict truth 
 and honour to him who sent me here, and in pure integrity of heart, 
 and distant respect for you. If I meant more or less than this, I should 
 be unworthy his regard, and false to the very nature that prompts the 
 honest words I utter." 
 
 She waved her hand, entreating him to be gone, but answered not 
 a word. Nicholas could say no more, and silently withdrew. And 
 thus ended his first interview with Madeline Bray. 
 
460 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 , CHAPTER XLVII. 
 
 MR. RALPH NICKLEBY HAS SOME CONFIDENTIAL INTERCOURSE WITH 
 ANOTHER OLD FRIEND. THEY CONCERT BETWEEN THEM A PRO- 
 JECT, WHICH PROMISES WELL FOR BOTH. 
 
 "There go the three quarters past!" muttered Newman Noggs, 
 listening to the chimes of some neighbouring church, " and my dinner 
 time's two. He does it on purpose. He makes a point of it. It's 
 just like him." 
 
 It was in his own little den of an office and on the top of his official 
 stool that Newman thus soliloquised ; and the soliloquy referred, as 
 Newman's grumbling soliloquies usually did, to Ralph Nickleby. 
 
 " I don't believe he ever had an appetite," said Newman, " except 
 for pounds, shillings, and pence, and with them he's as greedy as a wolf. 
 I should like to have him compelled to swallow one of every English coin. 
 The penny would be an awkward morsel — but the crown — ha ! ha !" 
 
 His good humour being in some degree restored by the vision of 
 Ralph Nickleby swallowing, perforce, a five-shilling-piece, Newman 
 slowly brought forth from his desk one of those portable bottles, 
 currently known as pocket-pistols, and shaking the same close to his 
 ear so as to produce a rippling sound very cool and pleasant to listen 
 to, suffered his features to relax, and took a gurgling drink, which 
 relaxed them still more. Replacing the cork he smacked his lips twice 
 or thrice with an air of great relish, and, the taste of the liquor having 
 by this time evaporated, recurred to his grievances again. 
 
 " Five minutes to three," growled Newman, " it can't want more by 
 this time ; and I had my breakfast at eight o'clock, and such a break- 
 fast ! and my right dinner time t\<ro ! And I might have a nice little 
 bit of hot roast meat spoiling at home all this time — how does he know 
 I haven't ! * Don't go till I come back,' ' Don't go till I come back,' 
 day after day. What do you always go out at my dinner time for 
 then — eh ? Don't you know it's nothing but aggravation — eh ?" 
 
 These words, though uttered in a very loud key, were addressed to 
 nothing but empty air. The recital of his ^vrongs, however, seemed 
 to have the effect of making Newman Noggs desperate ; for he flattened 
 his old hat upon his head, and drawing on the everlasting gloves, 
 declared with great vehemence, that come what might, he would go to 
 dinner that very minute. 
 
 Carrying this resolution into instant effect, he had advanced as far 
 as the passage, when the sound of the latch-key in the street door 
 caused him to make a precipitate retreat into his own office again. 
 
 " Here he is," growled Newman, " and somebody with him. Now 
 it '11 be ' Stop till this gentleman 's gone.' But I wont — that's flat." 
 
 So saying, Newman slipped into a tall empty closet which opened 
 with two half doors, and shut himself up ; intending to slip out directly 
 Ralph was safe inside his own room. 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 461 
 
 *' Noggs," cried Ralph, " where is that fellow — Noggs." 
 
 But not a word said Newman. 
 
 " The dog has gone to his dinner, though I told him not," muttered 
 Ralph, looking into the office and pulling out his watch. " Humph ! You 
 had better come in here. Gride. My man's out, and the sun is hot upon 
 my room. This is cool and in the shade, if you don't mind roughing it." 
 
 " Not at all, Mr. Nickleby, oh not at all. All places are alike to 
 me, sir. Ah ! very nice indeed. Oh ! very nice !" 
 
 The person who made this reply was a little old man, of about 
 seventy or seventy-five years of age, of a very lean figure, much bent, 
 and slightly twisted. He wore a grey coat with a very narrow collar, 
 an old-fashioned waistcoat of ribbed black silk, and such scanty 
 trowsers as displayed his shrunken spindle-shanks in their full ugliness. 
 The only articles of display or ornament in his dress, were a steel 
 watch-chain to which were attached some large gold seals; and a 
 black ribbon into which, in compliance with an old fashion scarcely 
 ever observed in these days, his grey hair was gathered behind. His 
 nose and chin were sharp and prominent, his jaws had fallen inwards 
 from loss of teeth, his face was slirivelled and yellow, save where the 
 cheeks were streaked with the colour of a dry winter apple ; and where 
 his beard had been, there lingered yet a few grey tufts which seemed, like 
 the ragged eyebrows, to denote the badness of the soil from which 
 they sprung. The whole air and attitude of the form, was one of 
 stealthy cat-like obsequiousness ; the whole expression of the face was 
 concentrated in a wrinkled leer, compounded of cunning, leoherous- 
 ness, slyness, and avarice. 
 
 Such was old Arthur Gride, in whose face there was not a wrinkle, 
 in whose dress there was not one spare fold or plait, but expressed the 
 most covetous and griping penury, and sufficiently indicated his 
 belonging to that class of which Ralph Nickleby was a member. Such 
 was old Arthur Gride, as he sat in a low chair looking up into the face 
 of Ralph Nickleby, who, lounging upon the tall office stool, with his 
 arms upon his knees, looked down into his, — a match for him on what- 
 ever errand he had come. 
 
 " And how have you been?" said Gride, feigning great interest in 
 Ralph's state of health. " I haven't seen you for — oh ! not for — " 
 
 " Not for a long time," said Ralph, with a peculiar smile, importing 
 that he very well knew it was not on a mere visit of compliment that 
 his friend had come. " It was a narrow chance that you saw me now, 
 for I had only just come up to the door as you turned the corner." 
 
 " I am very lucky," observed Gride. 
 
 " So men say," replied Ralph, drily. 
 
 The older money-lender wagged his chin and smiled, but he originated 
 no new remark, and they sat for some little time without speaking. 
 JEach was looking out to take the other at a disadvantage. 
 
 " Come, Gride," said Ralph, at length ; " what's in the wind to-day ?" 
 
 •" Aha ! you're a bold man, Mr. Nickleby," cried the other, appa- 
 rently very much relieved by Ralph's leading the way to business. 
 " Oh dear, dear, what a bold man you are ! " 
 
462 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 " Why, you have a sleek and slinking way with you that makes 
 me seem so by contrast," returned Ralph. " I don't know but that 
 yours may answer better, but I want the patience for it." 
 
 " You were born a genius, Mr. Nickleby," said old Arthur. " Deep, 
 deep, deep. Ah ! " 
 
 " Deep enough," retorted Ralph, " to know that I shall need all the 
 depth I have, when men like you begin to compliment. You know 
 I have stood by when you fawned and flattered other people, and I 
 remember pretty well what that always led to." 
 
 " Ha, ha, ha," rejoined Arthur, rubbing his hands. " So you do, 
 so you do, no doubt. Not a man knows it better. Well, it's a plea- 
 sant thing now to think that you remember old times. Oh dear !" 
 
 " Now then," said Ralph, composedly ; " what's in the wind, I ask 
 again — what is it ? " 
 
 "See that now!" cried the other. "He cant even keep from 
 business while we're chatting over bygones ! Oh dear, dear, what a 
 man it is ! " 
 
 " Which of the bygones do you want to revive?" said Ralph. 
 " One of them, I know, or you wouldn't talk about them." 
 
 " He suspects even me ! " cried old Arthur, holding up his hands. 
 " Even me — oh dear, even me. What a man it is ! Ha, ha, ha ! 
 What a man it is ! Mr. Nickleby against all the world — there's 
 nobody like him. A giant among pigmies — a giant — a giant !" 
 
 Ralph looked at the old dog with a quiet smile as he chuckled on 
 in this strain, and Newman Noggs in the closet felt his heart sink within 
 him as the prospect of dinner grew fainter and fainter. 
 
 " I must humour him though," cried old Arthur ; " he must have 
 his way — a wilful man, as the Scotch say — well, well, they're a wise 
 people, the Scotch — he will talk about business, and won't give away 
 his time for nothing. He's very right. Time is money — time is money." 
 
 " He was one of us who made that saying, I should think," said 
 Ralph. " Time is money, and very good money too, to those who 
 reckon interest by it. Time is money ! Yes, and time costs money — 
 it's rather an expensive article to some people we could name, or I 
 forget my trade." 
 
 In rejoinder to this sally, old Arthur again raised his hands, again 
 chuckled, and again ejaculated " What a man it is !" which done, he 
 dragged the low chair a little nearer to Ralph's high stool, and looking 
 upwards into his immoveable face, said, 
 
 " What would you say to me, if I was to tell you that I was — that 
 I was — going to be married?" 
 
 " I should tell you," replied Ralph, looking coldly down upon him, 
 " that for some purpose of your own you told a lie, and that it wasn't 
 the first time and wouldn't be the last ; that I wasn't surprised and 
 wasn't to be taken in." 
 
 " Then I tell you seriously that I am," said old Arthur. 
 
 " And / tell you seriously," rejoined Ralph, " what I told you this 
 minute. Stay. Let me look at you. There's a liquorish devilry in 
 your face — what is this ?" 
 
m- 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 463 
 
 " I wouldn't deceive you^ you know," whined Arthur Gride ; " I 
 couldn't do it, I should be mad to try. I — I — to deceive Mr. Nicklebyl 
 The pigmy to impose upon the giant. I ask again — he, he, he ! — 
 w^hat should you say to me if I was to tell you that I was going to be 
 married?" 
 
 " To some old hag ?" said Ralph. 
 
 " No, no," cried Arthur, interrupting him, and rubbing his hands in 
 an ecstacy. " Wrong, wrong again. Mr. Nickleby for once at fault- 
 out, quite out ! To a young and beautiful girl ; fresh, lovely, bewitch- 
 ing, and not nineteen. Dark eyes — long eyelashes — ripe and ruddy 
 lips that to look at is to long to kiss — beautiful clustering hair that 
 one's fingers itch to play with — such a waist as might make a man 
 clasp the air involuntarily, thinking of twining his arm about it — little 
 feet that tread so lightly they hardly seem to walk upon the ground — 
 to marry all this, sir, — this — hey, hey ! " 
 
 " This is something more than common drivelling," said Ralph, after 
 listening with a curled lip to the old sinner's raptures. " The girl's 
 name ?" 
 
 " Oh deep, deep ! See now how deep that is ! " exclaimed old Arthur. 
 " He knows I want his help, he knows he can give it me, he knows 
 it must all turn to his advantage, he sees the thing already. Her 
 name — is there nobody within hearing ? " 
 
 " Why, who the devil should there be ?" retorted Ralph, testily. 
 
 " I didn't know but that perhaps somebody might be passing up or 
 down the stairs," said Arthur Gride, after looking out at the door'and 
 carefully re-closing it ; " or but that your man might have come back 
 and might have been listening outside — clerks and servants have a 
 trick of listening, and I should have been very uncomfortable if Mr. 
 Noggs— " 
 
 " Curse Mr. Noggs," said Ralph, sharply, " and go on with what 
 you have to say." 
 
 " Curse Mr. Noggs, by all means," rejoined old Arthur ; " I am 
 sure I have not the least objection to that. Her name is — " 
 
 " Well," said Ralph, rendered very irritable by old Arthur's pausing 
 again, "what is it ?" 
 
 " Madeline Bray." 
 
 Whatever reasons there might have been — and Arthur Gride ap- 
 peared to have anticipated some — for the mention of this name pro- 
 ducing an effect upon Ralph, or whatever effect it really did produce 
 upon him, he permitted none to manifest itself, but calmly repeated 
 the name several times, as if reflecting when and where he had heard 
 it before. 
 
 " Bray," said Ralph. " Bray — ^there was young Bray of no, he 
 
 never had a daughter." 
 
 " You remember Bray?" rejoined Arthur Gride. 
 
 " No," said Ralph, looking vacantly at him. 
 
 " Not Walter Bray ! The dashing man, who used his handsome 
 wife so ill ? " 
 
 " If you seek to recal any particular dashing man to my recollectioQ 
 
464 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 by such a trait as that," said Ralph, shrugging his shoulders, " I shall 
 confound him with nine-tenths of the dashing men I have ever 
 known." 
 
 *' Tut, tut. That Bray who is now in the rules of the Bench," 
 said old Arthur. " You can t have forgotten Bray. Both of us did 
 business with him. Why, he owes you money — " 
 
 ''Oh/^^m/" rejoined Ralph. "Ay, ay. Now you speak. Oh I 
 It's his daughter, is it ?" 
 
 Naturally as this was said, it was not said so naturally but that a 
 kindred spirit like old Arthur Gride might have discerned a design 
 upon the part of Ralph to lead him on to much more explicit state- 
 ments and explanations than he would have volunteered, or than Ralph 
 could in all likelihood have obtained by any other means. Old Arthur, 
 however, was so intent upon his own designs, that he suffered himself 
 to be over-reached, and had no suspicion but that his good friend was 
 in earnest. 
 
 " I knew you couldn't forget him, when you came to think for a 
 moment," he said. 
 
 " You were right," answered Ralph. " But old Arthur Gride and 
 matrimony is a most anomalous conjunction of words; old Arthur 
 Gride and dark eyes and eyelashes, and lips that to look at is to long 
 to kiss, and clustering hair that he wants to play with, and waists that 
 he wants to span, and little feet that don't tread upon anything — old 
 Arthur Gride and such things as these is more monstrous still ; but 
 old Arthur Gride marrying the daughter of a ruined ' dashing man ' in 
 the rules of the Bench, is the most monstrous and incredible of all. 
 Plainly, friend Arthur Gride, if you w^ant any help from me in this 
 business (which of course you do, or you would not be here), speak 
 out, and to the purpose. And, above all, don't talk to me of its turning 
 to my advantage, for I know it must turn to yours also, and to a good 
 round tune too, or you would have no finger in such a pie as this." 
 
 There was enough acerbity and sarcasm not only in the matter of 
 Ralph's speech, but in the tone of voice in which he uttered it, and the 
 looks with which he eked it out, to have fired even the ancient usurer's 
 cold blood and flushed even his withered cheek. But he gave vent to 
 no demonstration of anger, contenting himself with exclaiming as 
 before, " What a man it is !" and rolling his head from side to side, as 
 if in unrestrained enjoyment of his freedom and drollery. Clearly 
 observing, however, from the expression in Ralph's features, that he 
 had best come to the point as speedily as might be, he composed him- 
 self for more serious business, and entered upon the pith and marrow 
 of his negotiation. 
 
 First, he dwelt upon the fact that Madeline Bray was devoted to the 
 support and maintenance, and was a slave to every wish, of her only 
 parent, who had no other friend on earth ; to which Ralph rejoined 
 that he had heard something of the kind before, and that if she had 
 known a little more of the world, she wouldn't have been such a fool. 
 
 Secondly, he enlarged upon the character of her father, arguing, that 
 even taking it for granted that he loved her in return with the utmost 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 4G5 
 
 affection of vAi'ich he was capable, yet he loved himself a great deal 
 better; which Ralph said it was quite unnecessary to say anything 
 more about, as that was very natural, and probable enough. 
 
 And, thirdly, old Arthur premised that the girl was a delicate and 
 beautiful creature, and that he had really a hankering to have her for 
 his wife. To this Ralph deigned no other rejoinder than a harsh 
 smile, and a glance at the shrivelled old creature before him, which 
 were, however, sufficiently expressive. 
 
 " Now," said Gride, " for the little plan I have in my mind to bring 
 this about ; because, I haven't 6ffered myself even to the father yet, 
 I sliould have told you. But that you have gathered already ? Ah ', 
 oh dear, oh dear, what an edged- tool you are !" 
 
 " Don't play with me then," said Ralph, impatiently. " You know 
 the proverb." 
 
 "A reply always on the tip of his tongue !" cried old Arthur, raising 
 his hands and eyes in admiration. " He is always prepared ! Oh dear, 
 wdiat a blessing to have such a ready wit, and so much ready money to 
 back it !" Tlien, suddenly changing his tone, he went on : — " I have 
 been backwards and forwards to Bray's lodgings several times within 
 the last six months. It is just half a year since I first saw this delicate 
 morsel, and, oh dear, what a delicate morsel it is ! But that is neither 
 here nor there. I am his detaining creditor for seventeen hundred pounds." 
 
 " You talk as if you were the only detaining creditor," said Ralph, 
 pulling out his pocket-book. " I am another for nine hundred and 
 seventy-five pounds, four and threepence." 
 
 " The only other, Mr. Nickleby," said old Arthur, eagerly. " The 
 only other. Nobody else went to the expense of lodging a detainer, 
 trusting to our holding him fast enough, I warrant you. We both fell 
 into the same snare — oh, dear, what a pitfall it was ; it almost ruined 
 me ! And lent him our money upon bills, with only one name besides 
 his own, which to be sure everybody supposed to be a good one, and 
 was as negotiable as money, but which turned out — you know how. 
 Just as we should have come upon him, he died insolvent. Ah ! it 
 went very nigh to ruin me, that loss did !" 
 
 '' " Go on with your scheme," said Ralph. " It's of no use raising the 
 cry of our trade just now ; there's nobody to hear us." 
 
 " It's always as well to talk that way," returned old Arthur, with a 
 chuckle, " whether there's anybody to hear us or not. Practice makes 
 perfect, you know. Now, if I offer myself to Bray as his son-in-law, 
 upon one simple condition that the moment I am fast married he shall 
 be quietly released, and have an allowance to live just t'other side the 
 water like a gentleman (he can't live long, for I have asked his doctor, 
 and he declares that his complaint is one of the Heart and it is impos- 
 sible), and if all the advantages of this condition are properly stated 
 and dwelt upon to him, do you think he could resist me ? And if he 
 could not resist me, do you think his daughter could resist kim ? 
 Shouldn't I have her Mrs. Arthur Gride — pretty Mrs. Arthur Gride 
 — a tit-bit — a dainty chick — shouldn't I have her Mrs. Arthur Gride 
 in a week, a month, a day — any time I chose to name ?" 
 
 H H 
 
466 LIFE AND ADVENTCRES OP 
 
 " Go on," said Ralph, nodding his head deliberately, and speaking in 
 a tone whose studied coldness pres-ented a strange contrast to the rap- 
 turous squeak to which his friend had gradually mounted. " Go on. 
 You didn't come here to ask me that." 
 
 " Oh dear, how you talk !" cried old Arthur, edging himself closer 
 still to Ralph. " Of course, I didn't — I don't pretend I did ! I came 
 to ask what you would take from me, if I prospered with the father, 
 for this debt of yours — five shillings in the pound — six and eightpenco 
 — ten shillings ? I would go as far as ten for such a friend as you, wo 
 have always been on such good terms, but you won't be so hard upon 
 me as that, I know. Now, will you ?" 
 
 " There's something more to be told," said Ralph, as stony and im- 
 movable as ever. 
 
 " Yes, yes, there is, but you won't give me time," returned Arthur 
 Gride. " I want a backer in this matter — one who can talk, and urge, 
 and press a point, which you can do as no man can. I can't do that, 
 for I am a poor, timid, nervous creature. Now, if you get a good 
 composition for this debt, which you long ago gave up for lost, you'll 
 stand my friend, and help me. Won't you ?" 
 
 " There's something more," said Ralph. 
 
 " No, no, indeed," cried Arthur Gride. 
 
 " Yes, yes, indeed. I tell you yes," said Ralph. 
 
 " Oh !" returned old Arthur, feigning to be suddenly enlightened. 
 " You mean something more, as concerns myself and my intention. 
 Ay, surely, surely. Shall I mention that ?" 
 
 " I think you had better," rejoined Ralph, drily. 
 
 " I didn't like to trouble you with that, because I supposed your 
 interest would cease with your own concern in the affair," said 
 Arthur Gride. " That's kind of you to ask. Oh dear, how very kind 
 of you ! Why, supposing I had a knowledge of some property — some 
 little property — very little — to ' which this pretty chick was entitled ; 
 which nobody does or can know of at this time, but which her husband 
 could sweep into his pouch, if he knew as much as I do, would that 
 account for — " 
 
 " For the whole proceeding," rejoined Ralph, abruptly. " Now, let 
 me turn this matter over, and consider what I ought to have if I should 
 help you to success." 
 
 *' But don't be hard," cried old Arthur, raising his hands with an 
 imploring gesture, and speaking in a tremulous voice. " Don't be too 
 hard upon me. It's a very small property, it is indeed. Say the ten 
 shillings, and we'll close the bargain. It's more than I ought to give, 
 but you're so kind — shall we say the ten ? Do now, do." 
 
 Ralph took no notice of these supplications, but sat for three or four 
 minutes in a brown study, looking thoughtfully at the person from 
 whom they proceeded. After sufficient cogitation he broke silence, and 
 it certainly could not be objected that he used any needless circumlocu- 
 tion, or failed to speak directly to the purpose. 
 
 " If you married this girl witliout me," said Ralph, " you must pay my 
 debt in full, because you couldn't set her father free otherwise. It's plain, 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 467 
 
 then, that I must have the whole amount, clear of all deduction or in- 
 cumbrance, or I should lose from being honoured with your confidence, 
 instead of gaining by it. That's the first article of the treaty. For 
 the second, I shall stipulate that for my trouble in negotiation and per- 
 suasion, and helping you to this fortune, I have five hundred pounds — 
 that's very little, because you have the ripe lips, and the clustering 
 hair, and what not, all to yourself. For the third and last article, I 
 require that you execute a bond to me, this day, binding yourself in 
 the payment of these two sums, before noon of the day of your marriage 
 with Madeline Bray. You have told me I can urge and press a point. 
 I press this one, and will take nothing less than these terms. Accept 
 them if you like. If not, marry her without me if you can. I shall 
 still get my debt." 
 
 To all entreaties, protestations, and offers of compromise between 
 Ins own proposals and those which Arthur Gride had first suggested, 
 Ralph was deaf as an adder. He would enter into no further discus- 
 sion of the subject, and while old Arthur dilated upon the enormity 
 of his demands and proposed modifications of them, approaching by 
 degrees nearer and nearer to the terms he resisted, sat perfectly mute, 
 looking with an air of quiet abstraction over the entries and papers in 
 his pocket-book. Finding that it was impossible to make any impres- 
 sion upon his stanch friend, Arthur Gride, who had prepared himself 
 for some such result before he came, consented with a heavy heart to 
 the proposed treaty, and upon the spot filled up the bond required 
 (Ralph kept such instruments handy), after exacting the condition that 
 Mr. Nickleby should accompany him to Bray's lodgings that very 
 hour, and open the negotiation at once, should circumstances appear 
 auspicious and favourable to their designs. 
 
 In pursuance of this last understanding the worthy gentlemen went 
 out together shortly afterwards, and Newman Noggs emerged, bottle 
 in hand, from the cupboard, out of the upper door of which, at the 
 imminent risk of detection, he had more than once thrust his red nose 
 when such parts of the subject were under discussion as interested 
 him most. 
 
 " I have no appetite now," said Newman, putting the flask in his 
 pocket. " I've had my dinner." 
 
 Having delivered this observation in a very grievous and doleful 
 tone, Newman reached the door in one long limp, and came back again 
 in another. 
 
 " I don't know who she may be, or what she may be," he said ; 
 " but I pity her with all my heart and soul ; and I can't help her, 
 nor can I any of the people against whom a hundred tricks— but none 
 so vile as this — are plotted every day ! Well, that adds to my pain, 
 but not to theirs. The thing is no worse because I know it, and it 
 tortures me as well as them. Gride and Nickleby ! Good pair for 
 a curricle — oh roguery ! roguery ! roguery !" 
 
 With these reflections, and a very hard knock on the crown of his 
 unfortunate hat at each repetition of the last word, Newman Noo-os^ 
 whose brain was a little muddled by so much of tlie contents of the 
 
 hh2 
 
468 LIPB AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 pocket-pistol as had found their way there during his recent conceal- 
 inent, went forth to seek such consolation as might be derivable from 
 the beef and greens of some cheap eating-house. 
 
 Meanwhile the two plotters had betaken themselves to the same 
 house whither Nicholas had repaired for the first time but a few 
 mornings before, and having obtained access to Mr. Bray, and found 
 his daughter from home, had, by a train of the most masterly ap- 
 proaches that Ralph's utmost skill could frame, at length laid open the 
 real object of their visit. 
 
 "There he sits, Mr. Bray," said Ralph, as the invalid, not yet 
 recovered from his surprise, reclined in his chair, looking alternately 
 at him and Arthur Gride. " What if he has had the ill fortune to be 
 one cause of your detention in this place — I have been another ; men 
 must live ; you are too much a man of the world not to see that in 
 its true light. We offer the best reparation in our power. Reparation ! 
 Here is an offer of marriage, that many a titled father would leap at, 
 for his child. !5Ir. Arthur Gride, with the fortune of a prince. Think 
 ■what a haul it is !" 
 
 " My daughter, sir," returned Bray, haughtily, " as / have brought 
 her up, would be a rich recompense for the largest fortune that a man 
 could bestow in exchange for her hand." 
 
 " Precisely what I told you," said the artful Ralph, turning to his 
 friend, old Arthur. " Precisely what made me consider the thing so 
 fair and easy. There is no obligation on either side. You have 
 money, and Miss Madeline has beauty and worth. She has youth, you 
 have money. She has not money, you have not youth. Tit for tat — 
 quits — a match of Heaven's own making ! " 
 
 " Matches are made in Heaven, they say," added Arthur Gride, 
 leering hideously at the father-in-law he wanted. " If we are married, 
 it will be destiny, according to that." 
 
 " Then think, Mr. Bray," said Ralph, hastily substituting for this 
 argument considerations more nearly allied to earth, " Think what 
 a stake is involved in the acceptance or rejection of these j^roposals of 
 my friend — " 
 
 '^How can I accept or reject," interrupted Mr. Bray, with an 
 irritable consciousness that it really rested with him to decide. " It is 
 for my daughter to accept or reject ; it is for my daughter. You 
 know that." 
 
 " True," said Ralph, emphatically ; " but you have still the power 
 to advise ; to state the reasons for and against ; to hint a wish." 
 
 " To hint a wish, sir!" returned the debtor, proud and mean by 
 turns, and selfish at all times. " I am her father, am I not ? Why 
 should I hint, and beat about the bush ? Do you suppose, like her 
 mother s friendy and my enemies — a curse upon them all — that there 
 is anything in what she has done for mo but duty, sir, but duty ? Or 
 do you think that my having been unfortunate is a sufficient reasou 
 why our relative positions should be changed, and that she should com- 
 mand and I should obey ? Hint a wish, too ! Perhaps you think 
 because you see me in this place and scarcely able to leave this chair 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBT. 469 
 
 without assistance, that I am some broken-spirited dependent creature, 
 without the courage or power to do what I may think Lest for my 
 own child. Still the power to hint a wish ! I hope so !" 
 
 '' Pardon me," returned lialph, who thoroughly knew his man, and 
 had taken his ground accordingly ; " you do not hear me out. I was 
 about to say, that your hinting a wish — even hinting a wish — would 
 surely be equivalent to commanding." 
 
 " Why, of course it would," retorted Mr. Bray, in an exasperated 
 tone. " If you don't happen to have heard of the time, sir, I tell you 
 that there was a time, when I carried every point in triumph against 
 her mother's whole family, although they had power and wealth on 
 their side — by my will alone." 
 
 " Still," rejoined Ralph, as mildly as his nature would allow him, 
 " you have not heard me out. You are a man yet qualified to shine in 
 society, with many years of life before you — that is, if you lived in 
 freer air, and under brighter skies, and chose your own companions. 
 Gaiety is your element, you have shone in it before. Fashion and 
 freedom for you. France, and an annuity that would support you there 
 in luxury, would give you a new lease of life — transfer you to a new 
 existence. The town rang with your expensive pleasures once, and you 
 could blaze upon a new scene again, profiting by experience, and living 
 a little at others* cost, instead of letting others live at yours. What is 
 there on the reverse side of the picture ? What is there ? I don't 
 know which is the nearest church-yard, but a gravestone there, 
 wherever it is, and a date — perlij ps two years hence, perhaps twenty. 
 That's all." 
 
 Mr. Bray rested his elbow on the arm of his chair, and shaded his 
 face with his hand. 
 
 " I speak plainly," said Ralph, sitting down beside him, " because I 
 feel strongly. It's my interest that you should marry your daughter to 
 my friend Gride, because then he sees me paid — in part, that is. I don't 
 disguise it. I acknowledge it openly. But what interest have you in 
 recommending her to such a step ? Keep that in view. She might 
 object, remonstrate, shed tears, talk of his being too old, and plead that 
 her life would be rendered miserable. But what is it now ?" 
 
 Several slight gestures on the part of the invalid, showed that these 
 arguments were no more lost upon him, than the smallest iota of his 
 demeanour was upon Ralph. 
 
 " What is it now, I say," pursued the wily usurer, " or what has it 
 a chance of being ? If you died, indeed, the people you hate would 
 make her happy. But can you bear the thought of that ?" 
 
 " No !" returned Bray, urged by a vindictive impulse he could not 
 repress. 
 
 " I should imagine not, indeed !" said Ralph, quietly. '• If she profits 
 by anybody's death," this was said in a lower tone, " let it be by her 
 husband's — don't let her have to look back to yours, as the event from 
 which to date a happier life. Where is the objection ? Let me hear it 
 stated. What is it ? That her suitor is an old man. Why, how often 
 do men of family and fortune, who haven't your excuse, but have all the 
 
471^ LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 means and superfluities of life within their reach — ^how often do they 
 marry their daughters to old men, or (worse still) to young men without 
 heads or hearts, to tickle some idle vanity, strengthen some family 
 interest, or secure some seat in Parliament I Judge for her, sir, judge 
 for her. You must know best, and she will live to thank you." 
 
 " Hush ! hush !" cried Mr. Bray, suddenly starting up, and covering 
 Ralph's mouth with his trembling hand. " I hear her at the door !" 
 
 There was a gleam of conscience in the shame and terror of this 
 hasty action, which, in one short moment, tore the thin coveting of 
 sophistry from the cruel design, and laid it bare in all its meanness and 
 heartless deformity. The father fell into his chair pale and trembling ; 
 Arthur Gride plucked and fumbled at his hat, and durst not raise his 
 eyes from the floor ; even Ralph crouched for the moment like a beaten 
 hound, cowed by the presence of one young innocent girl ! 
 
 The effect was almost as brief as sudden. Ralph was the first to 
 recover himself, and observing Madeline's looks of alarm, entreated the 
 poor girl to be composed, assuring her that there was no cause for fear. 
 
 "A sudden spasm," said Ralph, glancing at Mr. Bray. "He is 
 quite well now." 
 
 It might have moved a very hard and worldly heart to see the young 
 and beautiful creature, whose certain misery they had been contriving 
 but a minute before, throw her arms about her father's neck, and pour 
 forth words of tender sympathy and love, the sweetest a father's ear 
 can know, or child's lips form. But Ralph looked coldly on; and 
 Arthur Gride, whose bleared eyes gloated only over the outward 
 beauties, and were blind to the spirit which reigned within, evinced — a 
 fantastic kind of warmth certainly, but not exactly that kind of warmth 
 of feeling which the contemplation of virtue usually inspires. 
 
 " Madeline," said her father, gently disengaging himself, " it was 
 nothing." 
 
 " But you had that spasm yesterday, and it is terrible to see you in 
 such pain. Can I do nothing for you ?" 
 
 " Nothing just now. Here are two gentlemen, Madeline, one of whom 
 you have seen before. She used to say," added Mr. Bray, addressing 
 Arthur Gride, " that the sight of you always made me worse. That 
 was natural, knowing what she did, and only what she did, of our 
 connexion and its results. Well, well. Perhaps she may change her 
 mind on that point ; girls have leave to change their minds, you know. 
 You are very tired, my dear." 
 
 " I am not, indeed." 
 
 " Indeed you are. You do too much." 
 
 " I wish I could do more." 
 
 " I know you do, but you over-task your strength. This wretched 
 life, my love, of daily labour and fatigue, is more than you can bear, 
 I am sure it is. Poor Madeline 1" 
 
 "With these and many more kind words, Mr. Bray drew his daughter 
 to him and kissed her cheek affectionately. Ralph, watching him 
 sharply and closely in the mean time, made his way towards the door, 
 and signed to Gride to follow him. 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 471 
 
 " You will communicate with us again ?" said Ralph. 
 
 " Yes, yes," returned Mr. Bray, hastily thrusting his daughter 
 aside. " In a week. Give me a week." 
 
 " One week," said Ralph, turning to his companion, " from to-day. 
 Good morning. Miss Madeline, I kiss your hand." 
 
 " We will shake hands. Gride," said Mr. Bray, extending his, as old 
 Arthur howed. " You mean well, no doubt. I am bound to say so 
 now. If I owed you money, that was not your fault. Madeline, my 
 love — your hand here." 
 
 " Oil dear ! If the young lady would condescend — only the tips of 
 her fingers" — said Arthur, hesitating and half retreating. 
 
 Madeline shrunk involuntarily from the goblin figure, but she placed 
 the tips of her fingers in his hand and instantly withdrew them. After 
 an ineffectual clutch, intended to detain and carry them to his lips, old 
 Arthur gave his own fingers a mumbling kiss, and with many amorous 
 distortions of visage went in pursuit of his friend, who was by this 
 time in the street. 
 
 " What does he say, what does he say — what does the giant say to 
 the pigmy?" inquired Arthur Gride, hobbling up to Ralph. 
 
 '' What does the pigmy say to the giant ? " rejoined Ralph, elevating 
 his eyebrows and looking down upon his questioner. 
 
 " He doesn't know what to say," replied Arthur Gride. " He hopes 
 and fears. But is she not a dainty morsel ? " 
 
 " I have no great taste for beauty," growled Ralph. 
 
 " But I have," rejoined Arthur, rubbing his hands. " Oh dear ! 
 How handsome her eyes looked when she was stooping over him — 
 such long lashes — such delicate fringe I She — she — looked at me so 
 soft." 
 
 " Not over-lovingly, I think ?" said Ralph. " Did she?" 
 
 " Do you think not ?" replied old Arthur. " But don't you think 
 it can be brought about — don't you think it can ?" 
 
 Ralph looked at him with a contemptuous frown, and replied with 
 a sneer, and between his teeth — 
 
 " Did you mark his telling her she was tired and did too much, and 
 over- tasked her strength ? " 
 
 "Ay, ay. What of it?" 
 
 " When do you think he ever told her that before ? The life is 
 more than she can bear. Yes, yes. He'll change it for her." 
 
 " D'ye think it's done?" inquired old Arthur, peering into his com- 
 panion's face with half-closed eyes. 
 
 " I am sure it's done," said Ralph. " He is trying to deceive 
 himself, even before our eyes, already — making believe that he thinks 
 of her good and not his own — acting a virtuous part, and so considerate 
 and aflectionate, sir, that the daughter scarcely knew him. I saw a 
 tear of surprise in her eye. There'll be a few more tears of surprise 
 there before long, though of a different kind. Oh ! we may wait with 
 confidence for this day week." 
 
472 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 CHAPTER XLYIII. 
 
 BEING FOR THE BENEFIT OF MR. VINCENT CRUMMLES, AND POSITIVELY 
 HIS LAST APPEARANCE ON THIS STAGE. 
 
 It was with a very sad and heavy heart, oppressed hy many painful 
 ideas, that Nicholas retraced his steps eastward and betook himself to 
 the counting-house of Clieeryble Brothers. Whatever the idle hopes 
 he had suffered himself to entertain, whatever the pleasant visions 
 which had sprung up in his mind and grouped themselves round the 
 fair image of Madeline Bray, they were now dispelled, and not a vestige 
 of their gaiety and brightness remained. 
 
 It would be a poor compliment to Nicholas's better nature, and one 
 which he was very far from deserving, to insinuate that the solution, 
 and such a solution, of the mystery which had seemed to surround 
 Madeline Bray, when he was ignorant even of her name, had damped his 
 ardour or cooled the fervour of his admiration. If he had regarded her 
 before, with such a passion as young men attracted by mere beauty 
 and elegance may entertain, he was now conscious of much deeper and 
 stronger feelings. But, reverence for the truth and purity of her heart, 
 respect for the helplessness and loneliness of her situation, sympathy 
 with the trials of one so young and fair, and admiration of her great 
 and noble spirit, all seemed to raise her far above his reach, and, while 
 they imparted new depth and dignity to his love, Ho whisper that it 
 was hopeless. 
 
 " I will keep my word, as I have pledged it to her," said Nicholas, 
 manfully. " This is no common trust that I have to discharge, and I 
 will perform the double duty that is imposed upon me most scrupu- 
 lously and strictly. My secret ' feelings deserve no consideration in 
 such a case as this, and they shall have none." 
 
 Still, there were the secret feelings in existence just the same, and in 
 secret Nicholas rather encouraged them than otherwise; reasoning (if 
 he reasoned at all) that there they could do no harm to anybody but 
 himself, and that if he kept them to himself from a sense of duty, lie 
 had an additional right to entertain himself with them as a reward for 
 his heroism. 
 
 All these thoughts, coupled with what he had seen that morning 
 and the anticipation of his next visit, rendered him a very dull 
 and abstracted companion ; so much so, indeed, that Tim Linkinwatcr 
 suspected he must have made the mistake of a figure somewhere, which 
 was preying upon his mind, and seriously conjured him, if such were 
 the case, to make a clean breast and scratch it out, rather than Iiave 
 his whole life embittered by the tortures of remorse. 
 
 But in reply to these considerate representations, and many others 
 both from Tim and Mr. Frank, Nicholas could only be brought to 
 state that he was never merrier in his life; and so went on all day, and 
 so went towards home at night, still turning over and over again the 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 473 
 
 same subjects, thinking over and over again the same things, and 
 arriving over and over again at the same conclusions. 
 
 In this pensive, wayward, and uncertain state, people are apt to 
 lounge and loiter without knowing why, to read placards on the walls 
 with great attention and without the smallest idea of one word of their 
 contents, and to stare most earnestly through shop-windows at things 
 which they don't see. It was thus that Nicholas found himself poring 
 with the utmost interest over a large play-bill hanging outside a 
 Minor Theatre which he had to pass on his way home, and reading a 
 list of the actors and actresses who had promised to do honour to some 
 approaching benefit, with as much gravity as if it had been a catalogue 
 of the names of those ladies and gentlemen who stood highest upon the 
 Book of Fate, and he had been looking anxiously for his own. He 
 glanced at the top of the bill, with a smile at his own dulness, as he 
 prepared to resume his walk, and there saw announced, in large letters 
 with a large space between each of them, " Positively the last appear- 
 ance of Mr. Vincent Crummies of Provincial Celebrity!!!" 
 
 " Nonsense !" said Nicholas, turning back again. " It can't be." 
 
 But there it was. In one line by itself was an announcement of the 
 first night of a new melo -drama ; in another line by itself was an 
 announcement of the last six nights of an old one ; a third line was 
 devoted to there-engagement of the unrivalled African Knife-swallower, 
 who had kindly suffered himself to be prevailed upon to forego his 
 country engagements for one week longer ; a fourth line announced 
 that Mr. Snittle Timberry, having recovered from his late severe 
 indisposition, would have the honour of appearing that evening ; a 
 fifth line said that there were " Cheers, Tears, and Laughter !" every 
 night ; a sixth, that that w^as positively the last appearance of Mr. 
 Yir.cent Crummies of Provincial Celebrity. 
 
 " Surely it must be the same man," thought Nicholas. " There 
 can't be two Yincent Crummleses." 
 
 The better to settle this question he referred to the bill again, and 
 finding that there was a Baron in the first piece, and tliat Roberto (his 
 son) was enacted by one Master Crummies, and Spaletro (his nephew) 
 by one Master Percy Crummies — their last appearances — and that, 
 incidental to the piece, was a characteristic dance by the characters, and 
 a Castanet pas seul by the Infant Phenomenon — Iter last appearance — 
 he no longer entertained any doubt ; and presenting himself at the stage 
 door, and sending in a scrap of paper with " J\Ir. Johnson " written 
 thereon in pencil, was presently conducted by a Robber, with a very 
 large belt and buckle round his waist, and very large leather gauntlets 
 on his hands, into the presence of his former manager. 
 
 Mr. Crummies was unfeignedly glad to see him, and starting up 
 from before a small dressing-glass, with one very bushy eyebrow stuck 
 on crooked over his left eye, and the fellow eyebrow and the calf of 
 one of his legs in his hand, embraced him cordially; at the same time 
 observing, that it would do Mrs. Crummles's heart good to bid him 
 good-bye before they went. 
 
 " You were always a favourite of hers, Johnson," said Cmmmles, 
 
^NL LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 " always were from the first. I was quite easy in my mind about you 
 from that first day you dined with us. One that Mrs. Crummies took 
 a fancy to, was sure to turn out right. Ah ! Johnson, what a woman 
 that is !" ' 
 
 " I am sincerely obliged to her for her kindness in this and all other 
 respects," said Nicholas. " But where are you going, that you talk 
 about bidding good-bye ?" 
 
 " Haven't you seen it in the papers ?" said Crummies, with some 
 dignity. ^^ 
 
 " No," replied Nicholas. 
 
 " I wonder at that," said the manager. " It was among the varieties. 
 I had the paragraph here somewhere — but I don't know — oh, yes, here 
 it is." 
 
 So saying, Mr. Crummies, after pretending that he thought he must 
 Lave lost it, produced a square inch of newspaper from the pocket of 
 the pantaloons he wore in private life (which, together with the plain 
 clothes of several other gentlemen, lay scattered about on a kind of 
 dresser in the room), and gave it to Nicholas to read : — 
 
 " The talented Vincent Crummies, long favourably known to fame 
 as a country manager and actor of no ordinary pretensions, is about to 
 cross the Atlantic on a histrionic expedition. Crummies is to be accom- 
 panied, we hear, by his lady and gifted family. We know no man 
 superior to Crummies in his particular line of character, or one who, 
 whether as a public or private individual, could carry with him the 
 best wishes of a larger circle of friends. Crummies is certain to 
 succeed." 
 
 " Here's another bit," said Mr. Crummies, handing over a still 
 smaller scrap. " This is from the notices to correspondents, this 
 one. 
 
 Nicholas read it aloud. " ' Philo Dramaticus. — Crummies, the 
 country manager and actor, cannot be more than forty-three, or forty- 
 four years of age. Crummies is not a Prussian, having been born at 
 Chelsea.' Humph !" said Nicholas, " that's an odd paragraph." 
 
 " Very," returned Crummies, scratching the side of his nose, and 
 looking at Nicholas with an assumption of great unconcern. " I can't 
 think who puts these things in. / didn't." 
 
 Still keeping his eye on Nicholas, Mr. Crummies shook his head 
 twice or thrice with profound gravity, and remarking, that he could not 
 for the life of him imagine how the newspapers found out the things 
 they did, folded up the extracts and put them in his pocket again. 
 
 '-'• I am astonished to hear this news," said Nicholas. *' Going to 
 America ! You had no such thing in contemplation when I was with you." 
 
 " No," replied Crummies, "1 hadn't then. The fact is, that JMrs. 
 Crummies — most extraordinary woman, Johnson" — here he broke off 
 and whispered something in his ear. 
 
 " Oh 1" said Nicholas, smiling. " The prospect of an addition to 
 your family ?" 
 
 " The seventh addition, Johnson," returned Mr. Crummies, solemnly. 
 " I thought such a child as the Phenomenon must have been a closer ; 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 475 
 
 but it seems we are to have another. She is a very remarkable 
 woman." 
 
 " I congratulate you," said Nicholas, " and I hope this may prove a 
 phenomenon too." 
 
 "Why, it's pretty sure to be something uncommon, I suppose," 
 rejoined Mr. Crummies. " The talent of the other three is principally 
 in combat and serious pantomime. I should like this one to have a 
 turn for juvenile tragedy ; I understand they want something of that 
 sort in America very much. However, we must take it as it comes. 
 Perhaps it may have a genius for the tight-rope. It may have any sort 
 of genius, in short, if it takes after its mother, Johnson, for she is an 
 universal genius; but, whatever its genius is, that genius shall be 
 developed." 
 
 Expressing himself after these terms, Mr. Crunmiles put on his other 
 eyebrow, and the calves of his legs, and then put on his legs, which 
 w^ere of a yellowish flesh-colour, and rather soiled about the knees, from 
 frequent going down upon those joints, in curses, prayers, last struggles, 
 and other strong passages. 
 
 While the ex-manager completed his toilet, he informed Nicholas 
 that as he should have a fair start in America, from the proceeds of a 
 tolerably good engagement which he had been fortunate enough to 
 obtain, and as he and Mrs. Crummies could scarcely hope to act for 
 ever — not being immortal, except in the breath of Fame and in a 
 figurative sense — he had made up his mind to settle there permanently, 
 in the hope of acquiring some land of his own which would support 
 them in their old age, and which they could afterwards bequeath to 
 their children. Nicholas, having highly commended this resolution, 
 Mr. Crummies w^ent on to impart such further intelligence relative to 
 their mutual friends as he thought might prove interesting ; informing 
 Nicholas, among other things, that Miss Snevellici was happily married 
 to an affluent young wax-chandler who had supplied the theatre with 
 candles, and that Mr. Lillyvick didn't dare to say his soul was his 
 own, such was the tyrannical sway of Mrs. Lillyvick, who reigned 
 paramount and supreme. 
 
 Nicholas responded to this confidence on the part of Mr. Crummies, 
 by confiding to him his own name, situation, and prospects, and in- 
 forming him in as few general words as he could, of the circumstances 
 •which had led to their first acquaintance. After congratulating him with 
 great heartiness on the improved state of his fortunes, Mr. Crummies 
 gave him to understand that next morning he and his were to start for 
 Liverpool, where the vessel lay which was to carry them from the 
 shores of England, and that if Nicholas wished to take a kst adieu of 
 Mrs. Crummies, he must repair with him that night to a farewell- 
 supper, given in honour of the family at a neighbouring tavern ; at 
 which Mr. Snittle Timberry would preside, while the honours of the 
 vice chair would be sustained by the African Swallower. 
 
 The room being by this time very warm and somewhat crowded, in 
 consequence of the influx of four gentlemen, who had just killed each 
 other in the piece under representation, Nicholas accepted the invita- 
 
476 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 tion, and promised to return at tlie conclusion of the performances ; 
 preferring the cool air and twilight out of doors to the mingled perfume 
 of gas, orange-peel, and gunpowder,- which pervaded the hot and 
 glaring theatre. 
 
 He availed himself of this interval to buy a silver snuff-box — the best 
 his funds would afford — as a token of remembrance for Mr. Crummies, 
 and having purchased besides a pair of ear-rings for Mrs. Crummies, a 
 necklace for the Phenomenon, and a flaming shirt-pin for each of the 
 young gentlemen, he refreshed himself witli a walk, and returning a 
 little after the appointed time, found the lights out, the theatre empty, 
 the curtain raised for the night, and Mr. Crummies walking up and 
 down the stage expecting his arrival. 
 
 " Timberry won't be long," said Mr. Crummies. " He played the 
 audience out to-night. He does a faithful black in the last piece, and 
 it takes him a little longer to wash himself." 
 
 "A very unpleasant line of character, I should think?" said 
 Nicholas. 
 
 " No, I don't know," replied Mr. Crummies ; " it comes off easily 
 enough, and there's only the face and neck. We had a first-tragedy 
 man in our company once, who, when he played Othello, used to black 
 himself all over. 13ut that's feeling a part and going into it as if you 
 meant it ; it isn't usual — more's the pity." 
 
 Mr. Snittle Timberry now appeared, arm in arm with the African 
 Swallower, and, being introduced to Nicholas, raised his hat half-a-foot, 
 and said he was proud to know him. The Swallower said the same, 
 and looked and spoke remarkably like an Irishman. 
 
 " I see by the bills that you have been ill, sir," said Nicholas to 
 Mr. Timberry. " I hope you are none the worse for your exertions 
 to-night ?" 
 
 Mr. Timberry in reply, shook his head with a gloomy air, tapped 
 his chest several times with great significancy, and drawing his cloak 
 more closely about him, said, " But no matter — no matter. Come!" 
 It is observable that when people upon the stage are in any strait 
 involving the very last extremity of weakness and exhaustion, they 
 invariably perform feats of strength requiring great ingenuity and 
 muscular power. Thus, a wounded prince or bandit-chief, who is 
 bleeding to death and too faint to move, except to tlie softest music 
 (and then only upon his hands and knees), shall be seen to approach a 
 cottage door for aid, in such a series of wrlthings and tw^istings, and witli 
 such curlings up of the legs, and such rollings over and over, and such 
 gettings up and tumblings down again, as could never be achieved save 
 by a very strong man skilled in posture-making. And so natural did 
 this sort of performance come to Mr. Snittle Timberry, that on their 
 way out of the theatre and towards the tavern where the supper was 
 to be holden, he testified tlie severity of his recent indisposition and its 
 wasting effects upon the nervous system, by a series of gymnastic per- 
 formances, which were the admiration of all witnesses. 
 
 ** Why this is indeed a joy I had not looked for!" said Mrs. 
 Crummies, when Nicholas was presented. 
 
NICHOLAS ?JICKLEBY. " 477 
 
 " Nor I," replied Nicholas. " It is by a mere chance that I have 
 this opportunity of seeing yon, although I would have made a great 
 exertion to have availed myself of it." 
 
 " Here is one whom you know," said Mrs. Crummies, thrusting 
 forward the Phenomenon in a blue gauze frock, extensively flounced, 
 and trowsers of the same ; " and here another — and another," present- 
 ing the Masters Crummleses. " And how is your friend, the faithful 
 Digby?" 
 
 *' Digby !" said Nicholas, forgetting at the instant that this had bf^en 
 Smike's theatrical name. " Oh yes. He's quite — what am I saying ? 
 — he is very far from well." 
 
 " How I" exclaimed Mrs. Crummies, with a tragic recoil. 
 
 " I fes,r," said Nicholas, shaking his head, and making an attempt 
 to smile, " that your better-half would be more struck with him now, 
 than ever." 
 
 " What mean you ?" rejoined Mrs. Crummies, in her most popular 
 manner. " Whence comes this altered tone ?" 
 
 " I mean that a dastardly enemy of mine has struck at me through 
 him, and that while he thinks to torture me, he inflicts on him such 
 
 agonies of terror and suspense as You will excuse me, I am sure," 
 
 said Nicholas, checking himself. " I should never speak of this, and 
 never do, except to those who know the facts, but for a moment I 
 forgot myself." 
 
 With this hasty apology, Nicholas stooped down to salute the Phe- 
 nomenon, and changed the subject ; inwardly cursing his precipitation, 
 and very much wondering what Mrs. Crummies must think of so 
 sudden an explosion. 
 
 That lady seemed to think very little about it, for the supper being 
 by this time on table, she gave her hand to Nicholas and repaired with 
 a stately step to the left hand of Mr. Snittle Timberry. Nicholas had 
 the honour to support her, and JMr. Crummies was placed upon the 
 chairman's right ; the Phenomenon and the Masters Crummleses sus- 
 tained the vice. 
 
 The company amounted in number to some twenty-five or thirty, 
 being composed of such members of the theatrical profession, then 
 engaged or disengaged in London, as were numbered among the most 
 intimate friends of Mr. and Mrs. Crummies. The ladies and gentle- 
 men were pretty equally balanced ; the expenses of the entertainment 
 being defrayed by the latter, each of whom had the privilege of inviting 
 one of the former as his guest. 
 
 It was upon the whole a very distinguished party, for independently 
 of the lesser theatrical lights who clustered on this occasion round 
 Mr. Snittle Timberry, there was a literary gentleman present who had 
 dramatised in his time two hundred and forty-seven novels as fast as 
 they had come out — some of them faster than they had come out — 
 and was a literary gentleman in consequence. 
 
 This gentleman sat on the left hand of Nicholas, to whom he was 
 introduced by his friend the African Swallower, from the bottom of 
 the table, with a high eulogium upon his fame and reputation. 
 
478 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 " I am happy to know a gentleman of such great distinction," said 
 Nicholas, politely. 
 
 " Sir," replied the wit, " you're very welcome, I'm sure. The honour 
 is reciprocal, sir, as I usually say when I dramatise a book. Did you 
 ever hear a definition of fame, sir ?" 
 
 " I have heard several," replied Nicholas, with a smile. " What is 
 yours ?" 
 
 " When I dramatise a book, sir," said the literary gentleman, " that's 
 fame — for its author." 
 
 " Oh, indeed !" rejoined Nicholas. 
 
 " That's fame, sir," said the literary gentleman. 
 
 " So Richard Turpin, Tom King, and Jerry Abershaw, have handed 
 down to fame the names of those on whom they committed their most 
 impudent robberies ?" said Nicholas. 
 
 " I don't know anything about that, sir," answered the literary 
 gentleman. 
 
 " Shakspeare dramatised stories which had previously appeared in 
 print, it is true," observed Nicholas. 
 
 " Meaning Bill, sir ?" said the literary gentleman. " So he did. Bill 
 
 was an adapter, certainly, so he was — and very well he adapted too 
 
 considering." 
 
 " I was about to say," rejoined Nicholas, " that Shakspeare derived 
 some of his plots from old tales and legends in general circulation ; but 
 it seems to me, that some of the gentlemen of your craft at the present 
 day, have shot very far beyond him — " 
 
 " You're quite right, sir," interrupted the literary gentleman, leaning 
 back in his chair and exercising his toothpick. " Human intellect, sir, 
 has progressed since his time — is progressing — will progress — " 
 
 " Shot beyond him, I mean," resumed Nicholas, " in quite another 
 respect, for, whereas he brought within the magic circle of his genius, 
 traditions peculiarly adapted for ^is purpose, and turned familiar things 
 into constellations which should enlighten the world for ages, you drag 
 within the magic circle of your dulness, subjects not at all adapted to 
 the purposes of the stage, and debase as he exalted. For instance, you 
 take the uncompleted books of living authors, fresh from their hands, 
 wet from the press, cut, hack, and carve them to the powers and capaci- 
 ties of your actors, and the capability of your theatres, finish unfinished 
 works, hastily and crudely vamp up ideas not yet worked out by their 
 original projector, but which have doubtless cost him many thoughtful 
 days and sleepless nights ; by a comparison of incidents and dialogue, 
 down to the very last word he may have written a fortnight before, do 
 your utmost to anticipate his plot — all this without his permission, and 
 noainst his will ; and then, to crown the whole proceeding, publish in 
 some mean pamphlet, an unmeaning farrago of garbled extracts from 
 his work, to which you put your name as author, with the honourable 
 distinction annexed, of having perpetrated a hundred other outrages of 
 the same description. Now, show me the distinction between such 
 pilfering as this, and picking a man's pocket in the street: unless, 
 indeed, it be, that the legislature has a regard for pocket handkerchiefs, 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 479 
 
 and leaves men's brains, except when they are knocked out by violence, 
 to take care of themselves." 
 
 " Men must live, sir," said the literary gentleman, shrugging his 
 shoulders. 
 
 " That would be an equally fair plea in both cases," replied Nicholas ; 
 "but if you put it upon that ground, I have nothing more to say, than, 
 that if I were a writer of books, and you a thirsty dramatist, I would 
 rather pay your tavern score for six months — large as it might be — than 
 have a niche in the Temple of Fame with you for the humblest corner 
 of my pedestal, through six hundred generations." 
 
 The conversation threatened to take a somewhat angry tone when it 
 had arrived thus far, but Mrs. Crummies opportunely interposed to 
 prevent its leading to any violent outbreak, by making some inquiries 
 of the literary gentleman relative to the plots of the six new pieces 
 which he had written by contract to introduce the African Knife-swal- 
 lower in his various unrivalled performances. This speedily engaged 
 him in an animated conversation with that lady, in the interest of which, 
 all recollection of his recent discussion w^ith Nicholas very quickly 
 evaporated. 
 
 The board being now clear of the more substantial articles of food, 
 and punch, wine, and spirits being placed upon it and handed about, 
 the guests, who had been previously conversing in little groups of three 
 or four, gradually fell off into a dead silence, while the majority of those 
 present, glanced from time to time at Mr. Snittle Timberry, and the 
 bolder spirits did not even hesitate to strike the table with their knuckles, 
 and plainly intimate their expectations, by uttering such encouragements 
 as " Now, Tim," " Wake up, Mr. Chairman," "All charged, sir, and 
 waiting for a toast," and so forth. 
 
 To these remonstrances, Mr. Timberry deigned no other rejoinder 
 than striking his chest and gasping for breath, and giving many 
 otlier indications of being still the victim of indisposition — for a man 
 must not make himself too cheap either on the stage or off — while 
 Mr. Crummies, who knew full well that he would be the subject of 
 the forthcoming toast, sat gracefully in his chair with his arm thrown 
 carelessly over the back, and now and then lifted his glass to his mouth 
 and drank a little punch, with the same air with which he was accus- 
 tomed to take long draughts of nothing, out of the pasteboard goblets in 
 banquet scenes. 
 
 At length Mr. Snittle Timberry rose in the most approved attitude, 
 with one hand in the breast of his waistcoat and the other on the 
 nearest snuff-box, and having been received with great enthusiasm, 
 proposed, with abundance of quotations, his friend Mr. Vincent 
 Crummies : ending a pretty long speech by extending his right hand 
 on one side and his left on the other, and severally calling upon Mr. 
 and Mrs. Crummies to grasp the same. This done, Mr. Vincent 
 Crummies returned thanks, and that done, the African Swallower 
 proposed Mrs. Vincent Crummhs, in affecting terms. Then were 
 heard loud moans and sobs from Mrs. Crummies and the ladies, despite 
 of which that heroic woman insisted upon returning thanks herself, 
 
480 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 which she did, in a manner and in a speech which has never been sur- 
 passed and seldom equalled. It then became the duty of Mr. Snittle 
 Timberry to give the young Crummleses, which he did ; after which 
 Mr. Vincent Crummies, as their father, addressed the company in a 
 supplementary speech, enlarging on their virtues, amiabilities, and 
 excellences, and wishing that they were the sons and daughter of every 
 lady and gentleman present. These solemnities having been succeeded 
 by a decent interval, enlivened by musical and other entertainments, 
 Mr. Crummies proposed that ornament of the profession, Mr. Snittle 
 Timberry ; and at a little later period of the evening, the health of that 
 other ornament of the profession, the African Swallower — his very 
 dear friend, if he would allow him to call him so ; which liberty (there 
 being no particular reason why he should not allow it) the African 
 Swallower graciously permitted. The literary gentleman was then 
 about to be drunk, but it being discovered that he had been drunk for 
 some time in another acceptation of the term, and was then asleep on 
 the stairs, the intention was abandoned, and the honour transferred to 
 the ladies. Finally, after a very long sitting, Mr. Snittle Timberry 
 vacated the chair, and the company with many adieus and embraces 
 dispersed. 
 
 Nicholas waited to the last to give his little presents. When he had 
 said good-bye all round and came to Mr. Crummies, he could not but 
 mark the difference between their present separation and their parting 
 at Portsmouth. Not a jot of his theatrical manner remained ; he put 
 out his hand with an air which, if he could have summoned it at will, 
 would have made him the best actor of his day in homely parts, and 
 when Nicholas shook it with the warmth he honestly felt, appeared 
 thoroughly melted. 
 
 " We were a very happy little company, Johnson," said poor 
 Crummies. "• You and I never had a word. I shall be very glad 
 to-morrow morning to think thfit I saw you again, but now I almost 
 wish you hadn't come." 
 
 Nicholas was about to return a cheerful reply, when he was greatly 
 disconcerted by the sudden apparition of Mrs. Grudden, who it seemed 
 had declined to attend the supper in order that she might rise earlier 
 in the morning, and who now burst out of an adjoining bedroom, 
 habited in very extraordinary white robes : and throwing her arms 
 about his neck, hugged him with great affection. 
 
 " What ! Are you going too?" said Nicholas, submitting with as 
 good a grace as if she had been the finest young creature in the 
 world. 
 
 "Going?" returned Mrs. Grudden. "Lord ha mercy, what do 
 you think they'd do without me V 
 
 Nicholas submitted to another hug with even a better grace than 
 before, if that were possible, and waving his hat as cheerfully as he 
 could, took farewell of the Vincent Crummleses. 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 481 
 
 CHAPTER XLIX. 
 
 CHRONICLES THE FURTHER PROCEEDINGS OF THE NICKLEBY FAMILY, 
 AND THE SEQUEL OF THE ADVENTURE OF THE GENTLEMAN IN THE 
 SMALL-CLOTHES. 
 
 While Nicholas, absorbed in the one engrossing subject of interest 
 which had recently opened upon him, occupied his leisure hours with 
 thoughts of Madeline Bray, and, in execution of the commissions which 
 the anxiety of Brother Charles in her behalf imposed upon him, saw 
 her again and again, and each time with greater danger to his peace of 
 mind and a more weakening effect upon the lofty resolutions he had 
 formed, Mrs. Nickleby and Kate continued to live in peace and quiet, 
 agitated by no other cares than those which were connected with certain 
 harassing proceedings taken by Mr. Snawley for the recovery of his son, 
 and their anxiety for Smike himself, whose health, long upon the wane, 
 began to be so much affected by apprehension and uncertainty as some- 
 times to occasion both them and Nicholas considerable uneasiness, and 
 even alarm. 
 
 It was no complaint or murmur on the part of the poor fellow him- 
 self that thus disturbed them. Ever eager to be employed in such 
 slight services as he could render, and always anxious to repay his bene- 
 factors with cheerful and happy looks, less friendly eyes might have 
 seen in him no cause for any misgiving. But there were times — and 
 often too — when the sunken eye was too bright, the hollow cheek too 
 flushed, the breath too thick and heavy in its course, the frame too 
 feeble and exhausted, to escape their regard and notice. 
 
 There is a dread disease which so prepares its victim, as it were, for 
 death ; which so refines it of its grosser aspect, and throws around 
 familiar looks unearthly indications of the coming change — a dread 
 disease, in which the struggle between soul and body is so gradual, 
 quiet, and solemn, and the result so sure, that day by day, and grain 
 by grain, the mortal part wastes and withers away, so that the spirit 
 gTows light and sanguine with its lightening load and feeling immor- 
 tality at hand, deems it but a new term of mortal life — a disease in 
 which death and life are so strangely blended, that death takes the 
 glow and hue of life, and life the gaunt and grisly form of death — a 
 disease which medicine never cured, wealth warded off, or poverty could 
 boast exemption from — which sometimes moves in giant strides, and 
 sometimes at a tardy sluggish pace, but, slow or quick, is ever sure and 
 certain. 
 
 It was with some faint reference in his own mind to this disorder, 
 though he would by no means admit it, even to himself, that Nicholas 
 had already carried his faithful companion to a physician of great 
 repute. There was no cause for immediate alarm, he said. There 
 
 1 1 
 
LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 were no present symptoms which could be deemed conclusive. The 
 constitution had been greatly tried and injured in childhood, but still it 
 might not be — and that was all. 
 
 But he seemed to grow no worse, and as it was not difficult to find a 
 reason for these symptoms of illness in the shock and agitation he had 
 recently undergone, Nicholas comforted himself with the hope that his 
 poor friend would soon recover. This hope his mother and sister shared 
 ■with him ; and as the object of their joint solicitude seemed to have no 
 uneasiness or despondency for himself, but each day answered with a 
 quiet smile that he felt better than he had upon the day before, their 
 fears abated, and the general happiness was by degrees restored. 
 
 Many and many a time in after years did Nicholas look back to this 
 period of his life, and tread again the humble quiet homely scenes that 
 rose up as of old before him. Many and many a time, in the twilight 
 of a summer evening, or beside the flickering winter's fire — but not so 
 often or so sadly then — would his thoughts wander back to these old 
 days, and dwell with a pleasant sorrow upon every slight remembrance 
 which they brought crowding home. The little room in which they had 
 so often sat long after it was dark, figuring such happy futures — Kate's 
 cheerful voice and merry laugh ; and how, if she were from home they 
 used to sit and watch for her return, scarcely breaking silence but to 
 say how dull it seemed without her — the glee with which poor Smike 
 would start from the darkened corner where he used to sit, and hurry 
 to admit her, and the tears they often saw upon his face, half wondering 
 to see them too and he so pleased and happy — every little incident, and 
 even slight words and looks of those old days, little heeded then, but 
 well remembered when busy cares and trials were quite forgot, came 
 fresh and thick before him many and many a time, and, rustling 
 above the dusty growth of years, came back green boughs of yes- 
 terday. 
 
 But there were other persons associated with these recollections, and 
 many changes came about before they had being — a necessary reflection 
 for the purposes of these adventures, which at once subside into their 
 accustomed train, and shunning all flighty anticipations or wayward 
 wanderings, pursue their steady and decorous course. 
 
 If the Brothers Cheeryble, as they found Nicholas worthy of tnist 
 and confidence, bestowed upon him every day some new and substantial 
 mark of kindness, they were not less mindful of those who depended on 
 him. Various little presents to Mrs. Nickleby — always of the very 
 things they most required — tended in no slight degree to the improve- 
 ment and embellishment of the cottage. Kate's little store of trinkets 
 
 became quite dazzling ; and for company ! If Brother Charles and 
 
 Brother Ned failed to look in for at least a few minutes every Sunday, 
 or one evening in the week, there was Mr. Tim Linkinwater (who had 
 never made half-a-dozcn other acquaintances in all his life, and who 
 took such delight in his new friends as no words can express) constantly 
 coming and going in his evening walks, and stopping to rest ; while 
 Mr. Frank Cheeryble happened, by some strange conjunction of circum- 
 stances, to be passing the door on some business or other at least three 
 nights in the week. 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBT. 483 
 
 ** He is the most attentive young man / ever saw, Kate," said Mrs. 
 Nickleby to her daughter, one evening when this last-named gentleman 
 had been the subject of the worthy lady's eulogium for some time, and 
 Kate had sat perfectly silent. 
 
 " Attentive, mama!" rejoined Kate. 
 
 " Bless my heart, Kate!" cried Mrs. Nickleby, with her wonted 
 suddenness, *' what a colour you have got ; why, you're quite flushed !" 
 
 " Oh, mama ! what strange things you fancy." 
 
 " It wasn't fancy, Kate, my dear, I'm certain of that," returned her 
 mother. " However, it's gone now at any rate, so it don't much matter 
 whether it was or not. What was it we were talking about ? Oh ! 
 Mr. Frank. I never saw such attention in my life, never." 
 
 " Surely jou are not serious," returned Kate, colouring again ; and 
 this time beyond all dispute. 
 
 " Not serious ! " returned Mrs. Nickleby ; " why shouldn't I be 
 serious ? I'm sure I never was more serious. I will say that his polite- 
 ness and attention to me is one of the most becoming, gratifying, pleasant 
 things I have seen for a very long time. You don't often meet with 
 such behaviour in young men, and it strikes one more when one does 
 meet with it." 
 
 " Oh ! attention to yow, mama," rejoined Kate quickly — " oh yes.'* 
 
 " Dear me, Kate," retorted Mrs. Nickleby, " what an extraordinary 
 girl you are. "Was it likely I should be talking of his attention to 
 anybody else ? I declare I'm quite sorry to think he should be in love 
 with a German lady, that I am." 
 
 " He said very positively that it was no such thing, mama," returned 
 Kate. " Don't you remember his saying so that very first night he came 
 here ? Besides," she added, in a more gentle tone, " why should we 
 be sorry if it is the case ? What is it to us, mama ?" 
 
 " Nothing to us^ Kate, perhaps," said Mrs. Ni-ckleby emphatically ; 
 "^ but something to m^, I confess. I like English people to be thorough 
 English people, and not half English and half I don't know what. I 
 shall tell him point-blank next time he comes, that I wish he would, 
 marry one of his own countrywomen ; and see what he says to that." 
 
 " Pray don't think of such a thing, mama," returned Kate hastily ; 
 " not for the world. Consider — how very ." 
 
 " Well, my dear, how very what !" said Mrs. Nickleby, opening her 
 eyes in great astonishment. 
 
 Before Kate had returned any reply, a queer little double-knock 
 announced that Miss La Creevy had called to see them ; and when Miss 
 La Creevy presented herself, Mrs. Nickleby, though strongly disposed 
 to be argumentative on the previous question, forgot all about it in a 
 gush of supposes about the coach she had come by ; supposing that the 
 man who drove must have been either the man in the shirt-sleeves or 
 the man with the black eye ; that whoever he was, he hadn't found 
 that parasol she left inside last week ; that no doubt they had stopped 
 a long while at the Halfway House, coming down ; or that perhaps 
 being full, they had come straight on ; and lastly, that they surely must 
 have passed Nicholas on the road. 
 
 ii2 
 
484 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 " I saw nothing of him," answered Miss La Creevy ; " but I saw 
 that dear old soul Mr. Linkinwater." 
 
 " Taking his evening walk, and coming on to rest here before he 
 turns back to the city, I'll be bound !" said Mrs. Nickleby. 
 
 *' I should think he was," returned Miss La Creevy; " especially as 
 young Mr. Cheeryble was with him." 
 
 " Surely that is no reason why Mr. Linkinwater should be coming 
 here," said Kate. 
 
 " Why I think it is, my dear," said Miss La Creevy. " For a young 
 man Mr. Frank is not a very great walker; and I observe that he gene- 
 rally falls tired, and requires a good long rest, when he has come as far 
 as this. But where is my friend ?" said the little woman, looking about, 
 after having glanced slyly at Kate. " He has not been run away 
 with again, has he ? " 
 
 " Ah ! where is Mr. Smike ?" said Mrs. Nickleby ; "he was here 
 this instant." 
 
 Upon further inquiry, it turned out, to the good lady's unbounded 
 astonishment, that Smike had that moment gone up-stairs to bed. 
 
 " Well now," said Mrs. Nickleby, " he is the strangest creature ! 
 Last Tuesday — was it Tuesday ? Yes to be sure it was ; you recollect, 
 Kate, my dear, the very last time young Mr. Cheeryble was here — last 
 Tuesday night he went off in just the same strange way, at the very 
 moment the knock came to the door. It cannot be that he don't like 
 company, because he is always fond of people who are fond of Nicholas, 
 and I am sure young Mr. Cheeryble is. And the strangest thing is, 
 that he does not go to bed ; therefore it cannot be because he is tired. 
 I know he doesn't go to bed, because my room is the next one, and 
 when I went up-stairs last Tuesday, hours after him, I found that he 
 had not even taken his shoes off; and he had no candle, so he must 
 have sat moping in the dark all the time. Now, upon my word," said 
 Mrs. Nickleby, " when I come to think of it, that's very extraordinary!" 
 
 As the hearers did not echo this sentiment, but remained profoundly 
 silent, either as not knowing what to say, or as being unwilling to 
 interrupt, Mrs. Nickleby pursued the thread of her discourse after her 
 own fashion. 
 
 " I hope," said that lady, " that this unaccountable conduct may not 
 be the beginning of his taking to his bed and living there all his life, 
 like the Thirsty Woman of Tutbury, or the Cock-lane Ghost, or some of 
 those extraordinary creatures. One of them had some connexion with 
 our family. I forget, without looking back to some old letters I 
 have up-stairs, whether it was my great -grandfather who went to school 
 with the Cock-lane ghost, or the Thirsty Woman of Tutbury who went 
 to school with my grandmother. Miss La Creevy, you know, of course. 
 Which was it that didn't mind what the clergyman said ? The Cock- 
 lane Ghost or the Thirsty Woman of Tutbury ? " 
 
 " The Cock-lane Ghost, I believe." 
 
 " Then I have no doubt," said Mrs. Nickleby, " that it was with 
 him my great-grandfather went to school ; for I know the master of his 
 school was a dissenter, and that would in a great measure account for 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 485 
 
 the" Cock-lane Ghost's behaving in such an improper manner to the 
 clergyman when he grew np. Ah ! Train up a Ghost — child, I 
 
 Any further reflections on this fruitful theme were abruptly cut short 
 by the arrival of Tim Linkinwater and Mr. Frank Cheeryble ; in the 
 hurry of receiving whom, Mrs. Nickleby speedily lost sight of every- 
 thing else. 
 
 " I am so sorry Nicholas is not at home," said Mrs. Nickleby. 
 " Kate, my dear, you must be both Nicholas and yourself." 
 
 " Miss Nickleby need be but herself," said Frank. " I — if I may 
 venture to say so — oppose all change in her." 
 
 " Then at all events she shall press you to stay," returned Mrs. 
 Nickleby. " Mr. Linkinwater says ten minutes, but I cannot let you 
 go so soon ; Nicholas would be very much vexed, I am sure. Kate, 
 my dear ." 
 
 In obedience to a great number of nods and winks and frowns of 
 extra significance, Kate added her entreaties that the visitors would 
 remain ; but it was observable that she addressed them exclusively to 
 Tim Linkinwater ; and there was, besides, a certain embarrassment in 
 her manner, which, although it was as far from impairing its graceful 
 character as the tinge it communicated to her cheek was from dimi- 
 nishing her beauty, was obvious at a glance even to Mrs. Nickleby. Not 
 being of a very speculative character, however, save under circum- 
 stances when her speculations could be put into words and uttered 
 aloud, that discreet matron attributed the emotion to the circumstance 
 of her datfghter's not happening to have her best frock on — " though I 
 never saw her look better, certainly," she reflected at the same time. 
 Having settled the question in this way, and being most complacently 
 satisfied that in this, as in all other instances, her conjecture could not 
 fail to be the right one, Mrs. Nickleby dismissed it from her thoughts, 
 and inwardly congratulated herself on being so shrewd and knowing. 
 
 Nicholas did not come home, nor did Smike re- appear ; but neither 
 circumstance, to say the truth, had any great efi'ect upon the little 
 party, who were all in the best humour possible. Indeed, there sprung 
 up quite a flirtation between Miss La Creevy and Tim Linkinwater, 
 who said a thousand jocose and facetious things, and became, by degrees, 
 quite gallant, not to say tender. Little Miss La Creevy on her part was 
 in high spirits, and rallied Tim on having remained a bachelor all his 
 life, with so much success, that Tim was actually induced to declare, 
 that if he could get anybody to have him, he didnt know but 
 what he might change his condition even yet. Miss La Creevy 
 earnestly recommended a lady she knew who would exactly suit Mr. 
 Linkinwater, and had a very comfortable property of her own ; but this 
 latter qualification had very little effect upon Tim, who manfully 
 protested that fortune would be no object with him, but that true worth 
 and cheerfulness of disposition were what a man should look for in a 
 ■wife, and that if he had these he could find money enough for the 
 moderate wants of both. This avowal was considered so honourable to 
 Tim, that neither Mrs. Nickleby nor Miss La Creevy could sufficiently 
 extol it ; and stimulated by their praises, Tim launched out into Several 
 
486 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 other declarations also manifesting the disinterestedness of his heart, and 
 a great devotion to the fair sex, which were received with no less appro- 
 bation. This was done and said with a comical mixture of jest and 
 earnest, and, leading to a great amount of laughter, made them very- 
 merry indeed. 
 
 Kate was commonly the life and soul of the conversation at home; 
 but she was more silent than usual upon this occasion — perhaps because 
 Tim and Miss La Creevy engrossed so much of it- — and keeping 
 aloof from the talkers, sat at the window watching the shadows as the 
 evening closed in, and enjoying the quiet beauty of the night, which 
 seemed to have scarcely less attractions for Frank, who first lingered 
 near and then sat down beside her. No doubt there are a great many 
 things to be said appropriate to a summer evening, and no doubt they 
 are best said in a low voice, as being most suitable to the peace and 
 serenity of the hour ; long pauses, too, at times, and then an earnest 
 word or so, and then another interval of silence which somehow docs 
 not seem like silence either, and perhaps now and then a hasty turning 
 away of the head, or drooping of the eyes towards the ground — all these 
 minor circumstances, with a disinclination to have candles introduced 
 and a tendency to confuse hours with minutes, are doubtless mere influ- 
 ences of the time, as many lovely lips can clearly testify. Neither is there 
 the slightest reason why Mrs. Nickleby should have expressed surprise 
 when — candles being at length brought in — Kate's bright eyes were 
 unable to bear the light which obliged her to avert her face, and even 
 to leave the room for some short time ; because when one has sat in the 
 dark so long, candles are dazzling, and nothing can be more strictly 
 natural than that such results should be produced, as all well-informed 
 young people know. For that matter, old people know it too or did 
 know it once, but they forget these things sometimes, and more's 
 the pity. 
 
 The good lady's surprise, however, did not end here. It was greatly 
 increased when it w^as discovered that Kate had not the least appetite 
 for supper : a discovery so alarming that there is no knowing in what 
 unaccountable efforts of oratory Mrs. Nickleby's apprehensions might 
 have been vented, if the general attention had not been attracted at the 
 moment by a very strange and uncommon noise, proceeding, as the pale 
 and trembling servant-girl affirmed, and as everybody's sense of hearing 
 seemed to affirm also, " right down " the chimney of the adjoining room. 
 
 It being quite plain to the comprehension of all present that, however 
 extraordinary and improbable it might appear, the noise did neverthe- 
 less proceed from the chimney in question ; and the noise (which was a 
 strange compound of various shufHing, sliding, rumbling, and struggling 
 sounds, all muffled by the chimney) still continuing, Frank Cheeryble 
 caught up a candle, and Tim Linkinwatcr the tongs, and they would 
 have very quickly ascertained the cause of this disturbance if Mrs. 
 Nickleby had not been taken very faint, and declined being left behind 
 on any account. This i)roduced a short remonstrance, which tenninatod 
 in their all proceeding to the troubled chamber in a body, excepting only 
 Miss La Creevy, who, as the servant-girl volunteered a confession of 
 
-^- 
 
 r 
 
^y/C'Z/yy^^U^'-u^ a/i. 
 
 (z/iA^kZ-i 
 
 t<z/?z^^ 
 
 c//// ' y^ /////■///>'/ Ji/y// /Ae-.^??ta/c CM^i^ea . 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 487 
 
 having been subject to fits in her infancy, remained with her to give the 
 alarm and apply restoratives, in case of extremity. 
 
 Advancing to the door of the mysterious apartment, they were not a 
 little surprised to hear a human voice, chaunting with a highly elabo- 
 rated expression of melancholy, and in tones of suffocation which a 
 human voice might have produced from under five or six feather-beds 
 of the best quality, the once popular air of " Has she then failed in her 
 truth, the beautiful maid I adore ! " Nor, on bursting into the room 
 without demanding a parley, was their astonishment lessened by the 
 discovery that these romantic sounds certainly proceeded from the throat 
 of some man up the chimney, of whom nothing was visible but a pair 
 of legs, which were dangling above the grate, apparently feeling with 
 extreme anxiety for the top bar whereon to effect a landing. 
 
 A sight so unusual and unbusiness-like as this completely paralysed 
 Tim Linkinwater, who, after one or two gentle pinches at the stranger's 
 ancles, which were productive of no effect, stood clapping the tongs 
 together as if he were sharpening them for another assault, and did 
 nothing else. 
 
 " This must be some drunken fellow," said Frank. " No thief would 
 announce his presence thus." 
 
 As he said this with great indignation, he raised the candle to obtain 
 a better view of the legs, and was darting forward to pull them down 
 with very little ceremony, when Mrs. Nickleby, clasping her hands, 
 uttered a sharp sound something between a scream and an exclamation, 
 and demanded to know whether the mysterious limbs were not clad in 
 small-clothes and grey worsted stockings, or whether her eyes had 
 deceived her. 
 
 " Yes," cried Frank, looking a little closer. " Small-clothes certainly, 
 and — and — rough grey stockings, too. Do you know him, ma'am?" 
 
 " Kate, my dear," said Mrs. Nickleby, deliberately sitting herself 
 down in a chair with that sort of desperate resignation which seemed 
 to imply that now matters had come to a crisis, and all disguise was 
 nseless, " you will have the goodness, my love, to explain precisely how 
 this matter stands. I have given him no encouragement — none what- 
 ever — not the least in the world. You know that, my dear, perfectly 
 well. He was very respectful — exceedingly respectful — when he 
 declared, as you were a witness to ; still at the same time, if I am to 
 be persecuted in this way, if vegetable what's-his-names and all kinds 
 of garden-stuff are to strew my path out of doors, and gentlemen are 
 to come choking up our chimneys at home, I really don't know — upon 
 my word I do not know —what is to become of me. It's a very hard 
 case — harder than anything I was ever exposed to before I married your 
 poor dear papa, though I suffered a good deal of annoyance then — but 
 that, of course, I expected, and made up my mind for. When I was 
 not nearly so old as you, my dear, there was a young gentleman who 
 sat next us at church, who used almost every Sunday to cut my name 
 in large letters in the front of his pew while the sermon was going on. 
 It was gratifying, of course, naturally so, but still it was an annoy- 
 ance, because the pew was in a very conspicuous place, and he was 
 
488 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 several times publicly taken out by the beadle for doing it. But tliat 
 was nothing to this. This is a great deal worse, and a great deal more 
 embarrassing. I would rather, Kate, my dear," said Mrs. Nickleby, 
 with great solemnity, and an effusion of tears — " I would rather, I 
 declare, have been a pig-faced lady, than be exposed to such a life 
 as this ! " 
 
 Frank Cheeryble and Tim Linkinwater looked, in irrepressible 
 astonishment, first at each other and then at Kate, who felt that some 
 explanation was necessary, but who, between her terror at the appa- 
 rition of the legs, her fear lest their owner should be smothered, and 
 her anxiety to give the least ridiculous solution of the mystery that it 
 was capable of bearing, was quite unable to utter a single word. 
 
 " He gives me great pain," continued Mrs. Nickleby, drying her eyes 
 — " great pain ; but don't hurt a hair of his head, I beg. On no 
 account hurt a hair of his head." 
 
 It would not, under existing circumstances, have been quite so easy 
 to hurt a hair of the gentleman's head as Mrs. Nickleby seemed to 
 imagine, inasmuch as that part of his person was some feet up the 
 chimney, which was by no means a wide one. But as all this time he 
 had never left off singing about the bankruptcy of the beautiful maid 
 in respect of truth, and now began not only to croak very feebly, 
 but to kick with great violence as if respiration became a task ojf 
 difficulty, Frank Cheeryble without further hesitation pulled at the 
 shorts and worsteds with such heartiness as to bring him floundering into 
 the room with greater precipitation than he had quite calculated upon. 
 
 " Oh ! yes, yes," said Kate, directly the whole figure of the singular 
 visitor appeared in this abrupt manner. " I know who it is. Pray 
 don't be rough with him. Is he hurt ? I hope not — oh, pray see if 
 he is hurt." 
 
 " He is not, I assure you," replied Frank, handling the object of his 
 surprise, after this appeal, with sudden tenderness and respect. " He 
 is not hurt in the least." 
 
 " Don't let him come any nearer," said Kate, retiring as far as she 
 could. 
 
 " No no, he shall not," rejoined Frank. " You see I have him 
 secure here. But may I ask you what this means, and whether you 
 expected this old gentleman ? " 
 
 " Oh, no," said Kate, " of course not ; but he — ^mama does not think 
 so, I believe — but he is a mad gentleman who has escaped from the next 
 house, and must have found an opportunity of secreting himself here." 
 
 " Kate," interposed Mrs. Nickleby, with a severe dignity, " I am 
 surprised at you," 
 
 " Dear mama-—" Kate gently remonstrated. 
 
 " I am surprised at you," repeated Mrs. Nickleby ; " upon my word, 
 Kate, I am quite astonished that you should join the persecutors of 
 this unfortunate gentleman, when you know very well that they have 
 the basest designs upon his property, and that that is the whole secret 
 of it. It would be much kinder of you, Kate, to ask Mr. Linkinwatei? 
 or Mr. Cheeryble to interfere in his behalf, and see him righted. You 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 489 
 
 ought not to allow your feelings to influence you ; it's not right — ^very 
 far from it. What should my feelings be, do you suppose ? If anybody 
 ought to be indignant, who is it ? I, of course, and very properly so. Still, at 
 the same time, I wouldn't commit such an injustice for the world. No," 
 continued Mrs. Nickleby, drawing herself up, and looking another way 
 with a kind of bashful stateliness ; " this gentleman will understand 
 me when I tell him that I repeat the answer I gave him the other day^ 
 — that I always will repeat it, though I do believe him to be sincere 
 when I find him placing himself in such dreadful situations on my 
 account — and that I request him to have the goodness to go away 
 directly, or it will be impossible to keep his behaviour a secret from my 
 son Nicholas. I am obliged to him, very much obliged to him, but I 
 cannot listen to his addresses for a moment. It's quite impossible." 
 
 While this address was in course of delivery, the old gentleman, with 
 his nose and cheeks embellished with large patches of soot, sat upon the 
 ground with his arms folded, eyeing the spectators in profound silence, 
 and with a very majestic demeanour. He did not appear to take the 
 smallest notice of what Mrs. Nickleby said, but when she ceased to 
 speak he honoured her with a long stare, and inquired if she had quite 
 finished. 
 
 " I have nothing more to say," replied that lady modestly. " I 
 really cannot say anything more." 
 
 ' " Very good," said the old gentleman, raising his voice, ^' then bring 
 in the bottled lightning, a clean tumbler, and a corkscrew." 
 
 Nobody executing this order, the old gentleman, after a short pause, 
 raised his voice again and demanded a thunder sandwich. This article 
 not being forthcoming either, he requested to be served with a fricassee 
 of boot-tops and gold-fish sauce, and then laughing heartily, gratified 
 his hearers with a very long, very loud, and most melodious bellow. 
 
 But still Mrs. Nickleby, in reply to the significant looks of all about 
 her, shook her head as though to assure them that she saw nothing 
 .whatever in all this, unless, indeed, it were a slight degree of eccentricity. 
 She might have remained impressed with these opinions down to 
 the latest moment of her life, but for a slight train of circumstances, 
 which, trivial as they were, altered the whole complexion of the case. 
 
 It happened that Miss La Creevy, finding her patient in no very 
 threatening condition and being strongly impelled by curiosity to see 
 what was going forward, bustled into the room while the old gentleman 
 was in the very act of bellowing. It happened, too, that the instant 
 the old gentleman saw her, he stopped short, skipped suddenly on his 
 feet, and fell to kissing his hand violently : a change of demeanour which 
 almost terrified the little portrait-painter out of her senses, and caused 
 her to retreat behind Tim Linkinwater with the utmost expedition. 
 
 "Aha !" cried the old gentleman, folding his hands, and squeezing 
 them with great force against each other. " I see her now ; I see her 
 now. My love, my life, my bride, my peerless beauty. She is come at 
 last — at last — and all is gas and gaiters !" 
 
 Mrs. Nickleby looked rather disconcerted for a moment, but imme- 
 diately recovering, nodded to Miss 'La Creevy and the other spectators 
 
490 LIFE AND ADYENTURES OF 
 
 several times, and frowned, and smiled gravely, giving them to under- 
 stand that she saw where the mistake was, and would set it all to 
 rights in a minute or two. 
 
 "She is come! "said the old gentleman, laying his hand upon his 
 lieart. " Cormoran and Blunderbore ! She is come ! All the wealth 
 I have is hers if she will take me for her slave. Where are grace 
 beauty and blandishments like those ? In the Empress of Madagascar ? 
 No. In the Queen of Diamonds ? No. In Mrs. Rowland, who every 
 morning bathes in Kalydor for nothing ? No. Melt all these down 
 into one, with the three Graces, the nine Muses, and fourteen biscuit- 
 bakers' daughters from Oxford-street, and make a woman half as lovely. 
 Pho ! I defy you." 
 
 After uttering this rhapsody, the old gentleman snapped his fingers 
 twenty or thirty times, and then subsided into an ecstatic contempla- 
 tion of Miss La Creevy's charms. This affording Mrs. Nickleby a 
 favourable opportunity of explanation, she went about it straight. 
 
 " I am sure," said tlie worthy lady, with a prefatory cough, " that 
 it's a great relief under such trying circumstances as these, to have any- 
 body else mistaken for me — a very great relief ; and it's a circumstance 
 that never occurred before, although I have several times been mistaken 
 for my daughter Kate, I have no doubt the people were very foolish 
 and perhaps ought to have known better, but still they did take me for 
 ber, and of course that was no fault of mine and it would be 
 very hard indeed if I was to be made responsible for it. How- 
 ever, in this instance, of course I must feel that I should do 
 exceedingly wrong if I suffered anybody — especially anybody that I 
 am under great obligations to — to be made uncomfortable on my 
 account, and therefore I think it my duty to tell that gentleman that 
 he is mistaken — that I am the lady who he was told by some imperti- 
 nent person was niece to the Council of Paving-stones, and that I do 
 beg and intreat of him to go quietly away, if it's only for " — ^here Mrs. 
 Nickleby simpered and hesitated — " for iny sake." 
 
 It might have been expected that the old gentleman would liave been 
 penetrated to the heart by the delicacy and condescension of this appeal, 
 and that he would at least have returned a courteous and suitable reply. 
 What, then, was the shock which Mrs. Nickleby received, when, 
 accosting her in the most unmistakeable manner, he replied in a loud 
 and sonorous voice — " Avaunt Cat ! " 
 
 '* Sir ! " cried Mrs. Nickleby, in a faint tone. 
 
 "Cat I" repeated the old gentleman. "Puss, Kit, Tit, Grimalkin, 
 Tabby, Brindle — Whoosh ! " with which last sound, uttered in a hissing 
 manner between his teeth, the old gentleman swung his arms violently 
 round and round, and at the same time alternately advanced on Mrs. 
 Nickleby, and retreated from her, in that species of savage dance with 
 which boys on market-days may be seen to frighten pigs, sheep, and 
 other animals, when they give out obstinate indications of turning down 
 a wrong street. 
 
 Mrs. Nickleby wasted no words, but uttered an exclamation of horror 
 and surprise, and immediately fainted away. 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 491 
 
 " I'll attend to mama," said Kate, hastily ; " I am not at all 
 friglitened. But pray take him away ; pray take him away." 
 
 Frank was not at all confident of his power of complying with this 
 request, until he bethought himself of the stratagem of sending Miss 
 La Creevy on a few paces in advance, and urging the old gentleman to 
 follow her. It succeeded to a miracle ; and he went away in a rapture 
 of admiration, strongly guarded by Tim Linkwater on one side, and 
 Frank himself on the other. 
 
 " Kate," murmured Mrs. Nickleby, reviving when the coast was 
 clear, "is he gone ? " 
 
 She was assured that he was. 
 
 " I shall never forgive myself, Kate," said Mrs. Nickleby ; " Never ! 
 That gentleman has lost his senses, and /am the unhappy cause." 
 
 " You the cause !" said Kate, greatly astonished. 
 
 " I, my love," replied Mrs. Nickleby, with a desperate calmness. 
 " You saw what he was the other day; you see what he is now. I 
 told your brother, weeks and weeks ago, Kate, that I hoped a disap- 
 pointment might not be too much for him. You see what a wreck he 
 is. Making allowance for his being a little flighty, you know how 
 rationally, and sensibly, and honourably he talked, when we saw him in 
 the garden. You have heard the dreadful nonsense he has been guilty 
 of this night, and the manner in which he has gone on with that poor 
 unfortunate little old maid. Can anybody doubt how all this has been 
 brought about ! " 
 
 " I should scarcely think they could," said Kate mildly. 
 
 " / should scarcely think so, either," rejoined her mother. " Well ! 
 if I am the unfortunate cause of this, I have the satisfaction of knowing 
 that I am not to blame. I told Nicholas — I said to him, ' Nicholas, 
 my dear, we should be very careful how we proceed.' He would 
 scarcely hear me. If the matter had only been properly taken up at 
 
 first, as I wished it to be . But you are both of you so like your 
 
 poor papa. However, I have my consolation, and that should be enough 
 for me ! " 
 
 Washing her hands, thus, of all responsibility under this head, past, 
 present, or to come, Mrs. Nickleby kindly added that she hoped her 
 children might never have greater cause to reproach themselves than she 
 had, and prepared herself to receive the escort, who soon returned with 
 the inteUigence that the old gentleman was safely housed, and that they 
 found his custodians, who had been making merry with some friends, 
 wholly ignorant of his absence. 
 
 Quiet being again restored, a delicious half hour — so Frank called it 
 in the course of subsequent conversation with Tim Linkinwater as they 
 were walking home — a delicious half hour was spent in conversation, 
 and Tim's watch at length apprising him that it was high time to 
 depart, the ladies were left alone, though not without many ofiers on 
 the part of Frank to remain until Nicholas arrived, no matter what hour 
 of the night it might be, if, after the late neighbourly irruption, they 
 entertained the least fear of being left to themselves. As their freedom 
 from all further apprehension, however, left no pretext for his insisting 
 
492 LIPE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 on mounting guard, he was obliged to abandon the citadel, and to retire 
 With the trusty Tim. 
 
 ^ Nearly three hours of silence passed away, and Kate blushed to find 
 when Nicholas returned, how long she had been sitting alone occupied 
 with her own thoughts. 
 
 " I really thought it had not been half an hour," she said. 
 
 " They must have been pleasant thoughts, Kate," rejoined Nicholas 
 gaily, " to make time pass away like that. What were they now ? " 
 
 Kate was confused ; she toyed with some trifle on the table — looked 
 up and smiled — looked down and dropped a tear. 
 
 " Why, Kate," said Nicholas, drawing his sister towards him and 
 kissing her, " let me see your face. No ? Ah ! that was but a 
 glimpse ; that's scarcely fair. A longer look than that, Kate. Come 
 — and I'll read your thoughts for you." 
 
 There was something in this proposition, albeit it was said without 
 the slightest consciousness or application, which so alarmed his sister, 
 that Nicholas laughingly changed the subject to domestic matters, and 
 thus gathered by degrees as they left the room and went up-stairs 
 together, how lonely Smike had been all night — and by very slow 
 degrees, too, for on this subject also Kate seemed to speak with some 
 reluctance. 
 
 " Poor fellow," said Nicholas, tapping gently at his door, " what 
 fcan be the cause of all this !" 
 
 Kate was hanging on her brother's arm, and the door being quickly 
 opened, had not time to disengage herself, before Smike, very pale and 
 'haggard, and completely dressed, confronted them. 
 
 " And have you not been to bed ? " said Nicholas. 
 
 " N — n — no," was the reply. 
 
 Nicholas gently detained his sister, who made an effort to retire ; 
 and asked, "Why not?" 
 
 *' I could not sleep," said Smike, grasping the hand which his friend 
 extended to him. 
 
 " You are not well ? " rejoined Nicholas. 
 
 " I am better, indeed — a great deal better," said Smike quickly. 
 
 " Then why do you give way to these fits of melancholy ?" inquired 
 Nicholas, in his kindest manner ; " or why not tell us the cause ? 
 You grow a different creature, Smike." 
 
 " I do ; I know I do," he replied. " I will tell you the reason one 
 day, but not now. I hate myself for this ; you are all so good and 
 kind. But I cannot help it. My heart is very full ; — you do not know 
 how full it is." 
 
 He wrung Nicholas's hand before he released it ; and glancing for a 
 moment at the brother and sister as they stood together, as if there were 
 something in their strong affection which touched him very deeply, 
 withdrew into his chamber, and was soon the only watcher under that 
 quiet roof. 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBT. 493 
 
 CHAPTER L. 
 
 INVOLVES A SERIOUS CATASTROPHE. 
 
 The little race-course at Hampton was in the full tide and height of 
 its gaiety, the day as dazzling as day could be, the sun high in the 
 cloudless sky and shining in its fullest splendour. Every gaudy colour 
 that fluttered in the air from carriage seat and garish tent top, shone 
 out in its gaudiest hues. Old dingy flags grew new again, faded gilding 
 was re-burnished, stained rotten canvas looked a snowy white ; the 
 very beggars' rags were freshened up, and sentiment quite forgot its 
 charity in its fervent admiration of poverty so picturesque. 
 
 It was one of those scenes of life and animation, caught in its very 
 brightest and freshest moments, which can scarcely fail to please ; for 
 if the eye be tired of show and glare, or the ear be weary with a cease- 
 less round of noise, the one may repose, turn almost where it will, on 
 eager happy and expectant faces, and the other deaden all consciousness 
 of more annoying sounds in those of mirth and exhilaration. Even 
 the sun-burnt faces of gipsy children, half naked though they be, 
 suggest a drop of comfort. It is a pleasant thing to see that the sun 
 has been there to know that the air and light are on them every day, 
 to feel that they are children and lead children's lives ; that if their 
 pillows be damp, it is with the dews of Heaven, and not with tears ; 
 that the limbs of their girls are free, and that they are not crippled by 
 distortions, imposing an unnatural and horrible penance upon their sex; 
 that their lives are spent from day to day at least among the waving 
 trees, and not in the midst of dreadful engines which make young 
 children old before they know what childhood is, and give them the 
 exhaustion and infirmity of age, without, like age, the privilege to die. 
 God send that old nursery tales were true, and that gipsies stole such 
 children by the score ! 
 
 The great race of the day had just been run ; and the close lines 
 of people on either side of the course suddenly breaking up and 
 pouring into it, imparted a new liveliness to the scene, which was again 
 all busy movement. Some hurried eagerly to catch a glimpse of the 
 winning horse, others darted to and fro searching no less eagerly for 
 the carriages they had left in quest of better stations. Here a little 
 knot gathered round a pea and thimble table to watch the plucking of 
 some unhappy greenhorn, and there another proprietor with his con- 
 federates in various disguises — one man in spectacles, another with an 
 eye-glass and a stylish hat, a third dressed as a farmer well to do in 
 the world, with his top-coat over his arm and his flash notes in a large 
 leathern pocket-book, and all with heavy-handled whips to represent 
 most innocent country fellows who had trotted there on horseback- 
 sought, by loud and noisy talk and pretended play, to entrap some 
 
494 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 unwary customer, while the gentlemen confederates (of more villanous 
 aspect still, in clean linen and good clothes,) betrayed their close interest 
 in the concern by the anxious furtive glance they cast on all new 
 comers. These would be hanging on the outskirts of a wide circle of 
 people assembled round some itinerant juggler, opposed in his turn by 
 a noisy band of music, or the classic game of " Ring the Bull," while 
 ventriloquists holding dialogues with wooden dolls^ and fortune-telling 
 women smothering the cries of real babies, divided with them, and 
 many more, the general attention of the company. Drinking-tents 
 were full, glasses began to clink in carriages, hampers to be unpacked, 
 tempting provisions to be set forth, knives and forks to rattle, 
 champagne corks to fly, eyes to brighten that were not dull before, 
 and pickpockets to count their gains during the last heat. The 
 attention so recently strained on one object of interest, was now divided 
 among a hundred; and look where you would, was a motley assemblage 
 of feasting, laughing, talking, begging, gambling, and mummery. 
 
 Of the gambling-booths there was a plentiful show, flourishing in all 
 the splendour of carpeted ground, striped hangings, crimson cloth, 
 pinnacled roofs, geranium pots, and livery servants. There were the 
 Stranger's club-house, the Athenaeum club-house, the Hampton club- 
 house, the Saint James's club-house, and half-a-mile of club-houses to 
 play in; and there was rouge-et-noir^ French hazard, dmd La Merveille, 
 to play at. It is into one of these booths that our story takes its way. 
 
 Fitted up with three tables for the purposes of play, and crowded 
 with players and lookers on, it was — although the largest place of the 
 kind upon the course — intensely hot, notwithstanding that a portion of 
 the canvas roof was rolled back to admit more air, and there were 
 two doors for a free passage in and out. Excepting one or two men 
 who — each with a long roll of half-crowns, chequered with a few stray 
 sovereigns, in his left hand — staked their money at every roll of the 
 ball with a business-like sedateness which showed that they were used 
 to it, and had been playing all day and most probably all the day 
 before, there was no very distinctive character about the players, who 
 were chiefly young men apparently attracted by curiosity, or staking 
 small sums as part of the amusement of the day, with no very great 
 interest in winning or losing. There were two persons present, however, 
 who, as peculiarly good specimens of a class, deserve a passing notice. 
 
 Of these, one was a man of six or eight and fifty, who sat on a chair 
 near one of the entrances of the booth, with his hands folded on tlie top 
 of his stick and his chin appearing above them. He was a tall, fat, 
 long-bodied man, buttoned up to the throat in a light green coat, which 
 made his body look still longer than it was, and wore besides drab 
 breeches and gaiters, a white neckerchief, and a broad-brimmed white 
 hat. Amid all the buzzing noise of the games and the perpetual 
 passing in and out of people, he seemed perfectly calm and abstracted, 
 without the smallest particle of excitement in his composition. He 
 exhibited no indication of weariness, nor, to a casual observer, of interest 
 either. There he sat, quite still and collected. Sometimes, but very 
 rarely, he nodded to some passing face, or beckoned to a waiter to obey 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBT. 495 
 
 a call from one of the tables. The next instant he subsided into his 
 old state. He might have been some profoundly deaf old gentleman, 
 who had come in to take a rest, or he might have been patiently- 
 waiting for a friend without the least consciousness of anybody's 
 presence, or fixed in a trance, or under the influence of opium. People 
 turned round and looked at him ; he made no gesture, caught nobody's 
 eye, — let them pass away, and others come on and be succeeded by 
 others, and took no notice. AVhen he did move, it seemed wonderful 
 how he could have seen anything to occasion it. And so, in truth, it 
 was. But there was not a face that passed in or out this man failed 
 to see, not a gesture at any one of the three tables that was lost upon 
 him, not a word spoken by the bankers but reached his ear, not a 
 winner or loser he could not have marked ; and he was the proprietor 
 of the place. 
 
 The other presided over the rouge-et-noir table. He was probably 
 some ten years younger, and was a plump, paunchy, sturdy-looking 
 fellow, with his under lip a little pursed from a habit of counting 
 money inwardly as he paid it, but with no decidedly bad expression in 
 his face, which Avas rather an honest and jolly one than otherwise. He 
 wore no coat, the weather being hot, and stood behind the table with a 
 huge mound of crowns and half-crowns before him, and a cash-box for 
 notes. This game was constantly playing. Perhaps twenty people 
 would be staking at the same time. This man had to roll the ball, 
 to watch the stakes as they were laid down, to gather them off the 
 colour which lost, to pay those who won, to do it all with the utmost 
 despatch, to roll the ball again, and to keep this game perpetually alive. 
 He did it all with a rapidity absolutely marvellous ; never hesitating, 
 never making a mistake, never stopping, and never ceasing to repeat 
 such unconnected phrases as the following, which, partly from habit, 
 and partly to have something appropriate and business-like to say, he 
 constantly poured out with the same monotonous emphasis, and in 
 nearly the same order, all day long : — 
 
 t " Rooge-a-nore from Paris gentlemen, make your game and back 
 your own opinions — any time while the ball rolls — rooge-a-nore from 
 Paris gentlemen, it's a French game, gentlemen, I brought it over 
 myself I did indeed ! — rooge-a-nore from Paris— black wins — black 
 —stop a minute, sir, and I'll pay you directly — two there, half a 
 pound there, three there — and one there — gentlemen, the ball's a 
 rolling — any time, sir, while the ball rolls — the beauty of this 
 game is, that you can double your stakes or put down your 
 money, gentlemen, any time while the ball rolls — ^black again — black 
 wins — I never saw such a thing — I never did in all my life, upon my 
 word I never did ; if any gentleman had been backing the black in the 
 last five minutes he must have won five-and-forty pound in four rolls 
 of the ball, he must indeed — Gentlemen, we've port, sherry, cigars, 
 and most excellent champagne. Here, wai-ter, bring a bottle of 
 champagne, and let's have a dozen or fifteen cigars here — and let's be 
 comfortable, gentlemen — and bring some clean glasses — any time while 
 the ball rolls — I lost one hundred and thirty- seven pound yesterday. 
 
496 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 gentlemen, at one roll of the ball : I did indeed ! — ho\r do you do, sir," 
 (recognising some knowing gentleman without any halt or change of 
 voice, and giving a wink so slight that it seems an accident) " will 
 you take a glass of sherry, sir — here wai-ter, bring a clean glass, and 
 hand the sherry to this gentleman — and hand it round, will you waiter 
 — this is the rooge-a-nore from Paris, gentlemen — any time while the 
 ball rolls — ^gentlemen, make your game, and back your own opinions- 
 it's the rooge-a-nore from Paris, quite a new game, I brought it over 
 myself, I did indeed — gentlemen, the ball's a rolling ! " 
 
 This officer was busily plying his vocation when half-a-dozen 
 persons sauntered through the booth, to whom — but without stopping 
 either in his speech or work — he bowed respectfully, at the same time 
 directing by a look the attention of a man beside him to the tallest 
 figure in the group, in recognition of whom the proprietor pulled off 
 his hat. This was Sir Mulberry Hawk, with whom were his friend 
 and pupil, and a small train of gentlemanly-dressed men, of characters 
 more doubtful than obscure. 
 
 The proprietor, in a low voice, bade Sir Mulberry good day. Sir 
 Mulberry, in the same tone, bade the proprietor go to the devil, and 
 turned to speak with his friends. 
 
 There was evidently an irritable consciousness about him that he 
 was an object of curiosity on this first occasion of showing himself 
 in public after the accident that had befallen him ; and it was easy to 
 perceive that he appeared on the race-course, that day, more in the 
 hope of meeting with a great many people who knew him, and so 
 getting over as much as possible of the annoyance at once, than with 
 any purpose of enjoying the sport. There yet remained a slight scar 
 upon his face, and whenever he was recognised, as he was almost every 
 minute by people sauntering in and out, he made a restless effort to 
 conceal it with his glove, showing how keenly he felt the disgrace he 
 had undergone. 
 
 " Ah ! Hawk," said one very sprucely-dressed personage in a New- 
 market coat, a choice neckerchief, and all other accessories of the most 
 unexceptionable kind. " How d'ye do, old fellow ?" 
 
 This was a rival trainer of young noblemen and gentlemen, and the 
 person of all others whom Sir Mulberry most hated and . dreaded to 
 meet. They shook hands with excessive cordiality. 
 
 " And how are you now, old fellow, hey ?" 
 : " Quite well, quite well," said Sir Mulberry. 
 
 " That's right," said the other. " How d'ye do, Yerisopht ? He's a 
 little pulled down, our friend here — rather out of condition still, hey ? " 
 
 It should be observed that the gentleman had very white teeth, and 
 that when there was no excuse for laughing, he generally finished with 
 the same monosyllable, which he uttered so as to display them. 
 
 " He's in very good condition, there's nothing the matter with him," 
 said the young man carelessly. 
 
 " Upon my soul I'm glad to hear it," rejoined the other. " Have 
 you just returned from Brussels ?" 
 
 " We only reached town late last night," said Lord Frederick. Sir 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 497 
 
 Mulberry turned away to speak to one of his own party, and feigned 
 not to hear. 
 
 " Now, upon my life," said the friend, affecting to speak in a whisper, 
 " it's an uncommonly bold and game thing in Hawk to show himself 
 so soon. I say it advisedly, there's a vast deal of courage in it. You 
 see he has just rusticated long enough to excite curiosity, and not long 
 enough for men to have forgotten that deuced unpleasant — by the bye 
 — you know the rights of the affiiir, of course. Why did you never 
 give those confounded papers the lie ? I seldom read the papers, but I 
 looked in the papers for that, and may I be " 
 
 " Look in the papers," interrupted Sir Mulberry, turning suddenly 
 round — " to-morrow — no, next day, will you ?" 
 
 " Upon my life, my dear fellow, I seldom or never read the papers," 
 said the other, shrugging his shoulders, " but I will at your recom- 
 mendation. What shall I look for, hey?" 
 
 " Good day," said Sir Mulberry, turning abruptly on his heel, and 
 drawing his pupil with him. Falling again into the loitering careless 
 pace at which they had entered, they lounged out arm in arm. 
 
 *' I won't give him a case of murder to read," muttered Sir Mulberry 
 with an oath ; " but it shall be something very near it, if whip-cord 
 cuts and bludgeons bruise." 
 
 His companion said nothing, but there was that in his manner which 
 galled Sir Mulberry to add, with nearly as much ferocity as if his 
 friend had been Nicholas himself, 
 
 " I sent Jenkins to Nickleby before eight o'clock this morning. 
 He's a staunch one; he was back with me before the messenger. 
 I had it all from him in the first five minutes. I know where this 
 liound is to be met with — time and place both. But there's no need' 
 to talk ; to-morrow will soon be here." 
 
 " And wha-at's to be done to-morrow?" inquired Lord Frederick. 
 
 Sir Mulberry Hawk honoured him with an angry glance, but 
 condescended to return no verbal answer to this inquiry, and both 
 walked sullenly on as though their thoughts were busily occupied, 
 until they were quite clear of the crowd, and almost alone, when Sir 
 Mulberry wheeled round to return. 
 
 " Stop," said his companion, " I want to speak to you — in earnest; 
 Don't turn back. Let us walk here a few minutes." 
 
 " What have you to say to me, that you could not say yonder as 
 well as here ?" returned his Mentor, disengaging his arm. 
 
 " Hawk," rejoined the other, " tell me ; I must know — " 
 
 ''■Must know," interrupted the other disdainfully. "Whew! Go 
 on. If you must know, of course there's no escape for me. Must 
 know !" 
 
 " Must ask then," returned Lord Frederick, " and must press you 
 for a plain and straight-forward answer — is what you have just said 
 only a mere whim of the moment, occasioned by your being out of 
 humour and irritated, or is it your serious intention, and one that you 
 have actually contemplated ?" 
 
 *' Why, don't you remember what passed on the subject one night, 
 
 K K 
 
498 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 when I was laid up with a bruken limb?" said Sir Mulberry, with a 
 sneer. 
 
 " Perfectly well." 
 
 " Then take that for an answer, in the devil's name," repHed Sir 
 Mulberry, " and ask me for no other." 
 
 Such was the ascendancy he had acquired over his dupe, and such the 
 latter s general habit of submission, that, for the moment, the young 
 man seemed half-afraid to pursue the subject. He soon overcame this 
 feeling, however, if it had restrained him at all, and retorted angrily : 
 
 " If I remember what passed at the time you speak of, I expressed 
 a strong opinion on this subject, and said that with my knowledge 
 or consent, you never should do what you threaten now." 
 
 " Will you prevent me ? " asked Sir Mulberry, with a laugh. 
 
 " Ye-es, if I can ; " returned the other, promptly. 
 
 " A very proper saving clause, that last," said Sir Mulberry ; " and 
 one you stand in need of. Oh ! look to your own business, and leave 
 me to look to mine." 
 
 " This is mine," retorted Lord Frederick. " I make it mine ; I will 
 make it mine. It's mine already. I am more compromised than I 
 should be, as it is." 
 
 " Do as you please, and what you please, for yourself," said Sir 
 Mulberry, affecting an easy good humour. " Surely that must content 
 you ! Do nothing for me ; that's all. I advise no man to interfere in 
 proceedings that I choose to take, and I am sure you know me better 
 than to do so. The fact is, I see, you mean to offer me advice. It is 
 well meant, I have no doubt, but I reject it. Now, if you please, we 
 will return to the carriage. I find no entertainment here, but quite the 
 reverse, and if we prolonged this conversation we might quarrel, 
 which would be no proof of wisdom in either you or me." 
 
 With this rejoinder, and wp-iting for no further discussion, Sir 
 Mulberry Hawk yawned, and very leisurely turned back. 
 
 There was not a little tact and knowledge of the young lord's dispo- 
 sition in this mode of treating him. Sir Mulberry clearly saw that if 
 his dominion were to last, it must be established now. He knew that 
 the moment he became violent, the young man would become violent 
 too. He had many times been enabled to strengthen his influence when 
 any circumstance had occurred to weaken it, by adopting this cool and 
 laconic style, and he trusted to it now, with very little doubt of its 
 entire success. 
 
 But while he did this, and wore the most careless and indifferent 
 deportment that his practised arts enabled him to assume, he inwardly 
 resolved not only to visit all the mortification of being compelled to 
 suppress his feelings, with additional severity upon Nicholas, but also 
 to make the young lord pay dearly for it one day in some shape or other. 
 So long as he had been a passive instrument in his hands. Sir Mulberry 
 had regarded him with no other feeling than contempt ; but now that he 
 presumed to avow opinions in opposition to his, and even to turn upon 
 him with a lofty tone and an air of superiority, he began to hate him. 
 Conscious that in the vilest and most worthless sense of the term, he 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 499 
 
 was dependent upon the weak young lord, Sir Mulberry could the less 
 brook humiliation at his hands, and when he began to dislike him he 
 measured his dislike — as men often do — by the extent of the injuries 
 he had inflicted upon its object. When it is remembered that Sir 
 Mulberry Hawk had plundered, duped, deceived, and fooled his pupil 
 in every possible way, it will not be wondered at that beginning to hate 
 him, he began to hate him cordially. 
 
 On the other hand, the young lord having thought — which he very 
 seldom did about anything — having thought, and seriously too, upon 
 the affair with Nicholas, and the circumstances which led to it, had 
 arrived at a manly and honest conclusion. Sir Mulberry's coarse and 
 insulting behaviour on the occasion in question had produced a deep 
 impression on his mind ; a strong suspicion of his having led him on 
 to pursue Miss Nickleby for purposes of his own, had been lurking there 
 for some time ; he was really ashamed of his share in the transaction, 
 and deeply mortified by the misgiving that he had been gulled. He 
 had had sufficient leisure to reflect upon these things during their late 
 retirement, and at times when his careless and indolent nature would 
 permit, had availed himself of the opportunity. Slight circumstances 
 too had occurred to increase his suspicion. It wanted but a very slight 
 circumstance to kindle his wrath against Sir Mulberry, and this his 
 disdainful and insolent tone in their recent conversation (the only one 
 they had held upon the subject since the period to which Sir Mulberry 
 referred) effected. 
 
 Thus they rejoined their friends, each with causes of dislike against 
 the other rankling in his breast, and the young man haunted besides 
 with thoughts of the vindictive retaliation which was threatened against 
 Nicholas, and the determination to prevent it by some strong step, if 
 possible. But this was not all. Sir Mulberry, conceiving that he had 
 silenced him effectually, could not suppress his triumph, or forbear from 
 following up what he conceived to be his advantage. Mr. Pyke was 
 there, and Mr. Pluck was there, and Colonel Chouser, and other gentle- 
 men of the same caste, and it was a great point for Sir Mulberry to 
 show them that he had not lost his influence. At first the young lord 
 contented himself with a silent determination to take measures for 
 withdrawing himself from the connection immediately. By degrees he 
 grew more angry, and was exasperated by jests and familiarities which 
 a few hours before would have been a source of amusement to him. This 
 did not serve him, for at such bantering or retort as suited the company, 
 he was no match for Sir Mulberry. Still no violent rupture took place, 
 and they returned to town, Messrs. Pyke and Pluck and other gentlemen 
 frequently protesting on the way thither, that Sir Mulberry had never 
 been in such tip -top spirits in all his life. 
 
 They dined together sumptuously. The wine flowed freely, as indeed 
 it had done all day. Sir Mulberry drank to recompense himself for his 
 recent abstinence, the young lord to drown his indignation, and the 
 remainder of the party because the wine was of the best and they had 
 nothing to pay. It was nearly midnight when they rushed out, wild, 
 
 K k2 
 
500 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 burning with wine, their blood boiling, and their brains on fire, to the 
 gaming-table. 
 
 Here they encountered another party, mad like themselves. The 
 excitement of play, hot rooms, and glaring lights, was not calculated to 
 allay the fever of the time. In that giddy whirl of noise and confusion 
 the men were delirious. Who thought of money, ruin, or the morrow, in 
 the savage intoxication of the moment ? More wine w^as called for, 
 glass after glass was drained, their parched and scalding mouths were 
 cracked with thirst. Down poured the wine like oil on blazing fire. 
 And still the riot went on — the debauchery gained its height — glasses 
 were dashed upon the floor by hands that could not carry them to lips, 
 oaths were shouted out by lips which could scarcely form the words to 
 vent them in ; drunken losers cursed and roared ; some mounted on the 
 tables, waving bottles above their heads and bidding defiance to the 
 rest ; some danced, some sang, some tore the cards and raved. Tumult 
 and frenzy reigned supreme ; when a noise arose that drowned all 
 others, and two men, seizing each other by the throat, struggled into 
 the middle of the room. 
 
 A dozen voices, until now unheard, called aloud to part them. Those 
 who had kept themselves cool to win, and who earned their living in 
 such scenes, threw themselves upon the combatants, and forcing them 
 asunder, dragged them some space apart. 
 
 " Let me go ! " cried Sir Mulberry, in a thick hoarse voice ; " he 
 struck me ! Do you hear ? I say, he struck me. Have I a friend here ? 
 Who is this ? Westwood. Do you hear me say he struck me ! " 
 
 " I hear, I hear," replied one of those who held him. " Come away 
 for to-night." 
 
 " I will not, by G^" he replied, fiercely. " A dozen men about 
 us saw the blow." 
 
 "To-morrow will be ample time," said the friend. 
 
 " It will not be ample time ! " cried Sir Mulberry, gnashing his 
 teeth. " To-night — at once — here ! " His passion was so great that 
 he could not articulate, but stood clenching his fist, tearing his hair, 
 and stamping upon the ground. 
 
 " What is this, my lord ? " said one of those who surrounded him. 
 " Have blows passed ? " 
 
 *' One blow has," w\as the panting reply. " I struck him — I pro- 
 claim it to all here. I struck him, and he well knows why. I say 
 with him, let this quarrel be adjusted now. Captain Adams," said the 
 young lord, looking hurriedly about him, and addressing one of those 
 who had interposed, " Let me speak with you, I beg." 
 
 The person addressed stepped forward, and, taking the young man s 
 arm, they retired together, followed shortly afterwards by Sir Mulberry 
 and his friend. 
 
 It was a profligate haunt of the worst repute, and not a place in 
 which such an aftair was likely to awaken any sympathy for either 
 party, or to call forth any further remonstrance or interposition. Else- 
 where its further progress would have been instantly prevented, and 
 time allowed for sober and cool reflection ; but not there. Disturbed 
 
A/ie /ci^/y^u 
 
 ■iay.^/fy ^e/?/^'/ v 
 
 /.>A//Ai 
 

 s. 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY, 501 
 
 in their orgies, the party broke up ; some reeled away with looks of 
 tipsy gravity, others withdrew noisily discussing what had just occurred ; 
 the gentlemen of honour who lived upon their winnings remarked to 
 each other as they went out that Hawk was a good shot; and those 
 who had been most noisy fell fast asleep upon the sofas, and thought 
 no more about it. 
 
 Meanwhile the two seconds, as they may be called now, after a long 
 conference, each with his principal, met together in another room. Both 
 utterly heartless, both men upon town, both thoroughly initiated in its 
 worst vices, both deeply in debt, both fallen from some higher estate, 
 both addicted to every depravity for whicli society can find some genteel 
 name and plead its most depraving conventionalities as an excuse, they 
 were naturally gentlemen of most unblemished lionour themselves, and 
 of great nicety concerning the lionour of other people. 
 
 These two gentlemen were unusually cheerful just now, for the affair 
 was pretty certain to make some noise, and could scarcely fail to enhance 
 their reputations considerably. 
 
 " This is an awkward affair, Adams," said Mr. Westwood, drawing 
 himself up. 
 
 " Very," returned the captain ; *' a blow has been struck, and there 
 is but one course, of course." 
 
 " No apology, I suppose?" said Mr. Westwood. 
 
 " Not a syllable, sir, from my man, if we talk till doomsday," 
 returned the captain. " The original cause of dispute, I understand, 
 was some girl or other, to whom your principal applied certain terms, 
 which Lord Frederick, defending the girl, repelled. But this led to a long 
 recrimination upon a great many sore subjects, charges, and counter- 
 charges. Sir Mulberry was sarcastic ; Lord Frederick was excited, 
 and struck him in the heat of provocation, and under circumstances of 
 great aggravation. That blow, unless there is a full retraction on the 
 part of Sir Mulberry, Lord Frederick is ready to justify." 
 
 " There is no more to be said," returned the other, " but to settle the 
 hour and the place of meeting. It's a responsibility ; but there is a 
 strong feeling to have it over : do you object to say at sunrise ?" 
 
 " Sharp work," replied the captain, referring to his watch ; " how- 
 ever, as this seems to have been a long time brooding, and negotiation 
 is only a waste of words — no." 
 
 " Something may possibly be said out of doors after what passed in 
 the other room, which renders it desirable that we should bo off without 
 delay, and quite clear of town," said Mr. Westwood. " What do you 
 say to one of the meadows opposite Twickenham, by the river-side?" 
 
 The captain saw no objection. 
 
 " Shall we join company in the avenue of trees which leads from 
 Petersham to Ham House, and settle the exact spot when we arrive 
 there?" said Mr. Westwood. 
 
 To this the captain also assented. After a few other preliminaries, 
 equally brief, and having settled the road each party should take to 
 avoid suspicion, they separated. 
 
 " We shall just have comfortable time, my lord," said the captain, 
 
502 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 when he had communicated the arrangements, " to call at my rooms 
 for a case of pistols, and then jog coolly down. If you will allow me 
 to dismiss your servant, we'll take my cab, for yours, perhaps, might 
 be recognised." 
 
 What a contrast, when they reached the street, to the scene they had 
 just left ! It was already daybreak. For the flaring yellow light 
 within, was substituted the clear, bright, glorious morning ; for a hot, 
 close atmosphere, tainted with the smell of expiring lamps, and reeking 
 with the steams of riot and dissipation, the free, fresh, wholesome air. 
 But to the fevered head on which that cool air blew, it seemed to come 
 laden with remorse for time mis- spent and countless opportunities 
 neglected. With throbbing veins and burning skin, eyes wild and 
 heavy, thoughts hurried and disordered, he felt as though the light 
 were a reproach, and shrunk involuntarily from the day as if he were 
 some foul and hideous thing. 
 
 " Shivering ?" said the captain. " You are cold." 
 « Rather." 
 
 " It does strike cool, coming out of those hot rooms. Wrap that 
 cloak about you. So, so ; now we're off." 
 
 They rattled through the quiet streets, made their call at the captain's 
 lodgings, cleared the town, and emerged upon the open road, without 
 hindrance or molestation. 
 
 Fields, trees, gardens, hedges, everything looked very beautiful ; the 
 young man scarcely seemed to have noticed them before, though he had 
 passed the same objects a thousand times. There was a peace and 
 serenity upon them all strangely at variance with the bewilderment and 
 confusion of his own half-sobered thoughts, and yet impressive and 
 welcome. He had no fear upon his mind; but as he looked about 
 him he had less anger, and though all old delusions, relative to his 
 worthless late companion, were now cleared away, he rather wished 
 he had never known him than thought of its having come to this. 
 
 The past night, the day before, and many other days and nights 
 beside, all mingled themselves up in one unintelligible and senseless 
 whirl ; he could not separate the transactions of one time from those of 
 another. Last night seemed a week ago, and months ago were as last 
 night. Now the noise of the wheels resolved itself into some wild tune 
 in which he could recognise scraps of airs he knew, and now there was 
 nothing in his ears but a stunning and bewildering sound like rushing 
 water. But his companion rallied him on being so silent, and they 
 talked and laughed boisterously. When they stopped he was a little 
 surprised to find himself in the act of smoking, but on reflection he 
 remembered when and where he had taken the cigar. 
 
 They stopped at the avenue gate and alighted, leaving the carriage 
 to the care of the servant, who was a smart fellow, and nearly as well 
 accustomed to such proceedings as his master. Sir Mulberry and his 
 friend were already there, and all four walked in profound silence up the 
 aisle of stately elm trees, which, meeting far above their heads, formed 
 a long green perspective of gothic arches, terminating like some old 
 riiin in the open sky. 
 
NICHOLAS NICELEBY, 503 
 
 After a pause, and a brief conference between the seconds, they at 
 length turned to the right, and taking a track across a little meadow, 
 passed Ham House and came into some fields beyond. In one of these 
 they stopped. The ground was measured, some usual forms gone 
 through, the two principals were placed front to front at the distance 
 agreed upon, and Sir Mulberry turned his face towards his young 
 adversary for the first time. He was very pale — his eyes were blood- 
 shot, his dress disordered, and his hair dishevelled, — all most probably 
 the consequences of the previous day and night. For the face, it 
 expressed nothing but violent and evil passions. He shaded his eyes 
 with his hand, gazed at his opponent stedfastly for a few moments, 
 and then taking the weapon which was tendered to him, bent his eyes 
 upon that, and looked up no more until the word was given, when he 
 instantly fired. 
 
 The two shots were fired as nearly as possible at the same instant. 
 In that instant the young lord turned his head sharply round, fixed 
 upon his adversary a ghastly stare, and, without a groan or stagger, 
 fell down dead. 
 
 " He's gone," cried Westwood, who, with the other second, had run 
 up to the body, and fallen on one knee beside it. 
 
 " His blood on his own head," said Sir Mulberry. " He brought this 
 upon himself, and forced it upon me." 
 
 " Captain Adams," cried Westwood, hastily, " I call you to witness 
 that this was fairly done. Hawk, we have not a moment to lose. We 
 must leave this place immediately, push for Brighton, and cross to 
 France with [all speed. This has been a bad business, and may be 
 worse if we delay a moment. Adams, consult your own safety, and 
 don't remain here ; the living before the dead — good bye." 
 
 With these words, he seized Sir Mulberry by the arm, and hurried 
 him away. Captain Adams, only pausing to convince himself beyond 
 all question of the fatal result, sped off in the same direction, to concert 
 measures with his servant for removing the body, and securing his own 
 safety likewise. 
 
 So died Lord Frederick Yerisopht, by the hand which he had loaded 
 with gifts and clasped a thousand times ; by the act of him but for 
 whom and others like him he might have lived a happy man, and died 
 with children's faces round his bed. 
 
 The sun came proudly up in all his majesty, the noble river ran its 
 "winding course, the leaves quivered and rustled in the air, the birds 
 poured their cheerful songs from every tree, the short-lived butterfly 
 fluttered its little wings ; all the light and life of day came on, and, 
 amidst it all, and pressing down the grass whose every blade bore 
 twenty tiny lives, lay the dead man, with his stark and rigid face 
 turned upwards to the sky. 
 
501 LIFB AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 CHAPTER LI. 
 
 THE PROJECT OP MR. RALPH NICKLEBY AND HIS FRIEND APPROACH- 
 ING A SUCCESSFUL ISSUE, BECOMES UNEXPECTEDLY KNOWN TO 
 ANOTHER PARTY, NOT ADMITTED INTO THEIR CONFIDENCE. 
 
 In an old house, dismal dark and dusty, which seemed to havQ 
 withered, like himself, and to have grown yellow and shrivelled in 
 hoarding him from the light of day, as he had in hoarding his money, 
 lived Arthur Gride. Meagre old chairs and tables of spare and bony 
 make, and hard and cold as misers' hearts, were ranged in grim array 
 against the gloomy walls ; attenuated presses, grown lank and lantern- 
 jawed in guarding the treasures they inclosed, and tottering, as though 
 from constant fear and dread of thieves, shrunk up in dark corners, 
 whence they cast no shadows on the ground, and seemed to hide 
 and cower from observation. A tall grim clock upon the stairs, with 
 long lean hands and famished face, ticked in cautious whispers, and 
 when it struck the time in thin and piping sounds, like an old man 3 
 voice, rattled as if 'twere pinched with hunger. 
 
 No fireside couch was there, to invite repose and comfort. Elbow- 
 chairs there were, but they looked uneasy in their minds, cocked their 
 arms suspiciously and timidly, and kept upon their guard. Others 
 were fantastically grim and gaunt, as having drawn themselves up to 
 their utmost height, and put on their fiercest looks to stare all comers 
 out of countenance. Others again knocked up against their neighbours, 
 or leant for support against the wall, somewhat ostentatiously, as if 
 to call all men to witness that they were not worth the taking. The 
 dark square lumbering bedsteads Seemed built for restless dreams ; the 
 musty hangings to creep in scanty folds together, whispering among 
 themselves, when rustled by the wind, their trembling knowledge of the 
 tempting wares that lurked within the dark and tight-locked closets. 
 
 From out the most spare and hungry room in all this spare and 
 hungry house, there came one morning the tremulous tones of old 
 Gride's voice, as it feebly chirruped forth the fag end of some for- 
 gotten song, of which the burden ran ; 
 
 , Ta — ran — tan — too, 
 
 Throw the old shoe, 
 And may the wedding be lucky : 
 
 which he repeated in the same shrill quavering notes again and again, 
 until a violent fit of coughing obliged him to desist, and to pursue in 
 silence the occupation upon which he was engaged. 
 
 This occupation was to take down from the shelves of a worm-eaten 
 wardrobe, a quanty of frowsy garments, one by one ; to subject each to 
 a careful and minute inspection by holding it up against the light, and 
 after folding it with great exactness, to lay it on one or other of two 
 little heaps beside him. He never took two articles of clothing out 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 505 
 
 together, but always brought them fortli singly, and never failed to 
 shut the wardrobe door and turn the key, between each visit to its 
 shelves. 
 
 " The snuff-coloured suit," said Arthur Gride, surveying a threadbare 
 coat, " Did I look well in snuff-colour ? let me think." 
 
 The result of his cogitations appeared to be unfavourable, for he 
 folded the garment once more, laid it aside, and mounted on a chair 
 to get down another, chirping while he did so — 
 
 Young, loving, and fair, 
 
 Oh what happiness there ! 
 
 The wedding is sure to be lucky. ' 
 
 " They always put in ' young,' " said old Arthur, " but songs are 
 only written for the sake of rhyme, and this is a silly one that the 
 poor country people sang when I was a little boy. Though stop — 
 young is quite right too — it means the bride — yes. He, he, he ! It 
 means the bride. Oh dear, that's good. That's very good. And true 
 besides — quite true !" 
 
 In the satisfaction of this discovery he went over the verse again 
 with increased expression and a shake or two here and there, and then 
 resumed his employment. 
 
 "The bottle green," said old Arthur; "the bottle-green was a 
 famous suit to wear, and I bought it very cheap at a pawnbroker's, and 
 there was — he, he, he ! — a tarnished shilling in the waistcoat pocket. 
 To think that the pawnbroker shouldn't have known there was a 
 shilling in it ! I knew it ; I felt it when I was examining the quality. 
 Oh, what a dull dog! It was a lucky suit too, this bottle-green. 
 The very day I put it on first, old Lord Mallowford was burnt to death 
 in his bed, and all the post-obits fell in. I'll be married in the bottle- 
 green. Peg — Peg Sliderskew — I'll wear the bottle-green." 
 
 This call, loudly repeated twice or thrice at the room door, brought 
 into the apartment a short, thin, weasen, blear-eyed old woman, palsy- 
 stricken and hideously ugly, who, wiping her shrivelled face upon her 
 dirty apron, inquired, in that subdued tone in which deaf people 
 commonly speak :— 
 
 " Was that you a calling, or only the clock a striking ? My hearing 
 gets so bad, I never know which is which ; but when I hear a noise I 
 know it must be one of you, because nothing else ever stirs in the 
 house." 
 
 " Me, Peg — me," said Arthur Gride, tapping himself on the breast 
 to render the reply more intelligible. 
 
 " You, eh ?" returned Peg. " And what do you want ?" 
 
 " I'll be married in the bottle-green," cried Arthur Gride. 
 
 " It's a deal too good to be married in, master," rejoined Peg, after a 
 short inspection of the suit. " Haven't you got anything worse than 
 
 ,^ " Nothing that'll do," replied old Arthur. 
 
 " Why not do ?" retorted Peg. " Why don't you wear your every- 
 day clothes like a man — eh V 
 
 " They an't becoming enough, Peg," returned her master. 
 
506 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 " Not what enough V said Feg* 
 
 " Becoming." 
 
 " Becoming what ?" said Peg sharply. " Not becoming too old to 
 ;wear?" 
 
 Arthur Gride muttered an imprecation upon his housekeeper's deaf- 
 ness, as he roared in her ear : — 
 
 ** Not smart enough : I want to look as well as I can." 
 
 " Look ?" cried Peg. " If she's as handsome as you say she is, she 
 won't look much at you, master, take your oath of that ; and as to 
 how you look yourself — pepper-and-salt, bottle-green, sky-blue, or 
 tartan-plaid, will make no difference in you." 
 
 With which consolatory assurance, Peg Sliderskew gathered up the 
 chosen suit, and folding her skinny arms upon the bundle, stood 
 mouthing, and grinning, and blinking her watery eyes like an uncouth 
 figure in some monstrous piece of carving. 
 
 " You're in a funny humour, an't you. Peg V said Arthur, with not 
 the best possible grace, 
 
 " Why, isn't it enough to make me ?" rejoined the old woman. " I 
 shall goon enough be put out, though, if anybody tries to domineer it 
 over me, and so I give you notice, master. Nobody shall be put over 
 Peg Sliderskcw's head after so many years ; you know that, and so I 
 needn't tell you. That won't do for me — no, no, nor for you. Try 
 that once and come to ruin — ruin — ruin." 
 
 " Oh dear, dear, I shall never try it," said Arthur Gride, appalled 
 by the mention of the word, " not for the world. It would be very 
 easy to ruin me ; we must be very careful ; more saving than ever with 
 another mouth to feed. Only we — we mustn't let her lose her good 
 looks. Peg, because I like to see 'em." 
 
 *' Take care you don't find good looks come expensive," returned 
 Peg, shaking her fore -finger. 
 
 " But she can earn money herself. Peg," said Arthur Gride, eagerly 
 watching what effect his communication produced upon the old 
 woman's countenance : "She can draw, paint, work all manner of pretty 
 things for ornamenting stools and chairs : slippers, Peg, watch-guards, 
 hair-chains, and a thousand little dainty trifles that I couldn't give you 
 half the names of. Then she can play the piano, (and, what's more, 
 she's got one,) and sing like a little bird. She'll be very cheap to dress 
 and keep, Veg ; don't you think she will ?" 
 
 " If you don't let her make a fool of you, she may," returned Peg. 
 
 " A fool of me !" exclaimed Arthur. " Trust your old master not to 
 be fooled by pretty faces, Peg ; no, no, no — nor by ugly ones neither, 
 Mrs. Sliderskew," he softly added by way of soliloquy. 
 
 " You're a saying something you don't want me to hear," said Peg ; 
 " I know you are." 
 
 " Oh dear ! the devil's in this woman," muttered Arthur ; adding 
 with an ugly leer, " I said I trusted everything to you, Peg, that 
 was all." 
 
 " You do that, master, and all your cares axe over," said Peg 
 approvingly. 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 507 
 
 " When I do that, Peg Sliderskew/' thought Arthur Gride, " they 
 will be." 
 
 Although he thought this very distinctly, he durst not move his lips 
 lest the old woman should detect him. He even seemed half afraid that 
 she might have read his thoughts, for he leered coaxingly upon her as 
 he said aloud : — 
 
 " Take up all loose stitches in the bottle-green with the best black 
 silk. Have a skein of the best, and some new buttons for the coat, 
 and — this is a good idea, Peg, and one you'll like, I know — as I have 
 never given her anything yet, and girls like such attentions, you shall 
 polish up a sparkling necklace that I've got up stairs, and I'll give it 
 her upon the wedding morning — clasp it round her charming little neck 
 myself — and take it away again next day. He, he, he ! — lock it up 
 for her. Peg, and lose it. Who'll be made the fool of there, I wonder, 
 to begin with — eh Peg ?" 
 
 Mrs. Sliderskew appeared to approve highly of this ingenious scheme, 
 and expressed her satisfaction by various rackings and twitchings of her 
 head and body, which by no means enhanced her charms. These she 
 prolonged until she had hobbled to the door, when she exchanged them 
 for a sour malignant look, and twisting her under-jaw from side to side, 
 muttered hearty curses upon the future Mrs. Gride, as she crept slowly 
 down the stairs, and paused for breath at nearly every one. 
 
 " She's half a witch, I think," said Arthur Gride, when he found 
 himself again alone. " But she's very frugal, and she's very deaf; her 
 living costs me next to nothing, and it's no use her listening at keyholes 
 for she can't hear. She's a charming woman — for the purpose ; a most 
 discreet old housekeeper, and worth her weight in — copper." 
 
 Having extolled the merits of his domestic in these high terms, old 
 Arthur went back to the burden of his song, and, the suit destined to 
 grace his approaching nuptials being now selected, replaced the others 
 with no less care than he had displayed in drawing them from the 
 musty nooks where they had silently reposed for many years. 
 
 Startled by a ring at the door he hastily concluded this operation, 
 and locked the press ; but there was no need for any particular hurry 
 as the discreet Peg seldom knew the bell was rung unless she happened 
 to cast her dim eyes upwards and to see it shaking against the kitchen 
 ceiling. After a short delay, however, Peg tottered in, followed by 
 Newman Noggs. 
 
 " Ah ! Mr. Noggs ! " cried Arthur Gride, rubbing his hands. " My 
 good friend, Mr. Noggs, what news do you bring for me ? " 
 
 Newman, with a stedfast and immovable aspect, and his fixed eye 
 very fixed indeed, replied, suiting the action to the word, " A letter. 
 From Mr. Nickleby. The bearer waits." 
 
 " Won't you take a — a — " 
 
 Newman looked up, and smacked his lips. 
 
 " A chair ? " said Arthur Gride. 
 
 " No," replied Newman. " Thank'ee." 
 
 Arthur opened the letter with trembling hands, and devoured its 
 contents with the utmost greediness, chuckling rapturously over it and 
 
508 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 reading it several times before he could take it from before bis eyes. So 
 many times did he peruse and re -peruse it, that Newman considered it 
 expedient to remind him of his presence. 
 
 " Answer," said Newman. " Bearer waits." 
 
 " True," replied old Arthur. " Yes — yes ; I almost forgot, I do 
 declare." 
 
 " I thought you were forgetting," said Newman. 
 
 *' Quite right to remind me, Mr. Noggs. Oh, very right indeed,*' 
 said Arthur. " Yes. I'll write a line. I'm — I'm — rather flurried, IVIr, 
 Noggs. The news is — " 
 
 "Bad?" interrupted Newman. 
 
 " No, ]Mr. Noggs, thank you ; good, good. The very best of news. 
 Sit down, I'll get the pen and ink, and write a line in answer. I'll not 
 detain you long, I know you're a treasure to your master, Mr. Noggs. 
 He speaks of you in such terms sometimes, that, oh dear ! you'd be 
 astonished. I may say that I do too, and always did. I always say the 
 same of you." 
 
 " That's ' Curse Mr. Noggs with all my heart ! ' then, if you do," 
 thought Newman, as Gride hurried out. 
 
 The letter had fallen on the ground. Looking carefully about him 
 for an instant, Newman, impelled by curiosity to know the result of the 
 design he had overheard from his office closet, caught it up and rapidly 
 read as follows : 
 
 ** Gride, 
 
 " I saw Bray again this morning, and proposed the day after 
 to-morrow (as you suggested) for the marriage. There is no objection 
 on his part, and all days are alike to his daughter. AVe will go 
 together, and you must be with me by seven in the morning. I need 
 not tell you to be punctual. 
 
 " Make no further visits to the girl in the meantime. You 
 have been there of late much oftener than you should. Slie does not 
 languish for you, and it might have been dangerous. Restrain your 
 youthful ardour for eight-and-forty hours, and leave her to the father. 
 You only undo what he does, and does well. 
 
 " Yours, 
 
 "Ralph Nickleby." 
 
 A footstep was heard without. Newman dropped the letter on the 
 same spot again, pressed it with his foot to prevent its fluttering away, 
 regained his seat in a single stride, and looked as vacant and unconscious 
 as ever mortal looked. Arthur Gride, after peering nervously about 
 him, spied it on the ground, picked it up, and sitting down to write, 
 glanced at Newman Noggs, who was staring at the wall with an 
 intensity so remarkable, that Arthur was quite alarmed. 
 
 " Do you see anything particular, Mr. Noggs ? " said Arthur, trying 
 to follow the direction of Newman's eyes — which was an impossibility, 
 and a thing no man had ever done. 
 
 " Only a cobweb," replied Newman. 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 509 
 
 « Oh ! is that all ?" 
 
 <* No," said Newman. " There's a fly in it." 
 
 " There are a good many cobwebs here," observed Arthur Gride. 
 
 " So there are in our place," returned Newman ; " and flies, too." 
 
 Newman appeared to derive great entertainment from this repartee, 
 and to the great discomposure of Arthur Gride's nerves produced a 
 series of sharp cracks from his finger-joints, resembling the noise of a 
 distant discharge of small artillery. Arthur succeeded in finishing his 
 reply to Ralph's note, ncA^ertheless, and at length handed it over to the 
 eccentric messenger for delivery. 
 
 " That's it, Mr. Noggs," said Gride. 
 
 Newman gave a nod, put it in his hat, and was shufiling away, 
 •when Gride, whose doting delight knew no bounds, beckoned him back 
 again, and said in a shrill whisper, and with a grin which puckered up 
 his whole face, and almost obscured his eyes — 
 
 " Will you — will you take a little drop of something — just a taste ?" 
 
 In good fellowship (if Arthur Gride had been capable of it) Newman 
 would not have drunk with him one bubble of the richest wine that 
 was ever made ; but to see what he would be at, and to punish him as 
 much as he could, he accepted the offer immediately. 
 
 Arthur Gride, therefore, again applied himself to the press, and from 
 a shelf laden with tall Flemish drinking-glasses and quaint bottles, 
 some with necks like so many storks, and others with square Dutch- 
 built bodies and short fat apoplectic throats, took down one dusty bottle 
 of promising appearance and two glasses of curiously small size. 
 
 " You never tasted this," said Arthur. " Its eau-cCor — golden 
 water. I like it on account of its name. It's a delicious name. Water 
 of gold, golden water ! Oh dear me, it seems quite a sin to drink it !" 
 
 As his courage appeared to be fast failing him, and he trifled with the 
 stopper in a manner which threatened the dismissal of the bottle to its 
 old place, Newman took up one of the little glasses and chinked it 
 twice or thrice against the bottle, as a gentle reminder that he had not 
 been helped yet. With a deep sigh Arthur Gride slowly filled it — 
 though not to the brim — and then filled his ow^n. 
 
 " Stop, stop ; don't drink it yet," he said, laying his hand on New- 
 man's ; " it was given to me twenty years ago, and when I take a little 
 taste, which is ve — ry seldom, I like to think of it beforehand and 
 teaze myself. We'll drink a toast. Shall we have a toast, Mr. Noggs ?" 
 
 " Ah !" said Newman, eyeing his little glass impatiently. " Look 
 sharp. Bearer waits." 
 
 " Why, then, I'll tell you what," tittered Arthur, " we'll drink — 
 he, he, he ! — we'll drink a lady." 
 
 " The ladies?" said Newman. 
 
 " No, no, Mr. Noggs," replied Gride, arresting his hand, " a lady. 
 You wonder to hear me say a lady — I know you do, I know you do. 
 Here's little Madeline — that's the toast, Mr. Noggs — little Madeline!" 
 
 " Madeline !" said Newman ; inwardly adding, " and God help her 1" 
 
 The rapidity and unconcern with which Newman dismissed his 
 portion of the golden water had a great effect upon the old man, who 
 
610 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 sat upright in his chair and gazed at him open-mouthed, as if the sight 
 had taken away his hreath. Quite unmoved, however, Newman left 
 him to sip his own at leisure, or to pour it back again into the bottle 
 if he chose, and departed ; after greatly outraging the dignity of Peg 
 Sliderskew by brushing past her in the passage without a word of 
 apology or recognition. 
 
 Mr. Gride and his housekeeper, immediately on being left alone, 
 resolved themselves into a committee of ways and means, and discussed 
 the arrangements which should be made for the reception of the young 
 bride. As they were, like some other committees, extremely dull and 
 prolix in debate, this history may pursue the footsteps of Newman 
 JSToggs, thereby combining advantage with necessity ; for it would have 
 been necessary to do so under any circumstances, and necessity has no 
 law as all the world know. 
 
 " You've been a long time," said Ralph, when Newman returned. 
 
 " He was a long time," replied Newman. 
 
 " Bah !" cried Ralph impatiently. "Give me his note, if he gave 
 you one ; his message, if he didn't. And don't go away. I want a 
 word with you, sir." 
 
 Newman handed in the note, and looked very virtuous and innocent 
 while his employer broke the seal, and glanced his eye over it. 
 
 " He'll be sure to come !" muttered Ralph, as he tore it to 
 pieces ; " why of course I know he'll be sure to come. What need to 
 say that ? Noggs ! Pray sir, what man was that with whom I saw 
 you in the street last night ? " 
 
 " I don't know," replied Newman. 
 
 " You had better refresh your memory, sir," said Ralph with a 
 threatening look. 
 
 •' I tell you," returned Newman boldly, " that I don't know him 
 at all. He came here twice and asked for you. You were out. He 
 came again. You packed him off yourself. He gave the name of 
 Brooker. 
 
 " I know he did," said Ralph ; " what then V 
 
 " What then ? Why, then he lurked about and dogged me in the 
 street. He follows me night after night, and urges me to bring him 
 face to face with you, as he says he has been once, and not long ago 
 either. He wants to see you face to face, he says, and youll soon hear 
 him out, he warrants." 
 
 "And what say you to that?" inquired Ralph, looking keenly at 
 his drudge. 
 
 " That it's no business of mine, and I won't. I told him he might 
 catch you in the street, if that was all he wanted, but no ! that wouldn't 
 do. You wouldn't hear a word there, he said. He must have you 
 alone in a room with the door locked, where he could speak without 
 fear, and you'd soon cliange your tone, and hear him patiently." 
 
 "An audacious dog!" Ralph muttered. 
 
 " That's all I know," said Newman. " I say again, I don't know 
 what man he is. I don't believe he knows himself. You have seen 
 bim ; perhaps 2/ou do." 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBT. 511 
 
 " I think I do," replied Ralph. 
 
 " Well," retorted Newman, sulkily, " then don't expect me to know 
 him too, that's all. You'll ask me next why I never told you this 
 before. What would you say, if I was to tell you all that people say 
 of you ? What do you call me when I sometimes do ? ' Brute, ass ! ' 
 and snap at me like a dragon." 
 
 This was true enough, though the question which Newman antici- 
 pated was, in fact, upon Ralph's lips at the moment. 
 
 " He is an idle ruffian," said Ralph ; " a vagabond from beyond the 
 sea where he travelled for his crimes, a felon let loose to run his neck 
 into the halter ; a swindler, who has the audacity to try his schemes on 
 me who know him well. The next time he tampers with you, hand 
 him over to the police, for attempting to extort money by lies and 
 threats, — d'ye hear ? and leave the rest to me. He shall cool his heels 
 in jail a little time, and 111 be bound he looks for other folks to fleece 
 when he comes out. You mind what I say, do you ?" 
 
 " I hear," said Newman. 
 
 " Do it then," returned Ralph, '• and I'll reward you. Now, you 
 may go." 
 
 Newman readily availed himself of the permission, and shutting 
 himself up in his little office, remained there in very serious cogitation 
 all day. When he was released at night, he proceeded with all the 
 expedition he could use to the City, and took up his old position behind 
 the pump, to watch for Nicholas — for Newman Noggs was proud in 
 his way, and could not bear to appear as his friend before the brothers 
 Cheeryble, in the shabby and degraded state to which he was reduced. 
 
 He had not occupied this position many minutes when he was 
 rejoiced to see Nicholas approaching, and darted out from his ambus- 
 cade to meet him. Nicholas, on his part, was no less pleased to 
 encounter his friend, whom he had not seen for some time, so their 
 greeting was a warm one. 
 
 " I was thinking of you at that moment," said Nicholas. 
 
 " That's right," rejoined Newman, " and I of you. I couldn't help 
 coming up to-night. I say, I think I'm going to find out something." 
 
 " And what may that be ?" returned Nicholas, smiling at this odd 
 communication. 
 
 " I don't know what it may be, I don't know what it may not be," 
 said Newman ; " it's some secret in which your uncle is concerned, but 
 what, I've not yet been able to discover, although I have my strong 
 suspicions. I'll not hint 'em now, in case you should be disappointed." 
 
 "/disappointed !" cried Nicholas ; " am I interested ?" 
 
 " I think you are," replied Newman. " I have a crotchet in my 
 head that it must be so, I have found out a man, who, plainly 
 knows more than he cares to tell at once, and he has already 
 dropped such hints to me as puzzle me — I say, as puzzle me," said 
 Newman, scratching his red nose into a state of violent inflammation, 
 and staring at Nicholas with all his might and main meanwhile. 
 
 Admiring what could have wound his friend up to such a pitch of 
 mystery, Nicholas endeavoured, b^ a series of questions, to elucidate 
 
 i 
 
512 LIFE AN© ADVENTURES OP 
 
 the cause, but in vain. Newman could not be drawn into any more 
 explicit statement, than a repetition of the perplexities he had already- 
 thrown out, and a confused oration, showing, How it was necessary to 
 use the utmost caution ; how the lynx-eyed Ralph had already seen him 
 in company with his unknown correspondent ; and how he had baffled 
 the said Ralph by extreme guardedness of manner and ingenuity of 
 speech, having prepared himself for such a contingency from the first. 
 
 Remembering his companion s propensity, — of which his nose, indeed, 
 perpetually warned all beholders like a beacon, — Nicholas had drawn 
 him into a sequestered tavern, and here they fell to reviewing the origin 
 and progress of their acquaintance, as men sometimes do, and tracing 
 out the little events by which it was most strongly marked, came at 
 last to Miss Cecilia Bobster. 
 
 " And that reminds me," said Newman, " that you never told me 
 the young lady's real name." 
 
 " Madeline !" said Nicholas. 
 
 "Madeline !" cried Newman ; " what Madeline? Her other name 
 —say her other name." 
 
 " Bray," said Nicholas, in great astonishment. 
 
 " It's the same !" shrieked Newman. " Sad story ? Can you stand 
 idly by, and let that unnatural marriage take place without one 
 attempt to save her ? " 
 
 "What do you mean?" exclaimed Nicholas, starting up; "mar- 
 riage ! are you mad ?" 
 
 "Are you? is she? are you blind, deaf, senseless, dead?" said 
 Newman. " Do you know that within one day, by means of your 
 uncle Ralph, she will be married to a man as bad as he, and worse, if 
 •worse there is? Do you know that within one day she will be sacrificed, 
 as sure as you stand there alive, to a hoary wretch — a devil born and 
 bred, and grey in devils' ways ?' " 
 
 " Be careful what you say," replied Nicholas, " for Heaven's sake be 
 careful. I am left here alone, and those who could stretch out a hand 
 to rescue her are far away. What is it that you mean ? " 
 
 " I never heard her name," said Newman, choking with his energy. 
 " Why didn't you tell me ? How was I to know ? We might at least 
 have had some time to think ! " 
 
 " What is it that you mean ? " cried Nicholas. 
 
 It was not an easy task to arrive at this information ; but after a 
 great quantity of extraordinary pantomime which in no way assisted 
 it, Nicholas, who was almost as wild as Newman Noggs himself, 
 forced him down upon his seat and held him down until he began his 
 tale. 
 
 Rage, astonishment, indignation, and a storm of passions rushed 
 through the listener's heart as the plot was laid bare. He no sooner 
 understood it all, than with a face of ashy paleness, and trembling in 
 every limb, he darted from the house. 
 
 " Stop him ! " cried Newman, bolting out in pursuit. " He'll be 
 doing something desperate — he'll murder somebody — -Tiallo ! there, stop 
 him. Stop thief ! stop thief!'* 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 513 
 
 CHAPTER LII. 
 
 NICHOLAS DESPAIRS OF RESCUING MADELINE BRAY, BUT PLUCKS UP HIS 
 SPIRITS AGAIN, AND DETERMINES TO ATTEMPT IT. DOMESTIC INTEL- 
 LIGENCE OF THE KENWIGSES AND LILLYVICKS. 
 
 Finding that Newman was determined to arrest his progress at any 
 hazard, and apprehensive that some well-intentioned passenger attracted 
 by the cry of " stop thief," might really lay violent hands upon his 
 person, and place him in a disagreeable predicament from which ho 
 might have some difficulty in extricating himself, Nicholas soon 
 slackened his pace, and suffered Newman Noggs to come up with him, 
 which he did in so breathless a condition that it seemed impossible he 
 could have held out for a minute longer. 
 
 " I will go straight to Bray's," said Nicholas. " I will see this 
 man ; and if there is one feeling of humanity lingering in his breast, 
 one spark of consideration for his own child, motherless and friendless 
 as she is, I will awaken it." 
 
 " You will not," replied Newman. " You will not, indeed." 
 
 " Then," said Nicholas, pressing onward, " I will act upon my first 
 impulse, and go straight to Ralph Nickleby." 
 
 " By the time you reach his house he will be in bed," said Newman. 
 
 " 111 drag him from it," cried Nicholas, fiercely. 
 
 " Tut, tut," said Noggs. " Be yourself." 
 
 " You are the best of friends to me, Newman," rejoined Nicholas 
 after a pause, and taking his hand as he spoke. " I have made head 
 against many trials, but the misery of another, and such misery is 
 involved in this one, that I declare to you I am rendered desperate, and 
 know not how to act." 
 
 In truth, it did seem a hopeless case. It was impossible to make 
 any use of such intelligence as Newman Noggs had gleaned when he 
 lay concealed in the closet. The mere circumstance of the compact 
 between Ralph Nickleby and Gride would not invalidate the marriage, 
 or render Bray averse to it, who, if he did not actually know of the 
 existence of some such understanding, doubtless suspected it. What 
 had been hinted with reference to some fraud on Madeline, had been 
 put with sufficient obscurity by Arthur Gride, but coming from 
 Newman Noggs, and obscured still further by the smoke of his pocket 
 pistol, it became wholly unintelligible and involved in utter darkness. 
 
 " There seems no ray of hope," said Nicholas. 
 
 " The greater necessity for coolness, for reason, for consideration, for 
 thought," said Newman, pausing at every alternate word, to look 
 anxiously in his friend's face. " Where are the brothers ? " 
 
 " Both absent on urgent business, as they will be for a week to 
 come." 
 
 L L 
 
514 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 " Is there no way of communicating with them ? no way of getting 
 one of them here by to-morrow night ?" 
 
 " Impossible !" said Nicholas, " the sea is between us and them. 
 With the fairest winds that ever blew, to go and return would take 
 three days and nights." 
 
 " Their nephew — " said Newman, " their old clerk." 
 
 " What could either do that I cannot V rejoined Nicholas. " With 
 reference to them especially, I am enjoined to the strictest silence on 
 this subject. What right have I to betray the confidence reposed in 
 me, when nothing but a miracle can prevent this monstrous sacrifice V* 
 
 " Think," urged Newman. " Is there no way?" 
 
 " There is none," said Nicholas, in utter dejection. " Not one. 
 The father urges — the daughter consents. These demons have her in 
 their toils ; legal right, might, power, money, and every influence are 
 on their side. How can I hope to save her?" 
 
 " Hope to the last," said Newman, clapping him on the back. 
 " Always hope, that's a dear boy. Never leave off hoping, it don't 
 answer. Do you mind me, Nick? it don't answer. Don't leave a 
 stone unturned. It's always something to know you've done the most 
 you could. But don't leave off hoping, or it's of no use doing any- 
 thing. Hope, hope, to the last !" 
 
 Nicholas needed encouragement, for the suddenness with which 
 intelligence of the two usurers* plans had come upon him, the little 
 time which remained for exertion, the probability, almost amounting 
 to certainty itself, that a few hours would place Madeline Bray for ever 
 beyond his reach, consign her to unspeakable misery, and perhaps to 
 an untimely death : all this quite stunned and overwhelmed him. 
 Every hope connected with her that he had suffered himself to form, 
 or had entertained unconsciously, seemed to fall at his feet withered 
 and dead. Every charm with which his memory or imagination had 
 surrounded her, presented itself before him only to heighten his anguish 
 and add new bitterness to his despair. Every feeling of sympathy for 
 her forlorn condition, and of admiration for her heroism and fortitude, 
 aggravated the indignation which shook him in every limb, and swelled 
 his heart almost to bursting. 
 
 But if Nicholas's own heart embarrassed him, Newman s came to his 
 relief. There was so much earnestness in his remonstrance, and such 
 sincerity and fervour in his manner, odd and ludicrous as it always was, 
 that it imparted to Nicholas new firmness, and enabled him to say, 
 after he had walked on for some little way in silence, 
 
 " You read me a good lesson, Newman, and I will profit by it. 
 One step at least I may take, am bound to take indeed, and to that 
 I will apply myself to-morrow." 
 
 "What is that?" asked Noggs, wistfully. "Not to threaten 
 Kalph ? Not to see the father ?" 
 
 *' To see the daughter, Newman," replied Nicholas. " To do what 
 after all is the utmost that the brothers could do if they were here, as 
 Heaven send they were ! To reason with her upon this hideous union, 
 to point out to her all the horrors to which she is hastening ; rashly, it 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 515 
 
 may be, and without due reflection. To entreat her at least to pause. 
 She can have had no counsellor for her good ; and perhaps even I may 
 move her so far yet, though it is the eleventh hour, and she upon the 
 very brink of ruin." 
 
 " Bravely spoken ! " said Newman. " Well done, well done ! Yes. 
 Very good." 
 
 " And I do declare," cried Nicholas, with honest enthusiasm, " that 
 in this effort I am influenced by no selfish or personal considerations, 
 but by pity for her and detestation and abhorrence of this heartless 
 scheme ; and that I would do the same were there twenty rivals in the 
 field, and I the last and least favoured of them all." 
 
 " You would, I believe," said Newman. " But where are you 
 hurrying now ?" 
 
 " Homewards," answered Nicholas. " Do you come wdth me, or 
 shall I say good night ? " 
 
 " I'll come a little way if you will but walk, not run," said Noggs. 
 
 " I cannot walk to-night, Newman," returned Nicholas, hurriedly. 
 " I must move rapidly, or I could not draw my breath. I'll tell you 
 what I've said and done to-morrow 1 " 
 
 Without waiting for a reply, he darted off at a rapid pace, and 
 plunging into the crowds which thronged the street, was quickly lost 
 to view. 
 
 " He's a violent youth at times," said Newman, looking after him ; 
 " and yet I like him for it. There's cause enough now, or the deuce is 
 in it. Hope ! I said hope, I think ! Ralph Nickleby and Gride with 
 their heads together — and hope for the opposite party ! Ho ! ho !" 
 
 It was with a very melancholy laugh that Newman Noggs concluded 
 this soliloquy, and it was with a very melancholy shake of the head 
 and a very rueful countenance, that he turned about, and went plodding 
 on his way. 
 
 This, under ordinary circumstances, would have been to some small 
 tavern or dram-shop, that being his way in more senses than one ; but 
 Newman was too much interested and too anxious to betake himself 
 even to this resource, and so, with many desponding and dismal reflec- 
 tions, went straight home. 
 
 It had come to pass that afternoon, that Miss Morleena Kenwigs had 
 received an invitation to repair next day per steamer from Westmin- 
 ster Bridge unto the Eel-pie Island at Twickenham, there to make 
 merry upon a cold collation, bottled-beer," shrub, and shrimps, and ta 
 dance in the open air to the music of a locomotive band, conveyed 
 thither for the purpose : the steamer being specially engaged by a 
 dancing-master of extensive connection for the accommodation of his 
 numerous pupils, and the pupils displaying their appreciation of the 
 dancing-master's services by purchasing themselves, and inducing their 
 friends to do the like, divers light-blue tickets entitling them to join the 
 expedition. Of these light-blue tickets, one had been presented by an 
 ambitious neighbour to Miss Morleena Kenwigs, with an invitation to 
 join her daughters ; and Mrs. Kenvrigs, rightly deeming that the honour 
 of the family was involved in Miss Morleena's making the most splendid 
 
 ll2 
 
516 LIFE AND ADYENTURES OF 
 
 appearance possible on so short a notice, and testifying to the dancing- 
 master that there were other dancing-masters besides liim, and to all 
 fathers and mothers present that other people's children could learn to 
 be genteel besides theirs, had fainted away twice under the magnitude 
 of her preparations, but upheld by a determination to sustain the 
 family name or perish in the attempt, was still hard at w^ork when 
 Newman Noggs came home. 
 
 Now, between the italian-ironing of frills, the flouncing of trousers, 
 the trimming of frocks, the faintings and the comings-to again inci- 
 dental to the occasion, Mrs. Kenwigs had been so entirely occupied 
 that she had not observed, until within half an hour before, that the 
 flaxen tails of Miss Morleena's hair were in a manner run to seed ; and 
 that unless she were put under the hands of a skilful hair-dresser, she 
 never could achieve that signal triumph over the daughters of all other 
 people, anything less than which would be tantamount to defeat. This 
 discovery drove Mrs. Kenwigs to despair, for the hair-dresser lived 
 three streets and eight dangerous crossings ofi^. Morleena could not be 
 trusted to go there alone, even if such a proceeding were strictly proper, 
 of which Mrs. Kenwigs had her doubts; Mr. Kenwigs had not returned 
 from business ; and there was nobody to take her. So Mrs. Kenwigs 
 first slapped Miss Kenwigs for being the cause of her vexation, and 
 then shed tears. 
 
 " You ungrateful child ! " said Mrs. Kenwigs, " after I have gone 
 through what I have this night for your good." 
 
 " I can t help it, ma," replied Morleena, also in tears ; " my hair 
 will grow." 
 
 " Don't talk to me, you naughty thing ! " said Mrs. Kenwigs, 
 " don't. Even if I was to trust you by yourself and you were to 
 escape being run over, I know you'd run in to Laura Chopkins," who 
 was the daughter of the ambitious neighbour, " and tell her what 
 you're going to wear to-morrow, I know you would. You've no 
 proper pride in yourself, and are not to be trusted out of sight for an 
 instant." 
 
 Deploring the evil-mindedness of her eldest daughter in these terms, 
 Mrs. Kenwigs distilled fresh drops of vexation from her eyes, and 
 declared that she did believe there never was anybody so tried as she 
 was. Thereupon Morleena Kenwigs wept afresh, and they bemoaned 
 themselves together. 
 
 Matters were at this point as Newman Noggs was heard to limp 
 past the door on his way up- stairs, when Mrs. Kenwigs, gaining new 
 hope from the sound of his footsteps, hastily removed from her counte- 
 nance as many traces of her late emotion as were efl'aceable on so short 
 a notice; and presenting herself before him, and representing their 
 dilemma, entreated that he would escort Morleena to the hair- 
 dresser's shop. 
 
 " I wouldn't ask you, Mr. Noggs," said Mrs. Kenwigs, " if I didn't 
 know what a good, kind-hearted creature you are — no, not for worlds. 
 I am a weak constitution, Mr. Noggs, but my spirit would no more 
 let me ask a favour where I thought there was a chance of its being 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 517 
 
 refused, than it would let me submit to see my children trampled down 
 and trod upon by envy and lowness 1 " 
 
 Newman was too good-natured not to have consented, even without 
 this avowal of confidence on the part of Mrs. Kenwigs. Accordingly, 
 a very few minutes had elapsed when he and Miss Morleena were on 
 their way to the hair-dresser's. 
 
 It was not exactly a hair-dresser's ; that is to say, people of a coarse 
 and vulgar turn of mind might have called it a barber's, for they not 
 only cut and curled ladies elegantly and children carefully, but shaved 
 gentlemen easily. Still it was a highly genteel establishment — quite 
 first-rate in fact — and there were displayed in the window, besides 
 other elegancies, waxen busts of a light lady and a dark gentleman 
 which were the admiration of the whole neighbourhood. Indeed, some 
 ladies had gone so far as to assert, that the dark gentleman was actually 
 a portrait of the spirited young proprietor, and the great similarity 
 between their head-dresses — both wore very glossy hair with a narrow 
 walk straight down the middle, and a profusion of flat circular curls 
 on both sides — encourao^ed the idea. The better informed amonor 
 the sex, however, made light of this assertion, for however willing 
 they were (and they were very willing) to do full justice to the hand- 
 some face and figure of the proprietor, they held the countenance of 
 the dark gentleman in the window to be an exquisite and abstract 
 idea of masculine beauty, realised sometimes perhaps among angels and 
 military men, but very rarely embodied to gladden the eyes of mortals. 
 
 It was to this establishment that Newman Noggs led Miss Kenwigs 
 in safety, and the proprietor knowing that Miss Kenwigs had three 
 sisters, each with two flaxen tails, and all good for sixpence a-piece 
 once a month at least, promptly deserted an old gentleman whom he 
 had just lathered for shaving, and handing him over to the journeyman, 
 (who was not very popular among the ladies, by reason of his obesity 
 and middle age) waited on the young lady himself. 
 
 Just as this change had been effected, there presented himself for 
 shaving, a big, burly, good-humoured coal-heaver with a pipe in his 
 mouth, who drawing his hand across his chin, requested to know when 
 a shaver would be disengaged. 
 
 The journeyman to whom this question was put looked doubtfully 
 at the young proprietor, and the young proprietor looked scornfully at 
 the coal-heaver, observing at the same time — 
 
 " You won't get shaved here, my man." 
 
 " Why not ? " said the coal-heaver. 
 
 " We don't shave gentlemen in your line," remarked the young pio- 
 prietor. 
 
 " Why, I see you a shaving of a baker when I was a looking through 
 the winder, last week," said the coal-heaver. 
 
 " It's necessary to draw the line somewheres my fine feller," replied 
 the principal. " We draw the line there. We can't go beyond bakers. 
 If we was to get any lower than bakers our customers would desert us, 
 and we might shut up shop. You must try some other establishment, 
 sir. We couldn't do it here." 
 
518 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 The applicant stared, grinned at Newman Noggs, who appeared 
 highly entertained, looked slightly round the shop as if in depreciation 
 of the pomatum pots and other articles of stock, took his pipe out of 
 his mouth and gave a very loud whistle, and then put it in again, and 
 walked out. 
 
 The old gentleman who had just been lathered, and who was sitting 
 in a melancholy manner with his face turned towards the wall, appeared 
 quite unconscious of this incident, and to be insensible to everything 
 around him in the depth of a reverie — a very mournful one, to judge 
 from the sighs he occasionally vented — in which he was absorbed. 
 Affected by this example, the proprietor began to clip Miss Kenwigs, 
 the journeyman to scrape the old gentleman, and Newman Noggs to 
 read last Sunday's paper, all three in silence ; when Miss Kenwiga 
 uttered a shrill little scream, and Newman raising his eyes, saw that it 
 had been elicited by the circumstance of the old gentleman turning his 
 head, and disclosing the features of Mr. Lillyvick the collector. 
 
 The features of Mr. Lillyvick they were, but strangely altered. If 
 ever an old gentleman had made a point of appearing in public, shaved 
 close and clean, that old gentleman was Mr. Lillyvick. If ever a col- 
 lector had borne himself like a collector, and assumed before all men 
 a solemn and portentous dignity as if he had the world on his books 
 and it was all two quarters in arrear, that collector was 3Ir. Lillyvick. 
 And now, there he sat with the remains of a beard at least a week old 
 encumbering his chin, a soiled and crumpled shirt-frill crouching as it 
 were upon his breast instead of standing boldly out ; a demeanour so 
 abashed and drooping, so despondent, expressive of such humiliation, 
 grief, and shame, that if the souls of forty unsubstantial housekeepers 
 all of whom had had their water cut off for non-payment of the rate, 
 could have been concentrated in one body, that one body could hardly 
 have expressed such mortification and defeat as were now expressed in 
 the person of Mr. Lillyvick the collector. 
 
 Newman Noggs uttered his name, and Mr. Lillyvick groaned, then 
 coughed to hide it. But the groan was a full-sized groan, and the 
 cough was but a wheeze. 
 
 " Is anything the matter ? " said Newman Noggs. 
 
 " Matter, Sir ! " cried Mr. Lillyvick. <' The plug of life is dry, Sir, 
 and but the mud is left." 
 
 This speech — the style of which Newman attributed to Mr. Lilly- 
 vick's recent association with theatrical characters — not being quite 
 explanatory, Newman looked as if he were about to ask another 
 question, when Mr. Lillyvick prevented him by shaking his hand 
 mournfully, and then waving his own. 
 
 " Let me be shaved," said Mr. Lillyvick. " I shall be done before 
 Morleena — it is Morleena, isn't it ? " 
 
 " Yes," said Newman. 
 
 " Kenwigses have got a boy, haven't tliey ?" inquired the collector. 
 
 Again Newman said " Yes." 
 
 " Is it a nice boy ? " demanded the collector. 
 
 " It ain't a very nasty one," returned Newman, rather emban'assed 
 by the question. 
 
wf^^ 
 
 ■ ^/y,///;/ ;. y/r/y/yyn/^.m^ij.y/^ /////.// .// //r /C/^ .///ju ?.j 
 
m 
 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 519 
 
 " Susan Kenwigs used to say," observed the collector, " that if ever 
 she had another boy, she hoped it might be like me. Is this one like 
 me, Mr. Noggs ? " 
 
 This was a puzzling inquiry, but Newman' evaded it by replying to 
 Mr. Lillyvick, that he thought the baby might possibly come like him 
 in time. 
 
 " I should be glad to have somebody like me, somehow," said Mr. 
 Lillyvick, "before I die." 
 
 " You don't mean to do that yet awhile ? " said Newman. 
 
 Unto which Mr. Lillyvick replied in a solemn voice, *' Let me be 
 shaved;" and again consigning himself to the handsof the journeyman, 
 said no more. 
 
 This was remarkable behaviour, and so remarkable did it seem to 
 Miss Morleena, that that young lady, at the imminent hazard of having 
 her ear sliced off, had not been able to forbear looking round some 
 score of times during the foregoing colloquy. Of her, however, Mr. 
 Lillyvick took no notice, rather striving (so, at least, it seemed to 
 Newman Noggs) to evade her observation, and to shrink into himself 
 whenever he attracted her regards. Newman wondered very much 
 what could have occasioned this altered behaviour on the part of the 
 collector; but philosophically reflecting that he would most likely 
 know sooner or later, and that he could perfectly afford to wait, he 
 was very little disturbed by the singularity of the old gentleman's de- 
 portment. 
 
 The cutting and curling being at last concluded, the old gentleman, 
 who had been some time waiting, rose to go, and walking out with 
 Newman and his charge, took Newman's arm, and proceeded with 
 them for some time without making any observation. Newman, who 
 in power of taciturnity was excelled by few people, made no attempt to 
 break silence, and so they went on until they had very nearly reached 
 Miss Morleena's home, when Mr. Lillyvick said — 
 
 " Were the Kenwigses very much overpowered, Mr. Noggs, by 
 that news ? " 
 
 " Wliat news ? " returned Newman. 
 
 " That about — my — ^being " 
 
 '' Married ? " suggested Newman. 
 
 *' Ah ! " replied Mr. Lillyvick, with another groan — this time not 
 even disguised by a wheeze. 
 
 " It made ma cry when she knew it," interposed Miss Morleena, 
 " but we kept it from her for a long time ; and pa was very low in his 
 spirits, but he is better now; and I was very ill, but I am better too." 
 
 " Would you give your great-uncle Lillyvick a kiss if he was to ask 
 you, Morleena ? " said the collector, with some hesitation. 
 
 " Yes, — uncle Lillyvick, I would," returned Miss Morleena, with the 
 energy of both her parents combined ; " but not aunt Lillyvick. She's 
 not an aunt of mine, and I'll never call her one." 
 
 Immediately upon the utterance of these words, Mr. Lillyvick caught 
 Miss Morleena up in his arms and kissed her, and being by this time 
 at the door of the house where Mr. Kenwigs lodged (which, as has 
 
520 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 been before-meiitioned, usually stood wide open), lie walked straight up 
 into Mr. Kenwigs' sitting-room, and put Miss Morleena down in the 
 midst. Mr. and Mrs. Kenwigs were at supper. At sight of their 
 perjured relative, Mrs. Kenwigs turned faint and pale, and Mr. Kenwigs 
 rose majestically. 
 
 " Kenwigs," said the collector, " shake hands." 
 
 " Sir," said Mr. Kenwigs, " the time has been when I was 'proud 
 to shake hands with such a man as that man as now surweys me. The 
 time has been. Sir," said Mr. Kenwigs, " when a wisit from that man 
 has excited in me and my family's boozums sensations both nateral and 
 awakening. But now I look upon that man with emotions totally 
 surpassing everythink, and I ask myself where is his Aonour,^ where is 
 his straight-for'ardness, and where is his human natur." 
 
 " Susan Kenwigs," said Mr. Lillyvick, turning humbly to his niece, 
 " don't you say anything to me ? " 
 
 " She is not equal to it, Sir," said Mr. Kenwigs, striking the table 
 emphatically. " What with the nursing of a healthy babby, and the 
 reflections upon your cruel conduct, four pints of malt liquor a day is 
 hardly able to sustain her." 
 
 " I am glad," said the poor collector meekly, " that the baby is a 
 healthy one. I am very glad of that." 
 
 This was touching the Kenwigses on their tenderest point. Mrs. 
 Kenwigs instantly burst into tears, and Mr. Kenwigs evinced great 
 emotion. 
 
 " My pleasantest feeling all the time that child was expected," said 
 Mr. Kenwigs, mournfully, " was a thinking, ' if it's a boy, as I hope 
 it may be, for I have heard it's uncle Lillyvick say again and again he 
 would perfer our having a boy next — if it's a boy, what will his uncle 
 Lillyvick say — what will he like him to be called — will he be Peter, 
 or Alexander, or Pompey, or Diorgecnes, or what will he be ? ' and 
 now when I look at him — a precious, unconscious, helpless infant, 
 with no use in his little arms but to tear his little cap, and no use in 
 his little legs but to kick his little self — when I see him a-lying on his 
 mother's lap cooing and cooing, and in his innocent state almost a 
 choking himself with his little fist — when I see him such a infant as 
 he is, and think that that uncle Lillyvick, as was once a going to be so 
 fond of him has withdrawed himself away, such a feeling of wengeance 
 comes over me as no language can depicter, and I feel as if even that 
 holy babe was a telling me to hate him." 
 
 This affecting picture moved Mrs. Kenwigs deeply. After several 
 imperfect words which vainly attempted to struggle to the surface, but 
 were drowned and washed away by the strong tide of her tears, she 
 spake. 
 
 " Uncle," said Mrs. Kenwigs, " to think that you should have turned 
 your back upon me and my dear children, and upon Kenwigs which is 
 the author of their being — you who was once so kind and affectionate, 
 and who, if anybody had told us such a thing of, we should have 
 withered with scorn like lightning — you that little Lillyvick our first 
 and earliest boy was named after at the very altar — oh gracious ! " 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 521 
 
 " "Was it money that we cared for ? " said Mr. Kenwigs. " Was it 
 property that we ever thought of ? " 
 
 " No," cried Mrs. Kenwigs, " I scorn it." 
 *' So do I," said Mr. Kenwigs, " and always did." 
 " My feelings have been lancerated," said Mrs. Kenwigs, " my heart 
 has been torn asunder with anguish, I have been thrown back in my 
 confinement, my unoffending infant has been rendered uncomfortable and 
 fractious, Morleena has pined herself away to nothing ; all this I forget 
 and forgive, and with you, uncle, I never can quarrel. But never ask 
 me to receive her — never do it, uncle. For I will not, I will not, I 
 won't, I won t, I won't — " 
 
 " Susan, my dear," said Mr. Kenwigs, " consider your child." 
 ." " Yes," shrieked Mrs. Kenwigs, " I will consider my child ! I will 
 consider my child ! my own child, that no uncles can deprive me of, 
 my own hated, despised, deserted, cut-off little child." And here the 
 emotions of Mrs. Kenwigs became so violent that Mr. Kenwigs was 
 fain to administer hartshorn internally and vinegar externally, and to 
 destroy a staylace, four petticoat strings, and several small buttons. 
 
 Newman had been a silent spectator of this scene, for Mr. Lillyvick 
 had signed to him not to withdraw, and Mr. Kenwigs had further 
 solicited his presence by a nod of invitation. When Mrs. Kenwigs had 
 been in some degree restored, and Newman, as a person possessed of 
 some influence with her, had remonstrated and begged her to compose 
 herself, Mr. Lillyvick said in a faltering voice : 
 
 " I never shall ask anybody here to receive my 1 needn't mention 
 
 the word, you know what I mean. Kenwigs and Susan, yesterday 
 was a week she eloped with a half-pay captain." 
 Mr. and Mrs. Kenwigs started together. 
 
 " Eloped with a half-pay captain," repeated Mr. Lillyvick, " basely 
 and falsely eloped with a half-pay captain — with a bottle-nosed captain 
 that any man might have considered himself safe from. It was in this 
 room," said Mr. Lillyvick, looking sternly round, "that I first see 
 Henrietta Petowker. It is in this room that I turn her off for ever." 
 
 This declaration completely changed the whole posture of affairs. 
 Mrs. Kenwigs threw herself upon the old gentleman's neck, bitterly 
 reproaching herself for her late harshness, and exclaiming if she had 
 suffered, what must his sufferings have been ! Mr. Kenwigs grasped 
 his hand and vowed eternal friendship and remorse. Mrs. Kenwigs was 
 horror-stricken to think that she should ever have nourished in her 
 bosom such a snake, adder, viper, serpent, and base crocodile as Hen- 
 rietta Petowker. Mr. Kenwigs argued that she must have been bad 
 indeed not to have improved by so long a contemplation of Mrs. Ken- 
 wigs's virtue. Mrs. Kenwigs remembered that Mr. Kenwigs had often 
 said that he was not quite satisfied of the propriety of Miss Petowker's 
 conduct, and wondered how it was that she could have been blinded by 
 such a wretch. Mr. Kenwigs remembered that he had had his sus- 
 picions, but did not wonder why Mrs. Kenwigs had not had hers, as 
 she was all chastity, purity, and truth, and Henrietta all baseness, 
 falsehood, and deceit. And Mr. and Mrs. Kenwigs both said with 
 
522 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 strong feeling and tears of sympathy, that everything happened for the 
 best, and conjured the good collector not to give way to unavailing 
 grief, but to seek consolation in the society of those affectionate rela- 
 tions whose arms and hearts were ever open to him. 
 
 " Out of affection and regard for you, Susan and Kenwigs," said 
 Mr. Lillyvick, " and not out of revenge and spite against her, for she 
 is below it, I shall to-morrow morning settle upon your children, and 
 make payable to the survivors of them when they come of age or marry, 
 that money that I once meant to leave 'em in my will. The deed shall 
 be executed to-morrow, and Mr. Noggs shall be one of the witnesses. 
 He hears me promise this, and he shall see it done." 
 
 Overpowered by this noble and generous offer, Mr. Kenwigs, Mrs. 
 Kenwigs, and Miss Morleena Kenwigs all began to sob together, and the 
 noise of their sobbing communicating itself to the next room, where 
 the children lay a-bed, and causing them to cry too, Mr. Kenwigs rushed 
 wildly in and bringing them out in his arms by two and two, tumbled 
 them down in their nightcaps and gowns at the feet of Mr. Lillyvick, 
 and called upon them to thank and bless him. 
 
 *' And now," said Mr. Lillyvick, when a heart-rending scene had 
 ensued and the children were cleared away again, " Give me some 
 supper. This took place twenty mile from town. I came up thia 
 morning, and have been lingering about all day without being able to 
 make up my mind to come and see you. I humoured her in everything, 
 she had her own way, she did just as she pleased, and now she hag 
 done this. There was twelve teaspoons and twenty-four pound in 
 sovereigns — I missed them first — it's a trial — I feel I shall never be 
 able to knock a double knock again when I go my rounds — don't say 
 anything more about it, please — the spoons were worth — never mind— • 
 never mind ! " 
 
 With such muttered outpourings as these, the old gentleman shed a 
 few tears, but they got him into the elbow-chair and prevailed upon 
 him, without much pressing, to make a hearty supper, and by the time 
 he had finished his first pipe and disposed of half-a-dozen glasses out of 
 a crown bowl of punch, ordered by Mr. Kenwigs in celebration of hig 
 return to the bosom of his family, he seemed, though still very humble, 
 quite resigned to his fate, and rather relieved than otherwise by the 
 flight of his wife. 
 
 " When I see that man," said Mr. Kenwigs, with one hand round 
 Mrs. Kenwigs's waist, his other hand supporting his pipe (which made 
 him wink and cough very much, for he was no smoker) and his eyes 
 on Morleena, who sat upon her uncle's knee, *' when I see that man a 
 mingling once again in the spear which he adorns, and see his affections 
 deweloping themselves in legitimate sitiwations, I feel that his natur ig 
 as elewated and expanded as his standing afore society as a public 
 character is unimpeached, and the woices of my infant children purvided 
 for in life, seem to whisper to me softly, * This is an ewent at which 
 Evins itself looks down ! ' " 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 523 
 
 CHAPTER LIII. 
 
 CONTAINING THE FURTHER PROGRESS OF THE PLOT CONTRIVED BY 
 MR. RALPH NICKLEBY AND MR. ARTHUR GRIDE. 
 
 With that settled resolution and steadiness of purpose to which 
 extreme circumstances so often give birth, acting upon far less excitable 
 and more sluggish temperaments than that which was the lot of 
 Madeline Bray's admirer, Nicholas started, at dawn of day, from the 
 restless couch which no sleep had visited on the previous niglit, and 
 prepared to make that last appeal by whose slight and fragile thread 
 her only remaining hope of escape depended. 
 
 Although to restless and ardent minds, morning may be the fitting 
 season for exertion and activity, it is not always at that time that hope 
 is strongest or the spirit most sanguine and buoyant. In trying and 
 doubtful positions, use, custom, a steady contemplation of the difficul- 
 ties which surround us, and a familiarity with them, imperceptibly 
 diminish our apprehensions and beget comparative indifference, if not 
 a vague and reckless confidence in some relief, the means or nature of 
 which we care not to foresee. But when we come fresh upon such 
 things in the morning, with that dark and silent gap between us and 
 yesterday, with every link in the brittle chain of hope to rivet afresh, 
 our hot enthusiasm subdued, and cool calm reason substituted in its 
 stead, doubt and misgiving revive. As the traveller sees farthest by 
 day, and becomes aware of rugged mountains and trackless plains which 
 the friendly darkness had shrouded from his sight and mind together, 
 so the wayfarer in the toilsome path of human life sees with each re- 
 turning sun some new obstacle to surmount, some new height to be 
 attained ; distances stretch out before him which last night were scarcely 
 taken into account, and the light which gilds all nature with its cheer- 
 ful beams, seems but to shine upon the weary obstacles which yet lie 
 strewn between him and the grave. 
 
 So thought Nicholas, when, with the impatience natural to a situa- 
 tion like his, he softly left the house, and feeling as though to remain 
 in bed were to lose most precious time, and to be up and stirring were 
 in some way to promote the end he had in view, he wandered into London, 
 although perfectly well knowing that for hours to come he could not 
 obtain speech with Madeline, and could do nothing but wish the inter- 
 vening time away. 
 
 And even now, as he paced the streets and listlessly looked round on 
 the gradually increasing bustle and preparation for the day, everything 
 appeared to yield him some new occasion for despondency. Last night 
 the sacrifice of a young, affectionate, and beautiful creature to such a 
 wretch and in such a cause, had seemed a thing too monstrous to 
 succeed, and the warmer he grew the more confident he felt that some 
 interposition must save her from his clutches. But now, wheu he 
 
524 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 thought how regularly things went on from day to day in the same 
 imvarying round — how youth and beauty died, and ugly griping age 
 lived tottering on — how crafty avarice grew rich, and manly honest 
 hearts were poor and sad — how few they were who tenanted the stately 
 houses, and how many those who lay in noisome pens, or rose each day 
 and laid them down at night, and lived and died, father and son, mother 
 and child, race upon race, and generation upon generation, without a home 
 to shelter them or the energies of one single man directed to their aid 
 .—how in seeking, not a luxurious and splendid life, but the bare means 
 of a most wretched and inadequate subsistence, there were women and 
 children in that one town, divided into classes, numbered and estimated 
 as regularly as the noble families and folks of great degree, and reared 
 from infancy to drive most criminal and dreadful trades — how ignorance 
 was punished and never taught — how jail-door gaped and gallows 
 loomed for thousands urged towards them by circumstances darkly 
 curtaining their very cradles* heads, and but for which they might have 
 earned their honest bread and lived in peace — how many died in soul, 
 and had no chance of life — how many who could scarcely go astray, 
 be they vicious as they would, turned haughtily from the crushed and 
 stricken wretch who could scarce do otherwise, and who would have 
 been a greater wonder had he or she done well, than even they, had 
 they done ill — how much injustice, and misery, and wrong there was, 
 and yet how the world rolled on from year to year, alike careless and 
 indifferent, and no man seeking to remedy or redress it : — when he 
 thought of all this, and selected from the mass the one slight case on 
 which his thoughts were bent, he felt indeed that there was little ground 
 for hope, and little cause or reason why it should not form an atom in 
 the huge aggregate of distress and sorrow, and add one small and unim- 
 portant unit to swell the great amount. 
 
 But youth is not prone to cpntemplate the darkest side of a picture 
 it can shift at will. By dint of reflecting on what he had to do and 
 reviving the train of thought which night had interrupted, Nicholas 
 gradually summoned up his utmost energy, and by the time the morning 
 was sufficiently advanced for his purpose, had no thought but that of 
 using it to the best advantage. A hasty breakfast taken, and such 
 affairs of business as required prompt attention disposed of, he directed 
 his steps to the residence of Madeline Bray, whither he lost no time in 
 arriving. * 
 
 It had occurred to him that very possibly the young lady might be 
 denied, although to him she never had been; and he was still pondering 
 upon the surest method of obtaining access to her in that case, when, 
 coming to the door of the house, he found it had been left ajar — pro- 
 bably by the last person who had gone out. The occasion was not one 
 upon which to observe the nicest ceremony ; therefore, availing himself 
 of this advantage, Nicholas walked gently up stairs and knocked at the 
 door of the room into which he had been accustomed to be shown. 
 Receiving permission to enter from some person on the other side, he 
 opened the door and walked in. 
 
 Bray and his daughter were sitting there alone. It was nearly three 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 525 
 
 weelts since he had seen her last, but tliere was a change in the lovely 
 girl before him which told Nicholas, in startling terms, what mental 
 suffering had been compressed into that short time. There are no words 
 which can express, nothing with which can be compared, the perfect 
 pallor, the clear transparent cold ghastly whiteness, of the beautiful 
 face which turned towards him when he entered. Her hair was a rich deep 
 brown, but shading that face, and straying upon a neck that rivalled it 
 in whiteness, it seemed by the strong contrast raven black. Something 
 of wildness and restlessness there was in the dark eye, but there was 
 the same patient look, the same expression of gentle mournfulness which 
 he well remembered, and no trace of a single tear. Most beautiful — 
 more beautiful perhaps in appearance than ever — there was something 
 in her face which quite unmanned him, and appeared far more touching 
 than the wildest agony of grief. It was not merely calm and composed, 
 but fixed and rigid, as though the violent effort which had summoned 
 that composure beneath her fathers eye, while it mastered all other 
 thoughts, had prevented even the momentary expression they had com- 
 municated to the features from subsiding, and had fastened it there as 
 an evidence of its triumph. 
 
 The father sat opposite to her — not looking directly in her face, but 
 glancing at her as he talked with a gay air which ill disguised the anxiety 
 of his thoughts. The drawing materials were not on their accustomed 
 table, nor were any of the other tokens of her usual occupations to be 
 seen. The little vases which he had always seen filled with fresh 
 flowers, were empty or supplied only with a few withered stalks and 
 leaves. The bird was silent. The cloth that covered his cage at night 
 was not removed. His mistress had forgotten him. 
 
 There are times when the mind being painfully alive to receive 
 impressions, a great deal may be noted at a glance. This was one, for 
 Nicholas had but glanced round him when he was recognised by Mr. 
 Bray, who said impatiently, 
 
 " Now, Sir, what do you want ? Name your errand here quickly 
 if you please, for my daughter and I are busily engaged with other and 
 more important matters than those you come about. Come, Sir, 
 address yourself to your business at once." 
 
 Nicholas could very well discern that the irritability and impatience 
 of this speech were assumed, and that Bray in his heart was rejoiced 
 at any interruption which promised to engage the attention of his 
 daughter. He bent his eyes involuntarily upon the father as he 
 spoke, and marked his uneasiness, for he coloured directly and turned 
 his head away. 
 
 The device, however, so far as it was a device for causing Madeline 
 to interfere, was successful. She rose, and advancing towards Nicholas 
 paused half way, and stretched out her hand as expecting a letter. 
 
 " Madeline," said her father impatiently, "my love, what are you 
 doing ? " 
 
 " Miss Bray expects an enclosure perhaps," said Nicholas, speaking 
 very distinctly, and with an emphasis she could scarcely misunderstand. 
 *' My employer is absent from England, or I should have brought a 
 
526 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 letter with me. I hope she will give me time — a little time — I ask a 
 very little time.** 
 
 " If that is all you come about, Sir," said Mr. Bray, " you may 
 make yourself easy on that head. Madeline, my dear, I didn't know 
 this person was in your debt ?" 
 
 " A — a trifle I believe," returned Madeline, faintly. 
 
 " I suppose you think now," said Bray, wheeling his chair round 
 and confronting Nicholas, " that but for such pitiful sums as you bring 
 here because my daughter has chosen to employ her time as she has, 
 we should starve ? " 
 
 " I have not thought about it," returned Nicholas. 
 
 " You have not thought about it ! " sneered the invalid. " You 
 know you have thought about it, and have thought that and think so 
 every time you come here. Do you suppose, young man, that I don't 
 know what little purse-proud tradesmen are, when through some fortu- 
 nate circumstances they get the upper hand for a brief day — or think 
 they get the upper hand — of a gentleman ? " 
 ^ " My business," said Nicholas respectfully, " is with a lady." 
 
 " With a gentleman's daughter, Sir," returned the sick man, " and 
 the pettifogging spirit is the same. But perhaps you bring orders eh ? 
 Have you any fresh orders for my daughter, Sir ? " 
 
 Nicholas understood the tone of triumph and the sneer in which this 
 interrogatory was put, but remembering the necessity of supporting his 
 assumed character, produced a scrap of paper purporting to contain a 
 list of some subjects for drawings which his employer desired to have 
 executed ; and with which he had prepared himself in case of any such 
 contingency. 
 
 " Oh !" said Mr. Bray. " These are the orders, are they ?" 
 
 *' Since you insist upon the term, Sir — yes," replied Nicholas. 
 
 '' Then you may tell your master," said Bray, tossing the paper back 
 again with an exulting smile, "that my daughter — Miss Madeline 
 Bray — condescends to employ herself no longer in such labours as 
 these ; that she is not at his beck and call as he supposes her to be ; 
 that we don't live upon his money as he flatters himself we do ; that 
 he may give whatever he owes us to the first beggar that passes his 
 ehop, or add it to his own profits next time he calculates them ; and 
 that he may go to the devil, for me. That's my acknowledgment of 
 his orders. Sir !" 
 
 " And this is the independence of a man who sells his daughter as he 
 has sold that weeping girl!" thought Nicholas indignantly. 
 
 The father was too much absorbed with his own exultation to mark 
 the look of scorn which for an instant Nicholas would not have sup- 
 pressed had he been upon the rack. " There," he continued, after a 
 short silence, " you have your message and can retire — unless you have 
 any further — ha ! — any further orders." 
 
 " I have none," said Nicholas sternly ; " neither in consideration 
 of the station you once held, have I used that or any other word 
 ■which, however harmless in itself, could be supposed to imply authority 
 OH my part or dependence on yours. I have no orders, but I have 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 527 
 
 fears — fears that I will express, chafe as you may — fears that you 
 may be consigning that young lady to something worse than support- 
 ing you by the labour of her hands, had she worked herself dead. 
 These are my fears, and these fears I found upon your own de- 
 meanour. Your conscience will tell you, Sir, whether I construe it 
 well or not." 
 
 " For Heaven's sake !" cried Madeline, interposing in alarm between 
 them. " Remember, Sir, he is ill." 
 
 "111!" cried the invalid, gasping and catching for breath. "111! 
 Ill ! I am bearded and bullied by a shop-boy, and she beseeches him to 
 pity me and remember I am ill !" 
 
 He fell into a paroxysm of his disorder, so violent that for a few 
 moments Nicholas was alarmed for his life ; but finding that he began 
 to recover, he withdrew, after signifying by a gesture to the young lady 
 that he had something important to communicate, and would wait for 
 her outside the room. He could hear that the sick man came gradually 
 but slowly to himself, and that without any reference to what had just 
 occurred, as though he had no distinct recollection of it as yet, he 
 requested to be left alone. 
 
 "Oh !" thought Nicholas, "that this slender chance might not be 
 lost, and that I might prevail if it were but for one week's time and 
 re-consideration ! " 
 
 " You are charged with some commission to me, Sir," said Madeline, 
 presenting herself in great agitation. "Do not press it now, I beg and 
 pray you. The day after to-morrow — come here then." 
 
 " It will be too late — too late for what I have to say," rejoined 
 Nicholas, " and you will not be here. Oh, Madam, if you have but 
 one thought of him who sent me here, but one last lingering care for 
 your own peace of mind and heart, I do for God's sake urge you to 
 give me a hearing." 
 
 She attempted to pass him, but Nicholas gently detained her. 
 
 " A hearing," said Nicholas. " I ask you but to hear me — not me 
 alone, but him for whom I speak, who is far away and does not know 
 your danger. In the name of Heaven hear me." 
 
 The poor attendant with her eyes swollen and red with weeping 
 stood by, and to her Nicholas appealed in such passionate temis that 
 she opened a side- door, and supporting her mistress into an adjoining 
 room beckoned Nicholas to follow them. 
 
 " Leave me, Sir, pray," said the young lady. 
 
 " I cannot, will not leave you thus," returned Nicholas. " I have a 
 duty to discharge, and either here or in the room from which we have 
 just now come, at whatever risk or hazard to Mr. Bray, I must 
 beseech you to contemplate again the fearful course to which you have 
 been impelled." 
 
 " What course is this you speak of, and impelled by whom, Sir ? " 
 demanded the young lady, with an effort to speak proudly. 
 
 " I speak of this marriage," returned Nicholas, " of this marriage, 
 fixed for to-morrow by one who never faltered in a bad purpose, or 
 lent his aid to any good design ; of this marriage, the history of which 
 
628 LIFE AND ADTENTURES OP 
 
 is known to me, better, far better, than it is to you. I know what 
 web is wound about you. I know what men they are from whom 
 these schemes have come. You are betrayed, and sold for money — for 
 gold, whose every coin is rusted with tears, if not red with the blood 
 of ruined men, who have fallen desperately by their own mad hands." 
 
 '* You say you have a duty to discharge," said Madeline, firmly, 
 *' and so have I. And with the help of Heaven I will perform it." 
 
 " Say rather with the help of devils," replied Nicholas, " with the 
 help of men, one of them your destined husband, who are " 
 
 " I must not hear this," cried the young lady, striving to repress a 
 shudder, occasioned, as it seemed, even by this slight allusion to Arthur 
 Gride. " This evil, if evil it is, has been of my own seeking. I am 
 impelled to this course by no one, but follow it of my own free will. 
 You see I am not constrained or forced by menace and intimidation. 
 Report this," said Madeline, " to my dear friend and benefactor, and 
 taking with you my prayers and thanks for him and for yourself, leave 
 me for ever." 
 
 " Not until I have besought you, with all the earnestness and fer- 
 vour by which I am animated," cried Nicholas, " to postpone this 
 marriage for one short week. Not until I have besought you to think 
 more deeply than you can have done, influenced as you are, upon the 
 step you are about to take. Although you cannot be fully conscious 
 of the villany of this man to whom you are about to give your hand, 
 some of his deeds you know. You have heard him speak, and looked 
 upon his face — reflect, reflect before it is too late, on the mockery of 
 plighting to him at the altar, faith in which your heart can have no 
 share — of uttering solemn words, against which nature and reason 
 must rebel — of the degradation of yourself in your own esteem, which 
 must ensue, and must be aggravated every day as his detested character 
 opens upon you more and more. Shrink from the loathsome com- 
 panionship of this foul wretch as you would from corruption and dis- 
 ease. Sufler toil and labour if you will, but shun him, shun him, and 
 be happy. For, believe me, that I speak the truth, the most, abject 
 poverty, the most wretched condition of human life, wiljia pure and 
 upright mind, would be happiness to that which you must undergo as 
 the wife of such a man as this ! " 
 
 Long before Nicholas ceased to speak, the young lady buried her 
 face in her hands, and gave her tears free way. In a voice at first 
 inarticulate with emotion, but gradually recovering strength as she pro- 
 ceeded, she answered him, 
 
 '' I will not disguise from you. Sir — though perhaps I ought — that I 
 have undergone great pain of mind, and have been nearly broken-hearted 
 since I saw you last. I do 7iot love this gentleman ; the difference 
 between our ages, tastes, and habits, forbids it. This he knows, and 
 Icnowing, still offers me his hand. By accepting it, and by that step 
 alone, I can release my father who is dying in this place, prolong hig 
 life, perhaps, for many years, restore him to comfort — I may almost 
 call it affluence — and relieve a generous man from the burden of assist- 
 ing one by whom, I grieve to say, his noble heart is littlo understood. 
 
NICHOLAS NICKI/EBY. 529 
 
 Do not tlilnk so poorly of me as to believe that I feign a love I do not 
 feel. Do not report so ill of me, for that I could not bear. If I cannot 
 in reason or in nature love the man who pays this price for my poor 
 hand, I can discharge the duties of a wife : I can be all he seeks in me, 
 and will. He is content to take me as I am. I have passed my word, 
 and should rejoice, not weep, that it is so — I do. The interest you 
 take in one so friendless and forlorn as I, the delicacy with which you 
 have discharged your trust, the faith you have kept with me, have my 
 warmest thanks, and while I make this last feeble acknowledgment, 
 move me to tears, as you see. But I do not repent, nor am I unhappy. 
 I am happy in the prospect of all I can achieve so easily, and shall be 
 more so when I look back upon it, and all is done, I know." 
 
 " Your tears fall faster as you talk of happiness," said Nicholas, 
 " and you shun the contemplation of that dark future which must 
 come laden with so much misery to you. Defer this marriage for a 
 week — for but one week." 
 
 • " He was talking, when you came upon us just now, with such 
 smiles as I remember to have seen of old, and have not seen for many 
 and many a day, of the freedom that was to come to-morrow," said 
 Madeline, with momentary firmness, " of the welcome change, the 
 fresh air ; all the new scenes and objects that would bring fresh life to 
 his exhausted frame. His eye grew bright, and his face lightened at 
 the thought. I will not defer it for an hour." 
 
 " These are but tricks and wiles to urge you on," cried Nicholas. 
 
 " I'll hear no more," said Madeline, hurriedly, " I have heard too 
 much — more than I should — already. What I have said to you, Sir, 
 I have said as to that dear friend to whom I trust in you honourably 
 to repeat it. Some time hence when I am more composed and recon- 
 ciled to my ne\v mode of life, if I should live so long, I will write ta 
 him. Meantime, all holy angels shower theu* blessings on his head, . 
 and prosper and preserve him." 
 
 She was hurrying past Nicholas, when he threw himself before her,- 
 and implored, her to think but once again upon the fate to which she 
 was precipitately hastening. 
 
 " There is no retreat," said Nicholas, in an agony of supplication 
 ** no withdrawing ; all regret will be unavailing, and deep and bitter 
 it must be. What can I say that will induce you to pause at this lasfe 
 moment ! What can I do to save you !" 
 
 " Nothing," she incoherently replied. " This is the hardest trial I 
 have had. Have mercy on me. Sir, I beseech, and do not pierce my 
 heart with such appeals as these. I — I hear him calling ; I — I — ^must 
 not, will not, remain here for another instant." 
 
 "If this were a plot," said Nicholas, with the same violent rapidity 
 with which she spoke, " a plot, not yet laid bare by me, but which, 
 with time, I might unravel, if you were (not knowing it) entitled to 
 fortune of your own, which being recovered, would do all that this 
 marriage can accomplish, would you not retract ?" 
 
 " No, no, no ! — it is impossible ; it is a child's tale, time would bring 
 his death. He is calling again,* 
 
 MM 
 
530 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 " It may be the last time we shall ever meet on earth," said Nicholas, 
 " it may be better for mo that we should never meet more." 
 
 " For both — for both," replied Madeline, not heeding what she said. 
 " The time will come when to recal the memory of this one interview 
 miglit drive me mad. Be sure to tell them that you left me calm and 
 happy. And God be with you, Sir, and my grateful heart and 
 blessing ! " 
 
 She was gone, and Nicholas, staggering from the house, thought of 
 the hurried scene which had just closed upon him, as if it were the 
 phantom of some wild, unquiet dream. The day wore on ; at night, 
 liaving been enabled in some measure to collect his thoughts, he issued 
 forth again. 
 
 That night, being the last of Arthur Gride's bachelorship, found 
 him in tip-top spirits and great glee. The bottle-green suit had been 
 brushed ready for the morrow. Peg Slidcrskew had rendered the 
 accounts of her past housekeeping ; the eighteenpence had been rigidly 
 accounted for (she was never trusted with a larger sum at once, and 
 the accounts were not usually balanced more than twice a-day), every 
 preparation had been made for the coming festival, and Arthur might 
 have sat down and contemplated his approaching happiness, but that 
 he preferred sitting down and contemplating the entries in a dirty old 
 vellum-book with rusty clasps. 
 
 " Well-a-day !" he chuckled, as sinking on his knees before a 
 strong chest screwed down to the floor, he thrust in his arm nearly up 
 to the shoulder, and slowly drew forth this greasy volume, " Well-a- 
 day now, this is all my library, but it's one of the most entertaining 
 books that were ever written ; it's a delightful book, and all true and 
 real — that's the best of it — true as the Bank of England, and real as 
 its gold and silver. Written by Arthur Gride — he, he, he ! None of 
 your story-book writers will ever make as good a book as this, I 
 warrant me. It's composed for private circulation — for my own parti- 
 cular reading, and nobody else's. He, he!" 
 
 Muttering this soliloquy, Arthur carried his precious volume to tha 
 table, and adjusting it upon a dusty desk, put on his spectacles, and 
 began to pore among the leaves. 
 
 '* It's a large sum to Mr. Nickleby," he said, in a dolorous voice. 
 *' Debt to be paid in full, nine hundred and seventy- five, four, three. 
 Additional sum as per bond five hundred pound. One thousand, four 
 hundred and seventy-five pounds, four shillings, and threepence, 
 to-morrow at twelve o'clock. On the other side though, there's tha 
 per contra by means of this pretty chick. But again there's the 
 question whether I mightn't have brought all this about myself. 
 'Faint heart never won fair lady.' AViiy was my heart so faint? 
 Why didn't I boldly open it to Bray myself, and save one thousand 
 four hundred and seventy-five, four, three ! " 
 
 These reflections depressed the old usurer so much as to wring a 
 feeble groan or two from his breast, and cause him to declare with 
 uplifted hands that ho would die in a workhouse. Remembering 
 on further cogitation, however, that under any circumstances iiQ 
 
NICHOLAa NICKLEBT. 531 
 
 must have paid, or handsomely compounded for, Ralph's debt, and 
 being by no means confident that he would have succeeded had ha 
 undertaken his enterprise alone, he regained his equanimity, and 
 chattered and mowed over more satisfactory items until the entrance 
 of Peg Sliderskew interrupted him. 
 
 " Aha, Peg ! " said Arthur, " what is it ? What is it now, Peg ? '* 
 
 " It's the fowl," replied Peg, holding up a plate containing a little 
 i— a very little one — quite a phenomenon of a fowl — so very small and 
 skinny. 
 
 " A beautiful bird ! " said Arthur, after inquiring the price, and 
 finding it proportionate to the size. " With a rasher of ham, and an 
 egg made into sauce, and potatoes, and greens, and an apple-pudding, 
 Peg, and a little bit of cheese, we shall have a dinner for an emperor. 
 There'll only be she and me — and you, Peg, when we've done- 
 nobody else," 
 
 " Don't you complain of the expense afterwards," said Mrs. Slider- 
 skew, sulkily. 
 
 " I'm afraid we must live expensively for the first week," returned 
 Arthur, with a groan, " and tlien we must make up for it. I won't 
 eat more than I can help, and I know you love your old master too 
 much to eat more than ^ou can help, don't you. Peg ?" 
 
 " Don't I what ? " said Peg. 
 
 ** Love your old master too much — *' 
 
 " No, not a bit too much," said Peg. 
 
 " Oh dear, I wish the devil had this woman ! " cried Arthur— 
 " love him too much to eat more than you can help at his expense." 
 
 "At his what?" said Peg. 
 
 " Oh dear ! she can never hear the most important word, and hears 
 all the others !" whined Gride. "At his expense — you catamaran." 
 
 The last-mentioned tribute to the charms of Mrs. Sliderskew being 
 uttered in a whisper, that lady assented to the general proposition by 
 a harsh growl, which was accompanied by a ring at the street-door. 
 
 " There's the bell," said Arthur. 
 
 "Ay, ay ; I know that," rejoined Peg. 
 
 *• Then why don't you go ? " bawled Arthur. 
 
 '* Go where ?" retorted Peg. " I ain't doing any harm here, am I ? " 
 
 Arthur Gride in reply repeated the word " bell " as loud as he could 
 roar, and his meaning being rendered further intelligible to Mrs. 
 Sliderskew's dull sense of hearing by pantomime expressive of ringing 
 at a street-door. Peg hobbled out, after sharply demanding why he 
 hadn't said there was a ring before, instead of talking about all manner 
 of things that had nothing to do with it, and keeping her half-pint of 
 beer waiting on the steps. 
 
 " There's a change come over you, Mrs. Peg," said Arthur, following 
 her out with liis eyes. " What it means I don't quite know, but if 
 it lasts we shan't agree together long, I see. You are turning crazy, 
 I think, and if you are you must take yourself off, Mrs. Peg — or be 
 taken off. All's one to me." Turning over the leaves of his book as 
 he muttered this, he soon lighted upon something which attracted hia 
 
 M AI 2 
 
532 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 attention, and forgot Peg Sliderskew and everything else in the engross- 
 ing interest of its pages. 
 
 The room had no other light than that which it derived from a dim 
 and dirt-dogged lamp, whose lazy wick, being still further obscured 
 by a dark shade, cast its feeble rays over a very little space, and left 
 all beyond in heavy shadow. This, the money-lender had drawn so 
 close to him, that there was only room between it and himself for 
 the book over which he bent ; and as he sat with his elbows on the 
 desk, and his sharp cheek-bones resting on his hands, it only served to 
 bring oi:t his hideous features in strong relief, together with the little 
 table at which he sat, and to shroud all the rest of the chamber in a 
 deep sullen gloom. Raising his eyes and looking vacantly into this 
 gloom as he made some mental calculation, Arthur Gride suddenly 
 met the fixed gaze of a man. 
 
 " Thieves ! thieves !" shrieked the usurer, starting up and folding his 
 book to his breast, "robbers ! murder!" 
 
 " What is the matter ?" said the form, advancing. 
 
 " Keep off ! " cried the trembling wretch. "Is it a man or a — a — " 
 
 " For what do you take me, if not for a man?" was the disdainful 
 inquiry. 
 
 " Yes, yes," cried Arthur Gride, shading his eyes with his hand, 
 " it is a man, and not a spirit. It is a man. Robbers ! robbers ! " 
 
 " For what are these cries raised — unless indeed you know me, and 
 have some purpose in your brain ?" said the stranger, coming close up 
 to him. " I am no thief, fellow." 
 
 " What then, and how come you here ?•" cried Gride, somewhat 
 reassured, but still retreating from his visitor, " what is your name, 
 and Avhat do you want?" 
 
 " My name you need not know/' was the reply. " I came here 
 because I was shown the way by your servant. I have addressed you 
 twice or thrice, but you were too profoundly engaged with your book 
 to hear me, and I have been silently waiting until you should be 
 less abstracted. What I want I will tell you, when you can summon 
 up courage enough to hear and understand me." 
 
 Arthur Gride venturing to regard his visitor more attentively, and 
 perceiving that he was a young man of good mien and bearing, returned 
 to his seat, and muttering that there were bad characters about, and 
 that this, with former attempts upon his house, had made him nervous, 
 requested his visitor to sit down. This however he declined. 
 
 " Good God ! I don't stand up to have you at an advantage," 
 said Nicholas (for Nicholas it was), as he observed a gesture of alarm 
 on the part of Gride. " Listen to me. You are to be married to- 
 morrow morning." 
 
 " N — n — no,** rejoined Gride. " Who said I was ? How do' you 
 know that?" 
 
 " No matter how," replied Nicholas, " I know it. The young lady 
 who is to give you her hand hates and despises you. Her blood runs 
 cold at the mention of your name — the vulture and the lamb, the rat 
 and the dove, could not be worse matched than you and she. You see 
 I know her." 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 533 
 
 Gride looked at him as if he were petrified with astonishment, bu<> 
 did not speak, perhaps lacking the power. 
 
 '' You and another man, Ralph Nickleby by name, have hatched 
 this plot between you," pursued Nicholas, " you pay him for his share 
 in bringing about this sale of Madeline Bray. You do. A lie ia 
 trembling on your lips, I see." 
 
 He paused, but Arthur making no reply, resumed again. 
 " You pay yourself by defrauding her. How or by what means — 
 for I scoi;n to sully her cause by falsehood or deceit — I do not know ; at 
 present I do not know, but I am not alone or single-handed in this 
 business. If the energy of man can compass the discovery of your 
 fraud and treachery before your death — if wealth, revenge, and just 
 hatred can hunt and track you through your windings — you will yet 
 be called to a dear account for this. We are on the scent already — 
 judge you, that know what we do not, when we shall have you down." 
 He paused again, and still Arthur Gride glared upon him in 
 silence. 
 
 "If you were a man to whom I could appeal with any hope of 
 touching his compassion or humanity," said Nicholas, "I would urge 
 upon you to remember the helplessness, the innocence, the youth of this 
 lady, her worth and beauty, her filial excellence, and last, and more 
 than all as concerning you more nearly, the appeal she has made to 
 your mercy and your manly feeling. But I take the only ground that 
 can be taken with men like you, and ask what money will buy you 
 ofi*. Remember the danger to which you are exposed. You see I know 
 enough to know much more with very little help. Bate some 
 expected gain, for the risk you save, and say what is your price." 
 
 Old Arthur Gride moved his lips, but they only formed an ugly 
 smile and were motionless again. 
 
 " You think," said Nicholas, " that the price would not be paid. 
 Miss Bray has wealthy friends who would coin their hearts to save her 
 in such a strait as this. Name your price, defer these nuptials for but 
 a few days, and see whether those I speak of shrink from the payment. 
 Do you hear me ? " 
 
 When Nicholas began, Arthur Gride's impression was that Ralph 
 Nickleby had betrayed him ; but as he proceeded he felt convinced that 
 however he had come by the knowledge he possessed, the part he acted, 
 was a genuine one, and that with Ralph he had no concern. All he 
 seemed to know for certain was, that he. Gride, paid Ralph's debt, but 
 that to anybody who knew the circumstances of Bray's detention- 
 even to Bray himself on Ralph's own statement — must be perfectly 
 notorious. As to the fraud on Madeline herself, his visitor knew so 
 little about its nature or extent, that it might be a lucky guess or a 
 liap-hazard accusation, and whether or no, he had clearly no key to 
 the mystery, and could not hurt him who kept it close within his own. 
 breast. The allusion to friends and the offer of money Gride held 
 to be mere empty vapouring for purposes of delay. " And even if 
 money were to be had," thought Arthur Gride, as he glanced at 
 Nicholas, and trembled with passion at his boldness and audacity, 
 
534 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 " rd have that dainty chick for my wife, and cheat you of her, young 
 §mooth-fdce." 
 
 Long habit of weighing and noting well what clients said, and 
 nicely balancing chances in his mind and calculating odds to their faces, 
 without the least appearance of being so engaged, had rendered Gride 
 quick in forming conclusions and arriving, from puzzling, intricate, and 
 often contradictory premises, at very cunning deductions. Hence it was 
 that as Nicholas went on he followed him closely with his own con- 
 structions, and when he ceased to speak was as well prepared as if he 
 had deliberated for a fortnight. 
 
 " I hear you," he cried, starting from his seat, casting back the 
 fastenings of the window-shutters, and throwing up the sash. " Help 
 here! Help! Help!" 
 
 " What are you doing ! " said Nicholas, seizing him by the arm. 
 *' I'll cry robbers, thieves, murder, alarm the neighbourhood, struggle 
 with you, let loose some blood, and swear you came to rob me if you 
 don't quit my house," replied Gride, drawing in his head with a fright- 
 ful grin, " I will." 
 
 " Wretch ! " cried Nicholas. 
 ' " You'll bring your threats hero, will you ? " said Gride, whom 
 jealousy of Nicholas and a sense of his own triumph had converted 
 into a perfect fiend. " You, the disappointed lover — oh dear ! He ! 
 he ! he ! — but you shan't have her, nor she you. Slie's my wife, my 
 fond doting little wife. Do you think she'll miss you ? Do you think 
 she'll weep ? I shall like to see her weep — I shan't mind it. She looks 
 prettier in tears." 
 
 " Villain ! " said Nicholas, choking with his rage. 
 " One minute more," cried Arthur Gride, " and I'll rouse the street 
 with such screams as, if they were raised by anybody else, should wake 
 me even in the arms of pretty Madeline." 
 
 " You base hound ! " said Nicholas, " if you were but a younger 
 
 \Qan " 
 
 *' Oh yes ! " sneered Arthur Gride, " if I was but a younger man it 
 vouldn't be so bad, but for me, so old and ugly — to be jilted by little 
 Madeline for me ! " 
 
 " Hear me," said Nicholas, " and be thankful I have enough 
 command over myself not to fling you into the street, which no aid 
 could prevent my doing if I once grappled with you. I have been no 
 lover of this lady's. No contract or engagement, no word of love, has 
 ever passed between us. She does not even know my name." 
 
 " I'll ask it for all that — I'll beg it of her with kisses," said Arthur 
 Gride. " Yes, and she'll tell me, and pay them back, and we'll laugh 
 together, and hug ourselves — and be very merry — when we think of 
 the poor youth that wanted to have her, but couldn't, because she was 
 bespoke by me." 
 
 This taunt brought such an expression into the face of Nicholas, that 
 Arthur Gride plainly apprehended it to be the forerunner of his putting 
 his threat of throwing him into the street in immediate execution, for 
 he thrust his head out of the window, and holding tight on with both 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 535 
 
 hands, raised a pretty brisk alarm. Not thinking it necessary to abide 
 the issue of the noise, Nicholas gave vent to an indignant defiance, and 
 stalked from the room and from the house. Arthur Gride watched 
 him across the street, and then drawing in his head, fastened the 
 "window as before, and sat down to take breath.f 
 
 " If she ever turns pettish or ill-humoured, I'll taunt her with that 
 spark," he said, when he had recovered. " She'll little think I know 
 about him, and if I manage it well, I can break her spirit by this 
 means and have her under my thumb. I'm glad nobody came. I 
 didn't call too loud. The audacity to enter my house, and open upon 
 me!— But I shall have a very good triumph to-morrow, and he'll be 
 gnawing his fingers off, perhaps drown himself, or cut his throat ! I 
 shouldn't wonder ! That would make it quite complete, that would — 
 quite." 
 
 When he had become restored to his usual condition by these and 
 other comments on his approaching triumph, Arthur Gride put away 
 his book, and having locked up the chest with great caution, descended 
 into the kitchen to warn Peg Sliderskew to bed, and to scold her for 
 having afforded such ready admission to a stranger. 
 
 The unconscious Peg, however, not being able to comprehend the 
 offence of which she had been guilty, he summoned her to hold the 
 light while he made a tour of the fastenings, and secured the street- 
 door with his own hands. 
 
 " Top bolt," muttered Arthur, fastening as he spoke, " bottom bolt 
 .—chain — bar — double-lock — and key out to put under my pillow — ■ 
 so if any more rejected admirers come, they may come through the 
 keyhole. And now I'll go to sleep till half-past five, when I must get 
 up to be married. Peg." 
 
 With that, he jocularly tapped Mrs. Sliderskew under the chin, and 
 appeared, for the moment, inclined to celebrate the close of his bachelor 
 days by imprinting a kiss on her shrivelled lips. Thinking better of 
 it, however, he gave her chin another tap in lieu of that warmer fami- 
 liarity, and stole away to bed. 
 
 CHAPTER LIT. 
 
 THE CRISIS OF THE PROJECT AND ITS RESULT. 
 
 There are not many men who lie abed too late or oversleep them- 
 selves on their wedding morning. A legend there is of somebody 
 remarkable for absence of mind, who opened his eyes upon the day 
 "which was to give him a young wife, and forgetting all about the 
 matter, rated his servants for providing him with such fine clothes as 
 had been prepared for the festival. There is also a legend of a young 
 gentleman who, not having before his eyes the fear of the canons of the 
 
586 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 church for such cases made and provided, conceived a passion for his 
 grandmama. Both cases are of a singular and special kind, and it is 
 very doubtful whether either can be considered as a precedent likely to 
 be extensively followed by succeeding generations. 
 
 Arthur Gride had enrobed himself in his marriage garments of bottle- 
 green, a full hour before Mrs. Sliderskew, shaking off her more heavy 
 slumbers, knocked at his chamber door; and he had hobbled down 
 stairs in full array and smacked his lips over a scanty taste of his 
 favourite cordial, ere that delicate piece of antiquity enlightened the 
 kitchen with her presence. 
 
 " Faugh ! " said Peg, grubbing, in the discharge of her domestic 
 functions, among a scanty heap of ashes in the rusty grate, " Wedding 
 indeed ! A precious wedding ! He wants somebody better than his 
 old Peg to take care of him, does he ? And what has he said to me 
 many and many a time to keep me content with short food, small 
 wages, and little fire ? ' My will. Peg 1 my will ! ' says he, ' I'm a 
 bachelor — no friends — no relations. Peg.' Lies ! And now he's to 
 bring home a new mistress, a baby-faced chit of a girl — if he wanted 
 a wife, the fool, why couldn't he have one suitable to his age and that 
 knew his ways ? She won't come in my way, he says. No, that she 
 won't, bat you little think why, Arthur boy." 
 
 While Mrs. Sliderskew, influenced possibly by some lingering feelings 
 of disappointment and personal slight occasioned by her old master's 
 l^reference for another, was giving loose to these grumblings below- 
 stairs, Arthur Gride was cogitating in the parlour upon what had taken 
 place last night. 
 
 " I can't think how he can have picked up what he knows," said 
 Arthur, "unless I have committed myself — let something drop at 
 Bray's, for instance, which has been overheard. Perhaps I may. I 
 shouldn't be surprised if that was it. Mr. Nickleby was often angry 
 at my talking to him before we got outside the door. I mustn't tell 
 him that part of the business, or he'll put me out of sorts and make 
 me nervous for the day." 
 
 Ralph was universally looked up to and recognised among his fellows 
 as a superior genius, but upon Arthur Gride his stern unyielding 
 character and consummate art had made so deep an impression, that 
 he was actually afraid of him. Cringing and cowardly to the core by 
 nature, Arthur Gride humbled himself in the dust before Ralph Nickleby, 
 and even when they had not this stake in common, would have licked 
 his shoes and crawled upon the ground before him rather than venture 
 to return him word for word, or retort upon him in any other spirit 
 than that of the most slavish and abject sycophancy. 
 
 To Ralph Nickleby's, Arthur Gride now betook himself according 
 to appointment, and to Ralph Nickleby he related how that last night 
 some young blustering blade, whom he had never seen, forced his way 
 into his house and tried to frighten him from the proposed nuptials : — 
 told in short, what Nicholas had said and done, vfiih. the slight reser- 
 vation upon which he had determined. 
 
 " Well, and what then ? " said Ralph. 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBT. 537 
 
 ** Oh ! nothing more," rejoined Gride. 
 
 " He tried to frighten you ? " said Ralph, disdainfully, " and you 
 tcere frightened I suppose, is that it ? " 
 
 " I frightened him hy crying thieves and murder," replied Gride. 
 " Once I was in earnest, I tell you that, for I had more than half 
 a mind to swear he uttered threats and demanded my life or my 
 money." 
 
 " Oho ! " said Ralph, eyeing him askew. " Jealous too ! " 
 
 " Dear now, see that ! " cried Arthur, rubbing his hands and affect- 
 ing to laugh. 
 
 " Why do you make those grimaces, man ? " said Ralph, harshly, 
 " you are jealous — and with good cause I think." 
 
 " No, no, no, — not with good cause, hey ? You don't think with 
 good cause, do you ? " cried Arthur, faltering, " Do you though— 
 hey ? " 
 
 " Why, how stands the fact?" returned Ralph. "Here is an old 
 man about to be forced in marriage upon a girl, and to this old man 
 there comes a handsome young fellow — you said he was handsome, 
 didn't you ? " 
 
 " No ! " snarled Arthur Gride. 
 
 " Oh ! " rejoined Ralph, " I thought you did. Well, handsome or 
 not handsome, to this old man there comes a young fellow who casts 
 all manner of fierce defiances in his teeth — gums I should rather say— 
 and tells him in plain terms that his mistress hates him. What does 
 he do that for ? Philanthropy's sake ? " 
 
 " Not for love of the lady," replied Gride, " for he said that no word 
 of love — his very words — had ever passed between 'em." 
 
 " He said ! " repeated Ralph, contemptuously. " But I like him for 
 one thhig, and that is his giving you this fair warning to keep your— 
 what is it ? Tit-tit or dainty chick — which ? — under lock and key. 
 Be careful. Gride, be careful. It's a triumph too to tear her away 
 from a gallant young rival ; a great triumph for an old man. It only 
 remains to keep her safe when you have her — that's all." 
 
 " What a man it is ! " cried Arthur Gride, affecting in the extremity 
 of his torture to be highly amused. And then he added, anxiously, 
 " Yes ; to keep her safe, that's all. And that isn't much, is it ? " 
 
 " Much ! " said Ralph, with a sneer. " Why, everybody knows 
 what easy things to understand and to control, women are. But 
 come, it's very nearly time for you to be made happy. You'll pay the 
 bond now I suppose, to save us trouble afterwards." 
 
 " Oh what a man you are !" croaked Arthur. 
 
 " Why not ? " said Ralph. " Nobody will pay you interest for the 
 money, I suppose, between this and twelve o'clock, will they ? " 
 
 " But nobody would pay you interest for it either, you know," 
 returned Arthur, leering at Ralph with all the cunning and slyness he 
 could throw into his face. 
 
 " Besides which," said Ralph, suffering his lip to curl into a smile, 
 " you haven't the money about you, and you weren't prepared for this 
 ©r you'd have brought it with you, and there's nobody you'd so much 
 
ft38 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 like to accommodate as me. I see. We trust each otlier in about an 
 equal degree. Are you ready ? " 
 
 Gride, who had done nothing but grin, and nod, and chatter, during 
 this last speech of Ralph's, answered in the affirmative, and producing 
 from his hat a couple of large white favours, pinned one on his breast, 
 and with considerable difficulty induced his friend to do the like. Thus 
 accoutred they got into a hired coach which Ralph had in waiting, 
 and drove to the residence of the fair and most wretched bride. 
 
 Gride, whose spirits and courage had gradually failed him more and 
 more as they approached nearer and nearer to the house, was utterly 
 dismayed and cowed by the mournful silence which pervaded it. The 
 face of the poor servant-girl, the only person they saw, was disfigured 
 with tears and w^ant of sleep. There was nobody to receive or welcome 
 them ; and they stole up stairs into the usual sitting-room more like 
 two burglars than the bridegroom and his friend. 
 
 " One would think," said Ralph, speaking in spite of himself in 
 a low and subdued voice, " that there was a funeral going on here, and 
 not a wedding." 
 
 *' He, he !" tittered his friend, " you are so — so very funny ! " 
 
 " I need be," remarked Ralph, drily, " for this is rather dull and 
 chilling. Look a little brisker, man, and not so hang-dog like." 
 
 " Yes, yes, I will," said Gride. " But — but — you don't think she's 
 coming just yet, do you V 
 
 *' Why, I suppose she'll not come till she is obliged," returned 
 Ralph, looking at his watch, " and she has a good half hour to spare 
 yet. Curb your impatience." 
 
 ** I — I — am not impatient," stammered Arthur. " I wouldn't be 
 hard with her for the world. Oh dear, dear, not on any account. 
 Let her take her time — her own time. Her time shall be ours by all 
 means." 
 
 While Ralph bent upon his trembling friend a keen look, which 
 showed that he perfectly understood the reason of this great considera- 
 tion and regard, a footstep was heard upon the stairs, and Bray him- 
 self came into the room on tiptoe, and holding up his hand with a 
 cautious gesture as if there were some sick person near who must not 
 be disturbed. 
 
 " Hush !" he said in a low voice. " She was very ill lijst night. I 
 thought she would have broken her heart. She is dressed, and crying 
 bitterly in her own room ; but she's better, and quite quiet — that's 
 everything." 
 
 *' She is ready, is she ?" said Ralph. 
 
 *' Quite ready," returned the father. 
 
 " And not likely to delay us by any young-lady weaknesses — faint- 
 ing, or so forth ?" said Ralph. 
 
 " She may be safely trusted now," returned Bray. " I have been 
 talking to her this morning. Here — come a little this way." 
 
 He drew Ralph Nickleby to the further end of the room, and pointed 
 towards Gride, who sat huddled together in a corner, fumbling ner- 
 vously with the buttons of his coat, and exhibiting a face of which 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 539 
 
 every sl^ulking and base expression was sharpened and aggravated to 
 the utmost by his anxiety and trepidation. 
 
 " Look at that man," whispered Bray, emphatically. " This seems 
 a cruel thing, after all." 
 
 " What seems a cruel thing?" inquired Ralph, with as much stolidity 
 of face as if he really were in utter ignorance of the other's meaning. 
 
 " This marriage," answered Bray. " Don't ask me what. You know 
 quite as well as I do." 
 
 Ralph shrugged his shoulders in silent deprecation of Bray's impa- 
 tience, and elevated his eyebrows, and pursed his lips as men do when 
 they are prepared with a sufficient answer to some remark, but wait 
 for a more favourable opportunity of advancing it, or think it scarcely 
 worth while to answer their adversary at all. 
 
 " Look at him. Does it not seem cruel ?" said Bray. 
 
 " No ! " replied Ralph boldly. 
 
 " I say it does," retorted Bray with a show of much irritation. " It 
 is a cruel thing, by all that's bad and treacherous !" 
 
 When men are about to commit or to sanction the commission 
 of some injustice, it is not at all uncommon for them to express pity 
 for the object either of that or some parallel proceeding, and to feel 
 themselves at the time quite virtuous and moral, and immensely 
 superior to those who express no pity at all. This is a kind of uphold- 
 ing of faith above works, and is very comfortable. To do Ralph 
 !Nickleby justice, he seldom practised this sort of dissimulation; but he 
 understood those who did, and therefore suffered Bray to say again and 
 again with great vehemence that they were jointly doing a very cruel 
 thing, before he again offered to interpose a word. 
 
 " You see what a dry, shrivelled, withered old chip it is," returned 
 Ralph, when the other was at length silent. " If he were younger, it 
 might be cruel, but as it is — hark'ee, Mr. Bray, he'll die soon, and leave 
 her a rich young widow. Miss Madeline consults your taste this time ; 
 let her consult her own next." 
 
 " True, true," said Bray, biting his nails, and plainly very ill at ease. 
 *' I couldn't do anything better for her than advise her to accept these 
 proposals, could I ? Now, I ask you, Nickleby, as a man of the 
 world — could I ?" 
 
 " Surely not," answered Ralph. " I tell you what. Sir; — there are a 
 hundred fathers within a circuit of five miles from this place, well off, 
 good rich substantial men, who would gladly give their daughters and 
 their own ears with them, to that very man yonder, ape and mummy 
 as he looks." 
 
 "So there are!" exclaimed Bray, eagerly catching at anything 
 which seemed a justification of himself. " And so I told her, both last 
 night and to-day." 
 
 " You told her truth," said Ralph, " and did well to do so ; though 
 I must say, at the same time, that if I had a daughter, and my freedom, 
 pleasure, nay, my very health and life, depended on her taking a hus- 
 band whom I pointed out, I should hope it would not be necessary ta 
 advance any other arguments to induce her to consent to my wishes." 
 
540 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 Bray looked at Ralph as if to see whether he spoke in earnest, and 
 having nodded twice or tlirice in unqualified assent to what had fallea 
 from him, said, 
 
 " I must go up stairs for a few minutes to finish dressing, and when 
 -I come down, I'll bring Madeline with me. Do you know I had a 
 very strange dream last night, which I have not remembered till thig 
 instant. I dreamt that it was this morning, and you and I had been 
 talking, as we have been this minute ; that I went up stairs, for the 
 very purpose for which I am going now, and that as I stretched out 
 my hand to take Madeline's, and lead her down, the floor sunk with 
 me, and after falling from such an indescribable and tremendous height as 
 the imagination scarcely conceives except in dreams, I alighted in a grave." 
 " And you awoke, and found you were lying on your back, or with 
 your head hanging over the bedside, or suffering some pain from indi- 
 gestion V said Ralph. " Pshaw, Mr. Bray, do as I do (you will have 
 the opportunity now that a constant round of pleasure and enjoyment 
 opens upon you) and occupying yourself a little more by day, have no 
 time to think of what you dream by night." 
 
 Ralph followed him with a steady look to the door, and turning to 
 the bridegroom, when they were again alone, said, 
 
 " Mark my words, Gride, you won't have to pay his annuity very 
 long. You have the devil's luck in bargains always. If he is not 
 booked to make the long voyage before many months are past and gone, 
 I wear an orange for a head." 
 
 To this prophecy, so agreeable to his ears, Arthur returned no answer 
 than a cackle of great delight, and Ralph, throwing himself into a 
 chair, they both sat waiting in profound silence. Ralph was thinking 
 with a sneer upon his lips on the altered manner of Bray that day, and 
 how soon their fellowship in a bad design had lowered his pride and 
 established a familiarity between them, when his attentive ear caught 
 the rustling of a female dress upon the stairs, and the footstep of a man. 
 " Wake up," he said, stamping his foot impatiently upon the ground, 
 " and be something like life, man, will you ? They are here. Urge 
 those dry old bones of yours this way — quick, man, quick." 
 
 Gride shambled forward, and stood leering and bowing close by 
 Ralph's side, when the door opened and there entered in haste — not 
 Bray and his daughter, but Nicholas and his sister Kate. 
 
 If some tremendous apparition from the world of shadows had 
 suddenly presented itself before him, Ralph Nickleby could not have 
 been more thunder -stricken than he was by this surprise. His hands 
 fell powerless by his side, he staggered back, and with open mouth, 
 and a face of ashy paleness, stood gazing at tlicm in speechless rage ; 
 his eyes so prominent, and his face so convulsed and changed by the 
 passions which raged within him, that it would have been difficult to 
 recognise in him the same stern, composed, hard-featured man he had 
 been not a minute ago. 
 
 " The man that came to me last night," whispered Gride, plucking 
 mi his elbow. " The man that came to me last night." 
 
 ** I see," muttered Ralph, " I know. I might have guessed as much 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 541 
 
 before. Across my every path, at every turn, go where I will, do what 
 I may, he comes." 
 
 Tlie absence of all colour from the face, the dilated nostril, the 
 quivering of the lips which though set firmly against each other would 
 not be still, showed what fierce emotions were struggling for the mastery 
 with Nicholas. But he kept them down, and gently pressing Kate's 
 arm to re-assure her, stood erect and undaunted front to front with his 
 unworthy relative. 
 
 As the brother and sister stood side by side with a gallunt bearing 
 which became them well, a close likeness between them was appa- 
 rent, which many, had they only seen them apart, might have failed 
 to remark. The air, carriage, and very look and expression of the 
 brother were all reflected in the sister, but softened and refined to the 
 nicest limit of feminine delicacy and attraction. More striking still 
 was some indefinable resemblance in the face of Ralph to both. While 
 they had never looked more handsome nor he more ugly, while they 
 had never held themselves more proudly, nor he shrunk half so low, 
 there never had been a time when this resemblance was so perceptible, 
 or when all the worst characteristics of a face rendered coarse and 
 harsh by evil thoughts were half so manifest as now. 
 
 " Away ! " was the first word he could utter as he literally gnashed 
 his teeth. " Away ! What brings you here — liar — scoundrel — dastard 
 —-thief." 
 
 " I come here," said Nicholas in a low deep voice, " to save your 
 victim if I can. Liar and scoundrel you are in every action of your 
 life, theft is your trade, and double dastard you must be or you were 
 not here to-day. Hard words will not move me, nor would hard 
 blows. Here I stand and will till I have done my errand." 
 
 "Girl!" said Ralph, "retire. "We can use force to him, but I 
 would not hurt you if I could help it. Retire, you weak and silly 
 wench, and leave this dog to be dealt with as he deserves." 
 
 " I will not retire," cried Kate, with flashing eyes and the red blood 
 mantling in her cheeks. " You will do him no hurt that he will not 
 repay. You may use force with me ; I think you will, for I am a 
 girl, and that would well become you. But if I have a girl's weakness, 
 I have a woman's heart, and it is not you who in a cause like this can 
 turn that from its purpose." 
 
 "And what may your purpose be, most lofty lady?" said Ralph. 
 
 " To ofler to the unhappy subject of your treachery at this last 
 moment," replied Nicholas, " a refuge and a home. If the near pro- 
 spect of such a husband as you have provided will not prevail 
 upon her, I hope she may be moved by the prayers and entreaties of 
 one of her own sex. At all events they shall be tried, and I myself 
 avowing to her father from whom I come and by whom I am com- 
 missioned, will render it an act of greater baseness, meanness, and 
 cruelty in him if he still dares to force this marriage on. Here I 
 wait to see him and his daughter. For this I came and brought my 
 sister even into your vile presence. Our purpose is i^ot to see or gpeak 
 with you \ therefore to you, we stoop to say no more." 
 
542 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 "Indeed!" said Ralph. "You persist in remaining here, Ma'am, 
 
 do you ?" 
 
 His niece's bosom heaved with the indignant excitement into which 
 he had lashed her, butvshe gave him no reply. 
 
 " Now, Gride, see here," said Ralph. " This fellow — I grieve to 
 say my brother's son ; a reprobate and profligate, stained with every 
 mean and selfish crime — this fellow coming here to-day to disturb a 
 solemn ceremony, and knowing that the consequence of his presenting 
 himself in another man's house at such a time, and persisting in remain- 
 ing there, must be his being kicked into the streets and dragged through 
 them like the vagabond he is — this fellow, mark you, brings with hiui 
 his sister as a protection, thinking we would not expose a silly girl to 
 the degradation and indignity which is no novelty ta him ; and even 
 after I have warned her of what must ensue, he still keeps her by him 
 as you see, and clings to her apron-strings like a cowardly boy to hia 
 mother's. Is this a pretty fellow to talk as big as you have heard him 
 now !" 
 
 " And as I heard him last night," said Arthur Gride, " as I heard 
 him last night when he sneaked into my house, and — he ! he I he !^ 
 very soon sneaked out again, when I nearly frightened him to deatli. 
 And he wanting to marry Miss Madeline too ! Oh, dear ! Is there 
 anything else he'd like — anything else we can do for him, besides giving 
 her up ? Would he like his debts paid and his house furnished, 
 and a few bank notes for shaving paper if he shaves at all ! He ! 
 he! he!" 
 
 " You will remain, girl, will you ?" said Ralph, turning upon Kate 
 again, " to be hauled down stairs like a drunken drab-— as I swear 
 you shall if you stop here ? No answer ! Thank your brother for 
 what follows. Gride, call down Bray — and not his daughter. Let 
 them keep her above." 
 
 " If you value your head," said Nicholas, taking up a position before 
 the door, and speaking in the same low voice in which he had spoken 
 before, and with no more outward passion than he had before displayed; 
 " stay where you are." 
 
 " Mind me and not him, and call down Bray," said Ralph. 
 
 " Mind yourself rather than either of us, and stay where you are," 
 said Nicholas. 
 
 " Will you call down Bray?" cried Ralph passionately. 
 
 " Remember that you come near me at your peril," said Nicholas. 
 
 Gride hesitated : Ralph being by this time as furious as a baffled 
 tiger made for thp door, and attempting to pass Kate clasped her arm 
 roughly with his hand. Nicholas with liis eyes darting fire seized him 
 by the collar. At that moment a heavy body fell with great violence 
 on the floor above, and an instant afterwards was heard a most appal- 
 ling and terrific scream. 
 
 They all stood still and gazed upon each other. Scream succeeded 
 scream ; a heavy pattering of feet succeeded ; and many shrill voices 
 clamouring togetlur were heard to cry, " He is dead !" 
 
 "Stand o£f i" cried Nicholas, letting loose all the violent passion he 
 
41 
 
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 "/ 
 
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# NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 543 
 
 had restrained till now, " if this is what I scarcely dare to hope it is, 
 you are caught, villains, in your own toils." 
 
 He burst from the room, and darting up stairs to the quarter from 
 •whence the noise proceeded, forced his way through a crowd of persons 
 who quite filled a small bedchamber, and found Bray lying on the 
 floor quite dead, and his daughter clinging to the body. 
 
 " How did this happen ? " he cried, looking wildly about him. 
 
 Several voices answered together that he had been observed through 
 the half-opened door reclining in a strange and uneasy position upon 
 a chair; that he had been spoken to several times, and not answering, 
 was supposed to be asleep, until some person going in and shaking 
 him by the arm, he fell heavily to the ground and was discovered to 
 be dead. 
 
 " Who is the owner of this house?" said Nicholas, hastily. 
 
 An elderly woman was pointed out to him ; and to her he said, as 
 he knelt down and gently unwound Madeline's arms from the lifeless 
 mass round which they were entwined : " I represent this lady's 
 nearest friends as Vier servant here knows, and must remove her from 
 this dreadful scene. This is my sister to whose charge you confide 
 her. My name and address are upon that card, and you shall receive 
 from me all necessary directions for the arrangements that must be 
 made. Stand aside, every one of you, and give me room and air for 
 God's sake." 
 
 The people fell back, scarce wondering more nt what had just 
 occurred, than at the excitement and impetuosity of him who spoke, 
 and Nicholas, taking the insensible girl in his arms, bore her from the 
 chamber and down stairs into the room he had just quitted, followed 
 by his sister and the faithful servant, whom he charged to procure a 
 coach directly, while he and Kate bent over their beautiful charge 
 and endeavoured, but in vain, to restore her to animation. The girl 
 performed her office with such expedition, that in a very few minutes 
 the coach was ready. 
 
 Ralph Nickleby and Gride, stunned and paralysed by the awful 
 event which had so suddenly overthrown their schemes (it would not 
 otherwise, perhaps, have made much impression on them), and carried 
 away by the extraordinary energy and precipitation of Nicholas, 
 which bore down all before them, looked on at these proceedings like 
 men in a dream or trance. It was not until every preparation wqs 
 made for Madeline's immediate removal that Kalph broke silence by 
 declaring she should not be taken away. 
 
 *'Who says that?" cried Nicholas, starting from his knee and 
 confronting them, but still retaining Madeline's lifeless hand in his. 
 ^ "I!" answered Ralph, hoarsely. 
 
 " Hush, hush !" cried the terrified Gride, catching him by the arm 
 again. '^ Hear what lie says." 
 
 "Aye!" said Nicholas, extending his disengaged hand in the air, 
 "hear what he says. That both your debts are paid in the one 
 great debt of nature — that the bond due to-day at twelve is now 
 "Waste paper — that your contemplated fraud shall be discovered j et — 
 
044 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 that your schemes are known to man, and overthrown by Heaven — 
 wretches, that he defies you both to do your worst." 
 
 " This man," said Ralph, in a voice scarcely intelligible, " this man 
 claims his wife, and he shall have her." 
 
 " That man claims what is not his, and he should not have her 
 if he were fifty men, with fifty more to back him," said Nicholas. 
 
 "Who shall prevent him ? " 
 
 " I will." 
 
 " By what right I should like to know," said Ralph. " By what, 
 right I ask?" 
 
 " By this right — that, knowing what I do, you dare not tempt me 
 further," said Nicholas, " and by this better right, that those I serve, 
 and with whom you would have done me base wrong and injury, 
 are her nearest and her dearest friends. In their name I bear her 
 hence. Give way ! " 
 
 "One word ! " cried Ralph, foaming at the mouth. 
 
 " Not one," replied Nicholas, " I will not hear of one — save this. 
 Look to yourself, and heed this warning that I give you. Your day 
 is past, and night is coming on—" 
 
 " My curse, my bitter deadly curse, upon you, boy ! " 
 
 " Whence will curses come at your command ? or what avails a 
 curse or blessing from a man like you ? I warn you, that misfortune 
 and discovery are thickening about your head; that the structures 
 you have raised through all your ill-spent life are crumbling into 
 dust ; that your path is beset with spies ; that this very day, ten 
 thousand pounds of your hoarded wealth have gone in one great 
 crash ! " 
 
 "'Tis false !" cried Ralph, shrinking back. 
 
 " 'Tis true, and you shall find it so. I have no more words to 
 waste. Stand from the door. ' Kate, do you go first. Lay not a 
 hand on her, or on that woman, or on me, or so much as brush their 
 garments as they pass you by ! — You let them pass and he blocks the 
 door again !" 
 
 Arthur Gride happened to be in the doorway, but whether inten- 
 tionally or from confusion was not quite apparent. Nicholas swung 
 him away with such violence as to cause him to spin round the room 
 imtil he was caught by a sharp angle of the wall and there knocked 
 down; and then taking his beautiful burden in his arms rushed 
 violently out. No one cared to stop him, if any were so disposed. 
 Making his way through a mob of people, whom a report of the 
 circumstances had attracted round the house, and carrying Madeline 
 in his great excitement as easily as if she were an infant, he reached 
 the coach in which Kate and the girl were already waiting, and 
 confiding his charge to them, jumped up beside the coachman and 
 bade him drive away. 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 545 
 
 CHAPTER LY. 
 
 OF FAMILY MATTERS, CARES, HOPES, DISAPPOINTMENTS, AND SORROWS. 
 
 Although Mrs. Nickleby had been made acquainted by her son 
 and daughter with every circumstance of Madeline Bray's history 
 which was known to them ; although the responsible situation in which 
 Nicholas stood had been carefully explained to her, and she had been 
 prepared even for the possible contingency of having to receive the 
 young lady in her own house — improbable as such a result had appeared 
 only a few minutes before it came about — still, Mrs. Nickleby, from the 
 moment when this confidence was first reposed in her late on the 
 previous evening, had remained in an unsatisfactory and profoundly 
 mystified state, from which no explanations or arguments could relieve 
 her, and which every fresh soliloquy and reflection only aggravated 
 more and more. 
 
 " Bless my heart, Kate," so the good lady argued, " if the Mr. 
 Cheerybles don't want this young lady to be married, why don't they 
 file a bill against the Lord Chancellor, make her a chancery ward, and 
 shut her up in the Fleet prison for safety — I have read of such things 
 in the newspapers a hundred times ; or, if they are so very fond of her 
 as Nicholas says they are, why don't they marry her themselves — one 
 of them I mean. And even supposing they don't want her to be 
 married, and don't want] to marry her themselves, why in the name 
 of wonder should Nicholas go about the world forbidding people's 
 banns ?" 
 
 " I don't think you quite understand," said Kate, gently. 
 
 " "Well I am sure, Kate, my dear, you're very polite," replied Mrs. 
 Nickleby. " I have been married myself I hope, and I have seen 
 other people married. Not understand, indeed ! " 
 
 " I know you have had great experience, dear mama," said Kate ; 
 " I mean that perhaps you don't quite understand all the circumstances 
 in this instance. We have stated them awkwardly, I dare say." 
 
 " That I dare say you have," retorted her mother, briskly. " That's 
 very likely. I am not to be held accountable for that ; though at the 
 same time, as the circumstances speak for themselves, I shall take the 
 liberty, my love, of saying that I do understand them, and perfectly 
 well too, whatever you and Nicholas may choose to think to the con- 
 trary. Why is such a great fuss made because this Miss Magdalen is 
 going to marry somebody who is older than herself ? Your poor papa 
 was older than I was — four years and a half older. Jane Dibabs — the 
 Dibabses lived in the beautiful little thatched white house one story 
 high, covered all over with ivy and creeping plants, with an exquisite 
 little porch with twining honeysuckles and all sorts of things, where 
 the earwigs used to fall into one's tea on a summer evening, and always 
 fell upon their backs and kicked dreadfully, and where the frogs used 
 to get into the rushlight shades when one stopped all night, and sit up 
 
 N N 
 
546 ^LIFE AND ADVENTURES op' 
 
 and look through the little holes like Christians — Jane Dibabs, she 
 married a man who was a great deal older than herself, and would 
 marry him notwithstanding all that could be said to the contrary, and 
 she was so fond of him that nothing was ever equal to it. There was 
 no fuss made about Jane Dibabs, and her husband was a most honour- 
 able and excellent man, and everybody spoke well of him. Ihen why 
 should there be any fuss about this Magdalen ? " 
 
 " Her husband is much older ; he is not her own choice, his cha- 
 racter is the very reverse of that which you have just described. Don't 
 you see a broad distinction between the two cases ?" said Kate. 
 
 To this Mrs. Nickleby only replied that she durst say she was very 
 stupid, indeed she had no doubt she was, for her own children almost 
 as much as told her so every day of her life ; to be sure she was a little 
 older than they, and perhaps some foolish people might think she 
 ought reasonably to know best. However, no doubt she was wrong, 
 of course she was — she always was — she couldn't be right, indeed — 
 couldn't be expected to be — so she had better not expose herself any 
 more ; and to all Kate's conciliations and concessions for an hour ensu- 
 ing, the good lady gave no other replies than — Oh, certainly — why did 
 they ask her — her opinion was of no consequence — it didn't matter 
 what she said — with many other rejoinders of the same class. 
 
 In this frame of mind (expressed when she had become too resigned 
 for speech, by nods of the head, upliftings of the eyes, and little 
 beginnings of groans, converted as they attracted attention into short 
 coughs), Mrs. Nickleby remained until Nicholas and Kate returned 
 with the object of their solicitude ; when, having by this time asserted 
 her own importance, and becoming besides interested in the trials of 
 one so young and beautiful, she not only displayed the utmost zeal and 
 solicitude, but took great credit to herself for recommending the course 
 of procedure which her son had adopted ; frequently declaring with an 
 expressive look, that it was very fortunate things w^ere as they w^ere, 
 and hinting, that but for great encouragement and wisdom on her own 
 part, they never could have been brought to that pass. 
 
 Not to strain the question whether Mrs. Nickleby had or had not 
 any great hand in bringing matters about, it is unquestionable that she 
 had strong ground for exultation. The brothers, upon their return, 
 bestowed such commendations upon Nicholas for the part he had taken, 
 and evinced so much joy at the altered state of events and the recovery 
 of their young friend from trials so great and dangers so threatening, 
 that, as she more than once informed her daughter, she now considered 
 the fortunes of the family " as good as" made. Mr. Charles Cheeryble, 
 indeed, Mrs. Nickleby positively asserted had, in the first transports 
 of his surprise and delight, " as good as" said so, and without pre- 
 cisely explaining what this qualification meant, she subsided, whenever 
 she mentioned the subject, into such a mysterious and important state, 
 and had such visions of wealth and dignity in perspective, that (vague 
 and clouded though they were) she was at such times almost as happy 
 as if she had really been permanently provided for on a scale of great 
 splendour, and all her cares were over. 
 
NICHOLAS NIGKLEBY. '547 
 
 ' The sudden and terrible shock she had received, combined with the 
 great affliction and anxiety of mind which she had for a long time 
 endured, proved too much for Madeline's strength. Recovering from 
 the state of stupefaction into which the sudden death of her father 
 happily plunged her, she only exchanged that condition for one of dan- 
 gerous and active illness. When the delicate physical powers which 
 have been sustained by an unnatural strain upon the mental energies 
 and a resolute determination not to yield, at last give way, their degree 
 of prostration is usually proportionate to the strength of the effort 
 which has previously upheld them. Thus it was that the illness which 
 fell on Madeline was of no slight or temporary nature, but one which 
 for a time threatened her reason, and — scarcely worse — her life itself. 
 
 Who, slowly recovering from a disorder so severe and dangerous, 
 could be insensible to the unremitting attentions of such a nurse as 
 gentle, tender, earnest Kate ? On whom could the sweet soft voice, 
 the light step, the delicate hand, the quiet, cheerful, noiseless discharge 
 of those thousand little offices of kindness and relief which we feel so 
 deeply when we are ill, and forget so lightly when we are well — on 
 whom could they make so deep an impression as on a young heart 
 stored with every pure and true affection that women cherish ; almost 
 a stranger to the endearments and devotion of its own sex, save as it 
 learnt them from itself ; and rendered by calamity and suffering keenly 
 susceptible of the sympathy so long unknown and so long sought in 
 vain ? What wonder that days became as years in knitting them 
 together ? What wonder, if with every hour of returning health, there 
 came some stronger and sweeter recognition of the praises which Kate, 
 when they recalled old scenes — they seemed old now, and to have been 
 acted years ago — would lavish on her brother ; where would have been 
 the wonder even if those praises had found a quick response in the breast 
 of Madeline, and if, with the image of Nicholas so constantly recurring 
 in the features of his sister that she could scarcely separate the two, she 
 had sometimes found it equally difficult to assign to each the feelings they 
 had first inspired, and had imperceptibly mingled with her gratitude to 
 Nicholas, some of that warmer feeling which she had assigned to Kate ? 
 
 " My dear," Mrs. Nickleby would say, coming into the room with 
 an elaborate caution, calculated to discompose the nerves of an invalid 
 rather more than the entry of a horse-soldier at full gallop ; " how do 
 you find yourself to-night, I hope you are better ? " 
 
 " Almost well, mama," Kate would reply, laying down her work, 
 and taking Madeline's hand in hers. 
 
 " Kate ! " Mrs. Nickleby would say, reprovingly, " don't talk so 
 loud " (the worthy lady herself talking in a whisper that would have, 
 made the blood of the stoutest man run cold in his veins). 
 
 Kate would take this reproof very quietly, and Mrs. Nickleby^ 
 making every board creak, and every thread rustle as she moved 
 stealthily about, would add — 
 
 " My son Nicholas has just come home, and I have come, according 
 to custom, my dear, to know from your own lips exactly how you are, 
 for he won't take my account, and never will." 
 
 nn2 
 
 \ 
 
548 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 " He is later than usual to-night," perhaps Madeline would reply. 
 *' Nearly half an hour." 
 
 " Well, I never saw such people in all my life as you are for time 
 up here!" Mrs. Nickleby would exclaim in great astonishment; "I 
 declare I never did ! I had not the least idea that Nicholas was after 
 his time — not the smallest. Mr. Nickleby used to say — your poor papa 
 I am speaking of, Kate my dear — used to say that appetite was the 
 best clock in the world, but you have no appetite, my dear Miss Bray, 
 I wish you had, and upon my word I really think you ought to take 
 something that would give you one ; I am sure I don't know, but I 
 have heard that two or three dozen native lobsters give an appetite, 
 though that comes to the same thing after all, for I suppose you must 
 have an appetite before you can take 'em. If I said lobsters, I meant 
 oysters, but of course it's all the same, though really how you came to 
 know about Nicholas " 
 
 " We happened to be just talking about him, mama ; that was it." 
 
 " You never seem to me to be talking about anything else, Kate, and 
 upon my word I am quite surprised at your being so very thoughtless. 
 You can find subjects enough to talk about sometimes, and when you 
 know how important it is to keep up Miss Bray's spirits, and interest 
 her and all that, it really is quite extraordinary to me what can induce 
 you to keep on prose, prose, prose, din, din, din, everlastingly upon the 
 same theme. You are a very kind nurse, Kate, and a very good one, 
 and I know you mean very well ; but I will say this — that if it 
 wasn't for me, I really don't know what would become of Miss Bray's 
 spirits, and so I tell the doctor every day. He says he wonders how I 
 sustain my own, and I am sure I very often wonder myself how I can 
 contrive to keep up as I do. Of course it's an exertion, but still, when 
 I know how much depends upon me in this house, I am obliged to 
 make it. There's nothing praiseworthy in that, but it's necessary, and 
 I do it." 
 
 With that, Mrs. Nickleby would draw up a chair, and for some three 
 quarters of an hour run through a great variety of distracting topics in 
 the most distracting manner possible : tearing herself away at length on 
 the plea that she must now go and amuse Nicholas while he took his 
 supper. After a preliminary raising of his spirits with the information 
 that she considered the patient decidedly worse, she would further cheer 
 him up by relating how dull, listless, and low-spirited Miss Bray was, 
 because Kate foolishly talked about nothing else but him and family 
 matters. When she had made Nicholas thoroughly comfortable with 
 these and other inspiriting remarks, she would discourse at length on 
 the arduous duties she had performed that day, and sometimes be moved 
 to tears in wondering how, if anything were to happen to herself, the 
 family would ever get on without her. 
 
 At other times when Nicholas came home at night, he would be 
 accompanied by Mr. Frank Cheeryble, who was commissioned by the 
 brothers to inquire how Madeline was that evening. On such occasions 
 (and they were of very frequent occurrence), Mrs. Nickleby deemed it 
 of particular importance that she should have her wits about her ; for 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 549 
 
 from certain signs and tokens which had attracted her attention, she 
 shrewdly suspected that Mr. Frank, interested as his uncles were in 
 Madeline, came quite as much to see Kate as to inquire after her ; the 
 more especially as the brothers were in constant communication with the 
 medical man, came backwards and forwards very frequently themselves, 
 and received a full report from Nicholas every morning. These were 
 proud times for Mrs. Nickleby, and never was anybody half so discreet 
 and sage as she, or half so mysterious withal ; and never was there such 
 cunning generalship, or such unfathomable designs, as she brought to 
 bear upon Mr. Frank, with the view of ascertaining whether her sus- 
 picions were well founded, and if so, of tantalising him into taking her 
 into his confidence and throwing himself upon her merciful considera- 
 tion. Extensive was the artillery, heavy and light, which Mrs. 
 Nickleby brought into play for the furtherance of these great schemes, 
 and various and opposite the means which she employed to bring about 
 the end she had in view. At one time she was all cordiality and ease, 
 at another, all stiffness and frigidity. Now she would seem to open 
 her whole heart to her unhappy victim, and the next time they met 
 receive him with the most distant and studious reserve, as if a new 
 light had broken in upon her, and guessing his intentions, she had 
 resolved to check them in the bud ; as if she felt it her bounden duty to 
 act with Spartan firmness, and at once and for ever to discourage hopes 
 which never could be realised. At other times, when Nicholas was not 
 there to overhear, and Kate was up stairs busily tending her sick friend, 
 the worthy lady would throw out dark hints of an intention to send her 
 to France for three or four years, or to Scotland for the improvement of 
 her health, impaired by her late fatigues, or to America on a visit, or 
 anywhere that threatened a long and tedious separation. Nay, she 
 even went so far as to hint obscurely at an attachment entertained for 
 her daughter by the son of an old neighbour of theirs, one Horatio 
 Peltirogus (a young gentleman who might have been at that time four 
 years old, or thereabouts), and to represent it indeed as almost a settled 
 thing between the families — only waiting for her daughter s final deci-- 
 sion to come off with the sanction of the church, and to the unspeakable 
 happiness and content of all parties. 
 
 It was in the full pride and glory of having sprung this last mine one 
 night with extraordinary success, that Mrs. Nickleby took the oppor- 
 tunity of being left alone with her son before retiring to rest, to sound 
 him upon the subject which so occupied her thoughts : not doubting 
 that they could have but one opinion respecting it. To this end, she 
 approached the question with divers laudatory and appropriate remarks 
 touching the general amiability of Mr. Frank Cheeryble. 
 
 " You are quite right, mother," said Nicholas, " quite right. He is 
 a fine fellow." 
 
 " Good-looking, too," said Mrs. Nickleby. 
 . '' Decidedly good-looking," answered Nicholas. 
 
 " What may you call his nose, now, my dear ? " pursued Mrs. 
 Nickleby, wishing to interest Nicholas in the subject to the utmost. 
 . "Call it?" repeated Nicholas. , 
 
550 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 "Ah!" returned his mother, "what style of nose — what order of 
 architecture, if one may say so. I am not very learned in noses. Do 
 you call it a Roman or a Grecian ?" 
 
 " Upon my word, mother," said Nicholas, laughing, " as well as I 
 remember, I should call it a kind of Composite, or mixed nose. But 
 I have no very strong recollection upon the subject, and if it will afford 
 you any gratification, I'll observe it more closely, and let you know." 
 
 " I wish you would, my dear," said Mrs. Nickleby, with an earnest 
 look. 
 
 " Yery well," returned Nicholas. " I will." 
 
 Nicholas returned to the perusal of the book he had been reading, 
 when the dialogue had gone thus far. Mrs. Nickleby, after stopping 
 a little for consideration, resumed. 
 
 "He is very much attached to you, Nicholas, my dear." 
 
 Nicholas laughingly said, as he closed his book, that he was glad to 
 hear it, and observed that his mother seemed deep in their new friend's 
 confidence already. 
 
 " Hem !" said Mrs. Nickleby. " I don't know about that, my dear, 
 but I think it is very necessary that somebody should be in his con- 
 fidence — highly necessary." 
 
 Elated by a look of curiosity from her son, and the consciousness 
 of possessing a great secret all to herself, Mrs. Nickleby went on with 
 great animation : 
 
 " I am sure, my dear Nicholas, how you can have failed to notice it 
 is to me quite extraordinary ; though I don't know why I should say 
 that either, because of course as far as it goes, and to a certain extent, 
 there is a great deal in this sort of thing, especially in this early stage, 
 which however clear it may be to females, can scarcely be expected to 
 be so evident to men. I don't say that I have any particular penetra- 
 tion in such matters. I may have ; those about me should know best 
 about that, and perhaps do know. Upon that point I shall express no 
 opinion — it wouldn't become me to do so ; it's quite out of the question 
 —quite." 
 
 Nicholas snuffed the candles, put his hands in his pockets, and 
 leaning back in his chair, assumed a look of patient suffering and 
 melancholy resignation. 
 
 " I think it's my duty, Nicholas, my dear," resumed his mother, 
 " to tell you what I know, not only because you have a right to know 
 it too, and to know everything that happens in this family, but because 
 you have it in your power to promote and assist the thing very much ; 
 and there is no doubt that the sooner one can come to a clear under- 
 standing upon such subjects, it is always better eveiy way. There are 
 a great many things you might do, such as taking a walk in the garden 
 sometimes, or sitting up stairs in your own room for a little while, or 
 making believe to fall asleep occasionally, or pretending that you recol- 
 lected some business, and going out for an hour or so, and taking Mr. 
 Smike with you. These seem very slight things, and I dare say you 
 will be amused at my making them of so much importance ; at the 
 same time, my dear, I can assure you (and you'll find this out, 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 551 
 
 Nicholas, for yourself one of these days, if , you ever fall in love with 
 anybody, as I trust and hope you will, provided she is respectable and 
 well-conducted, and of course you'd never dream of falling in love with 
 anybody who was not), I say, I can assure you that a great deal more 
 depends upon these little things than you would suppose possible. If 
 your poor papa was alive, he would tell you how much depended upon 
 the parties being left alone. Of course you are not to go out of the 
 room as if you meant it and did it on purpose, but as if it was quite an 
 accident, and to come back again in the same way. If you cough in 
 the passage before you open the door, or whistle carelessly, or hum a 
 tune, or something of that sort, to let them know you're coming, it's 
 always better ; because of course, though it's not only natural, but 
 perfectly correct and proper under the circumstances, still it is very 
 confusing if you interrupt young people when they are — when they are 
 sitting on the sofa, and — and all that sort of thing, which is very non- 
 sensical perhaps, but still they will do it." 
 
 I The profound astonishment with which her son regarded her during 
 this long address, gradually increasing as it approached its climax, in 
 no way discomposed Mrs. Nickleby, but rather exalted her opinion of 
 her own cleverness ; therefore, merely stopping to remark, with much 
 complacency, that she had fully expected him to be surprised, she 
 entered upon a vast quantity of circumstantial evidence of a particularly 
 incoherent and perplexing kind, the upshot of which was to establish, 
 beyond the possibility of doubt, that Mr. Frank Cheeryble had fallen 
 •desperately in love with Kate. 
 
 " With whom ? ** cried Nicholas. 
 
 Mrs. Nickleby repeated, with Kate. 
 
 " What ! our Kate — my sister !" 
 
 "Lord, Nicholas!" returned Mrs. Nickleby, "whose Kate should 
 it be, if not ours ; or what should I care about it, or take any interest 
 in it for, if it was anybody but your sister ? " 
 
 " Dear mother," said Nicholas, " surely it can't be." 
 
 " Yery good, my dear," replied Mrs. Nickleby, with great confidence. 
 *' Wait, and see." 
 
 Nicholas had never, until that moment, bestowed one thought upon 
 the remote possibility of such an occurrence as that which was now 
 communicated to him ; for, besides that he had been much from home 
 of late and closely occupied with other matters, his own jealous fears 
 had prompted the suspicion that some secret interest in Madeline, akin 
 to that which he felt himself, occasioned those visits of Frank Cheeryble 
 which had recently become so frequent. Even now, although he knew 
 that the observation of an anxious mother was much more likely to be 
 correct in such a case than his own, and although she reminded him of 
 many little circumstances which, taken together, were certainly sus- 
 ceptible of the construction she triumphantly put upon them, he was not 
 quite convinced but that they arose from mere good-natured thought- 
 less gallantry, which would have dictated the same conduct towards 
 any other girl who was young and pleasing — at all events, he hoped so, 
 and therefore tried to believe it. 
 
552 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 " I am very much disturbed by what you tell me," said Nicholas, 
 after a little reflection, " though I yet hope you may be mistaken." 
 
 " I don't understand why you should hope so," said Mrs. Nickleby, 
 " I confess ; but you may depend upon it I am not." 
 
 " What of Kate ? " inquired Nicholas. 
 
 " Why that, my dear," returned Mrs. Nickleby, " is just the point 
 upon which I am not yet satisfied. During this sickness, she has been 
 constantly at Madeline's bedside — never were two people so fond of 
 each other as they have grown — and to tell you the truth, Nicholas, I 
 have rather kept her away now and then, because I think it's a good 
 plan, and urges a young man on. He doesn't get too sure, you know." 
 
 She said this with such a mingling of high delight and self-con- 
 gratulation, that it was inexpressibly painful to Nicholas to dash her 
 hopes ; but he felt that there was* only one honourable course before him, 
 and that he was bound to take it. 
 
 " Dear mother," he said kindly, *' don't you see that if there really 
 were any serious inclination on the part of Mr. Frank towards Kate, 
 and we suffered ourselves for one moment to encourage it, we should 
 be acting a most dishonourable and ungrateful part ? I ask you if you 
 don't see it, but I need not say that, I know you don't, or you would 
 have been more strictly upon your guard. Let me explain my meaning 
 to you — remember how poor we are." 
 
 Mrs. Nickleby shook her head, and said through her tears that 
 poverty was not a crime. 
 
 " No," said Nicholas, '' and for that very reason poverty should en- 
 gender an honest pride, that it may not lead and tempt us to unworthy 
 actions, and that we may preserve the self-respect which a hewer of 
 wood and drawer of water may maintain — and does better in main- 
 taining than a monarch his. Think what we owe to these two 
 brothers ; remember what they have done and do every day for us with 
 a generosity and delicacy for which the devotion of our whole lives 
 w^ould be a most imperfect and inadequate return. What kind of return 
 would that be which would be comprised in our permitting their 
 nephew, their only relative, whom they regard as a son, and for whoni 
 it would be mere childishness to suppose they have not formed plans 
 suitably adapted to the education he has had, and the fortune he will 
 inherit — in our permitting him to marry a portionless girl so closely 
 connected with us, that the irresistible inference must be that he was 
 entrapped by a plot ; that it was a deliberate scheme and a speculation 
 amongst us three. Bring the matter clearly before yourself, mother. 
 Now, how would you feel if they were married, and the brothers coming 
 here on one of those kind errands which bring them here so often, you 
 had to break out to them the truth ? Would you be at ease, and feel 
 that you had played an honest, open, part ? " 
 
 Poor Mrs. Nickleby, crying more and more, murmured that of course 
 Mr. Frank would ask the consent of his uncles first. 
 
 *' Why, to be sure, that would place him in a better situation with 
 them," said Nicholas, " but we should still be open to the same suspi- 
 cions, the distance between us would «till be as great, the advantages 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 553 
 
 to be gained would still be as manifest as now. We may be reckoning 
 without our host in all this," he added more cheerfully, " and I trust, 
 and almost believe we are. If it be otherwise, I have that confidence 
 in Kate that I know she will feel as I do, and in you, dear mother, to 
 be assured that after a little consideration you will do the same." 
 
 After many more representations and entreaties, Nicholas obtained a 
 promise from Mrs. Nickleby that she would try all she could to think 
 as he did, and that if Mr. Frank persevered in his attentions she would 
 endeavour to discourage them, or, at the least, would render him no 
 countenance or assistance. He determined to forbear mentioning the 
 subject to Kate until he was quite convinced there existed a real neces- 
 sity for his doing so, and resolved to assure himself, as well as he could 
 by close personal observation, of the exact position of affairs. This 
 was a very wise resolution, but he was prevented from putting it in 
 practice by a new source of anxiety and uneasiness. 
 
 Smike became alarmingly ill ; so reduced and exhausted that he 
 could scarcely move from room to room without assistance, and so worn 
 and emaciated that it was painful to look upon him. Nicholas was 
 warned by the same medical authority to whom he had at first appealed, 
 that the last chance and hope of his life depended on his being instantly 
 removed from London. That part of Devonshire in which Nicholas 
 had been himself bred when a boy, was named as the most favourable 
 spot ; but this advice was cautiously coupled with the information, that 
 whoever accompanied him thither must be prepared for the worst, for 
 every token of rapid consumption had appeared, and he might never 
 return alive. 
 
 The kind brothers, who were acquainted with the poor creature's sad 
 history, despatched old Tim to be present at this consultation. That 
 same morning, Nicholas was summoned by brother Charles into his 
 private room, and thus addressed : 
 
 " My dear sir, no time must be lost. This lad shall not die if such 
 human means as we can use can save his life ; neither shall he die alone, 
 and in a strange place. Remove him to-morrow morning, see that he 
 has every comfort that his situation requires, and don t leave him — 
 don't leave him, my dear sir, until you know that there is no longer any 
 immediate danger. It would be hard indeed to part you now — no, no, 
 no. Tim shall wait upon you to-night, sir ; Tim shall wait upon you 
 to-night with a parting word or two. Brother Ned, my dear fellow, Mr. 
 Nickleby waits to shake hands and say good bye; Mr. Nickleby won't be 
 long gone ; this poor chap will soon get better — very soon get better — 
 and then he'll find out some nice homely country people to leave him 
 with, and go backwards and forwards sometimes — backwards and 
 forwards you know, Ned — and there's no cause to be down-hearted, for 
 he'll very soon get better, very soon, won't he — won't he, Ned ? " 
 
 What Tim Linkinwater said, or what he brought with him that 
 night, needs not to be told. Next morning Nicholas and his feeble 
 companion began their journey. 
 
 And who but one — and that one he who, but for those who crowded 
 round him then, had never met a look of kindness, or known a word 
 
554 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 of pity — could tell what agony of mind, what blighted thoughts, what 
 unavailing sorrow, were involved in that sad parting ! 
 
 " See," cried Nicholas eagerly, as he looked from the coach window, 
 *' they are at the corner of the lane still ! And now there's Kate- 
 poor Kate, whom you said you couldn't bear to say good bye to- 
 waving her handkerchief. Don't go without one gesture of farewell to 
 Kate ! " 
 
 " I cannot make it ! " cried his trembling companion, falling back 
 in his seat and covering his eyes. " Do you see her now ? Is she 
 there still ? " 
 
 " Yes, yes ! " said Nicholas earnestly. " There, she waves her hand 
 again. I have answered it for you — and now they are out of sight. 
 Do not give way so bitterly, dear friend, do not. You will meet them 
 all again." 
 
 He whom he thus encouraged, raised his withered hands and clasped 
 them fervently together. 
 
 " In heaven — I humbly pray to God — in heaven !' 
 
 It sounded like the prayer of a broken heart. 
 
 CHAPTER LYI. 
 
 RALPH NICKLEBY, BAFFLED BY HIS NEPHEW IN HIS LATE DESIGN, 
 HATCHES A SCHEME OF RETALIATION WHICH ACCIDENT SUGGESTS 
 TO HIM, AND TAKES INTO HIS COUNSELS A TRIED AUXILIARY. 
 
 The course which these adventures shape out for themselves and 
 imperatively call upon the historian to observe, now demands that they 
 should revert to the point they attained previous to the commencement 
 of the last chapter, when Ralph Nickleby and Arthur Gride were left 
 together in the house where death had so suddenly reared his dark and 
 heavy banner. 
 
 With clenched hands, and teeth ground together so firm and tight 
 that no locking of the jaws could for the time have fixed and riveted 
 them more securely, Ralph stood for some minutes in the same attitude 
 in which he had last addressed his nephew: breathing heavily, but as rigid 
 and motionless in other respects as if he had been a brazen statue. Aiter 
 a time, he began by slow degrees, as a man rousing himself from heavy 
 slumber, to relax. For a moment he shook his clasped fist stealthily 
 and savagely towards the door by which Nicholas had disappeared, and 
 then thrusting it into his breast as if to repress by force even this show 
 of passion, turned round and confronted the less hardy usurer, who had 
 not yet risen from the ground. 
 
 The cowering wretch, who still shook in every limb, and whose few 
 grey hairs trembled and quivered on his head with abject dismay, 
 tottered to his feet as he met Ralph's eye, and shielding his face with 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 555 
 
 both hands, protested while he crept towards the door that it was no 
 fault of his. 
 
 " Who said it was, man ? " returned Ralph, in a suppressed voice. 
 "Who said it was?" 
 
 " You looked as if you thought I was to blame," said Gride, timidly, 
 
 " Pshaw !" Ralph muttered, forcing a laugh. " I blame him for not 
 living an hour longer — one hour longer would have been long enough — 
 I blame no one else." 
 
 " N — n — no one else ?" said Gride. 
 
 " Not for this mischance," replied Ralph. " I have an old score to 
 clear with that — that young fellow who has carried off your mistress, but 
 that has nothing to do with his blustering just now, for we should soon 
 have been quit of him, but for this cursed accident." 
 
 There was something so unnatural in the constrained calmness with 
 which Ralph Nickleby spoke, when coupled with the livid face, the 
 horrible expression of the features to which every nerve and muscle as 
 it twitched and throbbed with a spasm whose workings no effort could 
 conceal, gave every instant some new and frightful aspect — there was 
 something so unnatural and ghastly in the contrast between his harsh, 
 slow, steady voice (only altered by a certain halting of the breath 
 which made him pause between almost every word like a drunken man 
 bent upon speaking plainly), and these evidences of the most intense and 
 violent passions, and the struggle he made to keep them under, that if 
 the dead body which lay above had stood instead of him before the 
 cowering Gride, it could scarcely have presented a spectacle which 
 would have terrified him more. 
 
 " The coach," said Ralph after a time, during which he had struggled 
 like some strong man against a fit. "We came in a coach. Is it 
 — waiting?" 
 
 Gride gladly availed himself of the pretext for going to the window 
 to see, and Ralph, keeping his face steadily the other way, tore at his 
 shirt with the hand which he had thrust into his breast, and muttered 
 in a hoarse whisper — 
 
 " Ten thousand pounds ! He said ten thousand ! The precise sum 
 paid in but yesterday for the two mortgages, and which would have 
 gone out again at heavy interest to-morrow. If that house has failed, 
 and he the first to bring the news ! — Is the coach there ? " 
 
 " Yes, yes," said Gride, startled by the fierce tone of the inquiry. 
 " It's here. Dear, dear, what a fiery man you are ! " 
 
 " Come here," said Ralph, beckoning to him. " We mustn't make 
 a show of being disturbed. We'll go down arm in arm." 
 
 " But you pinch me black and blue," urged Gride, writhing with 
 pain. 
 
 Ralph threw him off impatiently, and descending the stairs with his 
 usual firm and heavy tread, got into the coach. Arthur Gride followed. 
 After looking doubtfully at Ralph when the man asked where he was 
 to drive, and finding that he remained silent, and expressed no wish 
 upon the subject, Arthur mentioned his own house, and thither they 
 proceeded. 
 
556 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 On their way, Ralph sat in the furthest corner with folded arms, and 
 uttered not a word. With his chin sunk upon his breast, and his 
 downcast eyes quite hidden by the contraction of his knotted brows, he 
 might have been asleep for any sign of consciousness he gave, until the 
 coach stopped, when he raised his head, and glancing through the 
 window inquired what place that was. 
 
 • " My house," answered the disconsolate Gride, affected perhaps by 
 its loneliness. " Oh dear ! my house." 
 
 *' True," said Ralph. " I have not observed the way we came. I 
 should like a glass of water. You have that in the house, I suppose ?'* 
 
 " You shall have a glass of — of anything you like," answered Gride, 
 with a groan. " It's no use knocking, coachman. Ring the bell." 
 
 The man rang, and rang, and rang again ; then knocked until the 
 street re-echoed with the sounds ; then listened at the keyhole of the 
 door. Nobody came, and the house was silent as the grave. 
 
 " How's this?" said Ralph impatiently. 
 
 " Peg is so very deaf," answered Gride with a look of anxiety and 
 alarm. " Oh dear ! Ring again, coachman. She sees the bell." 
 
 Again the man rang and knocked, and knocked and rang again. 
 Some of the neighbours threw up their windows and called across the 
 street to each other that old Gride's housekeeper must have dropped 
 down dead. Others collected round the coach and gave vent to various 
 surmises ; some held that she had fallen asleep, some that she had 
 burnt herself to death, some that she had got drunk ; and one very fat 
 man that she had seen something to eat which had frightened her so 
 much (not being used to it) that she had fallen into a fit. This last 
 Suggestion particularly delighted the bystanders, w^o cheered it rather 
 uproariously, and were with some difficulty deterred from dropping 
 down the area and breaking open the kitchen door to ascertain the fact. 
 Nor was this all, for rumours having gone abroad that Arthur was to 
 be married that morning, very particular inquiries were made after the 
 bride, who was held by the majority to be disguised in the person of 
 Mr. Ralph Nickleby, which gave rise to much jocose indignation at the 
 ■ public appearance of a bride in boots and pantaloons, and called forth a 
 great many hoots and groans. At length the two money-lenders 
 obtained shelter in a house next door, and being accommodated with a 
 ladder, clambered over the wall of the back yard, which was hot a high 
 one, and descended in safety on the other side. 
 
 " I am almost afraid to go in, I declare," said , Arthur, turning to 
 Ralph when they were alone. '' Suppose she should be murdered — 
 lying with her brains knocked out by a poker — eh ?" 
 
 " Suppose she were," said Ralph, hoarsely. " I tell you I wish such 
 things were more common than they are, and more easily done. You 
 may stare and shiver — I do !" 
 
 He applied himself to a pump in the yard, and having taken a deep 
 draught of water and flung a quantity on his head and face, regained 
 his accustomed manner and led the way into the house. Gride following 
 close at his heels. 
 
 It was the same dark place as ever : every room dismal and silent 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 557 
 
 as it was wont to be, and every ghostly article of furniture in its cus- 
 tomary place. The iron heart of the old grim clock undisturbed by all 
 the noise without, still beat heavily within its dusty case, the tottering 
 presses slunk from the sight as usual in their melancholy corners, the 
 echoes of footsteps returned the same dreary sound ; the long-legged 
 spider paused in his nimble run, and scared by the sight of men in that 
 his dull domain, hung motionless upon the wall counterfeiting death 
 until they should have passed him by. 
 
 From cellar to garret went the two usurers opening every creaking 
 door and .looking into every deserted room. But no Peg was there. 
 At last they sat them down in the apartment which Arthur Gride 
 usually inhabited, to rest after their search. 
 
 " The hag is out on some preparation for your wedding festivities, I 
 suppose," said Ralph preparing to depart. " See here. I destroy the 
 bond ; we shall never need it now." 
 
 Gride who had been peering narrowly about the room fell at that 
 moment upon his knees before a large chest, and uttered a terrible yell. 
 
 " How now ?" said Ralph looking sternly round. 
 
 " Robbed ! robbed !" screamed Arthur Gride. 
 
 " Robbed ! of money ?" 
 
 " No, no, no. Worse, far worse." 
 
 " Of what then V demanded Ralph. 
 
 " Worse than money, worse than money !" cried the old man, cast- 
 ing the papers out of the chest, like some beast tearing up the earth. 
 " She had better have stolen money — all my money — I haven't much. 
 She had better have made me a beggar, than have done this ! " 
 
 " Done what ?" said Ralph. " Done what, you devil's dotard ? " 
 
 Still Gride made no answer, but tore and scratched among the 
 papers, and yelled and screeched like a fiend in torment. 
 
 " There is something missing, you say," said Ralph, shaking him 
 furiously by the collar. " What is it ? " 
 
 " Papers, deeds. I am a ruined man — lost — lost ! I am robbed, 
 I am ruined. She saw me reading it — reading it of late. — I did very 
 often. — She watched me — saw me put it in the box that fitted into this 
 — the box is gone — she has stolen it. — Damnation seize her, she has 
 robbed me !" 
 
 "Of what !" cried Ralph, on whom a sudden light appeared to 
 break, for his eyes flashed and his frame trembled with agitation as he 
 clutched Gride by his bony arm. " Of what ?" 
 
 "She don't know what it is; she can't read !" shrieked Gride, not 
 heeding the inquiry. " There's only one way in which money can be 
 made of it, and that is by taking it to her. Somebody will read it for 
 her and tell her what to do. She and her accomplice will get money 
 for it and be let off besides ; they'll make a merit of it — say they found 
 it — knew it — and be evidence against me. The only person it will fall 
 upon is me — me — me ! " 
 
 " Patience !" said Ralph, clutching him still tighter and eyeing him 
 with a sidelong look, so fixed and eager as sufficiently to denote that he 
 had some hidden purpose in what he was about to say. " Hear reason. 
 
558 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 She can't have been gone long. I'll call the police. Give you but 
 information of what she has stolen, and they'll lay hands upon her, 
 trust me. — Here — help !" 
 
 " No — no — no," screamed the old man putting his hand upon Ralph's 
 mouth. " I can't, I daren't." 
 
 " Help ! help ! " cried Ralph. 
 
 " No, no, no," shrieked the other, stamping upon the ground with 
 the energy of a madman. " I tell you no. I daren't — I daren't ! " 
 
 " Daren't make this robbery public ?" said Ralph eagerly. 
 
 " No !" rejoined Gride, wringing his hands. " Hush ! Hueh ! Not 
 a word of this ; not a word must be said. I am undone. Whichever 
 way I turn, I am undone. I am betrayed. I shall be given up. I 
 shall die in Newgate ! " 
 
 With frantic exclamations such as these, and with many others in 
 which fear, grief, and rage, were strangely blended, the panic-stricken 
 wretch gradually subdued his first loud outcry until it had softened 
 down into a low despairing moan chequered now and then by a howl 
 as, going over such papers as were left in the chest, he discovered some 
 new loss. With very little excuse for departing so abruptly, Ralph 
 left him, and greatly disappointing the loiterers outside the house by 
 telling them there was nothing the matter, got into the coach and was 
 driven to his own home. 
 
 A letter lay on his table. He let it lie there for some time as if he 
 had not the courage to open it, but at length did so and turned deadly 
 pale. 
 
 " The worst has happened," he said, " the house has failed. I see — 
 the rumour was abroad in the City last night, and reached the ears 
 of those merchants. Well — well !" 
 
 He strode violently up and down the room and stopped again. 
 
 " Ten thousand pounds ! And only lying there for a day — for one 
 day ! How many anxious years, how many pinching days and sleep- 
 less nights, before I scraped together that ten thousand pounds ! — Ten 
 thousand pounds ! How many proud painted dames would have 
 fawned and smiled, and how many spendthrift blockheads done me lip- 
 service to my face and cursed me in their hearts, while I turned that 
 ten thousand pounds into twenty ! While I ground, and pinched, and 
 •used these needy borrowers for my pleasure and profit, what smooth- 
 tongued speeches, and courteous looks, and civil letters they would have 
 given me ! The cant of the lying world is, that men like me compass 
 our riches by dissimulation and treachery^ by fawning, cringing, and 
 stooping. Why, how many lies, what mean and abject evasions, what 
 humbled behaviour from upstarts who, but for my money, would spurn 
 me aside as they do their betters every day, would that ten thousand 
 pounds have brought me in ! — Grant that I had doubled it — made cent, 
 per cent. — for every sovereign told another — there would not be one 
 piece of money in all that heap of coin which wouldn't represent ten 
 thousand mean and paltry lies, told — not by the money-lender, oh no ! 
 but by the money-borrowers — your liberal, thoughtless, generous, dash- 
 ing folks, who wouldn't be so mean as save a sixpence for the world." 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBT. 550 
 
 Striving as it would seem to lose part of the bitterness of his regrets 
 in the bitterness of these other thoughts, Ralph continued to pace the 
 room. There was less and less of resolution in his manner as his mind 
 gradually reverted to his loss ; and at length, dropping into his elbow- 
 chair and grasping its sides so firmly that they creaked again, he said, 
 between his set teeth : 
 
 " The time has been when nothing could have moved me like the 
 loss of this great sum — nothing, for births, deaths, marriages, and every 
 event which is of interest to most men, had (unless it is connected with 
 gain or loss of money) no interest for me. But now I swear, I mix 
 up with the loss, his triumph in telling it. If he had brought it about, 
 —I almost feel as if he had — I couldn't hate him more. Let me but 
 retaliate upon him, by degrees however slow ; let me but begin to get 
 the better of him, let me but turn the scale, and I can bear it." 
 
 His meditations were long and deep. They terminated in his de- 
 spatching a letter by Newman, addressed to Mr. Squeers at the Saracen s 
 Head, with instructions to inquire whether he had arrived in town, 
 and if so, to wait an answer. Newman brought back the information 
 that Mr. Squeers had come by mail that morning, and had received the 
 letter in bed ; but that he sent his duty, and word that he would get 
 up and wait upon Mr. Nickleby directly. 
 
 The interval between the delivery of this message and the arrival 
 of Mr. Squeers was very short, but before he came, Ralph had sup- 
 pressed every sign of emotion, and once more regained the hard, 
 immoveable, inflexible manner which was habitual to him, and to which, 
 perhaps, was ascribable no small part of the influence which, over many 
 men of no very strong prejudices on the score of morality, he could 
 exert almost at will. 
 
 " "Well, Mr. Squeers," he said, welcoming that worthy witli his 
 accustomed smile, of which a sharp look and a thoughtful frown were 
 part and parcel. — " how do you do ? " 
 
 " Why, sir," said Mr. Squeers, " I'm pretty well. So's the family, 
 and so's the boys, except for a sort of rash as is a running through the 
 school, and rather puts 'em off their feed. But it's a ill wind as blows 
 no good to nobody ; that's what I always say when them lads has a wisi- 
 tation. A wisitation, sir, is the lot of mortality. Mortality itself, sir, is 
 a wisitation. The world is chock full of wisitations ; and if a boy repines 
 at a wisitation and makes you uncomfortable with his noise, he must 
 have his head punched. That's going according to the scripter, that is.'* 
 
 ** Mr. Squeers," said Ralph, drily. 
 
 "Sir." 
 
 " We'll avoid these precious morsels of morality if you please, and 
 talk of business." 
 
 "With all my heart, sir," rejoined Squeers, "and first let me 
 say " 
 
 " First let me say, if you please Noggs ! " 
 
 Newman presented himself when the summons had been twice or 
 thrice repeated, and asked if his master called. 
 
 " I did. Go to your dinner. And go at once. Do you hear ?" 
 
660 LIFE ANJ> ADVENTURES OP 
 
 " It an't time," said Newman, doggedly. 
 
 " My time is yours, and I say it is," returned Ralph. 
 
 " You alter it every day," said Newman. " It isn't fair." 
 
 " You don't keep many cooks, and can easily apologize to them for 
 the trouble," retorted Ralph. " Begone, sir !" 
 
 Ralph not only issued this order in his most preremptory manner, 
 but under pretence of fetching some papers from the little office, saw it 
 obeyed, and when Newman had left the house, chained the door to 
 prevent the possibility of his returning secretly by means of his latch 
 key. 
 
 " I have reason to suspect that fellow," said Ralph, when he returned 
 to his own office. " Therefore, until I have thought of the shortest 
 and least troublesome way of ruining him, I hold it best to keep him 
 at a distance." 
 
 " It wouldn't take much to ruin him, I should think," said Squeers, 
 •with a grin. 
 
 " Perhaps not," answered Ralph. " Nor to ruin a great many people 
 whom I know. You were going to say ? " 
 
 Ralph's summary and matter-of-course way of holding up this 
 example and throwing out the hint that followed it, had evidently an 
 effisct (as doubtless it was designed to have) upon Mr. Squeers, who 
 said, after a little hesitation and in a much more subdued tone — 
 
 " Why, what I was a going to say, sir, is, that this here business 
 regarding of that ungrateful and hard-hearted chap Snawley senior, 
 puts me out of my way, and occasions a inconveniency quite unparal- 
 leled, besides, as I may say, making, for whole weeks together, Mrs. 
 Squeers a perfect widder. It's a pleasure to me to act with you, of 
 course." 
 
 " Of course," said Ralph, drily. 
 
 " Yes, I say, of course," resumed Mr. Squeers, rubbing his knees, 
 *' but at the same time, when one comes, as I do now, better than two 
 hundred and fifty mile to take a affijrdavid, it does put a man out a 
 good deal, letting alone the risk." 
 
 " And where may the risk be, Mr. Squeers ?" said Ralph. 
 
 " I said, letting alone the risk," replied Squeers, evasively, 
 
 " And I said, where was the risk ? " 
 
 " I wasn't complaining, you know, Mr. Nickleby," pleaded Squeers, 
 *' Upon my word I never see such a " 
 
 " I ask you where is the risk ? " repeated Ralph, emphatically. 
 ^ " *' Where the risk ? " returned Squeers, rubbing his knees still harder, 
 " Why, it an't necessary to mention — certain subjects is best awoided. 
 Oh, you know what risk I mean." 
 
 " How often have I told you," said Ralph, " and how often am I to 
 tell you, that you run no risk ? What have you sworn, or what are 
 you asked to swear, but that at such and such a time a boy was left 
 with you in the name of Smike ; that he was at your school for a given 
 number of years, was lost under such and such circumstances, is now 
 found, and has been identified by you in such and such keeping. This 
 is all true — is it uot ?" 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 561 
 
 " Yes," replied Squeers, " that's all true." 
 
 " Well, then," said Ralph, " what risk do you run ? Who swears 
 to a lie but Snawley — a man whom I have paid much less than I have 
 you?" 
 
 " He certainly did it cheap, did Snawley," observed Squeers. 
 
 " He did it cheap !" retorted Ralph, testily, " yes, and he did it 
 well, and carries it off with a hypocritical face and a sanctified air, but 
 you — risk ! What do you mean by risk ? The certificates are all 
 genuine, Snawley had another son, he has been married twice, his first 
 wife is dead, none but her ghost could tell that she didn't write that 
 letter, none but Snawley himself can tell that this is not his son and 
 that his son is food for worms. The only perjury is Snawley's, and I 
 fancy he is pretty well used to it. Where's your risk ?" 
 
 " Why, you know," said Squeers, fidgeting in his chair, " if you 
 come to that, I might say where's yours ?" 
 
 " You might say where's mine ! " returned Ralph ; " you may say 
 where's mine. I don't appear in the business — neither do you. All 
 Snawley's interest is to stick well to the story he has told, and all his 
 risk is to depart from it in the least. Talk of your risk in the con- 
 spiracy !" 
 
 " I say," remonstrated Squeers, looking uneasily round ; " don't call 
 it that — ^just as a favour, don't." 
 
 " Call it what you like," said Ralph, irritably, " but attend to me. 
 This tale was originally fabricated as a means of deep annoyance against 
 one who hurt your trade and half cudgelled you to death, and to enable- 
 you to obtain repossession of a half-dead drudge, whom you wished to^ 
 regain, because while you wreaked your vengeance on him for his share 
 in the business, you knew that the knowledge that he was again in 
 your power would be the best punishment you could inflict upon your 
 enemy. Is that so, Mr. Squeers ?" 
 
 "Why, sir," returned Squeers, almost overpowered by the deter- 
 mination which Ralph displayed to make everything tell against him, 
 and by his stern unyielding manner, " in a measure it was." 
 
 " What does that mean?" said Ralph, quietly. 
 
 " Why, in a measure, means," returned Squeers, " as it may be so ; 
 that it wasn't all on my account, because you had some old grudge to 
 satisfy, too." 
 
 " If I had not had," said Ralph, in no way abashed by the reminder^ 
 " do you think I should have helped you ?" 
 
 " Why no, I don't suppose you would," Squeers replied. " I only 
 wanted that point to be all square and straight between us." 
 
 " How can it ever be otherwise ?" retorted Ralph. "Except that 
 account is against me, for I spend money to gratify my hatred, and you 
 pocket it, and gratify yours at the same time. You are at least as 
 avaricious as you are revengeful — so am I. Which is best off ? You, 
 who win money and revenge at the same time and by the same process, 
 and who are at all events sure of money, if not of revenge ; or I, who 
 am only sure of spending money in any case, and can but win bare 
 revenge at last?" 
 
 o 
 
562 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 As Mr, Sqiieers could only answer this proposition by shrugs and 
 smiles, Ralph sternly bade him be silent, and thankful that he was so 
 well off, and then fixing his eyes steadily upon him, proceeded to say — 
 
 First, that Nicholas had thwarted him in a plan he had formed for 
 the disposal in marriage of a certain young lady, and had, in the con- 
 fusion attendant upon her father's sudden death, secured that lady 
 himself and borne her off in triumph. 
 
 Second'.y, that by some will or settlement — certainly by some in- 
 strument in writing, which must contain the young lady's name, and 
 could be therefore easily selected from others, if access to the place 
 where it was deposited were once secured — she was entitled to property 
 which, if the existence of this deed ever became known to her, would 
 make her husband (and Ralph represented that Nicholas was certain to 
 marry her) a rich and prosperous man, and most formidable enemy. 
 
 Thirdly, that this deed had been, with others, stolen from one who 
 had himself obtained or concealed it fraudulently, and who feared to 
 take any steps for its recovery ; and that he (Ralph) knew the thief. 
 
 To all this, Mr. Squeers listened with greedy ears that devoured 
 every syllable, and with his one eye and his mouth wide open : mar- 
 velling for what special reason he w^as honoured with so much of 
 Ralph's confidence, and to what it all tended. 
 
 " Now," said Ralph, leaning forward, and placing his hand on 
 Squeers's arm, " hear the design which I have conceived, and which I 
 must — I say, must, if I can ripen it — have carried into execution. No 
 advantage can be reaped from this deed, whatever it is, save by the 
 girl herself, or her husband, and the possession of this deed by one or 
 other of them is indispensable to any advantage being gained. That I 
 have discovered beyond the possibility of doubt. I want that deed 
 brought here, that I may give the man who brings it fifty pounds in 
 gold, and burn it to ashes befor^ his face." 
 
 Mr. Squeers, after following with his eye the action of Ralph's hand 
 towards the fire-place as if he were at that moment consuming the 
 paper, drew a long breath, and said — 
 
 " Yes ; but who's to bring it ? " 
 
 " Nobody, perhaps, for much is to be done before it can be got at," 
 said Ralph. " ]3ut if anybody — you." 
 
 Mr. Squeers's first tokens of consternation, and his flat relinquishment 
 of the task, would have staggered most men, if they had not occasioned 
 an utter abandonment of the proposition. On Ralph they produced 
 not the slightest effect. Resuming when the schoolmaster had quite 
 talked himself out of breath, as coolly as if he had never been inter- 
 rupted, Ralph proceeded to expatiate on such features of the case as he 
 deemed it most advisable to lay the greatest stress upon. 
 
 These v>^ere, the age, decrepitude, and weakness of Mrs. Sliderskcw, 
 the great improbability of her having any accomplice or even acquaint- 
 ance, taking into account her secluded habits, and her long residence in 
 such a house as Gride's ; the strong reason there was to suppose that 
 the robbery was not the result of a concerted plan, otherwise she would 
 have watched an opportunity of carrying off a sum of money, or even 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLBBY. 563 
 
 of her being in want (to which the same argument applied) ; the 
 difficulty she would be placed in when she began to think on what she 
 had done, and found herself incumbered with documents of whose 
 nature she was utterly ignorant ; and the comparative ease with which 
 somebody, with a full knowledge of her position, obtaining access to 
 her and working upon her fears, if necessary, might worm himself into 
 her confidence, and obtain, under one pretence or another, free possession 
 of the deed. To these were added such considerations as the constant 
 residence of Mr. Squeers at a long distance from London, which 
 rendered his association with Mrs. ISliderskew a mere masquerading 
 frolic, in which nobody was likely to recognise him either at the time or 
 afterwards ; the impossibility of Ralph's undertaking the task himself, 
 being already known to her by sight, and various comments upon the 
 uncommon tact and experience of Mr. Squeers, which would make his 
 overreaching one old woman a mere matter of child's play and amuse- 
 ment. In addition to these influences and persuasions, Ralph drew, 
 with his utmost skill and power, a vivid picture of the defeat which 
 Nicholas would sustain should they succeed, in linking himself to a 
 beggar where he expected to wed an heiress — glanced at the immeasur- 
 able importance it must be to a man situated as Squeers, to preserve such 
 a friend as himself — dwelt on a long train of benefits conferred since 
 their first acquaintance, when he had reported favourably of his treat- 
 ment of a sickly boy who had died under his hands (and whose death 
 was very convenient to Ralph and his clients, but this he did not say), 
 and finally hinted that the fifty pounds might be increased to seventy- 
 five, or in the event of very great success, even to a hundred. 
 
 These arguments at length concluded, Mr. Squeers crossed his legs 
 and uncrossed them, and scratched his head, and rubbed his eye, and 
 examined the palms of his hands, and bit his nails, and after exhibiting 
 many other signs of restlessness and indecision, asked " whether one 
 hundred pound was the highest that Mr. Nickleby could go." Being 
 answered in the affirmative, he became restless again, and after some 
 thought, and an unsuccessful inquiry " whether he couldn't go another 
 fifty," said he supposed he must try and do the most he could for a friend, 
 which was always his maxim, and therefore he undertook the job. 
 
 " But how are you to get at the woman?" he said; "that's what it 
 is as puzzles me." 
 
 " I may not get at her at all," replied Ralph, " but I'll try. I have 
 hunted down people in this city before now who have been better hid 
 than she, and I know quarters in which a guinea or two carefully 
 spent will often solve darker riddles than this — ay, and keep them 
 close too, if need be. I hear my man ringing at the door. We may 
 as well part. You had better not come to and fro, but wait till you 
 hear from me." 
 
 " Good !" returned Squeers. " I say, if you shouldn't find her out, 
 you'll pay expenses at the Saracen, and something for loss of time ? " 
 
 " Well," said Ralph, testily ; " yes. You have nothing more to 
 say ? " 
 
 Squeers, shaking his head, Ralph accompanied him to the street- 
 
 o o2 
 
564 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 door, and audibly wondering, for the edification of Newman, why it 
 was fastened as if it were night, let him in and Squeers out, and 
 returned to his own room. 
 
 ** Now ! " he muttered, doggedly. " Come what come may, for 
 the present I am firm and unshaken. Let me but retrieve this one 
 small portion of my loss and disgrace. Let me but defeat him in this 
 one hope, dear to his heart as I know it must be. Let me but do this, 
 and it shall be the first link in such a chain, which I will wind about 
 him, as never man forged yet." 
 
 CHAPTER LVII. 
 
 HOW RALPH NICKLEBYS AUXILIARY WENT ABOUT HIS WORK, AND 
 HOW HE PROSPERED WITH IT. 
 
 It was a dark, wet, gloomy night in autumn, when in an upper 
 room of a mean house, situated in an obscure street or rather court 
 near Lambeth, there sat all alone, a one-eyed man grotesquely habited, 
 either for lack of better garments or for purposes of disguise, in a loose 
 great-coat, with arms half as long again as his own, and a capacity of 
 breadth and length which would have admitted of his winding himself 
 in it, head and all, with the utmost ease, and without any risk of 
 straining the old and greasy material of which it was composed. 
 
 So attired, and in a place so far removed from his usual haunts and 
 occupations, and so very poor and wretched in its character, perhaps 
 Mrs. Squeers herself would havb had some difficulty in recognising her 
 lord, quickened though her natural sagacity doubtless would have been 
 by the afi*ectionate yearnings and impulses of a tender wife. But Mrs. 
 Squeers's lord it was ; and in a tolerably disconsolate mood Mrs. Squeers's 
 lord appeared to be, as, helping himself from a black bottle which stood 
 on the table beside him, he cast round the chamber a look, in which 
 very slight regard for the objects within view was plainly mingled 
 with some regretful and impatient recollection of distant scenes and 
 persons. 
 
 There were certainly no particular attractions, either in the room 
 over which the glance of Mr. Squeers so discontentedly wandered, or 
 in the narrow street into which it might have penetrated, if he had 
 thought fit to approach the window. The attic-chamber in which he 
 sat was bare and mean ; the bedstead, and such few other articles of 
 necessary furniture as it contained, of the commonest description, in a 
 most crazy state, and of a most uninviting appearance. The street was 
 muddy, dirty, and deserted. Having but one outlet, it was traversed 
 by few but the inhabitants at any time, and the night being one of those 
 on which most people are glad to be within doors, it now presented no 
 other signs of life than the dull glimmering of poor candles from the 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 565 
 
 dirty windows, and few sounds but the pattering of the rain, and occa- 
 sionally the heavy closing of some creaking door. 
 
 Mr. Squeers continued to look disconsolately about him, and to listen 
 to these noises in profound silence, broken only by the rustling of his 
 large coat, as he now and then moved his arm to raise his glass to his 
 lips — Mr. Squeers continued to do this for some time, until the increas- 
 ing gloom warned him to snuff the candle. Seeming to be slightly 
 roused by this exertion, he raised his eyes to the ceiling, and fixing 
 them upon some uncouth and fantastic figures, traced upon it by the 
 wet and damp which had penetrated through the roof, broke out into 
 the following soliloquy : 
 
 " Well, this is a pretty go, is this here ! — an uncommon pretty go ! 
 Here have I been a matter of how many weeks — hard upon six — a- 
 follering up this here blessed old dowager, petty larcenerer," — Mr. 
 Squeers delivered himself of this epithet w^th great difiiculty and effort 
 — " and Dotheboys Hall a-running itself regularly to seed the while ! 
 That's the worst of ever being in with a ow~dacious chap like that old 
 Nickleby ; you never know when he's done with you, and if you're in 
 for a penny, you're in for a pound." 
 
 This remark perhaps reminded Mr. Squeers that he was in for a 
 hundred pound ; at any rate, his countenance relaxed, and he raised 
 his glass to his mouth with an air of greater enjoyment of its contents 
 than he had before evinced. 
 
 " I never see," soliloquised Mr. Squeers in continuation, " I never see 
 nor come across such a file as that old Nickleby — never. He's out of 
 everybody's depth, he is. He's what you may a-call a rasper, is 
 Nickleby. To see how sly and cunning he grubbed on, day after day, 
 a-worming and plodding and tracing and turning and twining of 
 hisself about, till he found out where this precious Mrs. Peg was hid, 
 and cleared the ground for me to work upon — creeping and crawling 
 and gliding, like a ugly old, bright-eyed, stagnation -blooded adder ! 
 Ah ! He'd have made a good un in our line, but it would have been 
 too limited for him ; his genius would have busted all bounds, and 
 coming over every obstacle, broke down all before it, 'till it erected 
 itself into a monneyment of — Well, I'll think of the rest, and say it 
 when conwenient." 
 
 Making a halt in his reflections at this place, Mr. Squeers again put 
 his glass to his lips, and drawing a dirty letter from his pocket, pro- 
 ceeded to con over its contents with the air of a man who had read it 
 very often, and now refreshed his memory rather in the absence of better 
 amusement than for any specific information. 
 
 " The pigs is well," said Mr. Squeers, " the cows is well, and the 
 boys is bobbish. Young Sprouter has been a- winking, has he ? I'll 
 wink him when I get back. ' Cobbey would persist in sniffing while 
 he was a-eating his dinner, and said that the beef was so strong it made 
 him.' — Yery good, Cobbey, we'll see if we can't make you sniff a little 
 without beef. ' Pitcher was took with another fever,' — of course he 
 was — ' and being fetched by his friends, died the day after he got home,' 
 —of course he did, and out of aggravation ; it's part of a deep-laid system. 
 
566 
 
 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 There an't another chap in the school but that boy as would have died 
 exactly at the end of the quarter, taking it out of me to the very last, 
 and then carrying his spite to the utmost extremity. ' The juniorest 
 Palmer said he wished he was in Heaven,' — I really don't know, I 
 do not know what's to be done with that young fellow ; he's always a- 
 wishing something horrid. He said once he wished he was a donkey, 
 because then he wouldn't have a father as didn't love him ! — pretty 
 wicious that, for a child of six ! " 
 
 Mr. Squeers was so much moved by the contemplation of this har- 
 dened nature in one so young, that he angrily put up the letter, and 
 sought, in a new train of ideas, a subject of consolation. 
 
 " It's a long time to have been a-lingering in London," he said, 
 ** and this is a precious hole to come and live in, even if it has been only 
 for a week or so. Still, one hundred pound is five boys, and five boys 
 takes a whole year to pay one hundred pound, and there's their keep to 
 be substracted, besides. There's nothing lost, neither, by one's being here ; 
 because the boys' money comes in just the same as if I was at home, 
 and Mrs. Squeers she keeps them in order. There'll be some lost time 
 to make up, of course — there'll be an arrear of flogging as'U have to be 
 gone through ; still, a couple of days makes that all right, and one don't 
 mind a little extra work for one hundred pound. It's pretty nigh the 
 time to wait upon the old woman. From what she said last night, I 
 suspect that if I'm to succeed at all, I shall succeed to-night, so I'll have 
 half a glass more to wish myself success, and put myself in spirits. 
 Mrs. Squeers, my dear, your health." 
 
 Leering with his one eye as if the lady to whom he drank had been 
 actually present, Mr. Squeers — in his enthusiasm, no doubt — poured 
 out a full glass, and emptied it ; and as the liquor was raw spirits, and 
 he had applied himself to the same bottle more than once already, it is 
 not surprising that he found himself by this time in an extremely 
 cheerful state, and quite enough excited for his purpose. 
 
 What his purpose was, soon appeared ; for, after a few turns about 
 the room to steady himself, he took the bottle under his arm and the 
 glass in his hand, and blowing out the candle as if he purposed being 
 gone some time, stole out upon the staircase, and creeping softly to a 
 door opposite his own, tapped gently at it. 
 
 "But what's the use of tapping?" he said, "she'll never hear, I 
 suppose she isn't doing anything very particular, and if she is, it don't 
 much matter that I see." 
 
 With this brief preface, Mr. Squeers applied his hand to the latch of 
 the door, and thrusting his head into a garret far more deplorable than 
 that he had just left, and seeing that there was nobody there but an old 
 woman, who was bending over a wretched fire (for although the weather 
 was still warm, the evening was chilly), walked in, and tapped her on 
 the shoulder. 
 
 " Well, my Slider," said Mr. Squeers, jocularly. 
 
 " Is that you ?" inquired Peg. 
 
 " Ah ! it's me, and me's the first person singular, nominative case, 
 agreeing with the verb ' it's,' and governed by Squeers understood, as a 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 567 
 
 acorn, a hour ; but when the h is sounded, the a only is to be used, as a 
 hand, a heart, a highway," replied Mr. Squeers, quoting at random from 
 the grammar, " at least if it isn't, you don't know any better, and if it 
 is, I've done it accidentally." 
 
 Delivering this reply in his accustomed tone of voice, in which of 
 course it was inaudible to Peg, Mr. Squeers drew a stool up to the fire, 
 and placing himself over against her, and the bottle and glass on the 
 floor between them, roared out again very loud, 
 
 " Well, my Slider." 
 
 " I hear you," said Peg, receiving him very graciously. 
 
 " I've come according to promise," roared Squeers. 
 
 " So they used to say in that part of the country I come from," 
 observed Peg, complacently, " but I think oil's better." 
 
 " Better than what ?" shouted Squeers, adding some rather strong 
 language in an under-tone. 
 
 " No," said Peg, " of course not." 
 
 " I never saw such a monster as you are ! " muttered Squeers, looking 
 as amiable as he possibly could the while ; for Peg's eye was upon him, 
 and she was chuckling fearfully, as though in delight at having made 
 a choice repartee. " Do you see this ? this is a bottle." 
 
 "I see it," answered Peg. 
 
 " Well, and do you see this 9" bawled Squeers. " This is a glass ?" 
 
 Peg saw that too. 
 
 " See here, then," said Squeers, accompanying his remarks with 
 appropriate action, " I fill the glass from the bottle, and I sayj ' your 
 health, Slider,' and empty it ; then I rinse it genteelly with a little 
 drop, which I'm forced to throw into the fire — Hallo ! we shall have the 
 chimbley alight next — fill it again, and hand it over to you." 
 
 " Your health," said Peg. 
 
 " She understands that, anyways," muttered Squeers, watching Mrs. 
 Sliderskew as she despatched her portion, and choked and gasped in a 
 most awful manner after so doing ; " now then, let's have a talk. How's 
 the rheumatics ?" 
 
 Mrs. Sliderskew, with much blinking and chuckling, and with looks 
 expressive of her strong admiration of Mr. Squeers, his person, manners, 
 and conversation, replied that the rheumatics were better. ^^^ i 
 
 " What's the reason," said Mr. Squeers, deriving fresh facetiousness 
 from the bottle ; " what's the reason of rheumatics, what do they mean, 
 what do people have 'em for — eh ? " 
 
 Mrs. Sliderskew didn't know, but suggested that it was possibly 
 because they couldn't help it. 
 
 " Measles, rheumatics, hooping-cough, fevers, agues, and lumbagers," 
 said Mr. Squeers, " is all philosophy together, that's what it is. The 
 heavenly bodies is philosophy, and the earthly bodies is philosophy. 
 If there's a screw loose in a heavenly body, that's philosophy, and if 
 there's a screw loose in a earthly body that's philosophy too ; or it 
 may be that sometimes there's a little metaphysics in it, but that's not 
 often. Philosophy's the chap for me. If a parent asks a question in 
 the classical, commercial, or mathematical line, says I, gravely, ' Why, 
 
•568 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 sir, in the first place, are you a philosopher ? ' — ' No, !Mr. Squeers,' he 
 says, ' I an't.' ' Then, sir,' says I, ' I am sorry for you, for 1 shan't be 
 able to explain it.' Naturally the parent goes away and wishes he was 
 a philosopher, and equally naturally, thinks I'm one." 
 
 Saying this and a great deal more with tipsy profundity and a serio- 
 comic air, and keeping his eye all the time on Mrs. Sliderskew, who 
 was unable to hear one word, Mr. Squeers concluded by helping himself 
 and passing the bottle, to which Peg did becoming reverence. 
 
 " That's the time of day ! " said Mr. Squeers. " You look twenty 
 pound ten better than you did." 
 
 Again Mrs. Sliderskew chuckled, but modesty forbade her assenting 
 verbally to the compliment. 
 
 " Twenty pound ten better," repeated Mr. Squeers, " than you did 
 that day when I first introduced myself — don't you know ? " 
 
 " Ah ! " said Peg, shaking her head, " but you frightened me that 
 day." 
 
 " Did I ? " said Squeers, " well, it was rather a startling thing for a 
 stranger to come and recommend himself by saying that he knew all 
 about you, and what your name was, and why you were living so quiet 
 here, and what you had boned, and who you boned it from, wasn't it V 
 
 Peg nodded her head in strong assent. 
 
 " But I know everything that happens in that way, you see," con- 
 tinued Squeers. " Nothing takes place of that kind that I an't up to 
 entirely. I'm a sort of a lawyer. Slider, of first-rate standing, and 
 understanding too ; I'm the intimate friend and confidental adwiser of 
 pretty nigh every man, woman, and child that gets themselves into 
 difficulties by being too nimble with their fingers, I'm " 
 
 Mr. Squeers's catalogue of his own merits and accomplishments, 
 which was partly the result of a concerted plan between hhnself and 
 Ralph Nickleby, and flowed, in- part, from the black bottle, was here 
 interrupted by Mrs. Sliderskew. 
 
 " Ha, ha, ha ! " she cried, folding her arms and wagging her head ; 
 "and so he wasn't married after all, wasn't he — not married after 
 all?" 
 
 " No," replied Squeers, " that he wasn't ! " 
 
 " And a young lover come and carried off the bride, eh ? " said Peg. 
 
 " From under his very nose," replied Squeers ; " and I'm told the 
 young chap cut up rough besides, and broke the winders, and forced him 
 to swaller his wedding favor, which nearly choked him." 
 
 " Tell me all about it again," cried Peg, with a malicious relish of 
 her old master's defeat, which made her natural hideousness something 
 quite fearful ; " let's hear it all again, beginning at the beginning now, 
 as if you'd never told me. Let's have it every word — now — now — 
 beginning at the very first, you know, when he went to the house that 
 morning." 
 
 Mr. Squeers, plying Mrs. Sliderskew freely with the liquor, and 
 sustaining himself under the exertion of speaking so loud by frequent 
 applications to it himself, complied with this request by describing the 
 discomfiture of Arthur Gride, with such improvements on the truth as 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 569 
 
 happened to occur to him, and the ingenious invention and application 
 of which had been very instrumental in recommending him to her 
 notice in the beginning of their acquaintance. Mrs. Sliderskew was in 
 an ecstacy of delight, rolling her head about, drawing up her skinny- 
 shoulders, and wrinkling her cadaverous face into so many and such 
 complicated forms of ugliness, as awakened the unbounded astonish- 
 ment and disgust even of Mr. Squeers. 
 
 " He's a treacherous old goat," said Peg, " and cozened me ^vvith 
 cunning tricks and lying promises, but never mind — I'm even with him 
 — I'm even with him." 
 
 " More than even, Slider," returned Squeers ; " you'd have been even 
 with him if he'd got married, but with the disappointment besides, 
 you're a long way a-head — out of sight. Slider, quite out of sight. 
 And that reminds me," he added, handing her the glass, *' if you want 
 me to give you my opinion of them deeds, and tell you what you'd 
 better keep and what you'd better burn, why, now's your time. Slider." 
 
 "There an't no hurry for that," said Peg, with several knowing 
 looks and winks. 
 
 " Oh ! very well I" observed Squeers, " it don't matter to me; you 
 asked me, you know. I shouldn't charge you nothing, being a friend. 
 You're the best judge of course, but you're a bold woman, Slider— 
 that's all." 
 
 " How do you mean — bold ?" said Peg. 
 
 " Why, I only mean that if it was me, I wouldn't keep papers as 
 might hang me, littering about when they might be turned into money ; 
 them as wasn't useful made away with, and them as was, laid by some- 
 wheres safe, that's all," returned Squeers ; " but everybody's the best 
 judge of their own affairs. All as I say is, Slider, / wouldn't do it." 
 
 " Come," said Peg, " then you shall see 'em." 
 
 " / don't want to see 'em," replied Squeers, affecting to be out of 
 humour, " don't talk as if it was a treat. Show 'em to somebody else 
 and take their advice." 
 
 Mr. Squeers would very likely have carried on the farce of being 
 offended a little longer, if Mrs. Sliderskew, in her anxiety to restore 
 herself to her former high position in his good graces, had not become 
 so extremely affectionate that he stood at some risk of being smothered 
 by her caresses. Repressing, with as good a grace as possible, these 
 little familiarities — for which there is reason to believe that the black 
 bottle was at least as much to blame as any constitutional infirmity on 
 the part of Mrs. Sliderskew — he protested that he had only been joking, 
 and, in proof of his unimpaired good humour, that he was ready to 
 examine the deeds at once, if, by so doing, he could afford any satisfac- 
 tion or relief of mind to his fair friend. 
 
 " And now you're up, my Slider," bawled Squeers, as she rose to 
 fetch them, " bolt the door." 
 
 Peg trotted to the door, and after fumbling at the bolt, crept to the 
 other end of the room, and from beneath the coals which filled the 
 bottom of the cupboard, drew forth a small deal box. Having placed 
 this on the floor at Squeers's feet, she brought from under the pillow of 
 
570 LIPB AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 her bed, a small key, with which she signed to that gentleman to open 
 it. Mr. Sqiieers, who had eagerly followed her every motion, lost no 
 time in obeying this hint, and throwing back the lid, gazed with rapture 
 on the documents which lay within. 
 
 " Now you see," said Peg, kneeling down on the floor beside him, 
 and staying his impatient hand ; " what's of no use we'll burn, what 
 we can get any money by we'll keep, and if there's any we could get 
 him into trouble by, and fret and waste away his heart to shreds, those 
 we'll take particular care of, for that's what I want to do, and hoped 
 to do when I left him." 
 
 " I thought," said Squeers, " that you didn't bear him any particular 
 good- will. But I say, why didn't you take some money besides ? " 
 
 " Some what ?" asked Peg. 
 
 " Some money," roared Squeers. " I do believe the woman hears 
 me^ and wants to make me break a wessel, so that she may have the 
 pleasure of nursing me. Some money. Slider — money." 
 
 " Why, what a man you are to ask 1" cried Peg, with some con- 
 tempt. " If I had taken money from Arthur Gride, he'd have scoured 
 the whole earth to find me — aye, and he'd have smelt it out, and raked 
 it up somehow if I had buried it at the bottom of the deepest well in 
 England. No, no ! I knew better than that. I took what I thought 
 his secrets were hid in, and them he couldn't afford to make public, let 
 'em be worth ever so much money. He's an old dog, a sly, old, cunning, 
 thankless dog. He first starved and then tricked me, and if I could, 
 I'd kill him." 
 
 " All right, and very laudable," said Squeers. " But first and fore- 
 most. Slider, burn the box. You should never keep things as may 
 lead to discovery — always mind that. So while you pull it to pieces 
 (which you can easily do, for it's very old and rickety) and burn it in 
 little bits, I'll look over the papers and tell you what tliey are." 
 
 Peg, expressing her acquiescence in this arrangement, Mr. Squeers 
 turned the box bottom upwards, and tumbling the contents upon the 
 floor, handed it to her ; the destruction of the box being an extemporary 
 device for engaging her attention, in case it should prove desirable to 
 distract it from his own proceedings. 
 
 " There," said Squeers, " you poke the pieces between the bars, and 
 make up a good fire, and I'll read the while — let me see — let me see." 
 And taking i the candle down beside him, Mr. Squeers, with great 
 eagerness and a cunning grin overspreading his face, entered upon his 
 task of examination. 
 
 If the old woman had not been very deaf, she must have heard, 
 when she last went to the door, the breathing of two persons close 
 behind it, and if those two persons had been unacquainted with her 
 infirmity they must probably have chosen that moment either for pre- 
 senting themselves or taking to flight. But, knowing with whom they 
 had to deal, they remained quite still, and now, not only appeared un- 
 observed at the door — which was not bolted, for the bolt had no hasp 
 —but warily, and with noiseless footsteps, advanced into the room. 
 
 Aa they stole further and further in by slight and scarcely perceptible 
 
>''ii.lPC^ 
 
 //'. /,ur, /..../..///',' 
 
 V<"//.J /"/' ^^' 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 571 
 
 degrees, and with such caution that they scarcely seemed to breathe, 
 the old hag and Squeers little dreaming of any such invasion, and utterly 
 unconscious of there being any soul near but themselves, were busily 
 occupied with their tasks. The old woman with her wrinkled face 
 close to the bars of the stove, puffing at the dull embers which had not 
 yet caught the wood — Squeers stooping down to the candle, which 
 brought out the full ugliness of his face, as the light of the fire did that 
 of his companion — ^both intently engaged, and wearing faces of exulta- 
 tion which contrasted strongly with the anxious looks of those behind, 
 who took advantage of the slightest sound to cover their advance, and 
 almost before they had moved an inch, and all was silent, stopped again 
 — this, with the large bare room, damp walls, and flickering doubtful 
 light, combined to form a scene which the most careless and indifferent 
 spectator — could any have been present — could scarcely have failed to 
 derive some interest from, and would not readily have forgotten. 
 
 Of the stealthy comers Frank Cheeryble was one, and Newman 
 Noggs the other. Newman had caught up by the rusty nozzle an old 
 pair of bellows, which were just undergoing a flourish in the air pre- 
 paratory to a descent upon the head of Mr. Squeers, when Frank, with 
 an earnest gesture, stayed his arm, and taking another step in advance, 
 came so close behind the schoolmaster that, by leaning slightly forward, 
 he could plainly distinguish the writing which he held up to his eye. 
 
 Mr. Squeers not being remarkably erudite, appeared to be consi- 
 derably puzzled by this first prize, which was in an engrossing hand, 
 and not very legible except to a practised eye. Having tried it by 
 reading from left to right and from right to left, and finding it equally 
 clear both ways, he turned it upside down with no better success. 
 
 " Ha, ha, ha !" chuckled Peg, who, on her knees before the fire, was 
 feeding it with fragments of the box, and grinning in most devilish 
 exultation. " What's that writing about, eh ?" 
 
 " Nothing particular," replied Squeers, tossing it towards her. " It's 
 only an old lease, as well as I can make out. Throw it in the fire." 
 
 Mrs. Sliderskew complied, and inquired what the next one was. 
 
 " This," said Squeers, " is a bundle of over-due acceptances and 
 renewed bills of six or eight young gentlemen, but they're all M.P's., 
 so it's of no use to anybody. Throw it in the fire." 
 
 Peg did as she was bidden, and waited for the next. 
 
 " This," said Squeers, " seems to be some deed of sale of the right 
 of presentation to the rectory of Purechurch, in the valley of Cashup. 
 Take care of that. Slider — literally for God's sake. It'll fetch its price 
 at the Auction Mart." 
 
 " What's the next ?" inquired Peg. 
 
 " Why, this," said Squeers, " seems, from the two letters that's with 
 it, to be a bond from a curate down in the country to pay half-a-year s 
 wages of forty pound for borrowing twenty. Take care of that, for if 
 he don't pay it, his bishop will very soon be down upon him. We 
 know what the camel and the needle's eye means — no man as can't live 
 upon his income, whatever it is, must expect to go to heaven at any 
 price — it's very odd. I don't see anything like it yet." 
 
572 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 " What's the matter ?" said Peg. 
 
 " Nothing," replied Squeers, " only I'm looking for " 
 
 Newman raised the bellows again, and once more Frank, by a rapid 
 motion of his arm, unaccompanied by any noise, checked him in his 
 purpose. 
 
 " Here you are," said Squeers, '' bonds — take care of them. Warrant 
 of attorney — take care of that. Two cognovits — take care of them. 
 Lease and release — burn that. Ah ! ' Madeline Bray — come of age 
 or marry — the said Madeline' — Here, burn that." 
 
 Eagerly tlirowing towards the old woman a parchment that he caught 
 up for the purpose, Squeers, as she turned her head, thrust into the 
 breast of his large coat, the deed in which these words had caught his 
 eye, and burst into a shout of triumph. 
 
 "I've got it!" said Squeers. "I've got it. Hurrah! The plan 
 was a good one though the chance was desperate, and the day's our 
 own at last ! " 
 
 Peg demanded what he laughed at, but no answer was returned, for 
 Newman's arm could no longer be restrained ; the bellows descending 
 heavily and with unerring aim on the very centre of Mr. Squeers's head, 
 felled him to the floor, and stretched him on it flat and senseless. 
 
 CHAPTER LYIII. 
 
 IN WHICH ONE SCENE OF THIS HISTORY IS CLOSED. 
 
 Dividing the distance into iwo days' journey, in order that his 
 charge might sustain the less exliaustion and fatigue from travelling so 
 far, Nicholas, at the end of the second day from their leaving home, 
 found himself within a very few miles of the spot where the happiest 
 years of his life had been passed, and which, while it filled his mind 
 with pleasant and peaceful thoughts, brought back many painful and 
 vivid recollections of the circumstances in which he and his had 
 wandered forth from their old home, cast upon the rough world and 
 the mercy of strangers. 
 
 It needed no such reflections as those which the memory of old days, 
 and wanderings among scenes where our childhood has been passed, 
 usually awaken in the most insensible minds, to soften the heart of 
 Nicholas, and render him more than usually mindful of his drooping 
 friend. By night and day, at all times and seasons, always watchful, 
 attentive, and solicitous, and never varying in the discharge of his self- 
 imposed duty to one so friendless and helpless as he whose sands of life 
 were now fast running out and dwindling rapidly away, he was ever 
 at his side. He never left him ; to encourage and animate him, admin- 
 ister to his wants, support and cheer him to the utmost of his power, 
 was now his constant and unceasing occupation. 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 573 
 
 They procured a bumble lodging in a small farm-house, surrounded 
 by meadows, where Nicholas had often revelled when a child with a 
 troop of merry schoolfellows ; and here they took up their rest. 
 
 At first, Smike was strong enough to walk about for short distances 
 at a time, with no other support or aid than that which Nicholas could 
 afford him. At this time, nothing appeared to interest him so much as 
 visiting those places which had been most familiar to his friend in 
 bygone days. Yielding to this fancy, and pleased to find that its in- 
 dulgence beguiled the sick boy of many tedious hours, and never failed 
 to afford him matter for thought and conversation afterwards, Nicholas 
 made such spots the scenes of their daily rambles : driving him from 
 place to place in a little pony-chair, and supporting him on his arm 
 while they walked slowly among these old haunts, or lingered in the 
 sunlight to take long parting looks of those which were most quiet and 
 beautiful. 
 
 It was on such occasions as these, that Nicholas, yielding almost 
 unconsciously to the interest of old associations, would point out some 
 tree that he had climbed a hundred times to peep at the young birds 
 in their nest, and the branch from which he used to shout to little Kate, 
 who stood below terrified at the height he had gained, and yet urging 
 him higher still by the intensity of her admiration. There was the old 
 house too, which they would pass every day, looking up at the tiny 
 window through which the sun used to stream in and wake him 
 on the summer mornings — they were all summer mornings then — 
 and climbing up the garden- wall and looking over, Nicholas could see 
 the very rose-bush which had come a present to Kate from some little 
 lover and she had planted with her own hands. There were the hedge- 
 rows where the brother and sister had so often gathered wild flowers 
 together, and the green fields and shady paths where they had so often 
 strayed. There was not a lane, or brook, or copse, or cottage near, 
 with which some childish event was not entwined, and back it came 
 upon the mind as events of childhood do — nothing in itself: perhaps a 
 word, a laugh, a look, some slight distress, a passing thought or fear — 
 and yet more strongly ^and distinctly marked, and better far remembered, 
 than the hardest trials or severest sorrows of but a year ago. 
 
 One of these expeditions led them through the churchyard where 
 was his father s grave. " Even here," said Nicholas, softly, " we used 
 to loiter before we knew what death was, and when we little thought 
 whose ashes would rest beneath, and wondering at the silence, sit down 
 to rest and speak below our breath. Once Kate was lost, and after an 
 hour of fruitless search, they found her fast asleep under that tree which 
 shades my father's grave. He was very fond of her, and said when he 
 took her up in his arms, still sleeping, that whenever he died he would 
 wish to be buried where his dear little child had laid her head. You 
 see his wish was not forgotten." 
 
 Nothing more passed at the time, but that night, as Nicholas sat 
 beside his bed, Smike started up from what had seemed to be a slumber, 
 and laying his hand in his, prayed, as the tears coursed down his face, 
 that he would make him one solemn promise. 
 
574 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 " What is that ?" said Nicholas, kindly. " If I can redeem it, or 
 hope to do 80, you know I will." 
 
 " I am sure you will," was the reply. " Promise me that when I 
 die, I shall be buried near — as near as they can make my grave — to the 
 tree we saw to-day." 
 
 Nicholas gave the promise ; he had few words to give it in, but they 
 were solemn and earnest. His poor friend kept his hand in his, and 
 turned as if to sleep. But there were stifled sobs ; and the hand was 
 pressed more than once, or twice, or thrice, before he sank to rest, and 
 slowly loosed his hold. 
 
 In a fortnight's time, he became too ill to move about. Once or 
 twice Nicholas drove him out, propped up with pillows, but the 
 motion of the chaise w\as painful to him, and brought on fits of 
 fainting, which, in his weakened state, were dangerous. There was 
 an old couch in the house which was his favourite resting-place 
 by day ; when the sun shone, and the weather was warm, Nicholas 
 had this wheeled into a little orchard which was close at hand, and 
 his charge being well wrapt up and carried out to it, they used to sit 
 there sometimes for hours together. 
 
 It was on one of these occasions that a circumstance took place, 
 which Nicholas at the time thoroughly believed to be the mere 
 delusion of an imagination affected by disease, but which he had 
 afterwards too good reason to know was of real and actual occurrence. 
 
 He had brought Smike out in his arms — poor fellow ! a child might 
 have carried him then — to see the sunset, and, having arranged his 
 couch, had taken his seat beside it. He had been watching the whole 
 of the night before, and being greatly fatigued both in mind and body, 
 gradually fell asleep. 
 
 He could not have closed his eyes five minutes, when he was 
 awakened by a scream, and starting up in that kind of terror which 
 affects a person suddenly roused, saw to his great astonishment that 
 his charge had struggled into a sitting posture, and with eyes almost 
 starting from their sockets, the cold dew standing on his forehead, 
 and in a fit of trembling which quite convulsed his frame, was shrieking 
 to him for help. 
 
 "Good Heaven, what is this!" cried Nicholas, bending Qver him. 
 " Be calm ; you have been dreaming." 
 
 " No, no, no ! " cried Smike, clinging to him. " Hold me tight. 
 Don't let me go. There — there — behind the tree ! " 
 
 Nicholas followed his eyes, which were directed to some distance 
 behind the chair from which he himself had just risen. But there 
 was nothing there. 
 
 " This is nothing but your fancy," he said, as he strove to compose 
 him ; " nothing else indeed." 
 
 " I know better. I saw as plain as I see now," w^as the answer. 
 " Oh ! say you'll keep me with you — swear you won't leave me for an 
 instant ! " 
 
 " Do I ever leave you ? " returned Nicholas. " Lie down again 
 now — there. You see I'm here. Now tell me — what was it ? " 
 
 " Do you remember," said Smike, in a low^voice, and glancing fear- 
 

 
 .^y/. /..vy////;^<v. 
 
I 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 575 
 
 fully round, " do you remember my telling you of the man who first 
 took me to the school ? " 
 
 " Yes, surely." 
 
 " I raised my eyes just now toAvards that tree — that one with the 
 thick trunk — and there, with his eyes fixed on me, he stood." 
 
 " Only reflect for one moment," said Nicholas ; " granting for an 
 instant that it's likely he is alive and wandering about a lonely place 
 like this, so far removed from the public road, do you think that at 
 this distance of time you could possibly know that man again ? " 
 
 " Anywhere — in any dress," returned Smike ; " but just now, he 
 stood leaning upon his stick and looking at me, exactly as I told you 
 I remembered him. He was dusty with walking, and poorly dressed 
 — I think his clothes were ragged — but directly I saw him, the wet 
 night, his face when he left me, the parlour I was left in, and the 
 people that were there, all seemed to come back together. When he 
 knew I saw him, he looked frightened, for he started and slirunk 
 away. I have thought of him by day, and dreamt of him by night. 
 He looked in my sleep when I was quite a little child, and has looked 
 in my sleep ever since, as he did just now." 
 
 Nicholas endeavoured, by every persuasion and argument he could 
 think of, to convince the terrified creature that his imagination had 
 vdeceived him, and that this close resemblance between the creation 
 of his dreams and the man he supposed he had seen was but a proof 
 of it ; but all in vain. When he could persuade him to remain for a 
 few moments in the care of the people to whom the house belonged, 
 he instituted a strict inquiry whether any stranger had been seen, 
 and searched himself behind the tree, and through the orchard, and 
 upon the land immediately adjoining, and in every place near, where 
 it was possible for a man to lie concealed, but all in vain. Satisfied 
 that he was right in his original conjecture, he ultimately applied 
 himself to calming the fears of Smike, which after some time he 
 partially succeeded in doing, though not in removing the impression 
 upon his mind, for he still declared again and again in the most 
 solemn and fervid manner, that he had positively seen what he described, 
 and that nothing could ever remove his firm conviction of its reality. 
 
 And now Nicholas began to see that hope was gone, and that upon 
 the partner of his poverty, and the sharer of his better fortune, the 
 world was closing fast. There was little pain, little uneasiness, but 
 there was no rallying, no effort, no struggle for life. He was worn 
 and wasted to the last degree ; his voice had sunk so low, that he 
 could scarce be heard to speak. Nature was thoroughly exhausted, 
 and he had lain him down to die. 
 
 On a fine, mild autumn day, when all was tranquil and at peace, 
 when the soft sweet air crept in at the open window of the quiet room, 
 and not a sound was heard but the gentle rustling of the leaves, 
 Nicholas sat in his old place by the bedside, and knew that the time 
 was nearly come. So very still it was, that every now and then he 
 bent down his ear to listen for the breathing of him who lay asleep, 
 as if to assure himself that life was still there, and that he had not 
 fallen into that deep slumber from which on earth there is no waking. 
 
576 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 While he was thus employed, the closed eyes opened, and on the pale 
 face there came a placid smile. 
 
 " That's well," said Nicholas. " The sleep has done you good." 
 
 " I have had such pleasant dreams," was the answer. " Such plea- 
 sant, happy dreams !" 
 
 "Of what ?" said Nicholas. 
 
 The dying boy turned towards him, and putting his arm about his 
 neck, made answer, " I shall soon be there ! " 
 
 After a short silence, he spoke again. 
 
 " I am not afraid to die," he said, " I am quite contented. I almost 
 think that if I could rise from this bed quite well, I would not 
 wish to do so now. You have so often told me we shall meet again — 
 so very often lately, and now I feel the truth of that so strongly — that 
 I can even bear to part from you." 
 
 The trembling voice and tearful eye, and the closer grasp of the arm 
 which accompanied these latter words, showed how they filled the 
 speaker's heart ; nor were there wanting indications of how deeply they 
 had touched the heart of him to whom they were addressed. 
 
 " You say well," returned Nicholas at length, " and comfort me very 
 much, dear fellow. Let me hear you say you are happy, if you can." 
 
 *' I must tell you something first. I should not have a secret from 
 you. You would not blame me at a time like this, I know." 
 
 " / blame you !" exclaimed Nicholas. 
 
 " I am sure you would not. You asked me why I was so changed, 
 and — and sat so much alone. Shall I tell you why ?" 
 
 " Not if it pains you," said Nicholas. " I only asked that I might 
 make you happier if I could." 
 
 " I know — 1 felt that at the time." He drew his friend closer to 
 him. " You will forgive me ; I could not help it, but though I would 
 have died to make her happy, it broke my heart to see — I know he 
 loves her dearly — Oh ! who could find that out so soon as I ! " 
 
 The words which followed were feebly and faintly uttered, and 
 broken by long pauses ; but from them Nicholas learnt, for the first 
 time, that the dying boy, with all the ardour of a nature concentrated 
 on one absorbing, hopeless, secret passion, loved his sister Kate. 
 
 He had procured a lock of her hair, which hung at his breast, folded 
 in one or two slight ribands she had worn. He prayed that when he 
 was dead, Nicholas would take it off, so that no eyes but his might see 
 it, and that when he was laid in his coffin and about to be placed in 
 the earth, he would hang it round his neck again, that it might rest 
 with him in the grave. 
 
 Upon his knees Nicholas gave him this pledge, and promised again 
 that he should rest in the spot he had pointed out. They embraced, 
 and kissed each other on the cheek. 
 
 " Now," he murmured, " I am happy." 
 
 He fell into a slight slumber, and waking, smiled as before ; then 
 spoke of beautiful gardens, which he said stretched out before him, and 
 were filled with figures of meh, women, and many children, all with 
 light upon their faces ; then whispered that it was Eden — and so died. 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 577 
 
 CHAPTER LIX. 
 
 THE PLOTS BEGIN TO FAIL, AND DOUBTS AND DANGERS TO 
 DISTURB THE PLOTTER. ^ 
 
 Halph sat alone in the solitary room where he was accustomed to 
 take his meals, and to sit of nights when no profitable occupation 
 called him abroad ; before him was an untasted breakfast, and near 
 to where his fingers beat restlessly upon the table, lay his watch. It 
 was long past the time at which, for many years, he had put it in his 
 pocket and gone with measured steps down stairs to the business of 
 the day, but he took as little heed of its monotonous warning, as of 
 the meat and drink before him, and remained with his head resting on 
 one hand, and his eyes fixed moodily on the ground. 
 
 This departure from his regular and constant habit in one so regular 
 and unvarying in all that appertained to the daily pursuit of riches, 
 would almost of itself have told that the usurer was not well. That 
 he laboured under some mental or bodily indisposition, and that it was 
 one of no slight kind so to afi*ect a man like him, was sufficiently 
 shown by his haggard face, jaded air, and hollow languid eyes, which 
 he raised at last with a start and a hasty glance around him, as one 
 who suddenly awakes from sleep, and cannot immediately recognise the 
 place in which he finds himself. 
 
 " What is this," he said, " that hangs over me, and I cannot shake 
 ofi" ? I have never pampered myself, and should not be ill. I have 
 never moped, and pined, and yielded to fancies ; but what can a man 
 do without rest?" 
 
 ' He pressed his hand upon his forehead. 
 
 „' " Night after night comes and goes, and I have no rest. If I sleep, 
 what rest is that which is disturbed by constant dreams of the sam« 
 detested faces crowding round me — of the same detested people in every 
 variety of action, mingling with all I say and do, and always to my 
 defeat ? Waking, what rest have I, constantly haunted by this heavy 
 shadow of — I know not what, which is its worst character. I must 
 have rest. One night's unbroken rest, and I should be a man again." 
 
 Pushing the table from him while he spoke, as though he loathed 
 the sight of food, he encountered the watch ; the hands of which wei'e 
 almost upon noon. 
 
 "This is strange!" he said, "noon, and Noggs not here! what 
 drunken brawl keeps him away ? I would give something now, some- 
 thing in money even after that dreadful loss, if he had stabbed a man 
 in a tavern scufile, or broken into a house, or picked a pocket, or done 
 anything that would send him abroad with an iron ring upon his leg, 
 and rid me of him. Better still if I could throw temptation in his 
 way, and lure him on to rob me. He should be welcome to what he 
 took, so I brought the law upon him, for he is a traitor, I swear ; how 
 or when or where I don't know, though I suspect." 
 
 After waiting for another half-hour, he despatched the woman who 
 kept his house to Newman s lodging, to inquire if he were ill, and why 
 
 p P 
 
"^f^ LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 he had not come or sent. She brought back answer that he had not 
 been home all night, and that no one could tell her anything about him. 
 
 " But there is a gentleman, Sir," she said, " below, who was standing 
 at the door when I came in, and he says " 
 
 " "What says he ?" demanded Ralph, turning angrily upon her. " I 
 told you I would see nobody." 
 
 " He says," replied the woman, abashed by his harshness, " that he 
 comes on very particular business which admits of no excuse, and I 
 thought perhaps it miglit be about " 
 
 " About what, in the devil's name?" said Ralph hastily. "Kow spy 
 and speculate on people's business with mc, do you, woman ?" 
 
 " Dear, no. Sir ! I saw you were anxious, and thought it might be 
 about Mr. Noggs, that's all." 
 
 " Saw I was anxious !" muttered Ralph ; " they all watch me now. 
 Where is this person? You did not say I was not down yet, I hope?" 
 
 The woman replied that he was in the little office, and that she had 
 said her master was engaged, but she would take the message. 
 
 " Well," said Ralph, " I'll see him. Go you to your kitchen, and 
 keep there, — do you mind me ? " 
 
 Glad to be released, the woman quickly disappeared. Collecting 
 himself, and assuming as much of his accustomed manner as his utmost 
 resolution could summon, Ralph descended the stairs, and after pausing 
 for a few moments with j^his hand upon the lock, entered Newman's 
 room, and confronted Mr. Charles Cheeryble. 
 
 Of all men alive, this was one of the last he would have wished to 
 meet at any time ; but now that he recognised in him only the patron 
 and protector of Nicholas, he would rather have seen a spectre. One 
 beneficial effect, however, the encounter had upon him. It instantly 
 roused all his dormant energies, rekindled in his breast the passions 
 that for many years had found an improving home there, called up all 
 his wrath, hatred, and malice ; restored the sneer to his lip, and the 
 scowl to his brow, and made him again in all outward appearance the 
 same Ralph Nickleby that so many had bitter cause to remember. 
 
 " Humph," said Ralph, pausing at the door. " This is an imex- 
 pected favour. Sir." 
 
 " And ai- unwelcome one," said brother Charles ; " an unwelcome 
 one, I know." 
 
 " Men say you are truth itself. Sir," sneered Ralph. " You speak 
 truth now at all events, and I'll not contradict you. The favour is at 
 least as unwelcome as it is unexpected. I can scarcely say more ! " 
 
 " Plainly, Sir " began brother Charles. 
 
 " Plainly, Sir," interrupted Ralph, " I wish this conference to be a 
 short one, and to end where it begins. I guess the subject upon which 
 you are about to speak, and I'll not hear you. You like plainness, I 
 believe, — there it is. Here is the door as you see. Our way lies in very 
 different directions. Take yours I beg of you, and leave me to pursue 
 mine in quiet." 
 
 " In quiet ! " repeated brother Charles mildly, and looking at him 
 ■with more of pity than reproach. " To pursue his way in quiet !" 
 
 " You will scarcely remain in my house, I presume, Sir, against my 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 579 
 
 will," said Ralph ; " or yon can scarcely hope to make an impression 
 upon a man who closes his ears to all that you can say, and is firmly 
 and resolutely determined not to hear you." 
 
 " 3Ir. Nickleby, Sir," returned brother Charles, no less mildly than 
 before, but firmly too, " I come here against my will — sorely and 
 grievously against my will. I have never been in this house before ; 
 and to speak my mind. Sir, I don't feel at home or easy in it, and have 
 no wish ever to be here again. You do not guess the subject on which 
 I come to speak to you, you do not indeed. I am sure of that, or your 
 manner would be a very different one." 
 
 Ealph glanced keenly at him, but the clear eye and open countenance 
 of the honest old merchant underwent no change of expression, and 
 met his look without reserve. 
 
 "Shall I go on?" said Mr. Cheeryble. 
 
 " Oh, by all means, if you please," returned Ralph drily. " Here 
 are walls to speak to. Sir, a desk, and two stools — most attentive auditors, 
 and certain not to interrupt you. Go on, I beg ; make my house 
 yours, and perhaps by the time I return from my walk, you will have 
 finished what you have to say, and will yield me up possession again." 
 
 So saying, he buttoned his coat, and turning into the passage, took 
 down his hat. The old gentleman followed, and was about to speak, 
 when Ralph waved him off impatiently, and said : 
 
 " Not a word. I tell you. Sir, not a word. Virtuous as you are, 
 you are not an angel yet, to appear in men's houses whether they will 
 or no, and pour your speech into unwilling ears. Preach to the wall* 
 I tell you — not to me." 
 
 " I am no angel. Heaven knows," returned brother Charles, shaking 
 his head, "but an erring and imperfect man; nevertheless, there is 
 one quality which all men have in common with the angels blessed 
 opportunities of exercising if they will — mercy. It is an errand of 
 mercy that brings me here. Pray, let me discharge it." 
 
 " I show no mercy," retorted Ralph with a triumphant smile, " and 
 I ask none. Seek no mercy from me. Sir, in behalf of the fellow who 
 has imposed upon your childish credulity, but let him expect the worst 
 that I can do." 
 
 " He ask mercy at your hands ! " exclaimed the old merchant 
 warmly, " ask it at his. Sir, ask it at his. If you will not hear me 
 now when you may, hear me when you must, or anticipate what I 
 would say, and take measures to prevent our ever meeting again. 
 Your nephew is a noble lad. Sir, an honest, noble lad. What you are, 
 Mr. Nickleby, I will not say ; but what you have done, I know. Now, 
 Sir, when you go about the business in which you have been recently 
 engaged, and find it difficult of pursuing, come to me and my brother 
 Ned, and Tim Linkinwater, Sir, and we'll explain it for you — and come 
 soon, or it may be too late, and you may have it explained with a little 
 more roughness, and a little less delicacy — and never forget, Sir, that I 
 came here this morning in mercy to you, and am still ready to talk to 
 you in the same spirit." 
 
 With these words, uttered with great emphasis and emotion, brother 
 Charles put on his broad-brimmed hat, and passing Ralph Nickleby 
 
 pp2 
 
580 LIFE. AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 without any further remark, trotted nunbly into the street. Ralph 
 looked after him, but neither moved nor spoke for some time, when he 
 broke what almost seemed the silence of stupefaction, by a scornful laugh, 
 
 " This," he said, " from its wildness, should be another of those 
 dreams that have so broken my rest of late. In mercy to me ! — Pho ! 
 The old simpleton has gone mad." 
 
 Although he expressed himself in this derisive and contemptuous 
 manner, it was plain that the more Ralph pondered, the more ill at 
 ease he became, and the more he laboured under some vague anxiety 
 and alarm, which increased as the time passed on and no tidings of 
 Newman Noggs appeared. After waiting until late in the afternoon 
 tortured by various apprehensions and misgivings, and the recollection 
 of the warning which his nephew had given him when they last met, 
 the further confirmation of which now presented itself in one shape of 
 probability now in another, and haunted him perpetually, he left home, 
 and scarcely knowing why, save that he was in a suspicious and agitated 
 mood, betook himself to Snawley's house. His wife presented herself, 
 and of her Ralph inquired whether her husband was at home. 
 
 " No," she said sharply, " he is not indeed, and I don't think he will 
 be at home for a very long time, that's more." 
 
 " Do you know who I am ? " asked Ralph. 
 
 " Oh yes, I know you very well — too well, perhaps, and perhaps he 
 does too, and sorry am I that I should have to say it." 
 
 " Tell him that I saw him through the window-blind above, as I 
 crossed the road just now, and that I would speak to him on business," 
 said Ralph sarcastically. " Do you hear ? " 
 
 " I hear," rejoined Mrs. Snawley, taking no further notice of the 
 request. 
 
 *' I knew this woman was a hypocrite in the way of psalms and 
 Scripture phrases," said Ralph, passing quietly by, " but I never knew 
 she drank before." 
 
 " Stop ! You don't come in here," said Mr. Snawley's better-half, 
 interposing her person, which was a robust one, in the doorway. " You 
 have said more than enough to him on business before now. I always 
 told him what dealing with you and working out your schemes would 
 come to. It was either you or the schoolmaster — one of you, or the 
 two between you — that got the forged letter done, remember that. 
 That wasn't his doing, so doa't lay it at his door." 
 
 " Hold your tongue, you Jezebel," said Ralph, looking fearfully round. 
 
 " Ah, I know when to hold my tongue, and when to speak, Mr. 
 Nickleby," retorted the dame. " Take care that other people know 
 when to hold theirs." 
 
 "You jade," said Ralph, grinning with rage; "if your husband 
 has been idiot enough to trust you with his secrets, keep them — keep 
 them, she-devil that you are." 
 
 " Not so much his secrets as other people's secrets perhaps," retorted 
 the woman ; " not so much his secrets as yours. None of your black 
 looks at me. You'll want 'em all perhaps for another tune. You had 
 better keep 'em." 
 
 " Will you," said Ralph, suppressing his passionas well as he could, 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 581 
 
 and clutcliing her tightly by the wrist : " will you go to your husband 
 and tell him that I know he is at home, and that I must see him ? 
 And will you tell me what it is that you and he mean by this new 
 style of behaviour ?" 
 
 " No," replied the woman, violently disengaging herself, " Til do 
 neither." 
 
 " You set me at defiance, do you ?" said Ralph. 
 
 " Yes," was the answer. " I do." 
 
 For an instant Ralph had his hand raised as though he were about to 
 strike her, but checking himself, and nodding his head, and muttering 
 as though to assure her he would not forget this, walked away. 
 
 Thence, he went straight to the inn which Mr. Squeers frequented 
 and inquired when he had been there last ; in the vague hope that 
 whether successful or unsuccessful, he might by this tiihe have returned 
 from his mission and be able to assure him that all was safe. But Mr. 
 Squeers had not been there for ten days, and all that the people could 
 tell about him was, that he had left his luggage and his bill. 
 
 Disturbed by a thousand fears and surmises, and bent upon ascer- 
 taining whether Squeers had any suspicion of Snawley, or was in any 
 way a party to this altered behaviour, Ralph determined to hazard the 
 extreme step of inquiring for him at the Lambeth lodging, and having 
 an interview with him even there. Bent upon this purpose, and in 
 that mood in which delay is insupportable,*Jie repaired at once to the 
 place, and being by description perfectly acquainted with the situation 
 of his room, crept up stairs and knocked gently at the door. 
 
 Not one, nor two, nor three, nor yet a dozen knocks served to con- 
 vince Ralph against his wish that there was nobody inside. He 
 reasoned that he might be asleep ; and, listening, almost persuaded him- 
 self that he could hear him breathe. Even when he was satisfied that 
 he could not be there, he sat patiently down upon a broken stair and 
 waited ; arguing that he had gone out upon some slight errand and 
 must soon return. 
 
 Many feet came up the creaking stairs, and the step of some seemed 
 to his listening ear so like that of the man for whom he waited, that 
 Ralph often stood up to be ready to address him when he reached the 
 top ; but one by one each person turned ofi" into some room short of 
 the place where he was stationed, and at every such disappointment he 
 felt quite chilled and lonely. 
 
 At length he felt it was hopeless to remain, and going down stairs 
 again, inquired of one of the lodgers if he knew anything of Mr. 
 Squeers's movements— ^mentioning that worthy by an assumed name 
 which had been agreed upon between them. By this lodger he was 
 referred to another, and by him to some one else, from whom he learnt 
 that late on the previous night he had gone out hastily with lwu 111011, 
 who had shortly afterwards returned for the old woman who lived on 
 the same floor ; and that although the circumstance had attracted the 
 attention of the informant, he had not spoken to them at the time, nor 
 made any inquiry afterwards. 
 
 This possessed him with the idea that perhaps Peg Sliderskew had 
 been apprehended for the robbery, and that Mr. Squeers being with 
 
582 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 her at the time, had been apprehended also on suspicion of being a 
 confederate. If this were so, the fact must be known to Gride ; and to 
 Gride's house he directed his steps ; now thoroughly alarmed, and fearful 
 that there were indeed plots afoot tending to his discomfiture and ruin. 
 
 Arrived at the usurer s house, he found the windows close shut, the 
 dingy blinds drawn down : all silent, melancholy, and deserted. But 
 this was its usual aspect. He knocked — gently at first, then loud and 
 vigorously, but nobody came. He wrote a few words in pencil on a 
 card, and having thrust it under the door was going away, when a 
 noise above as though a window-sash were stealthily raised caught his 
 ear, and looking up he could just discern the face of Gride himself 
 cautiously peering over the house parapet from the window of the 
 garret. Seeing who was below, he drew it in again ; not so quickly 
 however but that Ralph let him know he was observed, and called to 
 him to come down. 
 
 The call being repeated, Gride looked out again so cautiously that 
 no part of the old man s body was visible, and the sharp features and 
 white hair appearing alone above the parapet looked like a severed head 
 garnishing the wall. 
 
 " Hush !" he cried, " Go away — go away !" 
 
 " Come do^vn," said Ralph, beckoning him. 
 
 " Go a — way !" squeaked Gride, shaking his head in a sort of ecstacy 
 of impatience. " Don't speak to me, don't knock, don't call attention 
 to the house, but go away." 
 
 " I'll knock I swear till I have your neighbours up in arms," said 
 Ralph, " if you don't tell me what you mean by lurking there, you 
 whining cur." 
 
 " I can't hear what you say — don't talk to me, it isn't safe — go away 
 — go away," returned Gride. 
 
 "Come down, I say. Will you come down!" said Ralph fiercely. 
 
 " No — — — o," snarled Gride. He drew in his head ; and Ralph, 
 left standing in the street, could hear the sash closed as gently and care- 
 fully as it had been opened. 
 
 " How is this," said he, " that they all fall from me and shun me 
 like the plague — these men who have licked the dust from my feet ! 
 Is my day past, and is this indeed the coming on of sight s. I'U know 
 what it means, I will, at any cost. I am firmer and more myself jusi 
 now than I have been these many days." 
 
 Turning from the door, which in the first transport of his rage he had 
 meditated battering upon until Gride's very fears impelled hira to open 
 it, he turned his face towards the city, and working his way steadiiy 
 through the crowd which was pouring from it (it was by this time 
 between five and six o'clock in the afternoon) went straight to the 
 house of business nf |]je Brotliers Cheeryble, and putting his head into 
 tlie glass case, found Tim Linkinwater alone. 
 
 " My name's Nickleby," said Ralpli. 
 
 " I know it," replied Tim, surveying him through his spectacles. 
 
 " "Which of your firm was it who called on me this morning ?" 
 demanded Ralph. 
 
 " ]Mr. Charles." 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. ^3 
 
 ^' Then tell Mr. Charles I want to see him." 
 
 " You shall see," said Tim, getting off his stool with great agility. 
 " You shall see not only Mr. Charles, but Mr. Ned likewise." 
 
 Tim stopped, looked steadily and severely at Ralph, nodded his 
 head once in a curt manner which seemed to say there was a little more 
 behind, and vanished. After a short interval he returned, and ushering 
 Ralph into the presence of the two brothers, remained in the room 
 himself. 
 
 " I want to speak to you, who spoke to me this morning," said 
 Ralph, pointing out with his finger the man whom he addressed. 
 
 " I have no secrets from my brother Ned, or from Tim Linkin water," 
 observed Brother Charles quietly. 
 
 " I have," said Ralph. 
 
 " Mr. Nickleby, Sir," said brother Ned, " the matter upon which 
 my brother Charles called upon you this morning is one which is 
 already perfectly well known to us three and to others besides, and 
 must unhappily feoon become known to a great many more. He waited 
 upon you. Sir, this morning alone, as a matter of delicacy and considera- 
 tion. We feel now that further delicacy and consideration would be 
 misplaced, and if we confer together it must be as we are or not at all," 
 
 " Well, gentlemen," said Ralph with a curl of the lip, " talking in 
 riddles would seem to be the peculiar forte of you two, and I suppose 
 your clerk, like a prudent man, has studied the art also with a view to 
 your good graces. Talk in company, gentlemen, in God's name. I'll 
 humour you." 
 
 " Humour !" cried Tim Linkinwater, suddenly growing very red in 
 the face, " He'll humour us ! He'll humour Cheeryble Brothers ! Do 
 you hear that ? Do you hear him ? Do you hear him say he'll 
 humour Cheeryble Brothers?" 
 
 " Tim," said Charles and Ned together, " pray Tim, pray now don't." 
 
 Tim, taking the hint, stifled his indignation as well as he could and 
 suffered it to escape through his spectacles, with the additional safety- 
 valve of a short hysterical laugh now and then, which seemed to relieve 
 him mightily. 
 
 " As nobody bids me to a seat," said Ralph looking round, " I'll take 
 one, for I am fatigued with walking. And now if you please, gentle- 
 men, I wish to know — I demand to know ; I have the right — what you 
 have to say to me which justifies such a tone as you have assumed, and 
 that underhand interference in my affairs which I have reason to suppose 
 you have been practising. I tell you plainly, gentlemen, that little as I 
 care for the opinion of the world (as the slang goes) I don't choose to 
 submit quietly to slander and malice. Whether you suffer yourselves 
 to be imposed upon too easily, or wilfully make yourselves parties to it, 
 the result to me is the same, and in either case you can't expect from a 
 plain man like myself much consideration or forbearance." 
 
 So coolly and deliberately was this said, that nine men out of ten, 
 ignorant of the circumstances, would have supposed Ralph to be really 
 an injured man. There he sat with folded arms ; paler than usual cer- 
 tainly and sufiiciently ill-favoured, but quite collected — far more so than 
 the brothers or the exasperated Tim, and ready to face out the very worst. 
 
584 LIFE AND ADTENTURES OP 
 
 " Very well, Sir," said brother Charles. " Very well. Brother 
 Ned, will you ring the bell ?" 
 
 " Charles, my dear fellow ! stop one instant," returned the other. 
 " It will be better for Mr. Nickleby and for our object that he should 
 remain silent if he can, till we have said what we have to say. I wish 
 him to understand that." 
 
 " Quite right, quite right," said brother Charles. 
 
 Ralph smiled but made no reply. The bell was rung, the room- 
 door opened ; a man came in with a halting walk ; and, looking round, 
 Balph's eyes met those of Newman Noggs. From that moment his 
 heart began to fail him. 
 
 " This is a good beginning," he said bitterly. " Oh ! this is a good 
 beginning. You are candid, honest, open-hearted, fair-dealing men ! 
 I always knew the real worth of such characters as yours ! To tamper 
 with a fellow like this, who would sell his soul (if he had one) for 
 drink, and whose every word is a lie, — what men are safe if this is 
 done ? Oh it's a good beginning !" 
 
 *' " I will speak," cried Newman, standing on tiptoe to look over Tim's 
 head, who had interposed to prevent him. *' Hallo, you Sir — old 
 Nickleby — what do you mean when you talk of ' a fellow like this V 
 Who made me ' a fellow like this ? If I would sell my soul for drink, 
 why wasn't I a thief, swindler, housebreaker, area sneak, robber of 
 pence out of the trays of blind men's dogs, rather than your drudge and 
 packhorse ? If my every word was a lie, why wasn't I a pet and 
 favourite of yours ? Lie ! "When did I ever cringe and fawn to you — 
 eh ? Tell me that. I served you faithfully. I did more work because 
 I was poor, and took more hard words from you because I despised you 
 and them, than any man you could have got from the parish workhouse. 
 I did. I served you because I was proud ; because I was a lonely 
 man with you, and there were nO' other drudges to see my degradation, 
 and because nobody knew better than you that I was a ruined man, 
 that I hadn't always been what I am, and that I might have been 
 better off if I hadn't been a fool and fallen into the hands of you and 
 others who were knaves. Do you deny that — eh ?" 
 
 " Gently," reasoned Tim, " you said you wouldn't." 
 
 "I said I wouldn't!" cried Newman, thrusting him aside, and 
 moving his hand as Tim moved, so as to keep him at arm's-length, 
 " don't tell me. Here, you Nickleby, don't pretend not to mind me ; 
 it won't do, I know better. You were talking of tampering just now. 
 Who tampered with Yorkshire schoolmasters, and, while they sent the 
 drudge out that he shouldn't overhear, forgot that such great caution 
 might render him suspicious, and that he might watch his master out 
 at nights, and might set other eyes to watch the schoolmaster besides ?' 
 Who tampered with a selfish father, urging him to sell his daughter to 
 old Arthur Gride, and tampered with Gride too, and did so in the 
 little office with a closet in the room ?" 
 
 Ralph had put a great command upon himself, but he could not have 
 suppressed a slight start, if he had been certain to be beheaded for it 
 next moment. 
 
 " Aha !" cried Newman, "you mind me now, do you? What first set 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 585 
 
 this fag to be jealous of his master s actions, and to feel that if he 
 hadn't crossed him when he might, he would have been as bad as he, or 
 worse ? That master's cruel treatment of his own flesh and blood, and 
 vile designs upon a young girl who interested even his broken-down, 
 drunken, miserable hack, and made him linger in his service, in the 
 hope of doing her some good (as, thank God, he had done others 
 once or twice before), when he would otherwise have relieved his 
 feelings by pummelling his master soundly, and then going to the 
 Devil. He would — mark that ; and mark this — that I'm here now 
 because these gentlemen thought it best. When I sought them out (as 
 I did — there was no tampering with me) I told them 1 wanted help to 
 find you out, to trace you down, to go through with what I had begun, 
 to help the right ; and that when I had done it, I'd burst into your 
 room and tell you all, face to face, man to man, and like a man. Now 
 I've said my say, and let anybody else say theirs, and fire away." 
 
 With this concluding sentiment, Newman Noggs, who had been per- 
 petually sitting down and getting up again all through his speech which 
 he had delivered in a series of jerks, and who was, from the violent 
 exercise and the excitement combined, in a state of most intense and 
 fiery heat, became, without passing through any intermediate stage, stiflf, 
 upright, and motionless, and so remained, staring at Ralph Nickleby 
 with all his might and main. 
 
 Ralph looked at him for an instant, and for an instant only ; then 
 waved his hand, and, beating the ground with his foot, said in a 
 choking voice, 
 
 " Go on, gentlemen, go on. I'm patient, you see. There's law to 
 be had, there's law. I shall call you to an account for this. Take care 
 what you say ; I shall make you prove it." 
 
 '*■ The proof is ready," returned Brother Charles, " quite ready to our 
 hands. The man Snawley last night made a confession." 
 
 " Who may 'the man Snawley' be," returned Ralph, " and what 
 may his ' confession' have to do with my affairs ?" 
 
 To this inquiry, put with a dogged inflexibility of manner which 
 language cannot express, the old gentleman returned no answer, but 
 went on to say that to show him how much they were in earnest, it 
 would be necessary to tell him not only what accusations were made 
 against him, but what proof of them they had, and how that proof 
 had been acquired. This laying open the whole question, brought 
 up Brother Ned, Tim Linkinwater, and Newman Noggs, all three at 
 once, who, after a vast deal of talking together, and a scene of great 
 confusion, laid before Ralph in distinct terms the following statement. 
 
 That Newman, having been solemnly assured by one not then pro- 
 ducible that Smike was not the son of Snawley, and this person having 
 offered to make oath to that effect if necessary, they had by this com- 
 munication been first led to doubt the claim set up, which they would 
 otherwise have seen no reason to dispute, supported as it was by evidence 
 which they had no power of disproving. That once suspecting the 
 existence of a conspiracy, they had no difficulty in tracing back its 
 origin to the malice of Ralph and the vindictiveness and avarice of 
 Squeers. That suBplelon and proof being two very different things, they 
 
586 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP ' 
 
 had been advised by a lawyer, eminent for his sagacity and acuteness 
 in such practice, to resist the proceedings taken on the other side for 
 the recovery of the youth as slowly and artfully as possible, and mean- 
 while to beset Snawley (with whom it was clear the main falsehood 
 must rest), to lead him, if possible, into contradictory and conflicting 
 statements, to harass him by all available means, and so to practise on. 
 his fears and regard for his own safety as to induce him to divulge the 
 whole scheme, and to give up his employer and whomsoever else he 
 could implicate. That all this had been skilfully done ; but that 
 Snawley, who was well practised in the arts of low cunning and 
 intrigue, had successfully baffled all their attempts, until an unexpected 
 circumstance had brought him last night upon his knees. 
 
 It thus arose. When Newman Noggs reported that Squeers was 
 again in town, and that an interview of such secrecy had taken place 
 between him and Ralph that he had been sent out of the house, plainly 
 lest he should overhear a word, a watch was set upon the schoolmaster, 
 in the hope that something might be discovered which would tlirow 
 some light upon the suspected plot. It being found, however, that 
 he held no further communication with Ralph nor any with Snawley, 
 and lived quite alone, they were completely at fault ; the watch was 
 withdrawn, and they would have observed his motions no longer, if it 
 had not happened that one night Newman stumbled unobserved upon 
 him and Ralph in the street together. Following them, he discovered, 
 to his great suprise, that the}'' repaired to various low lodging-houses, 
 and taverns kept by broken gamblers, to more than one of whom Ralph 
 was known, and were in pursuit — so he found by inquiries when they 
 had left — of an old woman, whose description exactly tallied with that 
 of deaf Mrs. Siiderskew. Affairs now appearing to assume a more 
 serious complexion, the watch was renewed with increased vigilance ; 
 an officer was procured who took up his abode in the same tavern with 
 Squeers; and by him and Frank Cheeryblethe footsteps of the unconscious 
 schoolmaster were dogged, until he was safely housed in the lodging 
 at Lambeth. Mr. Squeers having shifted his lodging, the officer 
 shifted his, and, lying concealed in the same street, and, indeed, in the 
 opposite house, soon found that Mr. Squeers and Mrs. Siiderskew were 
 in constant communication. 
 
 In this state of things Arthur Gride was appealed to. The" robbery, 
 partly owing to the inquisitiveness of the neighbours, and partly to his 
 own grief and rage, had long ago become known ; but he positively 
 refused to give his sanction or yield any assistance to the old woman's 
 capture, and was seized with such a panic at the idea of being called 
 upon to give evidence against her, that he shut himself up close in 
 his house, and refused to hold communication with anybody. Upon 
 this, the pursuers took counsel together, and, coming so near the truth 
 as to arrive at the conclusion that Gride and Ralph, with Squeers for 
 their instrument, were negotiating for the recovery of some of the 
 stolen papers which would not bear the light, and might possibly 
 -explain the hints relative to Madeline which Newman had overheard, 
 resolved that Mrs. Siiderskew should be taken into custody before she 
 had parted with them, aud Squeers too, if anytlxing suspicions could be 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. ilf 
 
 attached to him. Accordingly, a search-warrant being procured, and 
 all prepared, Mr. Squeers's window was watched, until his light was 
 put out, and the time arrived when, as had been previously ascertained, 
 he usually visited Mrs. Sliderskew. This done, Frank Cheeryble and 
 Newman stole up stairs to listen to their discourse, and to give the 
 signal to the officer at the most favourable time. At what an opportune 
 moment they arrived, how they listened, and what they heard, is al- 
 ready known to the reader. Mr. Squeers, still half stunned, was 
 hurried off with a stolen deed in his possession, and Mrs. Sliderskew 
 was apprehended likewise. The information being promptly carried to 
 Snawley that Squeers was in custody — he was not told for what— that wor- 
 thy, first extorting a promise that he should be kept harmless, declared the 
 whole tale concerning Smike to be a fiction and forgery, and implicated 
 Halph Nickleby to the fullest extent. As to Mr. Squeers, he had that morn-' 
 ing undergone a private examination before a magistrate, and being unable 
 to account satisfactorily for his possession of the deed or his companion- 
 ship with Mrs. Sliderskew, had been, with her, remanded for a week. 
 
 All these discoveries were now related to Ralph circumstantially and 
 in detail. Whatever impression they secretly produced, he suffered no 
 sign of emotion to escape him, but sat perfectly still, not raising his 
 frowning eyes from the ground, and covering his mouth with his hand. 
 "When the narrative was concluded, he raised his head hastily, as if about 
 . to speak, but on brother Charles resuming, fell into his old attitude again. 
 
 " I told you this morning," said the old gentleman, laying his hand 
 upon his brother's shoulder, " that I came to you in mercy. How far 
 you may be implicated in this last transaction, or how far the person 
 who is now in custody may criminate you, you best know. But 
 justice must take its course against the parties implicated in the plot 
 against this poor, unoffending, injured lad. It is not in my power, or 
 in the power of my brother Ned, to save you from the consequences. 
 The utmost we can do is to warn you in time, and to give you an op- 
 portunity of escaping them. We would not have an old man like you 
 disgraced and punished by your near relation, nor would we have him 
 forget, like you, all ties of blood and nature. We entreat you — brother 
 Ned, you join me, I know, in this entreaty, and so Tim Linkinwater do 
 you, although you pretend to be an obstinate dog, Sir, and sit there 
 frowning as if you didn't — we entreat you to retire from London, to 
 take slielter in some place where you will be safe from the consequences 
 of these wicked designs, and where you may have time. Sir, to atone 
 for them, and to become a better man." 
 
 " And do you think," returned Ralph, rising, with the sneer of a 
 devil, " and do you think you will so easily crush me ? Do you think, 
 that a hundred well-arranged plans, or a hundred suborned witnesses, 
 or a hundred false curs at my heels, or a hundred canting speeches full 
 of oily words, will move me ? I thank you for disclosing your schemes, 
 which I am now prepared for. You have not the man to deal with 
 that you think ; try me, and remember that I spit upon your fair words 
 and false dealings, and dare you — provoke you — taunt you — to do to me 
 the very worst you can." 
 
 Thus they parted for that time ; but the worst had not come yet. 
 
588 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 CHAPTER LX. 
 
 THE DANGERS THICKEN, AND THE AVORST IS TOLD. 
 
 Instead of going home, Ralph threw himself into the first street 
 cabriolet he could find, and directing the driver towards the police -ofiiee 
 of the district in which Mr. Squeers's misfortunes had occurred, alighted 
 at a short distance from it, and, discharging the man, went the rest of 
 his way thither on foot. Inquiring for the object of his solicitude, he 
 learnt that he had timed his visit well, for Mr. Squeers was in fact at 
 that moment waiting for a hackney-coach he had ordered, and in which 
 he purposed proceeding to his week's retirement, like a gentleman. 
 
 Demanding speech with the prisoner, he was ushered into a kind of 
 waiting-room in which, by reason of his scholastic profession and 
 superior respectability, Mr. Squeers had been permitted to pass th© 
 day. Here, by the light of a guttering and blackened candle, he could 
 barely discern the schoolmaster fast asleep on a bench in a remote 
 comer. An empty glass stood on a table before him, and this, with 
 his somnolent condition and a very strong smell of brandy and water, 
 forewarned the visitor that Mr. Squeers had been seeking in creature 
 comforts a temporary forgetfulness of his unpleasant situation. 
 
 It was not a very easy matter to rouse him : so lethargic and heavy 
 were his slumbers. Regaining his faculties by slow and faint glimmer- 
 ijigs, he at length 8\i upright, and displaying a very yellow face, a very 
 red nose, and a very bristly beard, the joint effect of which was consider- 
 ably heightened by a dirty white handkerchief, spotted with blood, drawn 
 over the crown of his head and tied under his chin, stared ruefully at 
 Ralph in silence, until his feelings found a vent in this pithy sentence : 
 
 " I say, young fellow, you've been and done it now, you have ! " 
 
 " What's the matter with your head ? " asked Ralph. 
 
 " Why, your man, your informing kidnapping man, has been and 
 broke it," rejoined Squeers sulkily, " that's what's the matter with it. 
 You've come at last, have you ? " 
 
 " Why have you not sent to me ? " said Ralph. " How. could I 
 come till I knew what had befallen you ? " 
 
 " My family ! " hiccupped Mr. Squeers, raising his eye to the ceiling - 
 " my daughter as is at that age when all the sensibilities is a coming 
 out strong in blow — my son as is the young Nerval of private life, and 
 the pride and ornament of a doting willage — here's a shock for the 
 family ! The coat of arms of the Squecrses is tore, and their suu is 
 gone down into the ocean wave I" 
 
 "You have been drinking," said Ralph, "and have not yet slept 
 yourself sober." 
 
 " 1 haven't been drinking your health, my codger," replied Mr. 
 ^queers, " so you have nothing to do with that." 
 
 Ralph suppressed the indignation which the schoolmaster's altered and 
 insolent manner awakened, and asked again why he had not sent to him^ 
 
 " What should i get by sending to you ? " returned Squeers. " To 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 589 
 
 be known to be in with you, wouldn't do me a great deal of good, and 
 they won t take bail till they know something more of the case, so here 
 am I hard and fast, and there are you loose and comfortable." 
 
 " And so must you be in a few days," retorted Ralph, with affected 
 good-humour. " They can't hurt you, man." 
 
 " Why, I suppose they can't do much to me if I explain how it was 
 that I got into the good company of that there ca-daverous old Slider," 
 replied Squeers viciously, " who I wish was dead and buried, and resur- 
 rected and dissected, and hung upon wires in a anatomical museum, 
 before ever I'd had anything to do with her. This is what him with 
 the powdered head says this morning, in so many words — ' Prisoner, 
 as you have been found in company with this woman ; as you were 
 detected in possession of this document ; and as you were engaged with 
 her in fraudulently destroying others, and can give no satisfactory account 
 of yourself, I shall remand you for a week, in order that inquiries may 
 be made, and evidence got — and meanwhile I can't take any bail for 
 your appearance.' Well then, what I say now is, that I can give a satis- 
 factory account of myself; I can hand in the card of my establishment 
 and say, '/am the Wackford Squeers as is therein named. Sir. I am the 
 man as is guaranteed by unimpeachable references to be a out-and-outer 
 in morals and uprightness of principle. Whatever is wrong in this 
 business is no fault of mine. I had no evil design in it, Sir. I was not 
 aware that anything was wrong. I was merely employed by a friend 
 — my friend Mr. Ralph Nickleby, of Golden Square — send for him, Sir, 
 and ask him what he has to say — he's the man ; not me.' " 
 
 " What document was it that you had ? " asked Ralph, evading for 
 the moment the point just raised. 
 
 " What document ? Why, the document," replied Squeers. " The 
 Madeline what's-her-name one. It was a will, that's what it was." 
 
 " Of what nature, whose Avill, when dated, how benefiting her, to 
 what extent ? " asked Ralph hurriedly. 
 
 " A will in her favour, that's all I know," rejoined Squeers ; " and 
 that's more than you'd have known, if you'd had them bellows on your 
 head. It's .all owing to your precious caution that they got hold of it. 
 If you had let me burn it, and taken my word that it was gone, it 
 would have been a heap of ashes behind the fire, instead of being whole 
 and sound inside of my great-coat." 
 
 " Beaten at every point ! " muttered Ralph, gnawing his fingers. 
 
 "Ah!" sighed Squeers, who, between the brandy and water and 
 his broken head, wandered strangely, "at the delightful village of 
 Dotheboys near Greta Bridge in Yorkshire,' youth are boarded, 
 clothed, booked, washed, furnished with pocket money, provided with ' 
 all necessaries, instructed in all languages living and dead, mathematics, 
 orthography, geometry, astronomy, trigonometry — this is a altered state 
 of trigonomics, this is — a double 1 — all, everything — a cobbler's weapon. 
 U-p-up, adjective, not down. S-q-u-double e-r-s-Squeers, noun sub- 
 stantive, a educator of youth. Total, all up with Squeers ! " 
 
 His running on in this way had afforded Ralph an opportunity of 
 recovering his presence of mind, which at once suggested to him the 
 necessity of removing as far as possible the schoolmaster's misgivings^ 
 
5^0 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 and leading him to believe that his safety and best policy lay in the 
 preservation of a rigid silence. 
 
 " I tell you once again,'' he said, " they can't hurt you. You shall 
 liave an action for false imprisonment, and make a profit of this yet. 
 We will devise a story for you that should carry you through twenty 
 times such a trivial scrape as this ; and if they want security in a 
 thousand pounds for your reappearance in case you should be called 
 upon, you shall have it. All you have to do is to keep back the 
 truth. You're a little fuddled to-night, and may not be able to see 
 this as clearly as you would at another time, but this is what you 
 must do, and you'll need all your senses about you, for a slip might be 
 awkward." 
 
 " Oh ! " said Squeers, who had looked cunningly at him, with his 
 head stuck on one side like an old raven. " That's what I'm to do, is 
 it ? Now then, just you hear a word or two from me. I an't a going 
 to have any stories made for me, and I an't a going to stick to any. 
 If I find matters going against me, I shall expect you to take your 
 share, and I'll take care you do. You never said anything about 
 danger. I never bargained for being brought into such a plight as this, 
 and I don't mean to take it as quiet as you think. I let you lead me 
 on from one thing to another, because we had been mixed up together 
 in a certain sort of a way, and if you had liked to be ill-natured you 
 might perhaps have hurt the business, and if you liked to be good- 
 natured you might throw a good deal in my way. Well ; if all goes 
 right now, that's quite correct, and I don't mind it ; but if anything 
 goes wrong, then times are altered, and I shall just say and do whatever 
 I think may serve me most ; and take advice from nobody. My moral 
 influence with them lads," added Mr. Squeers, with deeper gravity, " is 
 a tottering to its basis. The images of Mrs. Squeers, my daughter, and 
 my son Wackford, all short of vittles, is perpetually before me ; every 
 other consideration melts away and vanishes in front of these, and the 
 only number in all arithmetic that I know of as a husband and a father 
 is number one, under this here most fatal go ! " 
 
 How long Mr. Squeers might have declaimed, or how stormy a dis- 
 cussion his declamation might have led to, nobody knows. Being 
 interrupted at this point by the arrival of the coach and an attendant 
 who was to bear him company, he perched his hat with great dignity 
 on the top of the handkerchief that bound his head, and thrusting one 
 hand in his pocket, and taking the attendant's arm with the other, 
 suffered himself to be led forth. 
 
 " As I supposed, from his not sending ! " thought Ralph. " This 
 fellow, I plainly see through all his tipsy fooling, has made up his 
 mind to turn upon me. I am so beset and hemmed in that tliey are 
 not only all struck with fear, but, like the beasts in the fable have 
 their fling at mc now, though time was, and no longer ago than yesterday 
 too, when they were all civility and compliance. But they shall not 
 move me. I'll not give way. I will not budge one inch ! " 
 
 He went home, and was glad to find the housekeeper complaining of 
 illness that he might have an excuse for being alone and sending her 
 away to where she lived, which waa hard by. Then he sat down by 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 591 
 
 the light of a single candle, and began to think, for the first time, on 
 all that had taken place that day. 
 
 He had neither eaten nor drunk since last night, and in addition to 
 the anxiety of mind he had undergone, had been travelling about from 
 place to place almost incessantly for many hours. He felt sick and 
 exhausted, but could taste nothing save a glass of water, and continued 
 to sit with his head upon his hand — not resting or thinking, but 
 laboriously trying to do both, and feeling that every sense, but one of 
 weariness and desolation, was for the time benumbed. 
 
 It was nearly ten o'clock when he heard a knocking at the door, and 
 still sat quiet as before, as if he could not even bring his thoughts to 
 bear upon that. It had been often repeated, and he had several times 
 heard a voice outside, saying there was a light in the window (mean- 
 ing, as he knew, his own candle), before he could rouse himself and 
 go down stairs. 
 
 " Mr. Nickleby, there is terrible news for you, and I am sent to beg 
 you will come with me directly," said a voice he seemed to recognise. 
 He held his hand above his eyes, and looking out, saw Tim Linkin water 
 on the steps. 
 
 " Come where ? " demanded Ralph. 
 
 '* To our house — where you came this morning. I have a coach here." 
 -Why should I go there?" said Ralph. 
 
 *' Don't ask me why, but pray come with me.'* 
 
 " Another edition of to-day ! " returned Ralph, making as though 
 he would shut the door. 
 
 " No, no ! " cried Tim, catching him by the arm and speaking most 
 earnestly ; " it is only that you may hear something that has occurred 
 — something very dreadful, Mr. Nickleby, which concerns you nearly. 
 Do you think I would tell you so, or come to you like this, if it were 
 not the case ? " 
 
 Ralph looked at him more closely, and seeing that he was indeed 
 greatly excited, faltered, and could not tell what to say or think. 
 
 " You had better hear this now than at any other time," said Tim, 
 " it may have some influence with you. For Heaven's sake come !" 
 
 Perhaps at another time Ralph's obstinacy and dislike would have 
 been proof against any appeal from such a quarter, however emphatically 
 urged, but now, after a moment's hesitation, he went into the hall for 
 his hat, and returning got into the coach without speaking a word. 
 
 Tim well remembered afterwards, and often said, that as Ralph 
 Nickleby went into the house for this purpose, he saw him by the light 
 of the candle which he had set down upon a chair, reel and stagger like 
 a drunken man. He well remembered too that when he had placed 
 his foot upon the coach steps, he turned round and looked upon him 
 wdth a face so ashy pale and so very wild and vacant that it made him 
 shudder, and for the moment almost afraid to follow. People were fond 
 of saying that he had some dark presentiment upon him then, but his 
 emotion might perhaps, with greater show of reason, be referred to 
 what he had undergone that day. 
 
 A profound silence was observed during the ride. Arrived at their 
 place of destination, Ralph followed his conductor into the house, and 
 
592 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 into a room where the two brothers were. He was so astounded, not 
 to say awed, by something of a mute compassion for himself which was 
 visible in their manner and in that of the old clerk, that he could 
 scarcely speak. 
 
 Having taken a seat, however, he contrived to say, though in broken 
 words, " What — what have you to say to me — more than has been said 
 already ? " 
 
 The room was old and large, very imperfectly lighted, and terminated 
 in a bay window, about which hung some heavy drapery. Casting his 
 eyes in this direction as he spoke, he thought he made out the dusky figure 
 of a man, and was confirmed in this impression by seeing that the 
 object moved as if uneasy under his scrutiny. 
 
 " Who's that yonder ? " he said. 
 
 " One who has conveyed to us within these two hours the intelligenee 
 which caused our sending to you," replied brother Charles. " Let him 
 be. Sir, let him be for the present." 
 
 " More riddles ! " said Ralph, faintly. " Well, Sir ? *' 
 ^ In turning his face towards the brothers he was obliged to avert it 
 from the window, but before either of them could speak, he had looked 
 round again. It was evident that he was rendered restless and uncom- 
 fortable by the presence of the unseen person, for he repeated this action 
 several times, and at length, as if in a nervous state which rendered him 
 positively unable to turn away from the place, sat so as to have it opposite 
 him, and muttered as an excuse that he could not bear the light. 
 
 The brothers conferred apart for a short time : their manner showing 
 that they were agitated. Ralph glanced at them twice or thrice, and 
 ultimately said, with a great efibrt to recover his self-possession, 
 " Now, what is this ? If I am brought from home at this time of 
 night, let it be for something. What have you got to tell me ? " After 
 a short pause, he added, " Is my niece dead ? " 
 
 He had struck upon a key which rendered the task of commencement 
 an easier one. Brother Charles turned, and said that it was a death of 
 which they had to tell him, but that his niece was well. 
 
 " You don't mean to tell me," said Ralph, as his eyes brightened, 
 " that her brother's dead. No, that's too good. I'd not believe it if you 
 told me so. It would be too welcome news to be true." 
 
 " Shame on you, you hardened and unnatural man," cried the other 
 brother, warmly ; " prepare yourself for intelligence, which if you 
 have any human feeling in your breast, will make even you shrink 
 and tremble. What if we tell you that a poor unfortunate boy, a child in 
 everything but never having known one of those tender endearments, 
 or one of those lightsome hours which make our childhood a time to 
 be remembered like a happy dream through all our after life — a warm- 
 hearted, harmless, aiFectionate creature, who never oflfended you or did 
 you wrong, but on whom you have vented the malice and hatred you 
 have conceived for your nephew, and whom you have made an instru- 
 ment for wreaking your bad passions upon him — what if we tell you 
 that, sinking under your persecution. Sir, and the misery and ill-usage 
 of a life short in years but long in suffering, this poor creature has gone 
 to tell his sad tale where, for your part m it, you must surely answer V 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 593 
 
 " If you tell me," said Ralph, eagerly ; " if you tell me that he is dead, 
 I forgive you all else. If you tell me that he is dead, I am in your 
 debt and bound to you for life. He is ! I see it in your faces. Who 
 triumphs now ? Is this your dreadful news, this your terrible intelli- 
 gence ? You see how it moves me. You did well to send. I would 
 have travelled a hundred miles a-foot, through mud, mire, and darkness, 
 to hear this news just at this time." 
 
 Even then, moved as he was by this savage joy, Ralph could see in 
 the faces of the two brothers, mingling with their look of disgust and 
 horror, something of that indefinable compassion for himself which he 
 had noticed before. 
 
 " And he brought you the intelligence, did he ? " said Ralph, pointing 
 with his finger towards the recess already mentioned ; " and sat there, 
 no doubt, to see me prostrated and overwhelmed by it ! Ha, ha, ha ! 
 But I tell him that I'll be a sharp thorn in his side for many a long day 
 to come, and I tell you two again that you don't know him yet, and 
 that you'll rue the day you took compassion on the vagabond." 
 
 " You take me for your nephew," said a hollow, dejected voice ; " it 
 would be better for you and for me too if I were he indeed." 
 
 The figure that he had seen so dimly, rose, and came slowly down. 
 He started back, for he found that he confronted — not Nicholas, as he 
 had supposed, but Brooker. 
 
 Ralph had no reason that he knew, to fear this man ; he had never 
 feared him before ; but the pallor which had been observed in his face 
 ■when he issued forth that night, came upon him again ; he was seen to 
 tremble, and his voice changed as he said, keeping his eyes upon him, 
 
 " What does this fellow here ? Do you know he is a convict — a felon 
 —a common thief ! " 
 
 " Hear what he has to tell you — oh, Mr. Nickleby, hear what he has- 
 to tell you, be he what he may," cried the brothers, with such emphatic . 
 earnestness, that Ralph turned to them in wonder. They pointed to 
 Brooker, and Ralph again gazed at him : as it seemed mechanically. 
 "That boy,"said the man, "that these gentlemen have been talkingof — " 
 " That boy," repeated Ralph, looking vacantly at him. 
 " Whom I saw stretched dead and cold upon his bed, and who is . 
 
 now in his grave " 
 
 "Who is now in his grave," echoed Ralph, like one who talks in his sleep. . 
 The man raised his eyes, and clasped his hands solemnly together t 
 
 " Was your only son, so help me God in heaven ! " 
 
 In the midst of a dead silence, Ralph sat down, pressing his isv6' 
 hands upon his temples. He removed them after a minute, and never 
 was there seen part of a living man, undisfigured by any wound, such a 
 ghastly face as he then disclosed. He looked fixedly at Brooker, who 
 was by this time standing at a short distance from him, but did not say 
 one word or make the slightest sound or gesture. 
 
 " Gentlemen," said the man, " I offer no excuses for myself. I am iono- 
 past that. If in telling you how this has happened, I tell you that I wa^ 
 harshly used and perhaps driven out of my real nature, I do it only as a 
 necessary part of my story, and not to shield myself ; I am a guilty man." 
 
 Q Q 
 
594 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 He stopped as if to recollect, and looking away from Ralph and address- 
 ing himself to the brothers, proceeded in a subdued and humble tone : 
 
 " Among those who once had dealings with this man, gentlemen — 
 that's from twenty to five-and-twenty years ago — there was one, a rough 
 fox-hunting, hard-drinking gentleman, who had run through his own 
 fortune, and wanted to squander away that of his sister ; they were 
 both orphans, and she lived with him and managed his house. I don t 
 know whether it was originally to back his influence and try to over- 
 persuade the young woman or not, but he," pointing to Ralph, " used 
 to go down to the house in Leicestershire pretty often, and stop there 
 many days at a time. They had had a great many dealings together, 
 and he may have gone on some of those, or to patch up his client's 
 a flairs, which were in a ruinous state — of course he went for profit. 
 The gentlewoman w^as not a girl, but she was, I have heard say, hand- 
 some, and entitled to a pretty large property. In course of time he 
 married her. The same love of gain which led him to contract this 
 marriage, led to its being kept strictly private, for a clause in her 
 father's will declared that if she married without her brother's consent, 
 theproperty, in which she had only some life interest while she remained 
 single, should pass away altogether to another branch of the family. 
 The brother would give no consent that the sister didn't buy and pay 
 for handsomely ; Mr. Nickleby would consent to no such sacrifice, and 
 so they went on keeping their marriage secret, and waiting for him to 
 break his neck or die of a fever. He did neither, and meanwhile the 
 result of this private marriage was a son. The child was put out to 
 nurse a long way ofi", his mother never saw him but once or twice and 
 then by stealth, and his father — so eagerly did he thirst after the money 
 which seemed to come almost within his grasp now, for his brother-in- 
 law was very ill, and breaking more and more every day — never went 
 near him, to avoid raising any suspicion. The brother lingered on, 
 Mr. Nickleby's wife constantly urged him to avow their marriage, he 
 peremptorily refused. She remained alone in a dull country house, seeing 
 little or no company but riotous, drunken sportsmen. He lived in London 
 and clung to his business. Angry quarrels and recriminations took 
 place, and when they had been married nearly seven years, and were 
 within a few weeks of the time when the brother's death would have 
 adjusted all, she eloped with a younger man and left him." 
 
 Here he paused, but Ralph did not stir, and the brothers signed to 
 him to proceed. 
 
 " It was then that I became acquainted with these circumstances 
 from his own lips. They were no secrets then, for the brother and 
 others knew them, but they were communicated to me not on this 
 account, but because I was wanted. He followed the fugitives — some 
 said to make money of his wife's shame, but I believe to take some 
 violent revt nge, for that was as much his character as the other^-perhaps 
 more. He didn't find them, and she died not long after. I don't know 
 whether he began to think he might Hke the child, or Avhether he wished 
 to make sure that it should never fall into its mother's hands, but before 
 he went, he entrusted me with the charge of bringing it home. And I 
 did so." 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 595 
 
 He went on from this point in a still more humble tone, and spoke in 
 a very low voice, pointing to Ralph as he resumed. 
 
 " He had used me ill — cruelly — I reminded him in what, not long 
 ago when I met him in the street — and I hated him. I brought the 
 child home to his own house and lodged him in the front garret. 
 Neglect had made him very sickly, and I was obliged to call in a 
 doctor, who said he must be removed for change of air or he would die. 
 I think that first put it in my head. I did it then. He was gone six 
 weeks, and when he came back, I told him — with every circumstance 
 well planned and proved ; nobody could have suspected me — that the 
 child was dead and buried. He might have been disappointed in 
 some intention he had formed, or he might have had some natural 
 affection, but he was grieved at that^ and I was confirmed in my design 
 of opening up the secret one day, and making it a means of getting 
 money from him. I had heard, like most other men, of Yorkshire 
 schools. I took the child to one kept by a man named Squeers, and left 
 it there. I gave him the name of Smike. I paid twenty pounds a-year 
 for him for six years, never breathing the secret all the time, for I had 
 left his father s service after more hard usage, and quarrelled with him 
 again. I was sent away from this coimtry. I have been away nearly 
 eight years. Directly I came home again I travelled down into Yorkshire, 
 and skulking in the village of an evening time, made inquiries about the 
 boys at the school, and found that this one, whom I had placed there, 
 had run away with a young man bearing the name of his own father. 
 I sought his father out in London, and hinting at what I could tell him, 
 tried for a little money to support life, but he repulsed me with threats. 
 I then found out his clerk, and going on from little to little, and show- 
 ing him that there were good reasons for communicating with me, learnt 
 what was going on ; and it was I who told him that the boy was no son 
 of the man who claimed to be his father. All this time I had never 
 seen the boy. At length I heard from this same source that he was 
 very ill, and where he was. I travelled down there that I might reveal 
 myself, if possible, to his recollection and confirm my story. I came 
 upon him unexpectedly ; but before I could speak he knew me — he had 
 good cause to remember me, poor lad — and I would have sworn to him 
 if I had met him in the Indies ; I knew the piteous face I had seeK 
 in the little child. After a few days' indecision, I applied to the young 
 gentleman in whose care he was, and I found that he was dead. He 
 knows how quickly he recognised me again, how often he had described 
 me and my leaving him at the school, and how he told him of a garret 
 he recollected, which is the one I have spoken of, and in his father's house 
 tQ this day. This is my story; I demand to be brought face to face with 
 the schoolmaster, and put to any possible proof of any part of it, and I 
 will show that it's too true, and that I have this guilt upon my soul." 
 
 " Unhappy man 1 " said the brothers. " What reparation can you 
 make for this ? *' 
 
 " None, gentlemen, none ! I have none to make, and nothing to hope 
 now. I am old in years, and older still in misery and care. This con- 
 fession can bring nothing upon me but new suffering and punishment ; 
 but I make it, and will abide by it whatever comes. I haT** been 
 
 Qq2 
 
396 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 made the instrument of working out this dreadful retribution upon the 
 head of a man who, in the hot pursuit of his bad ends, has persecuted 
 and hunted down his own child to death. It must descend upon me 
 too — I know it must fall — my reparation comes too late, and neither in 
 this world nor in the next can I have hope again ! " 
 
 He had hardly spoken, when the lamp, which stood upon the table 
 close to where Ralph was seated, and which was the only one in the 
 room, was thrown to the ground and left them in utter darkness. There 
 was some trifling confusion in obtaining another light ; the interval 
 was a mere nothing ; but when it appeared, Ralph Nickleby was gone. 
 
 The good brothers and Tim Linkinwater occupied some time in dis- 
 cussing the probability of his return, and when it became apparent that 
 he would not come back, they hesitated whether or no to send after him. 
 At length, remembering how strangely and silently he had sat in one 
 immoveable position during the interview, and thinking he might pos- 
 sibly be ill, they determined, although it was now very late, to send to 
 his house on some pretence, and finding an excuse in the presence of 
 Brooker, whom they knew not how to dispose of without consulting his 
 wishes, they concluded to act upon this resolution before going to bed. 
 
 CHAPTER LXI. 
 
 WHEREIN NICHOLAS AND HIS SISTER FORFEIT THE GOOD OPINION OP 
 ALL WORLDLY AND PRUDENT PEOPLE. 
 
 On the next morning after Brooker's disclosure had been made, 
 Nicholas returned home. The meeting between him and those whom he 
 had left there, was not without strong emotion on both sides, for they had 
 been informed by his letters of what had occurred ; and besides that, 
 his griefs were theirs, they mounted with him the death of one whose 
 forlorn and helpless state had first established a claim upon their com- 
 passion, and whose truth of heart and grateful earnest nature had every 
 day endeared him to them more and more. 
 
 " I am sure," said Mrs. Nickleby, wiping her eyes, and 'sobbing 
 bitterly, " I have lost the best, the most zealous, and most attentive 
 creature that has ever been a companion to me in my life — putting you, 
 my dear Nicholas, and Kate, and your poor papa, and that well-behaved 
 nurse who ran away with the linen and the twelve small forks, out of 
 the question of course. Of all the tractable, equal-tempered, attached, 
 and faithful beings that ever lived, 1 believe he was the most so. To 
 look round upon the garden now, that he took so much pride in, or to 
 go into his room and see it filled with so many of those little contri- 
 vances for our comfort that he was so fond of making, and made so 
 well, and so little thought he would leave unfinished — I can't bear^^it, 
 I cannot really. Ah ! This is a great trial to me, a great trial. It 
 will be a comfort to you, my dear Nicholas, to the end of your life to 
 recollect how kind and good you always were to him — so it will be to me 
 to think what excellent terms we were always upon, and how fond he 
 always was of me, poor fellow ! It was very natural you should have been 
 attached to him, my dear — very — and of course you were, and arc ver^ 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 597 
 
 much cut up by this ; I am sure it's only necessary to look at you and 
 see how changed you are, to see that ; but nobody knows what my 
 feelings are — nobody can — it's quite impossible ! " 
 
 While Mrs. Nickleby, with the utmost sincerity, gave vent to her 
 sorrows after her own peculiar fashion of considering herself foremost, 
 she was not the only one who indulged such feelings. Kate, although 
 well accustomed to forget herself when others were to be considered, 
 could not repress her grief ; Madeline was scarcely less moved than 
 she ; and poor, hearty, honest, little Miss La Creevy, who had come 
 upon one of her visits while Nicholas was away, and had done nothing 
 since the sad news arrived but console and cheer them all, no sooner be- 
 held him coming in at the door, than she sat herself down upon the stairs, 
 and bursting into a flood of tears, refused for a long time to be comforted. 
 
 " It hurts me so," cried the poor body, " to see him come back alone. 
 I can't help thinking what he must have suffered himself. I wouldn't 
 mind so much if he gave way a little more, but he bears it so manfully." 
 
 " Why, so I should," said Nicholas, " should I not?" 
 
 " Yes, yes," replied the little woman, " and bless you for a good 
 creature ; but this does seem at first to a simple soul like me — I know 
 it's wrong to say so, and I shall be sorry for it presently — this does 
 seem such a poor reward for all you have done." 
 
 " Nay," said Nicholas gently, " what better reward could I have 
 than the knowledge that his last days were peaceful and happy, and 
 the recollection that I was his constant companion, and was not pre- 
 vented, as I might have been by a hundred circumstances, from being 
 beside him ? ' 
 
 " To be sure," sobbed Miss La Creevy, " it 's very true, and I'm 
 an ungrateful, impious, wicked little fool, I know." 
 
 With that, the good soul fell to crying afresh, and, endeavouring to 
 recover herself, tried to laugh. The laugh and the cry meeting each 
 other thus abruptly had a struggle for the mastery, and the result was 
 that it was a drawn battle, and Miss La Creevy went into hysterics. 
 
 Waiting until they were all tolerably quiet and composed again, 
 Nicholas, who stood in need of some rest after his long journey, retired 
 to his own room, and throwing himself, dressed as he was, upon the bed, 
 fell into a sound sleep. When he awoke he found Kate sitting by his bed- 
 side, who, seeing that he had opened his eyes, stooped down to kiss him, 
 
 " I came to tell you how glad I am to see you home again." 
 
 " But I can't tell you how glad I am to see you, Kate." 
 
 *' We have been wearying so for your return," said Kate, " mama 
 and I, and — and Madeline." 
 
 " You said in your last letter that she was quite well," said Nicholas, 
 rather hastily, and colouring as he spoke. " Has nothing been said 
 since I have been away about any future arrangements that the brothers 
 have in contemplation for her?" 
 
 " Oh, not a word," replied Kate, " I can't think of parting from her 
 without sorrow ; and surely, Nicholas, you don't wish it." 
 
 Nicholas coloured again, and, sitting down beside his sister on a 
 little couch near the window, said, 
 
 "No, Kate, no, I do not. I might strive to disguise my real 
 
598 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 feelings from anybody but you ; but I will tell you that — briefly and 
 plainly, Kate — that I love her." 
 
 Kate's eyes brightened, and she was going to make some reply, when 
 Nicholas laid his hand upon her arm, and weijt on : 
 *' Nobody must kuow this but you. She last of all." 
 "Dear Nicholas!" 
 
 " Last of all — never, though never is a long day. Sometimes I try 
 to think that the time may come when I may honestly tell her this ; 
 but it is so far off, in such distant perspective, so many years must 
 elapse before it comes, and when it does come (if ever), I shall be so 
 unlike what I am now, and shall have so outlived my days of youth 
 and romance — though not, I am sure, of love for her — that even I feel 
 how visionary all such hopes must be, and try to crush them rudely my- 
 self and have the pain over, rather than suffer time to wither them, 
 and keep the disappointment in store. No, Kate ; since I have been 
 absent, I have had, in that poor fellow who is gone, perpetually before 
 my eyes another instance of the munificent liberality of these noble 
 brothers. As far as in me lies I will deserve it, and if I have wavered 
 in my bounden duty to them before, I am now determined to discharge 
 it rigidly, and to put further delays and temptations beyond my reach." 
 " Before you say another word, dear Nicholas," said Kate, turning 
 pale, " you must hear what I have to tell you. I came on purpose, 
 but I had not the courage. What you say now gives me new heart." 
 She faltered, and burst into tears. 
 
 There was that in her manner which prepared Nicholas for what 
 was coming. Kate tried to speak, but her tears prevented her. 
 
 " Come, you foolish girl," said Nicholas ; " why Kate, Kate, be a 
 woman. I tliink I know what you would tell me. It concerns Mr. 
 Frank, does it not ?" 
 
 Kate sunk her head upon his shoulder, and sobbed out " Yes." 
 " And he has offered you his hand, perhaps, since I have been 
 away," said >Jicholas; "is that it? Yes. Well, well; it's not so 
 difficult, you see, to tell me, after all. He offered you his hand ?" 
 " Which I refused," said Kate. 
 " Yes ; and why ?" 
 
 " I told him," she said, in a trembling voice, " all that I have since 
 found you told mama, and while I could not conceal from him, and 
 cannot from you that — that it was a pang and a great trial, I did so 
 firmly, and begged him not to see me any more." 
 
 "That's my own brave Kate!" said Nicholas, pressing her to his 
 breast. " I knew you would." 
 
 " He tried to alter my resolution," said Kate, " and declared that be 
 my decision what it might, he would not only inform his uncles of the 
 step he had taken, but would communicate it to you also, directly you 
 returned. I am afraid," she added, her momentary composure for- 
 saking her, " I am afraid I may not have said strongly enough how 
 highly I felt such disinterested love should be regarded, and how 
 earnestly I prayed for his future happiness. If you do talk together, 
 I should — I should like him to know that." 
 
 " And did you suppose, Kate, when you had made this sacrifice to 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 599 
 
 what you knew was right and honourable, that I should shrhik from 
 mine ? " said Nicholas tenderly. 
 
 " Oh, no ! not if your position had been the same, but — "i 
 
 " But it is the same," interrupted Nicholas ; " I^.Iadelino is not tho 
 near relation of our benefactors, but she is closely bound to them by 
 ties as dear, and I was first entrusted with her history, specially because 
 they reposed unbounded confidence in me, and believed that I was true 
 as steel. How base would it be of me to take advantage of the circum- 
 stances which placed her here, or of the slight service I was happily 
 able to render her, and to seek to engage her affections when the result 
 must be, if I succeeded, that the brothers would be disappointed in 
 their darling wish of establishing her as their own child, and that I 
 must seem to hope to build my fortunes on their compassion for the 
 young creature whom I had so meanly and unworthily entrapped, 
 turning her very gratitude and warmth of heart to my own purpose 
 and account, and trading in her misfortunes ! I, too, wliose duty and 
 pride and pleasure, Kate, it is, to have other claims upon me which I 
 will never forget, and who have the means of a comfortable and happy 
 life already, and have no right to look beyond it ! I have determined 
 to remove this weight from my mind ; I doubt whether I have not done 
 wrong even now ; and to-day I will without reserve or equivocation dis- 
 close my real reasons to Mr. Cheeryble, and implore him to take immediate 
 measures for removing this young lady to the shelter of some other roof." 
 
 " To-day ? so very soon I" 
 
 " I have thought of this for weeks, and why should I postpono it ? 
 If the scene through which I have just passed has taught me to reflect 
 and awakened me to a more anxious and careful sense of duty, why 
 should I wait until the impression has cooled ? You would not dis- 
 suade me, Kate; now would you ?" 
 
 " You may grow rich you know," said Kate. 
 
 "I may grow rich!" repeated Nicholas, with a mournful smile, 
 " ay, and I may grow old. But rich or poor, or old or young, we 
 shall ever be the same to each other, and in that our comfort lies. 
 What if we have but one home ? It can never be a solitary one to you 
 and me. What if we were to remain so true to these first impressions 
 as to form no others ? It is but one more link to the strong chain that 
 binds us together. It seems but yesterday that we were playfellows, 
 Kate, and it will seem but to-morrow that we are staid old people^ 
 looking back then to these cares as we look back now to those of our 
 childish days, and recollecting with a melancholy pleasure that the time 
 was when they could move us. Perhaps then, when we are qaaint old 
 folks and talk of the times when our step was lighter and our hair not 
 grey, we may be even thankful for the trials that so endeared us to 
 each other, and turned our lives into that current down which we shall 
 have glided so peacefully and calmly. And having caught some ink- 
 ling of our story, the young people about us — as young as you and 
 I are now, Kate — shall come to us for sympathy, and pour distresses 
 which hope and inexperience could scarcely feel enough for, into the 
 compassionate ears of the old bachelor brother and his maiden sister." 
 
 Kate smiled through her tears as Nicholas drew this picture, but 
 
600 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 they were not tears of sorrow, although they continued to fall when he 
 had ceased to speak. 
 
 "Am I not right, Kate?" he said, after a short silence. 
 
 " Quite, quite, dear brother ; and I cannot tell you how happy I am 
 that I have acted as you would have had me." 
 
 " You don't regret ?" 
 
 " N~n~no," said Kate timidly, tracing some pattern upon the ground 
 with her little foot. " I don't regret having done what was honourable 
 and right, of course, but I do regret that this should have ever happened 
 — at least sometimes I regret it, and sometimes I — I don't know what I 
 say; I am but a weak girl Nicholas, and it has agitated me very much." 
 
 It is no vaunt to affirm that if Nicholas had had ten thousand pounds 
 at the minute, he would, in his generous affijction for the owner of that 
 blushing cheek and downcast eye, have bestowed its utmost farthing, in 
 perfect forgetfulness of him.self, to secure her happiness. But all he could 
 do was to comfort and console her by kind words ; and words they were 
 of such love and kindness and cheerful encouragement, that poor Kate 
 threw her arms about his neck and declared she would weep no more. 
 
 " What man," thought Nicholas proudly, while on his way soon 
 afterwards to the Brothers' house, " would not be sufficiently rewarded 
 for any sacrifice of fortune, by the possession of such a heart as that, 
 which, but that hearts weigh light and gold and silver heavy, is beyond 
 all praise. Frank has money and wants no more. Where would it 
 buy him such a treasure as Kate ! And yet in unequal marriages, the 
 rich party is always supposed to make a great sacrifice, and the other 
 to get a good bargain ! But I am thinking like a lover, or like an ass, 
 which I suppose is pretty nearly the same." 
 
 Checking thoughts so little adapted to the business on which he was 
 bound by such self-reproofs as this and many others no less sturdy, he 
 proceeded on his way and presented himself before Tim Linkinwater. 
 
 " Ah ! Mr. Nickleby," cried Tim, " God bless you ! how d'ye do ! 
 Well ? Say you're quite well and never better — do now." 
 
 " Quite," said Nicholas, shaking him by both hands. 
 
 " Ah !" said Tim, " you look tired though, now I come to look at 
 you. Hark ! there he is, d'ye hear him ? That was Dick the black- 
 bird. He hasn't been himself since you've been gone. He'd never get 
 on without you now ; he takes as naturally to you, as he does to me." 
 
 " Dick is a far less sagacious fellow than I supposed him, if he thinks 
 I am half so well worthy of his notice as you," replied Nicholas. 
 
 "Why 1*11 tell you wliat. Sir," said Tim, standing in his favourite atti- 
 tude and pointing up to the cage with the feather of his pen, " it's a very 
 extraordinary thing about that bird, that the only people he ever takes 
 the smallest notice of are Mr. Charles and Mr. Ned and you and me." i 
 
 Here Tim stopped and glanced anxiously at Nicholas ; then unex- 
 pectedly catching his eye repeated, " and you and me, Sir, and you 
 and me." And then he glanced at Nicholas again, and, squeezing his 
 hand, said, " I am a bad one at putting off anything I am interested 
 in. I didn't mean to ask you, but I should like to hear a few particu- 
 lars about that poor boy. Did he mention Cheeryble Brothers at all ?" 
 
 " Yes," said Nicholas, " many and many a time." 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 601 
 
 " That was riglit of him," returned Tim, wiping his eyes, " that was 
 Tery right of him." 
 
 " And he mentioned your name a score of times," said Nicholas, 
 *' and often bade me carry back his love to Mr. Linkinwater." 
 
 " No, no, did he though,?" rejoined Tim, sobbing outright. " Poor 
 fellow ! I wish we could have had him buried in town. There isn't 
 such a burying-ground in all London as that little one on the other 
 side of the square — there are counting-houses all round it, and if you 
 go in there on a fine day you can see the books and safes through the 
 open windows. And he sent his love to me, did he ? I didn't expect 
 he would have thought of me. Poor fellow, poor fellow ! His love too !" 
 
 Tim was so completely overcome by this little mark of recolfection, that 
 he was quite unequal to any further conversation at the moment. Nicholas 
 therefore slipped quietly out, and went to Brother Charles's room. 
 
 If he had previously sustained his firmness and fortitude, it had been by 
 an efibrt which had cost him no little pain; but the wai-m welcome, the 
 hearty manner, the homely unaffected commiseration of the good old man 
 went to his heart, and no inward struggle could prevent his showing it. 
 
 " Come, come, my dear Sir," said the benevolent merchant ; *' we 
 must not be cast down, no, no. We must learn to bear misfortune, 
 and we must remember that there are many sources of consolation 
 even in death. Every day that this poor lad had lived, he must 
 have been less and less qualified for the world, and more unhappy in 
 his own deficiencies. It is better as it is, my dear Sir. Yes, yes, yes, 
 it's better as it is." 
 
 " I have thought of all that, Sir," replied Nicholas, clearing his 
 throat. " I feel it, I assure you." 
 
 " Yes, that's well," replied Mr. Cheeryble, who, in the midst of all 
 his comforting, was quite as much taken aback as honest old Tim ; 
 " that's well. "Where is my brother Ned ? Tim Linkinwater, Sir, 
 where is my brother Ned V 
 
 " Gone out with Mr. Trimmers, about getting that unfortunate man 
 into the hospital, and sending a nurse to his children," said Tim. 
 
 "My brother Ned is a fine fellow — a great fellow !" exclaimed brother 
 Charles as he shut the door and returned to Nicholas. " He will be over- 
 joyed to see you, my dear Sir: we have been speaking of you every day." 
 
 " To tell you the truth. Sir, I am glad to find you alone," said 
 Nicholas, with some natural hesitation, " for I am anxious to say 
 something to you. Can you spare me a very few minutes ?" 
 
 " Surely, surely," returned brother Charles, looking at him with an 
 anxious countenance. " Say on, my dear Sir, say on." 
 
 " I scarcely know how or where to begin," said Nicholas. " If 
 •ever one mortal had reason to be penetrated with love and reverence 
 for another, with such attachment as would make the hardest service 
 in his behalf a pleasure and delight, with such grateful recollections 
 as must rouse the utmost zeal and fidelity of his nature, those are the 
 feelings which I should entertain for you, and do, from my heart and 
 soul, believe me." 
 
 "I do believe you," replied the old gentleman, "and I am happy in the 
 belief. I have never doubted it; I never shall. I am sure I never shall " 
 
602 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 " Your telling mc that so kindly," said Nicholas, " emboldens me 
 to proceed. When you first took me into your confidence and de- 
 spatched me on those missions to Miss Bray, I sliould have told you 
 that I had seen her long before, that her beauty liad made an impression 
 upon me which I could not efface, and that I had fruitlessly endea- 
 voured to trace her and become acquainted with her history. I did 
 not tell you so, because I vainly thought I could conquer my weaker 
 feelings, and render every consideration subservient to my duty to you." 
 
 " Mr. Nickleby," said brother Charles, " you did not violate the 
 confidence I placed in you, or take an unworthy advantage of it. I am 
 sure you did not." 
 
 " I did not," said Nicholas, firmly. " Although I found that the 
 necessity for self-command and restraint became every day more 
 imperious and the difficulty greater, I never for one instant spoke or 
 looked but as I would have done had you been by. I never for one 
 moment deserted my trust, nor have I to this instant. But I find that 
 constant association and companionship with this sweet girl is fatal to 
 my peace of mind, and may prove destructive to the resolutions I 
 made in the beginning and up to this time have faithfully kept. In 
 short. Sir, I cannot trust myself, and I implore and beseech you to 
 remove this young lady from under the charge of my mother and sister 
 without delay. I know that to any one but myself — to you who con- 
 sider the immeasurable distance between me and this young lady, who 
 is now your ward and the object of your peculiar care — my loving 
 her even in thought must appear the height of rashness and presump- 
 tion. I know it is so. But who can see her as I have seen, — who can 
 know what her life has been, and not love her ? I have no excuse 
 but that, and as I cannot fly from this temptation, and cannot repress 
 this passion with its object constantly before me, what can I do but 
 pray and beseech you to remove it, and to leave me to forg(!t her !" 
 
 " Mr. Nickleby," said the old man, after a short silence, " you 
 can do no more. I was wrong to expose a young man like you to this 
 trial. I might have foreseen what would happen. Thank you. Sir, 
 thank you. Madeline shall be removed." 
 
 " If you would grant me one favour, dear Sir, and sufier her to 
 remember me with esteem by never revealing to her this confession — "^ 
 
 " I will take care," — said Mr. Cheery ble. " And now,' is this all 
 you have to tell me ? " 
 
 " No ! " returned Nicholas, meeting his eye, " it is not." 
 
 " I know the rest," said Mr. Cheeryble, apparently very much relieved 
 by this prompt reply. " When did it come to your knowledge ? " 
 
 " When I reached home this morning." 
 
 " You felt it your duty immediately to come to me, and tell me 
 what your sister no doubt acquainted you with ? " 
 
 " I did," said Nicholas, " though I could have wished to have 
 spoken to Mr. Frank first." 
 
 " Frank was with me last night," replied the old gentleman. " You 
 have done well, Mr. Nickleby — very well. Sir — and 1 thank you again." 
 
 Upon this head Nicholas requested permission to add a few words. 
 He ventured to hope that nothing he had said would lead to the 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 603 
 
 estrangement of Kate and Madeline, who had formed an attachment 
 for each other, any interruption of which would, he knew, be attended 
 with great pain to them, and, most of all, with remorse and pain to him, 
 as its unhappy cause. When these things were all forgotten he hoped 
 that Frank and he might still be warm friends, and that no word or thought 
 of his humble home, or of her who was well contented to remain there 
 and share his quiet fortunes, would ever again disturb the harmony 
 between them. He recounted, as nearly as he could, what had passed 
 between him and Kate that morning ; speaking of her with such 
 warmth of pride and affection, and dwelling so cheerfully upon the 
 confidence they had of overcoming any selfish regrets and living con- 
 tented and happy in each other's love, that few could have heard him 
 unmoved. More moved himself than he had been yet, he expressed 
 in a few hurried words — as expressive perhaps as the most eloquent 
 phrases — his devotion to the brothers, and his hope that he might live 
 and die in their service. 
 
 To all this, brother Charles listened in profound silence, and with his 
 chair so turned from Nicholas that his face could not be seen. He had 
 not spoken either in his accustomed manner, but with a certain stiffness 
 and embarrassment very foreign to it. Nicholas feared he had offended 
 him. He said, " No — no — he had done quite right," but that was all. 
 
 " Frank is a heedless, foolish fellow," he said, after Nicholas had 
 paused for some time, " a very heedless, foolish fellow. I will take care 
 that this is brought to a close without delay. Let us say no more upon 
 the subject ; it's a very painful one to me. Come to me in half an hour, 
 I have strange things to tell you, my dear Sir, and your uncle has 
 appointed this afternoon for your waiting upon him with me." 
 
 " Waiting upon him ! With you. Sir ! " cried Nicholas. 
 
 " Ay, with me," replied the old gentleman. " Return to me in 
 half an hour, and I'll tell you more." 
 
 Nicholas waited upon him at the time mentioned, and then learnt all 
 that had taken place on the previous day, and all that was known of the 
 appointment Ralph had made with the brothers which was for that night, 
 and for the better understanding of which it will be requisite to return 
 and follow his own footsteps from the house of the twin brothers. 
 Therefore we leave Nicholas somewhat reassured by the restored kind- 
 ness of their manner towards him, and yet sensible that it was different 
 from what it had been (though he scarcely knew in what respect), and 
 full of uneasiness, uncertainty, and disquiet. 
 
 CHAPTER LXII. 
 
 RALPH MAKES ONE LAST APPOINTMENT AND KEEPS IT. 
 
 Creeping from the house and slinking off like a thief : groping with 
 his hands when first he got into the street as if he were a blind man, 
 and looking often over his shoulder while he hurried away, as though 
 he were followed in imagination or reality by some one anxious to 
 question or detain him, Ralph Nickleby left the city behind him and 
 took the road to his own home. 
 
€04 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 The night was dark, and a cold wind blew, driving the clouds 
 furiously and fast before it. There was one black, gloomy mass that 
 seemed to follow him ; not hurrying in the wild chase with the others, 
 but lingering sullenly behind, and gliding darkly and stealthily on. 
 He often looked back at this, and more than once stopped to let it pass 
 over, but somehow, when he went forward again it was still behind him, 
 coming mournfully and slowly up like a shadowy funeral train. 
 
 He had to pass a poor, mean burial-ground — a dismal place raised a 
 few feet above the level of the street, and parted from it by a low 
 parapet wall and an iron railing ; a rank, unwholesome, rotten spot, 
 where the very grass and weeds seemed, in their frowsy growth, to tell 
 that they had sprung from paupers' bodies, and struck their roots in 
 the graves of men, sodden in steaming courts and drunken hungry dens. 
 And here in truth they lay, parted from the living by a little earth and 
 a board or two — lay thick and close — corrupting in body as they had 
 in mind ; a dense and squalid crowd. Here they lay cheek by jowl 
 with life : no deeper down than the feet of the throng that passed there 
 every day, and piled high as their tliroats. Here they lay, a grisly 
 family, all those dear departed brothers and sisters of the ruddy clergy- 
 man who did his task so speedily when they were hidden in the ground ! 
 
 As he passed here, Ralph called to mind that he had been one of a 
 jury long before, on the body of a man who had cut his throat ; and that 
 he was buried in this place. He could not tell how he came to recollect 
 it now, when he had so often passed and never thought about him, or 
 how it was that he felt an interest in the circumstance, but he did both, 
 and stopping, and clasping the iron railings with his hands, looked 
 eagerly in, wondering which might be his grave. 
 
 While he was thus engaged, there came towards him, with noise of 
 shouts and singing, some fellows full of drink, followed by others, 
 who were remonstrating with them and urging them to go home in 
 quiet. They were in high good-humour, and one of them, a little, 
 weazen, hump -backed man, began to dance. He was a grotesque, fan- 
 tastic figure, and the few by-standers laughed. Ralph himself was 
 moved to mirth, and echoed the laugh of one who stood near and who 
 looked round in his face. When they had passed on and he was left 
 alone again, he resumed his speculation with a new kind of interest, 
 for he recollected that the last person who had seen the suicide alive had 
 left him very merry, and he remembered how strange he and the other 
 jurors had thought that at the time. 
 
 He could not fix upon the spot among such a heap of graves, but he 
 conjured up a strong and vivid idea of the man himself, and how he 
 looked, and what had led him to do it, all of whicli he recalled with 
 ease. By dint of dwelling upon this theme, he carried the impression 
 "with him when he went away, as he remembered when a child to have 
 had frequently beforehim the figureofsomegoblinhe had once seen chalked 
 upon a door. But as he drew nearer and nearer home he forgot it again, 
 and began to think how very dull and solitary the house would be inside. 
 
 This feeling became so strong at last, that when he reached his own 
 door, he could hardly make up his mind to turn the key and open it-^ 
 when he had done that and gone into the passage, he felt as though to 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 605 
 
 shut it again would be to shut out the world. But he let it go, and it 
 closed with a loud noise. There was no light. How very dreary, cold, 
 and still it was ! 
 
 Shivering from head to foot he made his way up stairs into the room 
 where he had been last disturbed. He had made a kind of compact 
 with himself that he would not think of what had happened until he 
 got home. He was at home now, and suffered himself for the first 
 time to consider it. 
 
 His own child — his own child ! He never doubted the tale ; he felt 
 it was true, knew it as well now as if he had been privy to it all along. 
 His own child ! And dead too. Dying beside Nicholas — loving him, and 
 looking upon him as something like an angel ! That was the worst. 
 
 They had all turned from him and deserted him in his very first need, 
 even money could not buy them now ; everything must come out, and 
 everybody must know all. Here was the young lord dead, his com- 
 panion abroad and beyond his reach, ten thousand pounds gone at one 
 blow, his plot with Gride overset at the very moment of triumph, his 
 after schemes discovered, himself in danger, the object of his persecution 
 and Nicholas's love, his own wretched boy ; everything crumbled and 
 fallen upon him, and he beaten down beneath the ruins and grovelling 
 in tlie dust. 
 
 If he had known his child to be alive, if no deceit had been ever 
 practised and he had grown up beneath his eye, he might have been a 
 careless, indifferent, rough, harsh father — ^like enough — he felt that ; 
 but the thought would come that he might have been otherwise, and 
 that his son might have been a comfort _to him and they two happy 
 together. He began to think now, that his supposed death and his 
 wife's flight had had some share in making him the morose, hard man 
 he was. He seemed to remember a time when he was not quite so 
 rough and obdurate, and almost thought that he had first hated Nicholas 
 because he was young and gallant, and perhaps like the stripling who 
 had brought dishonour and loss of fortune on his head. - 
 
 But one tender thought, or one of natural regret in that whirlwind 
 of passion and remorse, was as a drop of calm water in a stormy mad- 
 dened sea. His hatred of Nicholas had been fed upon his own defeat, 
 nourished on his interference with his schemes, fattened upon his old 
 defiance and success. There were reasons for its increase ; it had grown 
 and strengthened gradually. Now it attained a height which was sheer 
 wild lunacy. That his of all others should have been the hands to 
 rescue his miserable child, that he should have been his protector and 
 faithful friend, that he should have shown him that love and tenderness 
 which from the wretched moment of his birth he had never known, that 
 he should have taught him to hate his own parent and execrate his very 
 name, that he should now know and feel all this and triumph in the recol- 
 lection, was gall and madness to the usurer's heart. The dead boy's 
 love for Nicholas, and the attachment of Nicholas to him, was insup- 
 portable agony. The picture of his death-bed, with Nicholas at his 
 side tending and supporting him, and he breathing out his thanks, and 
 expiring in his arms, when he would have had them mortal enemies 
 and hating each other to the last, drove him frantic. He gnashed his 
 
606 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 teeth and smote the air, and looking wildly round, with eyes which 
 gleamed through the darkness, cried aloud : 
 
 " I am trampled down and ruined. The wretch told me true. The 
 night has come. Is there no way to rob them of further triumph, and 
 spurn their mercy and compassion ? Is there no devil to help me ?" 
 
 Swiftly there glided again into his brain the figure he had raised that 
 night. It seemed to lie before him. The head was covered now. So 
 it was when he first saw it. The rigid, upturned, marble feet too, he 
 remembered well. Then came before him the pale and trembling 
 relatives who had told their tale upon the inquest — the shrieks of 
 women — the silent dread of men — the consternation and disquiet — the 
 victory achieved by that heap of clay which with one motion of its 
 hand had let out the life and made this stir among them 
 
 He spoke no more, but after a pause softly groped his way out of 
 the room, and up the echoing stairs — up to the top — to the front garret 
 —where he closed the door behind him, and remained 
 
 It was a mere lumber-room now, but it yet contained an old dis- 
 mantled bedstead : the one on which his son had slept, for no other 
 had ever been there. He avoided it hastily, and sat down as far from 
 it as he could. 
 
 The weakened glare of the lights in the street below, shining through 
 the window which had no blind or curtain to intercept it, was enough 
 to show the character of the room, though not sujfficient fully to reveal 
 the various articles of lumber, old corded trunks and broken furniture, 
 which were scattered about. It had a shelving roof ; high in one part, 
 and at another descending almost to the floor. It was towards the 
 highest part that Ralph directed his eyes, and upon it he kept them 
 fixed steadily for some minutes, When he rose, and dragging thither an 
 old chest upon which he had been seated, mounted upon it, and felt 
 along the wall above his head with both hands. At length they 
 touched a large iron hook firmly driven into one of the beams. 
 
 At that moment he was interrupted by a loud knocking at the door 
 below. After a little hesitation he opened the window, and demanded 
 who it was. 
 
 " I want Mr. Nickleby," replied a voice. 
 
 "What with him?" 
 
 " That's not Mr. Nickleby's voice surely," was the rejoinder. 
 
 It was not like it ; but it was Ralph who spoke, and so he said. 
 
 The voice made answer that the twin brothers wished to know whether 
 the man whom he had seen that night was to be detained, and that 
 although it was now midnight they had sent in their anxiety to do right. 
 
 " Yes," cried Ralph, " detain him till to-morrow ; then let tnem 
 bring him here — him and my nephew — and come themselves, and bo 
 sure that I will be ready to receive them." 
 
 " At what hour?" asked the voice. 
 
 " At any hour," replied Ralph fiercely. " In the afternoon, tell them. 
 At any hour — at any minute — all times will be alike to me." 
 
 He listened to the man's retreating footsteps until the sound had 
 passed, and then gazing up into the sky saw, or thought he saw, the 
 same black cloud that had seemed to follow him home, and which now 
 appeared to hover directly above the house. 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY.' 607 
 
 " I know its meaning now," he muttered, " and the restless nights, 
 the dreams, and why I have quailed of late ; — all pointed to this. Oh ! 
 if men by selling their own souls could ride rampant for a term, for 
 how short a term would I barter mine to-night !*' 
 
 The sound of a deep bell came along the wind. One. 
 
 " Lie on !" cried the usurer, " with your iron tongue; ring merrily 
 for births that make expectants writhe, and marriages that are made 
 in hell, and toll ruefully for the dead whose shoes are worn already. 
 Call men to prayers who are godly because not found out, and ring 
 chimes for the coming in of every year that brings this cursed world 
 nearer to its end. No bell or book for me ; throw me on a dunghill, 
 and let me rot there to infect the air !" 
 
 With a wild look around, in which frenzy, hatred, and despair, were 
 horribly mingled, he shook his clenched hand at the sky above him, 
 which was still dark and threatening, and closed the window. 
 
 The rain and hail pattered against the glass, the chimneys quaked 
 and rocked ; the crazy casement rattled with the wind as though an 
 impatient hand inside were striving to burst it open. But no hand was 
 there, and it opened no more. 
 
 *' How's this?" cried one, "the gentlemen say they cant make any- 
 body hear, and have been trying these two hours ?" 
 
 " And yet he came home last night," said another, " for he spoke to 
 somebody out of that window up stairs." " 
 
 They were a little knot of men, and, the window being mentioned, 
 went out in the road to look up at it. This occasioned their observing 
 that the house was still close shut, as the housekeeper had said she had 
 left it on the previous night, and led to a great many suggestions, which 
 terminated in two or three of the boldest getting round to the back and 
 so entering by a window, while the others remained outside in impatient 
 expectation. 
 
 They looked into all the rooms below, opening the shutters as they 
 went to admit the fading light ; and still finding nobody, and every- 
 thing quiet and in its place, doubted whether they should go farther. 
 One man, however, remarking that they had not yet been into the garret, 
 and that it was there he had been last seen, they agreed to look there 
 too, and went up softly, for the mystery and silence made them timid. 
 
 After they had stood for an instant on the landing eyeing each other, 
 he who had proposed their carrying the search so far turned the handle 
 of the door, and pushing it open looked through the chink, and fell 
 back directly. 
 
 " It's very odd," he whispered, " he's hiding behind the door ! Look ! " 
 
 They pressed forward to see, but one among them thrusting the 
 others aside with a loud exclamation, drew a clasp knife from his 
 pocket and dashing into the room cut down the body. 
 
 He had torn a rope from one of the old trunks and hung himself on 
 an iron hook immediately below the trap-door in the ceiling — in the 
 very place to which the eyes of his son, a lonely, desolate, little creature, 
 had so often been directed in childish terror fourteen years before. 
 
608 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 CHAPTER LXIII. 
 
 THE BROTHERS CHEERYBLE MAKE VARIOUS DECLARATIONS FOR THEM- 
 SELVES AND OTHERS ,* AND TIM LINKINWATER MAKES A DECLARATION 
 FOR HIMSELF. 
 
 Some weeks had passed, and the first shock of these events had sub- 
 sided. Madeline had been removed ; Frank had been absent ; and 
 Nicholas and Kate had begun to try in good earnest to stifle their own 
 regrets, and to live for each other and for their mother, who, poor lady, 
 could in no wise be reconciled to this dull and altered state of affairs, 
 when there came one'evening, per favour of Mr. Linkin water, an invi- 
 tation from the Brothers to dinner on the next day but one, compre- 
 hending not only Mrs. Nickleby, Kate, and Nicholas, but little Miss 
 La Creevy, who was most particularly mentioned. 
 
 " Now, my dears," said Mrs. Nickleby, when they had done be- 
 coming honour to the bidding, and Tim had taken his departure, " what 
 does this mean?" 
 
 " What do 7/ou mean, mother ?" asked Nicholas, smiling. 
 
 " I say, my dear," rejoined that lady, with a face of unfathomable 
 mystery, "what does this invitation to dinner mean, — what is its 
 intention and object ?" 
 
 " I conclude it means, that on such a day we are to eat and drink in 
 their house, and that its intent and object is to confer pleasure upon us," 
 said Nicholas. 
 
 " And that's all you conclude it is, my dear ? " 
 
 ** I have not yet arrived at anything deeper, mother.** 
 
 " Then I'll just tell you one thing," said Mrs. Nickleby, " you'll find 
 yourself a little surprised, that's all. You may depend upon it that 
 this means something besides dinner." 
 
 " Tea and supper, perhaps," suggested Nicholas. 
 
 " I wouldn't be absurd, my dear, if I were you," replied Mrs. 
 Nickleby, in a lofty manner, " because it's not by any means becoming, 
 and doesn't suit you at all. AVhat I mean to say is, that the Mr. 
 Cheerybles don't ask us to dinner with all this ceremony for nothing. 
 Never mind, wait and see. You won't believe anything I say, of 
 course. It's much better to wait, a great deal better, it's satisfactory 
 to all parties, and there can be no disputing. All I say is, remember 
 what I say now, and when I say I said so, don't say I didn't." 
 
 With this stipulation, Mrs. Nickleby, who was troubled night and 
 day with a vision of a hot messenger tearing up to the door to announce 
 that Nicholas had been taken into partnership, quitted that branch of 
 the subject, and entered upon a new one. 
 
 *' It's a very extraordinary thing," she said, " a most extraordinary 
 thing, that they should have invited Miss La Creevy. It quite asto- 
 nishes me, upon my word it does. Of course it's very pleasant that 
 she should be invited, very pleasant, and I have no doubt that she'll 
 conduct herself extremely well ; she always does. It's very gratifying 
 to think that we should have been the means of introducing her into 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 609 
 
 such society, and I'm quite glad of it, quite rejoiced, for she certainly 
 is an exceedingly well-behaved and good-natured little person. I could 
 wish that some friend would mention to her how very badly she has 
 her cap trimmed, and what very preposterous bows those are, but of 
 course that's impossible ; and if she likes to make a fright of herself, 
 no doubt she has a perfect right to do so. We never see ourselves — 
 never do and never did — and I suppose we never shall." 
 
 This moral reflection reminding her of the necessity of being pecu- 
 liarly smart upon the occasion, so as to counterbalance Miss La Creevy, 
 and be herself an effectual set-off and atonement, led Mrs. Nickleby 
 into a consultation with her daughter relative to certain ribands, gloves, 
 and trimmings, which, being a complicated question, and one of para- 
 mount importance, soon routed the previous one, and put it to flight. 
 
 The great day arriving, the good lady put herself under Kate's 
 hands an hour or so after breakfast, and, dressing by easy stages, com- 
 pleted her toilet in sufficient time to allow of her daughter's making hers, 
 which was very simple and not very long, though so satisfactory that she 
 had never appeared more charming or looked more lovely. Miss La 
 Creevy, too, arrived with two bandboxes (whereof the bottoms fell out as 
 they were handed from the coach) and something in a newspaper, which a 
 gentleman had sat upon, coming down, and which was obliged to be ironed 
 again before it was fit for service. At last everybody was dressed, in- 
 cluding Nicholas, who had come home to fetch them, and they went 
 away in a coach sent by the Brothers for the purpose : Mrs. Nickleby 
 wondering very much what they would have for dinner, and cross- 
 examining Nicholas as to the extent of his discoveries in the morning, 
 whether he had smelt anything cooking at all like turtle, and if not, 
 what he had smelt ; and diversifying the conversation with reminiscences 
 of dinners to which she had gone some twenty years ago, concerning 
 which she particularized not only the dishes but the guests, in whom 
 her hearers did not feel a very absorbing interest, as not one of them 
 had ever chanced to hear their names before. 
 
 The old butler received them with profound respect and many 
 smiles, and ushered them into the drawing-room, where they were 
 received by the Brothers with so much cordiality and kindness that 
 Mrs. Nickleby was quite in a flutter, and had scarcely presence of 
 mind enough even to patronise JMiss La Creevy. Kate was still more 
 affected by the reception, for knowing that the Brothers were acquainted 
 with all that had passed between her and Frank, she felt her position 
 a most delicate and trying one, and was trembling upon the arm of 
 Nicholas when Mr. Charles took her in his, and led her to another 
 part of the room. 
 
 " Have you seen Madeline, my dear," he said, " since sheleft your house ?" 
 
 " No, Sir V replied Kate. " Not once." 
 
 " And not heard from her, eh ? Not heard from her ?" 
 
 " I have only had one letter," rejoined Kate, gently. " I thought 
 she would not have forgotten me quite so soon." 
 
 " Ah 1" said the old man, patting hei? on the head and speaking as 
 affectionately as if she had been his favourite child. " Poor dear ! 
 what do you think of this, brother Ned ? Madeline has only writteu 
 
 R R 
 
610 LIFE AND ADTENTURES OP 
 
 to her once — only once, Ned, and she didn't think she would have 
 forgotten her quite so soon, Ned." 
 
 " Oh ! sad, sad — very sad !" said Ned. 
 
 The brothers interchanged a glance, and looking at Kate for a little 
 time without speaking, shook hands, and nodded as if they were con- 
 gratulating each other upon something very delightful. 
 
 "Wei], well," said brother Charles, "go into that room, my dear, that 
 door yonder, and see if there's not a letter for you from her. I think 
 there's one upon the table. You needn't hurry back, my love, if there is, 
 for we don't dine just yet, and there's plenty of time — plenty of time." 
 
 Kate retired as she was directed, and brother Charles having followed 
 her graceful figure with his eyes, turned to Mrs. Nickleby and said — 
 
 " We took the liberty of naming one hour before the real dinner- 
 time, ma'am, because we had a little business to speak about, which 
 would occupy the interval. Ned, my dear fellow, will you mention what 
 we agreed upon ? Mr. Nickleby, Sir, have the goodness to follow me." 
 
 Without any further explanation, Mrs. Nickleby, Miss La Creevy, 
 and brother Ned, were left alone together, and Nicholas followed brother 
 Charles into his private room, where to his great astonishment he 
 encountered Frank whom he supposed to be abroad. 
 
 " Young men," said Mr. Cheeryble, " shake hands." 
 
 " I need no bidding to do that," said Nicholas, extending his. 
 
 " Nor I," rejoined Frank, as he clasped it heartily. 
 
 The old gentleman thought that two handsomer or finer young 
 fellows could scarcely stand side by side than those on whom he looked 
 with so much pleasure. Suffering his eyes to rest upon them for a 
 short time in silence, he said, while he seated himself at his desk, 
 
 " I wish to see you friends — close and firm friends — and if I thought 
 you otherwise, I should hesitate in what I am about to say. Frank, 
 look here. Mr. Nickleby, will you come on the other side ?" 
 
 The young men stepped up on either hand of brother Charles, who 
 produced a paper from his desk and unfolded it. 
 
 " This," he said, " is a copy of the will of Madeline's maternal 
 grandfather, bequeathing her the sum of twelve thousand pounds, 
 payable either upon her coming of age or marrying. It would appear 
 that this gentleman, angry with her (his only relation) because she would 
 not put herself under his protection, and detach herself from the society 
 of her father, in compliance with his repeated overtures, made a will 
 leaving this property, which was all he possessed, to a charitable insti- 
 tution. He would seem to have repented this determination, however, 
 for three weeks afterwards, and in the same month, he executed this. 
 By some fraud it was abstracted immediately after his decease, and 
 the other — the only will found — was proved and administered. 
 Friendly negotiations, w^hich have only just now terminated, have been 
 proceeding since this instrument came into our hands, and as there is 
 no doubt of its authenticity, and the witnesses have been discovered 
 (after some trouble), the money has been refunded. Madeline has there- 
 fore obtained her right, and is, or will be, when either of the con- 
 tingencies which I have mentioned has arisen, mistress of this fortune. 
 You understand me ?" 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 611 
 
 Frank replied in the affirmative. Nicholas, who could not trust him- 
 self to speak lest his voice should be heard to falter, bowed his head. 
 
 " Nov/, Frank," said the old gentleman, " you were the immediate 
 means of recovering this deed. The fortune is but a small one, but 
 we love Madeline, and such as it is, we would rather see you allied to 
 her with that, than to any other girl we know who has three times 
 the money. Will you become a suitor to her for her hand ?" 
 
 " No, Sir : I interested myself in the recovery of that instrument, 
 believing that her hand was already pledged to one who has a thou- 
 sand times the claims upon her gratitude, and, if I jmistake not, upon 
 her heart, than I or any other man can ever urge. In this it seems I 
 judged hastily." 
 
 " As you always do, Sir," cried brother Charles, utterly forgetting 
 his assumed dignity, " as you always do. How dare you think, 
 Frank, that we would have you marry for money, when youth, beauty, 
 and every amiable virtue and excellence, were to be had for love ? How 
 dared you, Frank, go and make love to Mr. Nickleby's sister without 
 telling us first what you meant to do, and letting us speak for you V 
 
 " I hardly dared to hope." 
 
 " You hardly dared to hope ! Then, so much the greater reason for 
 having our assistance. Mr. Nickleby, Sir, Frank, although he judged 
 hastily, judged for once correctly. Madeline's heart is occupied — 
 give me your hand, Sir ; it is occupied by you, and worthily and 
 naturally. This fortune is destined to be yours, but you have a greater 
 fortune in her. Sir, than you would have in money were it forty times 
 told. She chooses you, Mr. Nickleby. She chooses as we, her dearest 
 friends, would have her choose. Frank chooses as we would have 
 Mm choose. He should have your sister's little hand. Sir, if she had 
 refused it a score of times — ay, he should, and he shall ! You acted 
 nobly not knowing our sentiments, but now you know them, Sir, and 
 must do as you are bid. What ! You are the children of a worthy 
 gentleman ! The time was. Sir, when my dear brother Ned and I 
 were two poor simple-hearted boys, wandering almost barefoot to 
 seek our fortunes ; are we changed in anything but years and worldly 
 circumstances since that time ? No, God forbid ! Oh, Ned, Ned, Ned, 
 what a happy day this is for you and me ; if our poor mother had 
 only lived to see us now, Ned, how proud it would have made her 
 dear heart at last !" 
 
 Thus apostrophised, brother Ned, who had entered with Mrs. 
 Nickleby, and who had been before unobserved by the young men, 
 darted forward, and fairly hugged brother Charles in his arms. 
 
 " Bring in my little Kate," said the latter, after a short silencie. 
 " Bring her in, Ned. Let me see Kate, let me kiss her. I have a 
 right to do so now ; I was very near it when she first came ; I have 
 often been very near it. Ah ! Did you find the letter, my bird ? Did 
 you find Madeline herself, waiting for you and expecting you ? Did 
 you find that she had not quite forgotten her friend and nurse and 
 sweet companion? Why, this is almost the best of all!" 
 
 " Come, come," said Ned, " Frank will be jealous, and we shall 
 have some cutting of throats before dinner." 
 
 R R 2 
 
612 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 " Then let him take her away, Ned, let hiin take her away. 
 Madeline's in the next room. Let all the lovers get out of the way, 
 and talk among themselves, if they've anything to say. Turn 'em out, 
 Ned, every one." 
 
 Brother Charles began the clearance by leading the blushing girl 
 himself to the door, and dismissing her with a kiss. Frank was not 
 very slow to follow, and Nicholas had disappeared first of all. So there 
 only remained Mrs. Nickleby and Miss La Creevy, who were both 
 sobbing heartily ; the two brothers, and Tim Linkinwater, who now 
 came in to shake hands with everybody, his round face all radiant 
 and beaming with smiles. 
 
 " Well, Tim Linkinwater, Sir," said brother Charles, who was 
 always spokesman, " now the young folks are happy, Sir." 
 
 " You didn't keep 'em in suspense as long as you said you would, 
 though," returned Tim, archly. " Why, Mr. Nickleby and Mr. Frank 
 were to have been in your room for I don't know how long ; and I 
 don't know what you weren't to have told them before you came out 
 with the truth." 
 
 "Now, did you ever know such a villain as this, Ned?" said the 
 old gentleman, " did you ever know such a villain as Tim Linkin- 
 water ? He accusing me of being impatient, and he the very man who 
 lias been wearying us morning, noon, and night, and torturing us for 
 leave to go and tell 'em what was in store, before our plans were half 
 complete, or we had arranged a single thing — a treacherous dog !" 
 
 " So he is, brother Charles," returned Ned, " Tim is a treacherous 
 doo-. Tim is not to be trusted. Tim is a wild young fellow — he wants 
 gravity and steadiness ; he must sow his wild oats, and then perhaps 
 he'll become in time a respectable member of society." 
 
 This being one of the standing jokes between the old fellows and 
 Tim, they all three laughed very heartily, and might have laughed 
 much longer, but that the brothers seeing that Mrs. Nickleby was 
 labouring to express her feelings, and was really overwhelmed by the 
 happiness of the time, took her between them, and led her from the 
 room under pretence of having to consult her on some most important 
 arrangements. 
 
 Now Tim and Miss La Creevy had met very often, and had always 
 been very chatty and pleasant together — had always been great friends 
 — and consequently it was the most natural thing in the world that Tim, 
 finding that she still sobbed, should endeavour to console her. As Miss 
 La Creevy sat on a large old-fashioned window-seat, where there was 
 ample room for two, it was also natural that Tim should sit down 
 beside her ; and as to Tim's being unusually spruce and particular in 
 Ills attire tliat day, why it was a high festival and a great occasion, and 
 that was the most natural thing of all. 
 
 Tim sat down beside Miss La Creevy, and crossing one leg over the 
 other so that his foot — he had very comely feet, and happened to be 
 wearincy the neatest shoes and black silk stockings possible — should 
 come easily within the range of her eye, said in a soothing way : 
 
 " Don't cry." 
 
 " I must," rejoined Miss La Creevy. 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY, 
 
 613 
 
 *' No don't," said Tim. " Please don't ; pray don't." 
 
 '* I am so happy ! " sobbed the little woman. 
 
 " Then laugh," said Tim, " do laugh." 
 
 What in the world Tim was doing with his arm it is impossible to 
 conjecture, but he knocked his elbow against that part of the window 
 which was quite on the other side of Miss La Creevy ; and it is clear 
 that it could have no business there. 
 
 " Do laugh," said Tim, " or I'll cry." 
 
 " Why should you cry ? " asked Miss La Creevy, smiling. 
 
 " Because I'm happy too," said Tim. " We are both happy, and I 
 should like to do as you do." 
 
 Surely there never was a man who fidgetted as Tim must have done 
 then, for he knocked the window again — almost in the same place — 
 and Miss La Creevy said she was sure he'd break it. 
 
 " I knew," said Tim, " that you would be pleased with this scene." 
 
 " It was very thoughtful and kind to remember me," returned Miss 
 La Creevy. " Nothing could have delighted me half so much." 
 
 Why on earth should Miss La Creevy and Tim Linkin water have 
 said all this in a whisper ? It was no secret. And why should Tim 
 Linkinwater have looked so hard at Miss La Creevy, and why should 
 Miss La Creevy have looked so hard at the ground ? 
 
 " It's a pleasant thing," said Tim, " to people like us, who have 
 passed all our lives in the world alone, to see young folks that we are 
 fond of brought together with so many years of happiness before them." 
 
 " Ah !" cried the little woman with all her heart, " that it is !" 
 
 "Although," pursued Tim — "although it makes one feel quite solitary 
 and cast away — now don't it ?" 
 
 MissXa Creevy said she didn't know. And why should she say she 
 didn't know ? Because she must have known whether it did or not. 
 
 " It's almost enough to make us get married after all, isi;i't it ? " said 
 Tim. 
 
 " Oh nonsense !" replied Miss La Creevy, laughing, " we are too old." 
 
 " Not a bit," said Tim, " we are too old to be single — why shouldn't 
 •we both be married instead of sitting through the long winter evenings 
 by our solitary firesides ? Why shouldn't we make one fireside of it, 
 and marry each other ?" 
 
 " Oh Mr. Linkinwater, you're joking !" 
 
 " No, no, I'm not. I'm not indeed," said Tim. " I will if you will. 
 Do, my dear." 
 
 " It would make people laugh so.'* 
 
 " Let 'em laugh," cried Tim, stoutly, " we have good tempers I know, 
 and we'll laugh too. Why what hearty laughs we have had since we've 
 known each other." 
 
 " So we have," cried Miss La Creevy — giving way a little, as Tim 
 thought. 
 
 * " It has been the happiest time in all my life — at least, away from 
 the counting-house and Cheeryble Brothers," said Tim. " Do, my 
 dear. Now say you will." 
 
 " No, no, we mustn't think of it," returned Miss La Creevy. 
 " What would the Brothers say ? " 
 
614 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 "Why, God bless your soul!" cried Tim, innocently, "you don't 
 suppose I should think of such a thing without their knowing it ! "Why 
 they left us here on purpose." 
 
 " I can never look 'em in the face again !" exclaimed Miss La Creevy, 
 faintly. 
 
 " Come," said Tim, " let's be a comfortable couple. We shall live in 
 the old house here, where I have been for four-and-forty year ; we shall 
 go to the old church, where I've been every Sunday morning all througlt 
 that time ; we shall have all my old friends about us — Dick, the arch- 
 way, the pump, the flower-pots, and Mr. Frank's children, and Mr. 
 Nicklcby's children, that we shall seem like grandfather and grand- 
 mother to. Let's be a comfortable couple, and take care of each other, 
 and if we should get deaf, or lame, or blind, or bed-ridden, how glad 
 we shall be that we have somebody we are fond of always to talk to and 
 sit with ! Let's be a comfortable couple. Now do, my dear." 
 
 Five minutes after this honest and straight-forward speech, little 
 Miss La Creevy and Tim were talking as pleasantly as if they had been 
 married for a score of years, and had never once quarrelled all the time ; 
 and five minutes after that, when Miss La Creevy had bustled out to 
 see if her eyes were red and put her hair to rights, Tim moved w4th a 
 stately step towards the drawing-room exclaiming as he w^ent, " There 
 an't such another woman in all London — I know there ant." 
 
 By this time the apoplectic butler was nearly in fits, in consequence 
 of the unheard-of postponement of dinner. Nicholas, who had been 
 engaged in a manner which every reader may imagine for himself or 
 herself, was hurrying down stairs in obedience to his angry summons 
 "when he encountered a new surprise. 
 
 Upon his way down, he overtook in one of the passages a stranger 
 genteelly dressed in black who was also moving towards the dining- 
 room. As he was rather lame and walked slowly Nicholas lingered 
 behind, and was following him step by step, wondering who he was, 
 when he suddenly turned round and caught him by both hands. 
 
 "Newman Noggs !" cried Nicholas joyfully. 
 
 " Ah ! Newman, your own Newman, your own old faithful Ne^vman. 
 My dear boy, my dear Nick, Igiveyoujoy — health, happiness, every bless- 
 ing. I can't bear it, it's too much, my dear boy — it makes a child of me !" 
 
 "Where have you been?" said Nicholas, "what have you been 
 doing! How often have I inquired for you, and been told that I 
 should hear before long ! " 
 
 " I know, I know," returned Newman, " they wanted all the happi- 
 ness to come together. I've been helping 'em. I — I — ^look at me, Nick, 
 look at me." 
 
 " You would never let me do that," said Nicholas in a tone of gentle 
 reproach. 
 
 " I didn't mind what I was then. I shouldn't have had the heart 
 to put on gentleman's clothes. They would have reminded me of old 
 times and made me miserable ; I am another man now, Nick. My 
 dear boy, I can't speak— don't say anything to me — don't think the 
 worse of mc for these tears — you don't know what I feel to-day ; you 
 can't and never will !" ' 
 
i 
 
 'U,- /y,.r//,^,/ u/, ,1/ ' -^r 
 
 ■/.'// 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 615 
 
 They walked in to dinner arm-in-arm, and sat down side by side. 
 
 Never was such a dinner as that since the world began. There was 
 the superannuated bank clerk Tim Linkinwater's friend, and there 
 was the cluibby old lady Tim Linkinwater's sister, and there was so 
 much attention from Tim Linkinwater's sister to Miss La Creevy, and 
 there were so many jokes from the superannuated bank clerk, and Tim 
 Linkinwater himself was in such tiptop spirits, and little Miss La 
 Creevy was in such a comical state, that of themselves they would have 
 composed the pleasantest party conceivable. Then there was Mrs. 
 Nickleby so grand and complacent, Madeline and Kate so blushing and 
 beautiful, Nicholas and Frank so devoted and proud, and all four so 
 silently and tremblingly happy — there was Newman so subdued yet 
 so overjoyed, and there were the twin Brothers so delighted and inter- 
 changing such looks, that the old servant stood transfixed behind his mas- 
 ter's chair and felt his eyes grow" dim as they wandered round the table. 
 
 "When the first novelty of the meeting had worn off, and they began 
 truly to feel how happy they were, the conversation became more 
 general and the harmony and pleasure if possible increased. The 
 Brothers were in a perfect ecstacy, and their insisting on saluting the 
 ladies all round before they would permit them to retire, gave occasion 
 to the superannuated bank clerk to say so many good things that he 
 quite outshone himself, and was looked upon as a prodigy of humour. 
 
 " Kate, my dear," said Mrs. Nickleby, taking her daughter aside 
 directly they got up stairs, " you don't really mean to tell me that, 
 this is actually true about Miss La Creevy and Mr. Linkinwater ?" 
 
 " Indeed it is, mama.*' 
 
 " Why I never heard such a thing in my life !" exclaimed Mrs. Nickleby, 
 
 " Mr. Linkinwater is a most excellent creature," reasoned Kate, 
 " and for his age, quite young still." 
 
 "For his age, my dear !" returned Mrs. Nickleby, "yes; nobody 
 says anything against him, except that I think he is the weakest and 
 most foolish man I ever knew. It's her age I speak of. That he 
 should have gone and offered himself to a woman who must be — ah, 
 half as old again as I am, and that she should have dared to accept 
 him ! It don't signify, Kate ; — I'm disgusted with her ! " 
 
 Shaking her head very emphatically indeed, Mrs. Nickleby swept 
 away ; and all the evening, in the midst of the merriment and enjoy- 
 ment that ensued, and in which with that exception she freely parti- 
 cipated, conducted herself towards Miss La Creevy in a stately and 
 distant manner, designed to mark her sense of the impropriety of her 
 conduct, and to signify her extreme and cutting disapprobation of the 
 misdemeanour she had so flagrantly committed. 
 
 CHAPTER LXIY. 
 
 AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE IS RECOGNISED UNDER MELANCHOLY CIRCUM- 
 STANCES, AND DOTHEBOYS HALL BREAKS UP FOR EVER. 
 
 Nicholas was one of those whose joy is incomplete unless it is shared 
 by the friends of adverse and less fortunate days. Surrounded by every 
 fascination of love and hope, his warm heart yearned towards plain 
 
616 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 John Browdie. He remembered their first meeting with a smile, and 
 their second with a tear ; saw poor Smike once again with the bundle 
 on his shoulder trudging patiently by his side, and heard the honest 
 Yorkshireman's rough words of encouragement as he left them on their 
 road to London. 
 
 Madeline and he sat down very many times, jointly to produce a 
 letter which should acquaint John at full length with his altered fortunes, 
 and assure him of his friendship and gratitude. It so happened, how- 
 ever, that the letter could never be written. Although they applied 
 themselves to it with the best intentions in the world, it chanced that 
 they always fell to talking about something else, and when Nicholas 
 tried it by himself, he found it impossible to write one half of what he 
 wished to say, or to pen anything, indeed, which on re-perusal did 
 not appear cold and unsatisfactory compared with what he had in his 
 mind. At last, after going on thus from day to day, and reproaching 
 himself more and more, he resolved (the more readily as Madeline 
 strongly urged him) to make a hasty trip into Yorkshire, and present 
 himself before Mr. and Mrs. Browdie without a word of notice. 
 
 Thus it was that between seven and eight o'clock one evening, he 
 and Kate found themselves in the Saracen's Head booking-office, securing 
 a place to Greta Bridge by the next morning's coach. They had to go 
 westward to procure some little necessaries for his journey, and as it 
 was a fine night, they agreed to walk there and ride home. 
 
 The place they had just been in called up so many recollections, and 
 Kate had so many anecdotes of Madeline, and Nicholas so many anec- 
 dotes of Frank, and each was so interested in what the other said, and 
 both were so happy and confiding, and had so much to talk about, that 
 it was not until they had plunged for a full half hour into that labyrinth 
 of streets which lies between Seven Dials and Soho without emerging 
 into any large thoroughfare, that Nicholas began to think it just pos- 
 sible they might have lost their way. 
 
 The possibility was soon converted into a certainty, for on looking 
 about, and walking first to one end of the street and then to the other, 
 he could find no land-mark he could recognise, and was- fain to turn 
 back again in quest of some place at which he could seek a direction. 
 
 It was a by-street, and there was nobody about, or in the few wretched 
 shops they passed. Making towards a faint gleam of light, which 
 streamed across the pavement from a cellar, Nicholas was about to 
 descend two or three steps so as to render himself visible to those below 
 and make his inquiry, when he was arrested by a loud noise of scolding 
 in a woman's voice. 
 
 " Oh come away ! " said Kate, " they are quarrelling. You'll be hurt." 
 
 " Wait one instant, Kate. Let us hear if there's anything the matter," 
 returned her brother. " Hush ! " 
 
 " You nasty, idle, vicious, good-for-nothing brute," cried the woman, 
 stamping on the ground, " why don't you turn the mangle ? " 
 
 *,' So I am, my life and soul ! " replied a man's voice. " I am always 
 turning, I am perpetually turning, like a demd old horse in a demnition 
 mill. My life is one demd horrid grind ! " 
 
 " Then why don't you go and list for a soldier ? " retorted the woman, 
 " you're welcome to." 
 
//., 
 
 ■/////.>^,'///ry,> 
 
 // 
 
 r ' 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 617 
 
 *^ For a soldier ! " cried the man. " For a soldier ! Would his joy 
 and gladness see him in a coarse red coat with a little tail ? Would she 
 hear of his being slapped and beat by drummers demnebly ? Would 
 she have him fire off real guns, and have his hair cut and his whiskers 
 shaved, and his eyes turned right and left, and his trousers pipe- 
 clayed ? " 
 
 " Dear Nicholas," whispered Kate, " you don't know who that is. 
 It's Mr. Mantalini I am confident." 
 
 " Do make sure ; peep at him while I ask the way," said Nicholas. 
 " Come down a step or two — come." 
 
 Drawing her after him, Nicholas crept down the steps and looked 
 into a small boarded cellar. There, amidst clothes-baskets and clothes, 
 stripped to his shirt-sleeves, but wearing still an old patched pair of 
 pantaloons of superlative make, a once brilliant waistcoat, and moustache 
 and whiskers as of yore, but lacking their lustrous dye — ^there, endea- 
 vouring to mollify the wrath of a buxom female, the proprietress of the 
 concern, and grinding meanwhile as if for very life at the mangle, whose 
 creaking noise, mingled with her shrill tones, appeared almost to deafen 
 him — there was the graceful, elegant, fascinating, and once dashing 
 Mantalini. 
 
 " Oh you false traitor ! " cried the lady, threatening personal violence 
 on Mr. Mantalini's face. 
 
 '* False ! Oh dem ! Now my soul, my gentle, captivating, bewitch- 
 ing, and most demnebly enslaving chick-a-biddy, be calm," said Mr, 
 Mantalini, humbly. 
 
 " I won't ! " screamed the woman. " I'll tear your eyes out I" 
 
 " Oh ! What a demd savaoe lamb ! " cried Mr. Mantalini. 
 
 o 
 
 " You're never to be trusted," screamed the woman, " you were out 
 all day yesterday, and gallivanting somewhere I know — you know you 
 were. Isn't it enough that I paid two pound fourteen for you, and took 
 you out of prison and let you live here like a gentleman, but must 
 you go on like this : breaking my heart besides ? " 
 
 " I will never break its heart, I will be a good boy, and never do so 
 any more ; I w^ill never be naughty again ; I beg its little pardon," 
 said Mr. Mantalini, dropping the handle of the mangle, and folding his 
 palms together, " it is all uj) with its handsome friend, he has gone to 
 the demnition bow-wows. It will have pity ? it will not scratch and 
 claw, but pet and comfort ? Oh, demmit." 
 
 Very little affected, to judge from her action, by this tender appeal, 
 the lady was on the point of returning some angry reply, when 
 Nicholas, raising his voice, asked his way to Piccadilly. 
 
 Mr. Mantalini turned round, caught sight of Kate, and, without 
 another word, leapt at one bound into a bed which stood behind the door, 
 and drew the counterpane over his face, kicking meanwhile convulsively. 
 
 " Demmit," he cried, in a suffocating voice, " it's little Nickleby ! 
 Shut the door, put out the candle, turn me up in the bedstead ; oh, 
 dem, dem, dem !" 
 
 The woman looked first at Nicholas, and then at Mr. Mantalini, as 
 if uncertain on whom to visit this extraordinary behaviour, but Mr. 
 Mantalini happening by ill luck to thrust his nose from under the bed- 
 
618 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 clotlies, in his anxiety to ascertain whether the visitors were gone, slie 
 suddenly, and with a dexterity which could only have been acquired 
 by long practice, flung a pretty heavy clothes-basket at him, with so good 
 an aim that he kicked more violently than before, though without 
 venturing to make any effort to disengage his head, which was quite 
 extinguished. Thinking this a favourable opportunity for departino- 
 before any of the torrent of her wrath discharged itself upon him, Nicholas 
 hurried Kate off, and left the unfortunate subject of this unexpected re- 
 cognition to explain his conduct as he best could. 
 
 The next morning he began his journey. It was now cold, winter 
 weather, forcibly recalling to his mind under what circumstances he had 
 first travelled that road, and how many vicissitudes and changes he 
 had since undergone. He was alone inside the greater part of the way, 
 and sometimes, when he had fallen into a doze, and, rousing himself, 
 looked out of the window, and recognised some place which he well 
 remembered as having passed either on his journey down, or in the 
 long walk back with poor Smike, he could hardly believe but that all 
 which had since happened had been a dream, and that they were still 
 plodding wearily on towards London, with the world before them. 
 
 To render these recollections the more vivid, it came on to snow as 
 night set in, and passing though Stamford and Grantham, and by the 
 little alehouse where he had heard the story of the bold Baron of Grog- 
 swig, everything looked as if he had seen it but yesterday, and not even a 
 flake of the white crust upon the roofs had melted away. Encouraging 
 the train of ideas which flocked upon him, he could almost persuade 
 himself that he sat again outside the coach, with Squeers and the boys, 
 that he heard their voices in the air, and that he felt again, but with a 
 mingled sensation of pain and pleasure now, that old sinking of the 
 heart and longing after home. While he was yet yielding himself up 
 to these fancies he fell asleep, and, dreaming of Madeline, forgot them. 
 
 He slept at the inn at Greta Bridge on the night of his arrival, and, 
 rising at a very early hour next morning, walked to the market town, 
 and inquired for John Browdie's house. John lived in tlie outskirts 
 now he was a family man, and, as everybody knew him, Nicholas had no 
 difficulty in finding a boy who imdertook to guide him to his residence. 
 
 Dismissing his guide at the gate, and in his impatience not even stop- 
 ping to admire the thriving look of cottage or garden either, Nicholas 
 made his way to the kitchen door, and knocked lustily with his stick. 
 
 " Halloa !" cried a voice inside, " waat be the matther noo ? Be the 
 toon a-fire ? Ding, but thou mak'est noise eneaf !" 
 
 With these words John Browdie opened the door himself, and opening 
 his eyes too to their utmost width, cried, as he clapped his hands to- 
 gether and burst into a hearty roar, 
 
 " Ecod, it be the godfeyther, it be the godfeyther ! Tilly, here be 
 Misther Nickleby. Gi' us thee bond, mun. Coom awa', coom awa'. 
 In wi' un, doon beside the fire ; tak' a soop o' thot. Dinnot say a word 
 till thou'st droonk it a\ oop wi* it, mun. Ding ! but I'm reeght glod to 
 see thee." 
 
 Adapting his action to his text, John dragged Nicholas into the kitchen, 
 forced him down upon a huge settle beside a blazing fire, poured out 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 619 
 
 from an enormous bottle about a quarter of a pint of spirits, thrust 
 it into his hand, opened his mouth and threw back his head as a 
 sign to him to drink it instantly, and stood with a broad grin of 
 welcome overspreading his great red face, like a jolly giant. 
 
 " I might ha' knowa'd," said John, " that nobody but thou would ha* 
 coom wi' sike a knock as yon. Thot was the wa' thou knocked at 
 schoolmeasther's door eh ? Ha, ha, ha ! But I say — waa't be a' this 
 aboot schoolmeasther?" 
 
 " You know it then V said Nicholas. 
 
 *' They were talking aboot it doon toon last neeght," replied John, 
 ' ' but neane on 'em seemed quite to un'erstan' it loike." . 
 
 " After various shiftings and delays," said Nicholas, " he has been 
 sentenced to be transported for seven years, for being in the unlawful 
 possession of a stolen will ; and after that, he has to suffer the conse- 
 quence of a conspiracy." 
 
 " Whew !" cried John, "a conspiracy ! Soomat in the pooder plot 
 wa' — eh ? Sooma't in the Guy Faurx line ?" 
 
 " No, no, no, a conspiracy connected with his school ; I'll explain it 
 presently." 
 
 " Thot's reeght !" said John, "explain it arter breakfast, not noo, 
 for thou bees't hoongry, and so am I ; and Tilly she mun' be at the 
 bottom o' a' explanations, for she says thot's the mutual confidence. 
 Ha, ha, ha ! Ecod it's a room start is the mutual confidence !" 
 
 The entrance of Mrs. Browdie with a smart cap on and very many 
 apologies for their having been detected in the act of breakfasting in 
 the kitchen, stopped John in his discussion of this grave subject, and 
 hastened the breakfast, which being composed of vast mounds of toast, 
 new-laid eggs, boiled ham, Yorkshire pie, and other cold substantials 
 (of which heavy relays were constantly appearing from another kitchen 
 under the direction of a very plump servant), was admirably adapted to 
 the cold bleak morning, and received the utmost justice from all parties. 
 At last it came to a close, and the fire which had been lighted in the 
 best parlour having by this time burnt up, they adjourned thither to 
 hear what Nicholas had to tell. 
 
 Nicholas told them all, and never was there a story which awakened 
 so many emotions in the breasts of two eager listeners. At one time 
 honest John groaned in sympathy, and at another roared with joy ; at 
 one time he vowed to go up to London on purpose to get a sight of the 
 Brothers Cheeryble, and at another swore that Tim Linkinwater 
 should receive such a ham by coach, and carriage free, as mortal knife 
 had never carved. When Nicholas began to describe Madeline, he sat 
 with his mouth wide open nudging Mrs. Browdie from time to time, 
 and exclaiming under his breath that she must be " raa'ther a tidy sort," 
 and when he heard at last that his young friend had come down pur- 
 posely to communicate his good fortune, and to convey to him all those 
 assurances of friendship which he could not state with sufticient warmth 
 in writing — that the only object of his journey was to share his happi- 
 ness with them, and to tell them that when he was married they must 
 come up to see him, and that Madeline insisted on it as well as he — 
 John could hold out no longer, but after looking indignantly at his wife 
 
620 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 and demanding to know what she was whimpering for, drew his coat- 
 sleeve over his eyes and bluhbcred outright. 
 
 " Telle'e waa't though," said John seriously, when a great deal had 
 been said on both sides, " to return to schoolmeasther : if this news 
 aboot 'un has reached school to-day, the old 'ooman wean't have a whole 
 boan in her boddy, nor Fanny neither.'' 
 
 " Oh John ! " cried Mrs. Browdie. 
 
 " Ah ! and Oh John agean," replied the Yorkshireman. " I dinnot 
 know what they lads mightn't do. "When it first got aboot that 
 schoolmeasther was in trouble, soom feythers and moothers sent and 
 took their young chaps awa'. If them as is left should know waa'ts 
 coom tiv'un, there'll be sike a revolution and rebel !— Ding ! But I 
 think they'll a' gang daft, and spill bluid like wather I" 
 
 In fact John Browdie's apprehensions were so strong that he deter- 
 mined to ride over to the school without delay, and invited Nicholas to 
 accompany him, which however he declined, pleading that his presence 
 might perhaps aggravate the bitterness of their adversity. 
 
 " Thot's true !" said John, " I should ne'er ha thought o' thot." 
 
 " I must return to-morrow," said Nicholas, " but I mean to dine 
 with you to-day, and if Mrs. Browdie can give me a bed — " 
 
 "Bed!" cried John, "I wish thou could'st sleep in fewer beds at 
 once. Ecod thou should'st have 'em a'. Bide till I coom back, on'y 
 bide till I coom back, and ecod we'll mak' a day of it." 
 
 Giving his wife a hearty kiss, and Nicholas a no less hearty shake 
 of the hand, John mounted his horse and rode off: leaving Mrs, 
 Browdie [to apply herself to hospitable preparations, and his young 
 friend to stroll about the neighbourhood, and revisit spots which were 
 rendered familiar to him by many a miserable association. 
 
 John cantered away, and arriving at Dotheboys Hall tied his horse to 
 a gate and made his way to the schoolroom door, which he found locked 
 on the inside, A tremendous noise and riot arose from within, and 
 applying his eye to a convenient crevice in the wall, he did not remain 
 long in ignorance of its meaning. 
 
 The news of Mr. Squeers's downfall had reached Dotheboys ; that 
 was quite clear. To all appearance it had very recently become known 
 to the young gentlemen, for the rebellion had just broken out. 
 
 It was one of the brimstone-and-treacle mornings, and Mrs. Squeers 
 had entered school according to custom with the large bowl and spoon, 
 followed by Miss Squeers and the amiable Wackford, who during his 
 father's absence had taken upon him such minor branches of the execu- 
 tive as kicking the pupils with his nailed boots, pulling the hair of 
 someof the smaller boys, pinchingthe others in aggravating places, and ren- 
 dering himself in various similar ways a great comfort and happiness to 
 his mother. Their entrance, whether by premeditation or a simultane- 
 ous impulse, was the signal of revolt. Wliile one detachment rushed 
 to the door and locked it, and another mounted upon the desks and 
 forms, the stoutest (and consequently the newest) boy seized the cane, 
 and confronting Mrs. Squeers with a stern countenance, snatched off 
 her cap and Jbeaver- bonnet, put it on his own head, armed him- 
 self with the wooden spoon, and bade her, on pain of death, go 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 621 
 
 down upon her knees, and take a dose directly. Before that estimable 
 lady could recover herself or offer the slightest retaliation, she was 
 forced into a kneeling posture by a crowd of shouting tormentors, and 
 compelled to swallow a spoonful of the odious mixture, rendered more 
 than usually savoury by the immersion in the bowl of Master Wack- 
 ford's head, whose ducking was entrusted to another rebel. The success 
 of this first achievement prompted the malicious crowd, whose faces 
 were clustered together in every variety of lank and half-starved ugli- 
 ness, to further acts of outrage. The leader was insisting upon Mrs. 
 Squeers repeating her dose. Master Squeers was undergoing another 
 dip in the treacle, and a violent assault had been commenced on Miss 
 Squeers, when John Browdie, bursting open the door with one vigor- 
 ous kick, rushed to the rescue. The shouts, screams, groans, hoots, 
 and clapping of hands, suddenly ceased, and a dead silence ensued. 
 
 " Ye be noice chaps," said John, looking steadily round. " What's 
 to do here, thou yoong dogs !" 
 
 " Squeers is in prison, and we are going to run away !" cried a 
 score of shrill voices. " We won't stop, we vv^on't stop !" 
 
 " Weel then, dinnot stop," replied John, " who waants thee to stop ? 
 E-oon awa' loike men, but dinnot hurt the women." 
 
 *■' Hurrah !" cried the shrill voices, more shrilly still. 
 
 " Hurrah !" repeated John. " Weel, hurrah loike men too. Noo 
 then, look out. Hip — hip — hip — hurrah !" 
 
 " Hurrah !" cried the voices. 
 
 " Hurrah agean," said John. " Looder still." 
 
 The boys obeyed. 
 
 " Anoother !" said John. " Dinnot be afeard on it. Let's have a 
 good 'un." 
 
 " Hurrah !" 
 
 " Noo then," said John, " let's have yan more to end wi', and then 
 coot off as quick as you loike. Tak' a good breath noo — Squeers be in 
 jail — the school's brokken oop — it's a' ower — past and gane — think o* 
 thot, and let it be a hearty 'un. Hurrah !" 
 
 Such a cheer arose as the walls of Dotheboys Hall had never echoed 
 before, and were destined never to respond to again. When the 
 sound had died away the school was empty, and of the busy noisy 
 crowd which had peopled it but five minutes before, not one remained. 
 
 " Very well, Mr. Browdie !" said Miss Squeers, hot and flushed 
 from the recent encounter, but vixenish to the last ; " you've been and 
 excited our boys to run away. Now see if we don't pay you out for 
 that. Sir ! If my pa is unfortunate and trod down by henemies, we're 
 not going to be basely crowed and conquered over by you and Tilda." 
 
 " Noa !" replied John bluntly, " thou bean't. Tak' thy oath o' thot. 
 Think betther o' us, Fanny. I tell'ee both that I'm glod the auld 
 man has been caught out at last — dom'd glod — but ye'll sooffer eneaf 
 wi'out any crowin' fra' me, and I be not the mun to crow nor be Tilly 
 the lass, so I tell'ee flat. More than thot, I tell'ee noo, that if thou 
 need'st friends to help thee awa' from this place — dinnot turn up thy 
 nose, Fanny, thou may'st — thou'lt foind Tilly and I wi' a thout o* 
 old times aboot us, ready to lend thee a bond. And when I say thot, 
 
622 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 dinnot tliink I be asheamed of waa't I've deane, for I say agean, 
 Hurrah ! and dom the sclioolmeasther — there !" 
 
 His parting words concluded, John Browdie strode heavily out, re- 
 mounted his nag, put him once more into a smart canter, and, carollino- 
 lustily forth some fragments of an old song, to which the horse's hoofs rang 
 a merry accompaniment, sped back to his pretty wife and to Nicholas. 
 
 For some days afterwards the neighbouring country was overrun 
 with boys, who, the report went, had been secretly furnished by Mr. 
 and Mrs. Browdie, not only with a hearty meal of bread and meat, but 
 with sundry shillings and sixpences to help them on their way. To this 
 rumour John always returned a stout denial, which he accompanied, 
 however, with a lurking grin, that rendered the suspicious doubtful, 
 and fully confirmed all previous believers in their opinion. 
 
 There were a few timid young children, who, miserable as they had 
 been, and many as were the tears they had shed in the wretched school, 
 still knew no other home, and had formed for it a sort of attachment, 
 which made them weep when the bolder spirits fled, and cling to it as a 
 refuge. Of these, some were found crying under hedges and in such 
 places, frightened at the solitude. One had a dead bird in a little cage ; 
 he had wandered nearly twenty miles, and when his poor favourite 
 died, lost courage, and lay down beside him. Another was discovered 
 in a yard hard by the school, sleeping with a dog, who bit at those 
 who came to remove him, and licked the sleeping child's pale face. 
 
 They were taken back, and some other stragglers were recovered, but 
 by degrees they were claimed, or lost again ; and in course of time 
 Dotheboys Hall and its last breaking up began to be forgotten by the 
 neighbours, or to be only spoken of as among the things that had been. 
 
 CHAPTER LXV. 
 
 CONCLUSION. 
 
 When her term of mourning had expired, IMadeline gave her hand 
 and fortune to Nicholas, and on the same day and at the same time 
 Kate became Mrs. Frank Cheeryble. It was expected that Tim Linkin- 
 water and Miss La Creevy would have made a third couple on the 
 occasion, but they declined, and two or three weeks afterwards went 
 out together one morning before breakfast, and coming back with merry 
 faces, were found to have been quietly married that day. 
 
 The money which Nicholas acquired in right of his wife he invested 
 in the firm of Cheeryble Brothers, in which Frank had become a partner. 
 Before many years elapsed, the business began to be carried on in tlie 
 names of " Cheeryble and Nickleby," so that Mrs. Nickleby's prophetic 
 anticipations were realised at last. 
 
 The twin brothers retired. Who needs to be told that they were 
 happy ? They were surrounded by happiness of their own creation, 
 and lived but to increase it. 
 
 Tim Linkinwater condescended, after much entreaty and brow- 
 beating, to accept a share in the house, but he could never be prevailed 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY 623 
 
 upon to suffer tlie publication of his name as a partner, and always 
 persisted in the punctual and regular discharge of his clerkly duties. 
 
 He and his wife lived in the old house, and occupied the very bed- 
 chamber in which he had slept for four-and-forty years. As his wife 
 grew older, she became even a more cheerful and light-hearted little 
 creature ; and it was a common saying among their friends, that it was 
 impossible to say w^hich looked the happier — Tim as he sat calmly 
 smiling in his elbow-chair on one side of the fire, or his brisk little 
 wife chatting and laughing, and constantly bustling in and out of hers, 
 on the other. 
 
 Dick, the blackbird, was removed from the counting-house and pro- 
 moted to a warm corner in the common sitting-room. Beneath his cage 
 hung two miniatures, of Mrs. Linkinwater's execution : one representing 
 herself and the other Tim, and both smiling very hard at all beholders. 
 Tim's head being powdered like a twelfth cake, and his spectacles copied 
 with great nicety, strangers detected a close resemblance to him at the 
 first glance, and this leading them to suspect that the other must be 
 his wife, and emboldening them to say so without scruple, Mrs. Linkin- 
 water grew very proud of these achievements in time, and considered 
 them among the most successful likenesses she had ever painted. Tim 
 had the profoundest faith in them likewise, for upon this, as upon all 
 other subjects, they held but one opinion, and if ever there were a 
 " comfortable couple " in the world, it was Mr. and Mrs. Linkinwater. 
 
 Ralph having died intestate, and having no relations but those with 
 whom he had lived in such enmity, they would have become in legal 
 course his heirs. But they could not bear the thought of grow- 
 ing rich on money so acquired, and felt as though they could never hope 
 to prosper with it. They made no claim to his wealth ; and the riches 
 for which he had toiled all his days, and burdened his soul with so 
 many evil deeds, were swept at last into the coffers of the state, and 
 no man was the better or the happier for them. 
 
 Arthur Gride w^as tried for the unlawful possession of the will, which 
 he had. either procured to be stolen, or dishonestly acquired and retained 
 by other means as bad. By dint of an ingenious counsel, and a legal 
 flaw, he escaped, but only to undergo a worse punishment ; for some 
 years afterwards his house was broken open in the night by robbers, 
 tempted by the rumours of his great wealth, and he was found horribly 
 murdered in his bed. 
 
 Mrs. Sliderskew went beyond the seas at nearly the same time as 
 Squeers, and in the course of nature never returned. Brooker died 
 penitent. Sir Mulberry Hawdt lived abroad for some years, courted 
 and caressed, and in high repute as a fine dashing fellow ; and ulti- 
 mately, returning to this country, was thrown into jail for debt, and 
 there perished miserably, as such high, noble spirits generally do. 
 
 The first act of Nicholas, when lie became a rich and prosperous 
 merchant, was to buy his father's old house. As time crept on, and 
 there came gradually about him a group of lovely children, it was 
 altered and enlarged, but none of the old rooms were ever pulled down, 
 no old tree was rooted up, nothing with which there was any associa- 
 tion of bygone times was ever removed or changed. 
 
624 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 
 
 Witliin a stone's-throw was another retreat, enlivened by children s 
 pleasant voices too, and here was Kate, with many new cares and occu- 
 pations, and many new faces courting her sweet smile (and one so like 
 her own, that to her mother she seemed a child again), the same true 
 gentle creature, the same fond sister, the same in the love of all about 
 her, as in her girlish days. 
 
 Mrs. Nickleby lived sometimes with her daughter, and sometimes 
 ■with her son, accompanying one or other of them to London at those 
 periods when the cares of business obliged both families to reside there, 
 and always preserving a great appearance of dignity, and relating her 
 experiences (especially on points connected with the management and 
 bringing -up of children) with much solemnity and importance. It 
 was a very long time before she could be induced to receive Mrs. 
 Linkinwater into favour, and it is even doubtful whether she ever 
 thoroughly forgave her. 
 
 There was one grey-haired, quiet, harmless gentleman, who, winter 
 and summer, lived in a little cottage hard by Nicholas's house, and 
 when he was not there, assumed the superintendence of affairs. His 
 chief pleasure and delight was in the children, with whom he was a 
 child himself, and master of the revels. The little people could do 
 notliing without dear Newman Noggs. 
 
 The grass was green above the dead boy's grave, and trodden by feet 
 so small and light, that not a daisy drooped its head beneath their 
 pressure. Through all the spring and summer-time, garlands of fresh 
 flowers wreathed by infant hands rested upon the stone, and when the 
 children came to change them lest they should wither and be pleasant 
 to him no longer, their eyes filled with tears, and they spoke low and 
 softly of their poor dead cousin. ' 
 
 THE END, 
 
 LONDO.V : 
 BRADEURY AND EVANS, VtUiZKRS, WHlTlIFJUAilS. 
 
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